Best Friends Forever is not just for Girls
Paul gave Bethany a birthday present – just a little gift. Would it have made any difference in the long run. He gave her a little heart which could be divided in two – he thought it represented how the two of them were for each other. Well, yes, but not the way HE thought. Oh dear.
“Oh, that’s so pretty. It’s just like the one from Debbie, my best friend from Bismouth when I was at University. We gave each other a heart because we were Best Friends Forever – y’know it’s more of an American thing – but then she was from America and we both needed a real friend at that time.”
“And, now not so much BFF?” he wondered aloud.
“Well, we speak almost every week and it used to be lots of times every day – and she is a long way away – and I’m here and she’s not – y’know.” Her face suddenly lit up – “If she was my BFF at Bismouth then you can be my BFF here in Harchester.”
“Isn’t a BFF supposed to be another girl?”
“Well, sure, but friends can bend the rules for each other, can’t they?”
“I hope there’s no ‘rules’ for BFFs – knowing you, you’d ask around to see if it was acceptable for a Harchester girl to have a mere male as a BFF.”
“Oooh, you’re not supposed to know the Ladies’ Rules,” Beth smirked.
“What – the ones that begin ‘The Male shall not know any of the Rules – and -2- If any male learns a Rule then the Rule must be altered.”
“Yeah, that’s them – or they are those - or whatever.” She grinned. “Anyway, I need a new BFF and you have been selected for the job. Who else in this appalling place gets asked to help whenever I have a problem. Who is the only person here who is willing and able to tell me when I’ve gone over the top and how, sometimes, to fix it.? Who, around here, is the closest thing to a real live genuine bestie?”
“Let’s just leave it at that. Okay, but ‘bestie’?”
“No, no, no, if we’re Besties, we have to do the pinky-finger promise. Hold up your hand with the little finger out at pointed to me.” She did the same, linked fingers with me and said “I promise that I, Bethany, and my friend Paul, er, are, er, Best Friends Forever.”
“Why did you hesitate in the middle?”
“Well, you’re sort of right in that it isn’t really proper for BFFs to be boy and girl. It can get all icky if things get either too serious or if they go wrong.”
“Icky! Am I going to have to learn all these appalling girly words when I’m being your BFF.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think we need to do that. We’re just BFFs who happen, unusually and strangely, to be boy and girl instead of the right way round.”
“In which part of the planet is a boy-girl combo ‘strange and unusual’?
“In the BFF World, silly. Now, let’s get on, I’ve got lots to talk to you about and for some of it I’m going to need genuine BFF assistance.”
Somehow my birthday gift had had the wrong effect. Instead of moving things to a new and better level as I had intended – it had moved things to a new and very different level where I was the BFF of the girl I wanted to be with and, er, had aimed to do boy-girl things with. I had no intention of being a BFF unless my vulgar mind offered it was going to be ‘Big Fancy F…ing’.
As usual, we went into her room which was frilly and frothy and pink and infested with teddy-bears, ribbons and a whole whirl of girl stuff.
Beth patted the bed beside her and we wriggled up the bed until we were comfy and leaning on the enormous pile of pillows and cushions which Beth had unloaded from every crevice of her Dad’s car. Even the pillows had frills and ribbons and, I noticed, had been freshly spritzed with perfume. I was going to pong when I left!
“Do you have to spray your pillows every week? You know it makes me reek in a very non-macho way. My flatmates were positively vulgar about it.”
“Now, is that any way for my BFF to behave? You SHOULD be commenting on how suitable the perfume is for me or suggesting an alternative. This is a girly room, as you’ve said before, and therefore only girlies should be in it – unless I’m am moving well past Girly into Willing Object of Love (and Lust) – and a WOLL is one category which a BFF can never belong to. So do you agree that you is my BFF – no, I’ll rephrase that – thank you so much for agreeing to be my BFF. We’ll be able to do so much together.”
“Enough for the moment.” And was I a bit fed u that there was now almost no chance that she would be a WOLL with me. So not what I was hoping for. My inner male (Lion because I’m a Leo) growled.
She gave a distinct pout – accompanied by a sneaky little grin. “Aww, alright, precious. Just for now.”
We talked about college, about the others on the course, about the people she liked and disliked, about what she should wear for the Saturday Night Out extravaganza and what she should do with her hair next time. Looking back, these were completely girl topics and we were talking pretty much like BFFs would talk.
