Re-creation

by

Linda de Burge

 

Preface

The young woman sitting opposite me in the restaurant was as beautiful a girl as you could hope to meet. I knew everything there was to be known about this gorgeous creature. I knew her height, weight and measurements, her clothing sizes, her cosmetic brand choices, her food and drink preferences, her whims and foibles. I certainly knew her sexual proclivities. She was sharing my home and my bed.

I looked at her again now admiring the waved fall of her dark auburn hair, the perfect arch of her brows, her shining eyes, sexy in dark shadow and long, silken lashes. Her lips were a full cupid’s bow in rich, red glosssy lipstick, her cheeks flushed with a combination of natural high color enhanced with blusher. Her bosom, suggested rather than displayed, filled the front of the jacket of her expensive and classy white linen suit. Below the line of the table, I knew, her white fitted skirt showed a discrete flash of lower thigh and shapely calves enriched by 10 denier, nude nylons and white high heeled pumps. She wore a gold watch and a number of gold bracelets and gold rings on two fingers of each hand and at her throat,a chunky gold necklace. Her elegant fingers were tipped with perfectly manicured and lacquered finger nails.

In short, she looked adoreable and when we entered the restaurant every male eye turned, for a moment at least, to admire, well, both of us really.

I trust it’s not too much of an affectation to tell you we look very alike, Janie and I. You see she is my adopted sister, chosen for this role because we are so alike.

She is also my creation from the skin out.

****************

 

Part One

Janie came into my life a little over a year ago in circumstances I shall describe in due course.

Four years earlier my natural sister, also my best friend and also - please don't be too shocked - my lover, died in a bizarre accident when a power pole fell from a passing truck and penetrated the passenger cab of the car she was travelling in with me. I was driving but was completely uninjured except, of course, from the trauma of her death which lingered with me for over two years and was not nearly compensated by the fact that the insurance and negligence pay out made me modestly wealthy.

Our parents had died when we were sixteen and fourteen respectively and my sister, whose name was Jennifer - my named is Sandra by the way -was placed in my protective custody. In our grief we became very close. Too close some would say. Our first sexual experiences were those we shared together and it remained that way until her death at the age of nineteen. I don't care what people think, it was a beautiful relationship.

After her death and the payment of the claims, I travelled a lot, trying to forget and, from time to time, I had sexual liaisons with other young women. A girl in Rome, two girls in London, another in Amsterdam. They were futile and unrewarding. They could not replace my Jenny.

I returned to my home in xxxx after two years and bought a house in a semi-rural area and retreated there, a semi-recluse at the age of twenty five, where I took up art and paintged landscapes and, from memory and from photographs,a few portraits of my sister.

Of necessity, to sign some papers with my lawyer, I took a trip into the city one afternoon and entering the elevator I was confronted with a vision which shocked me to the core and caused me almost to pass out. The only other person in the elevator could have been my sister. Except, as I gleaned a few moments later, she was a boy. He was wearing blue work clothes with the name of the company embroidered over the pocket. He was about five feet seven or eight, Jenny’s height, with long crinkly curly light brown hair tied back in a pony tail and he had Jenny’s lips and Jenny’s nose and, almost Jenny’s eyes.

He noticed my shock and became most attentive. He took my arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. No. Yes. I’ll be okay in a moment. I just got a shock that’s all."

"A shock? From seeing me. I don’t understand."

The elevator was moving down by now and stopped to take on extra passengers. We rode the rest of the way in silence but when we got out of the lift he drew me aside.

"Are you sure you’re alright?"

"Yes. I’ll be fine. Truly."

"You look as if you’ve seen a ghost."

I laughed a sad little laugh. "You’re almost right. I’m okay now."

"No you’re not. Please let me buy you a cup of coffee.

There was a coffee shop in the foyer of the building and I needed a cup of coffee so I agreed.

We sat down and he was attentive, solicitous and caring.

