Five Brides

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Five Brides
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters


Another day at the bridal boutique – right? A photo of six girls trying on bridal outfits, except that there was only three of us meant to be getting those special dresses. The other three were the grooms. The three tall “girls” are us – that is Quinn with his girl – the goth with the blue hair, me with the headband and Peyton the surfer with the blonde hair tied back.

The boutique offered a full service – not just the gowns but also hair and makeup. We had all been dragged along with our intendeds to preview what they could do. There were to be separate weddings over three weeks but because they were close together there was to be a discount for volume, plus a credit. So how do you use a credit? It was Peyton who laid down the challenge – “If you’re that good you should be able to transform we three guys into beautiful brides too.”

“If we can do that successfully then you will have to sign up to being in our catalog,” came the testy reply. It seemed as if we had been talked into it with barely a word spoken.

Of course, a catalog demands a high standard of presentation, but as those women said, challenging transformations sell the most product. They prided themselves on making beautiful brides out of plain girls, so what about three guys. They were up for it if we were, and suddenly, we were.

Because we would feature in the catalog they went all out, but we suffered the pain of the waxing, and the embarrassment of plucked brows and tinted eyelashes. Still, the weddings were a way off so we were assured that we would be back to normal in time to become three grooms to three brides.

So why is this story called “Five Brides” you might well ask? Well, Quinn went back to just being Quinn. He married the goth girl on the left as a man and he has lived as a man ever since. The same can’t be said about me and Peyton.

Looking back Peyton was the one who got us into all of this, so it may be that this was what he always wanted – to live as a woman. He never married the girl in the picture standing just behind him. He broke things off when he realized his true nature. She met another man and wore that very dress. So did Peyton.

But what about me? I was engaged to a woman, and I genuinely believe that I was attracted to her just like any normal guy. So, what changed? Why did my fiancée walk away into the arms of a new groom with my blessing?

Well, the fact is that it was a man – somebody much more of a man than I could ever be, as it turns out. The guy who took that photograph. He approached me afterwards with a proposal to model some clothes – women’s clothes. He said that I could make some money. I just needed to keep that look for a few more days, and then a few more days after that. And then before I knew it we were going out to dinner and then a few too many drinks, and, well … he made love to me.

I have to call it that, because that was how it felt. People may call it something else, but when I lay beneath him and he tenderly introduced me to womanhood, there was no going back. But by the time our wedding came around I was ready for something a little more exciting than what I am wearing in the photograph – something that shows off my new curves and frontal assets.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2023

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You've done it again

You grab a picture, and drag up an intriguing story with an economic word use and voila. If you figure out how to bottle that I'd gladly buy some. Hell, make it a six-pack.