When I left that evening, Beth gave me a pinky wave – so assuming this was what BFFs did for each other, I gave one back. Her flatmate Sara noticed and giggled. “Hey, you two, you’ve signed up as BFFs have you. That’s so sweet – even if a little American.”
Back at my flat, the only comment I got was ‘You’ve been round at Bethany’s again, haven’t you – I can smell her perfume from here. What does she do – spray you with the stuff?”
“No – but everything she has is saturated. Even the pillows on the bed and her two favourite teddy-bears.”
“Whoa, man – are you getting into her bedroom now? Getting closer to home-base, then, eh?”
“No, but she can’t discuss everything in front of her flatmates – especially when sometimes it’s them she’s talking about.”
“She talks to you rather than her flatmates about really personal stuff. You need to be careful or you’ll go right past boyfriend or potential boyfriend to friend who is a boy.”
Something in my expression must have made Joe suspect something. “No way, man. She hasn’t given you the ‘you’re so special but not as one of those macho males’ signal? You don’t deserve that. You’re a nice bloke but you’re still aiming to have a girlfriend rather than a friend who is a girl. Dangerous water, flattie. The sharks’ll swoop in and gobble up that tasty little morsel - and I mean Bethany.”
“Duh, you can hardly mean me.”
“Why not, there’s female sharks too. You’re bright, you’re a bit skinny but you clean up well, you dress well or at least you make average-price clothes look more expensive. You’ve even had someone in the street give you a card about being a male model, for god’s sake. As soon as you say you’re available – there’s girls out there for you. What I can’t understand is why you don’t build on these chick-magnet opportunities. Almost every evening, you spend over at Bethany’s flat and, as far as we can tell, all you do is TALK. Yuk.”
“I don’t do too badly with the girls. It’s not just Bethany, you know.”
“Come on, flattie, I share a flat with you. I probably know you better than your mother and father do. I know how often you go out, what you do of an evening, exactly what zoomers you pull during the day, who you talk to, when you talk to them, what you talk to them about and exactly how often you have sex. Which is, in brief, not often.”
As sternly as I could, I said “I am going to bed. Where I shall consider suitably offensive retorts to deliver to you in the morning when you are less drunk.”
“Not really drunk, flattie. Just drunk enough to tell you too much of the truth. Sleep well, oh boy who is a friend to a girl.”
It took some time to get to sleep.
In the morning, we were all setting off for work when I got a phone call from Beth. “Can you pop round, I was talking with Debbie last night and she reminded me of something.”
Fortunately, her flat was only a couple of minutes away and usually there was somewhere to park either at her block or the old lady next door let them use her drive for short stops.
“Come in, Debbie reminded me of one of the BFF things we used to do – and I was wondering,” and she began to go pink, “whether you wanted to join in?”
“I can tell from your expression that this is something a bit over-the-top. How embarrassed am I going to get?”
“Really, not much – and it’s not so much over-the-top as below-the-belt. Debbie reminded me that we did a complete swap and she wore my panties and I wore hers – for the whole term. What do you think?”
“Gurk. Erm, I think that’s a bit much, really.”
“Oh g’wan, g’wan, g’wan. Just try on one pair of my sleek and slithery and soft and pretty panties – you’ve always wanted to get into my panties, haven’t you.”
“Well, yes. But not like this. I’m off, I’ll see you for lunch.”
“Oh, Paul, please. Just try on one pair, for your BFF?” And she almost gave a little sob as her girly emotions came into gear.
I wavered. I hesitated. Ooops – mistake.
“Oh, you will, pretty please, you have to now that you’ve not said no,” she sniggered and grinned with girlish enthusiasm - and her hands had already undone my belt, dropped my trousers and begun to pull at my clean, respectable, boyish Kalvin Klein boxer shorts.
I grabbed her wrist before she could denude me. “That’s my job, please.” And I quickly dropped my kecks and turned away from her.
She handed me a pile of three or four panties “Choose whichever one you want for today.” This was going to be for more than today!!! Oh dear. Not saying no quick enough was turning into a disaster.
I wasn’t sure what emotions were bubbling away as I pulled on the panties. I had chosen some plain white ones with a lime-green lacy trim. All the others were coloured or fancier. No, no, no. They felt …… very different. They clung, they stretched, they held instead of letting things hang free as I was used to.
Beth clapped her hands. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re joining in. It makes such a difference. You’re such a sweety.”
I didn’t want to be a ‘sweety’. I didn’t really want to be Beth’s BFF. What had I agreed to????? My inner Lion growled a bit faintly.