"It happened when you saw me. What was it?" He asked.

"I can’t really answer that," I said. "It’s too silly and practically unbelievable."

We ordered coffee and he was most persistant. He placed a hand over mine.

"Look," he said, his voice modulated and sort of genderless, "an attractive young woman gets into an elevator and sees me and goes week at the knees and pale as a ghost. Don’t you think I deserve to know what I did."

"You did nothing, I promise. It’s just...the way you look. You remind me of someone. Someone who was very dear to me and is now...deceased."

"Oh my God! I’m so sorry. How extraordinary."

"There’s nothing for you tgo be sorry about. In fact you’ve been most kind."

"Was this person a relative, a friend, your husband?"

"No I’ve never been married. A relative shall we say. A very close one."

"A brother?" He would not give up.

"I can’t tell you that. In fact I don’t think you’d really like to know."

He pondered that for a moment.

"Well then we have met under the most strange circcumstances. I’m not married. You’re not married. Let me buy you dinner some time."

I laughed. "Do you take such advantage of every opportunity?"

"No of course not. But how many opportunities does one get like this?"

"You’re not American are you?"

"I am now. But I was born in England."

"What do you do? What is Parmax?" The name on his shirt. I could see now he was not as much like Jenny as I had first thought. There was a little stubbled on his chin. He had sideburns. But he was a very feminine looking young man and many features were very similar.

"I’m a telephone technician. I had been working on a job on the sixteenth floor."

"I’m taking up your time. Don’t you have other jobs to go to?"

"Yes but I’m not in a hurry. What do you say to dinner?"

I had really thought to say no but I was tempted and I was uncertain why.

"Yes alright," I said.

"Excellent," he beamed. "I get off at six. Give me time to get home and change and I’ll meet you. Do you know Joseph’s?"

"Yes but...you mean tonight?"

"Yes. Why not? My name is Alan Pye by the way."

"Well...no reason I suppose. Okay I’ll be there. Mine’s Sandra Wyer."

He left then, patting the back of my hand as he departed, leaving a five dollar note on the table. The check was for six fifty but he wasn’t to know that.

I did not go all the way home but instead went and bought a new dress and changed into it and called in at my beauticians and had her refresh my make up. It was some time since I had a dinner date and, strange as it may seem, never with a man.

When I met Alan at seven thirty he looked very different. He was wearing a pair of beige sports slacks with a navy jacket and crisp white shirt. The stubble was gone and his hair more neatly tied and he could most definately have been our brother.

We were shown to a table and chatted. About nothing much, just chatted.

"I know I’m being persistant," he said, at length, "but I’d really love to know whom I resemble."

"I don't think you will but since you insist, you reminded me of my sister."

He sat quiet for a moment or two. "Ah ha," he said, eventually. Well I guess that’s my parents fault to some extent but I suppose I should wear my

hair shorter."

"Oh it’s not just your hair. It’s... features. Nose, mouth, eyes to some extent."

"Was...your sister as beautiful as you?"

"Oh more so," I said unhesitatingly, not really thinking.

"Well then I should be flattered. If I look like a girl I’d be most a happy to

be as lovely as you and your sister."

"Oh I didn’t mean that," I defended. "I meant..."

"No wait. You did mean that. The look on your face in the elevator said it all. You were really shocked. And I’m not at all insulted."

"Most men would be I think."

He shrugged. "I’m not most men I guess."

The waiter came then and we placed our orders. When we were alone again he continued.

"You were thinking when you first saw me, maybe just for a moment, I was a girl." I began to protest. He held up his hand, a beautiful hand with long elegant fingers. "No, no, wait. You were right. I’ve been told that pretty much all my life. When I was a child people were often mistaking me for a girl. And during my teen years it was difficult sometimes."

He paused. I could imagine what had been happening.

"May I be so rude as to ask how old you are now?"

He smiled, a little ruefully. "Twenty six."

I lowered my eyes for a moment and he took it, not inaccurately, as a sign.