I set off to work and spent the day dealing with minor queries from customers who wanted blue widgets instead of green or had ordered 3.5 inch gloms instead of 35 inch ones or who felt they had been overcharged or missed a discount of some sort. A typical day working in yet another department so that I ‘gained experience’.
By the end of the day I was tired, especially so because the last problem had been a tedious long-term customer who always found something to quibble about – and then took ages to pay. Mr Vardell was not my favourite – although when I dealt with his stock clerk or his accounts team we got on fine.
But I was tired as well because every time I moved in my seat, I could feel the interesting unfamiliarity of those smooth cotton panties inside my trousers. And I couldn’t make my mind up whether this was a good feeling or a wrong feeling. All I knew was that it was very, er, different. And based on what Beth had said, I was going to have to get used to it.
In the morning, I put on the next pair of panties. I left the others tucked under my shirts, but I did put the dirty one in a separate bag in the drawer. I would have to discuss with Beth what I was supposed to do to avoid my flatmates finding my (inconvenient) new secret.
By the weekend, I had made my mind up about some aspects of the BFF relationship that was building up.
“Beth, I’ve got a few things to say. I want to talk about some of this BFF stuff – I’ve got a valid point of view as well and, if this goes on and I think we both want it too – then I have to be half of the partnership. Is that okay?”
“Yes, but I do have to tell you that stuff is so a boy word. You might have to stop using it.”
“Beth …… hold it right there. That’s exactly an example of what I mean. I’m a boy – I’m not a girl. I’m not a pretend girl either. Even less so, am I a replacement for Debbie or instead of Debbie or anything like that. I have to say, I must say or burst, I did have hopes for a relationship with you that would get me to being your boyfriend, even your lover and your love – but I guess that you’ve never seen it that way. And now you’ve labelled me as your BFF, then I’ve got to accept that our relationship is for the long-term and to be there for each other when the loves turn out to be not lovely. I gather that’s one of the key things for a BFF to be.”
“So, if I’m going to be your BFF, then I’ll do the girly stuff (yeah I used the boy word on purpose) when it’s the right thing for you and for me too. Sometimes I’ll be the BBFF or Best Boy Friend Forever and sometimes I’ll try to be the BFFF – Best Femme Friend Forever. It’ll be more difficult doing the second – but I’ll give it a go because that’s how important you are to me. But there’s going to be times when we have to at least hesitate at a boundary or look at the possible side-effects of choosing to do something in a particularly non-usual way. If we are BFFs – then of course there will be times when the BFF rules take precedence – but sometimes you’re going to have to be a girl about some things and at other times I’m going to have to be a boy. I’m sure we can cope but we need to know that some of the lines still exist. But, for now, whatever lies ahead, I’ll try to be a good BFF for you.” I could feel my inner Lion whimpering.
“Oh, Paul, you’re giving me more than I deserve. I did wonder if you had plans for the future but, like you say, I couldn’t see that happening and you are so, so important to me. I want you to be there always – always as my friend and supporter. I’d like it if I could have found a girl for the job – but none of them are as gentle and sweet and kind and real and good-at-the-job as you.
“I do have one idea, when you need me to be the girl-version and we’re in public, then there may be occasions where I’d better not be Paul – can you think of an alternative?”
“It’s not my idea but one from one of my American friends. She was a Beth too, and she and her BFF called each other Beth and Beff. You can be Beff, if you want, when I need you to be.
“Yeah, I can just about cope with that. But not all the time right. Deep down, I’m a boy and now that I’ve lost you as a future partner, I need to be able to look for other girls. I’m never going to stop being your BFF, that I’ll promise – but there will be times that I’ll have to be a boy, well, man, well, y’know.
“Thanks, Beffy. So, tonight, can we have a BFF girls’ night in – in our PJs with cocoa and a slushy film or two.”
“Er, I don’t have any PJs, I tend to sleep nude or in a pair of pants.
“Oh, dear, what a calamity. Then I’ll have to lend you a nightie.”
I nearly snorted my coffee up my nose. “For that, I almost think I get to choose the film – but I probably wouldn’t get one that even begins to approach the right slush-quotient. Alright, you win this time. Tonight it’s Beth and Beff.
Part of me was loving the time I spent with Beth – part of me was hating that the way things were developing seemed to make it less and less likely that we would ever get to what I would call more typical Boy-Girl interaction. Where I would be the Boy and my intention would be to proceed to the preliminary stages of courtship and mating. Alright, I’d spent too much time watching David Attenborough’s programs. Too late now, I think. But, like my BFF had suggested, for tonight at least I would be satisfied being the BFF – even if I had to wear panties too – and now a nightie – what next?