"I know. I don’t look that old do I?"

"No to be truthful you look not older than twenty. I’d be grateful." I leaned forward. "If this is uncomfortable for you we can drop it."

"It’s not uncomfortable. Not in the least. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I am who I am?"

"And your long hair?"

Another rueful smile. "It doesn’t help does it? But I like it long."

"So do I," I said.

The waiter delivered our meals and a bottle of wine. For a while we ate without speaking.

"Tell me," he said at length, "do I still look, after a second and a third look, like your sister?"

"Yes. Less so but yes."

"Was she like you?"

"Hmmm prettier but yes, basically. We were alike."

"So I also look a little like you?"

"A little. You could easily be my brother."

More food and the waiter topped up our drinks and Alan ordered another bottle.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" I asked with a grin.

He grinned back. "Not at all." A pause. "Can you tell me in what ways we are alike?"

"Yes. Your eyes are the same color and essentially the same shape. Your, dare I say it, pert nose, the high cheekbones and your lips, very definately."

"Okay," he said, and changed the subject. We talked about...things. His background - an only child, parents also gone, his move from England - too cold, his schooling - basic but thorough. We talked about books and I talked about my painting which I was impressed he was interested in. He was...nice. I liked him. I was glad I had accepted his invitation. I wondered, briefly, about his sexuality but nothing about him suggested he was gay - nor macho for that matter.

We finished the second bottle of wine and he asked for the check.

"Do you have a car?" He asked. "I don’t know where you live."

"Yes I do. I live about an hour out of town."

He looked into my eyes. "I have an RDO tomorrow."

"An RDO?"

"A rostered day off. Can I come home with you. For coffee maybe?"

The idea was so preposterous I was forming the word ‘no’ but it came out ‘yes’. I was shocked that I had said it.

"Excellent," he said.

"I, er, have a spare room. You can sleep over if you wish."

"I’d like that. I think we need to talk, you and I."

He paid the check and we left and walked to the car park We did not at this time talk further nor in the car on the drive home which seemed odd for someone who said we had to talk.

At home he looked around while I went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. He came in eventually.

"Are the paintings in the living room yours?"

"Two of them are."

"One is of your sister isn’t it? And the other a landscape?"

"Yes. Right on both counts."

"I really am very flattered that you think I look like her. She’s very beautiful. That probably sounds strange."

"No not really. I’m not surprised you can see it."

I took the coffee into the living room where Jenny stared down at her ‘twin’ from the wall. I had to wonder even at this early stage, where this was going. Alan sat and sipped.

"Can I delve into your private life?"

I nodded. "Try me. If you get too close I’ll say so."

He asked about our parents. He asked was there any man in my life. I told him what I felt was appropriate about our parents and answered in the negative regarding the second question.

"You’re rather reclusive are you not?"

"I guess. I live alone. I am not exactly surrounded by friends. I live out of town because I prefer the solitude."

"And you play rather melancholic music quite often."

He had been looking at my CD collection clearly.

"Somewhat I guess."

"Are you happy?"

"Not entirely. Content though I think. Now."

"But you would prefer to have your sister, your lover, around?"

I blushed to my roots at this, giving myself away entirely. I nearly choked in my coffee.

"It’s okay," he said, soflly. "I’m not being judgemental. I felt something when you first saw me. When you told me I reminded you of your sister I had an idea we were talking about something more than filial affection. You are deeply sad aren’t you?"

I began crying then, tears rolling down my cheeks, my state not helped by the wine. He moved from the chair opposite me to the sofa beside me and took my hand. I sobbed for ten minutes I guess and he just held my hand, saying nothing. He took a crisp, clean handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me and I began to calm.

"You already know more about me than anyone else on earth," I said ultimately. "How did you do that?"

"I don’t know Sandy. But there’s some connection between us. I don't exactly believe in fate but I think we were destined to meet.

I laughed. "Even that," I said.