And now I was finding there was more to come. Partway through the film, Beth started painting her toenails – and she passed me the bottle and said, you can do the other foot.
So there I was, painting her toes, and as soon as I had finished, she smirked, “Beffie …. and now I do your toes.”
And what had I meant exactly when I said ‘… if you need me to be the girl-version’? Worse – what would Beth read into such a phrase with her ever-busy and all-too-excitable brain.
Oh dear. Was that a catastrophe looming on my horizon – or was my inner Leo now a Cat Ass Trophy?
The next day, Bethie took me into town. There were shops she wanted to visit and she insisted that I come with her. I felt she was overwhelming me with feminine insights.
She …. I don’t know how she did it …. She took me into a lingerie shop and made me buy undies for myself. Not only that, she insisted that I try on bras.
I felt ghastly, sick, shaking with embarrassment.
Then it got worse, the assistant leant towards me and murmured, “Your girl wants her pretty boy to try on a bra. You’re going to do it you know. And you’ll just love the way it holds you and snugs you and caresses you. Just wait.” And she giggled as she shimmied away, her hips twitching with a delightful feminine sway. My eyes were glued to her gluteus. Sorry, bad pun. Naaa, I’m not sorry really.
And so it came to pass. The girls surrounded me with silks and satins. My slender frame was carefully (and excitingly) clad in shimmering, slidy, smooth, sexy underwear. Panties, bra (and yes it did somehow feel wonderful and right), stockings and suspender-belt. Lovely. Yet, somehow wrong … and even more strangely, nice.
I got through that day – even though I finished up wearing all my new undies with a short-sleeved knee-length russet jersey dress on top and a lovely satin-lined jacket. It was far far far beyond what I had ever worn before but Bethie swore that it would work, the assistant swore it would work – and it felt glorious.
Over the next few days, Bethie showed me so much more of what I could enjoy as her Best Friend. She was rich, which helped. She was generous, which was better. And she knew a lot of really unusual and interesting people.
On one occasion, we learnt about SisterDy. Apparently they used to call themselves the SisterDom until too many said that the ‘dom’ label gave the wrong image.
We met Mrs Sterling, who fitted me with the most excellent breast-forms. They were experimental, she said, but with sensors that somehow connected with the skin beneath – and wow the feeling when Bethie kissed my nipples. OOOOoooooooorgh, I’d do almost anything for that to happen more often. It was very …. I couldn’t think of a word better than ecstatic, fantastic, beyond pleasure.
But it was the day-to-day stuff that I was enjoying most. Wearing smooth, sleek, soft instead of rough, harsh, scratchy. I came to adore the new sensations that Bethie gave me every day.
After a month or more of this, I was not much of Paul any longer. But I liked the new version.
I was getting used to sleeping in sheer silk nighties, sometimes with panties, sometimes not. I was getting very used to sleeping with Bethie – and sometimes we slept and sometimes we didn’t.
I was promised implant breasts if I wanted rather than the state-of-the-art Skinfeel ones that I was now used to. I hadn’t made my mind up about that or them.
We were spending a lot of time at the SisterDy club. I had met so many girls and almost as many gurls – the Godfellow team (Sandy, Fiona, Rachel and Alexandra), Jezebelle and Anne, Annette and Angela ….. lots more. And they were so nice.
The real change was that I was, to my amazement, a very different character when I was being girly. I was more confident, more determined. I made friends more easily. I began to look for a job where I could be this new person. My job was boring and it had done nothing to prevent me becoming boring.
Bethie was keen to help. For once, she didn’t push or make me do anything. She just pointed out opportunities and offered to give some assistance. I know she meant money – but I did want to make it work by myself.
And we were doing so much together – and neither of us was dominant. Sometimes Bethie was in charge, and sometimes I was. We shopped together, tried on clothes together, flirted with men together – although we never took it any further as we were more than enough for each other.
She took me to her parents – and made it very clear that I was her lover, that I was her man and it was just a minor issue that I dressed almost exactly like her.
I took her to my mother. Dad had died some time before. Mum was shocked at the change she saw. Her boy was now presenting as a woman. She eventually understood that I was still male. That Bethie was my partner. That Bethie and I were Best Friends Forever. That it was, as Bethie said, just one of those things that I dressed as a woman.
Even though it had been a fake at the beginning – there was no doubt that Bethie and me were truly best friends, Best Friends Forever.
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