"What?"

"You called me Sandy. Only Jenny has ever done that."

"I would like to take you to bed," he said.

I moved away a half length. "Oh no, Alan. Don’t ask me that. I can’t do that."

"You misunderstand me," he almost whispered. "I mean that literally. Just to take you to bed. Not to make love. I know why you can’t make love to me."

I stared at him for a full half minute. "Yes I think you do. Okay."

We left the living room and he followed me to my room.

"Um," I began, coyly. "Do you mind if we undress in the dark?"

"No. I’d prefer that too."

And so we did. In bed we spooned and he held me. I could feel no sign of an erection. His body was smooth as silk, his legs likewise. I began, immediately to feel comfortable with him and drifted into sleep.

In the morning I awoke and he was standing beside the bed on my side. He was wearing one of my dressing gowns and his hair was untied. I was startled again by how much he looked like Jenny. He was carrying a tray of steaming coffee.

"I brought you coffee," he said, and his voice was smooth and gentle.

I went to prop myself up in the bed and realised I was naked. He placed the tray on the bedside table and went to the wardobe and returned with a gown and turned his back. I pushed myself up and put it on.

"You are most considerate kind sir, I said.

He sat on the edge of the bed. The gown parted and his revealed thigh was smooth and girlish. He covered it rather delicately.

"Your hair looks nice out," I said.

"Thank you," he said. "But I can’t wear it like this normally can I?"

"I suppose not."

"I need to tell you something. I don’t quite know why but I do. I’ve never been in bed with a girl before."

Ah ha, I thought, he’s gay. "Really?" I said.

"Actually I’ve never been in bed with anyone before."

Now I was confused. "Never?"

"Never."

I thought about this for a moment. "Well then I guess I can tell you something too. I’ve never been in bed with a man before."

"I think I knew that. With any other woman than your sister?"

I thought before I replied but thought, what the hell? "Yes a very few others. After she died. But it didn’t work."

He smiled. "So you’re a one woman girl?"

"Well...so far."

"It’s possible then?"

I shrugged. "Anything is possible."

"Do you see me as a man Sandy?"

"Yes of course," I answered but too quickly. I already knew it wasn’t quite true. He was staring at me, his blue eyes penetrating. "Well...not quite. I suspect I see you as being somewhat genderless. I hope that’s not insulting."

"No not at all. It’s how I see myself. I take after my mother, not my father except that I have his...equipment shall we say."

"Do you," I began to ask tentatively, "have a preference?"

"For a gender? I’d rather be one or the other. I feel like an in-betweeny. I am a pretty boy. Pretty boys are not usually popular with girls and I’m not gay so that leaves me out with the boys as well."

"So if you have a sexual preference it’s for girls, women?"

"Uh huh."

"Do you know you would make a very lovely woman?"

"I don’t know but I suspect it’s possible. When you said yesterday you saw your sister in me and that she was beautiful it reminded me I’d had that thought before."

"But not acted on it?"

"Acted on it?"

"You’ve never seen yourself as a woman. I mean in make up and clothes?"

"God no. How? With whom?"

The gown had fallen from his leg again. I put my hand on his thigh and he flinched but he made no move to remove it. There was hair there but it was soft, downy.

"You could do it with me if you wanted to. To see, I mean?"

He did not speak for some seconds. "You mean..."

"I mean borrow my clothes, my make up. I’d help you."

He lowered his eyes. "Oh dear God! Why?"

"Because you want to know and because...I want to know."

He did not look up, just sat there.

"The door on the right leads to my en suite," I said, very softly. "Go in there and take a shower. There is shampoo on the rack. Use it. Use the conditioner too. Towel your hair dry but leave it damp. Then come back to me."

Robotically, he stood and went to the en suite and I heard the shower turn on. I wondered for a moment what I was doing but I knew really. I had to know as much as he did. I slid out of bed and dressed in jeans and a T shirt and made some preparations. He came out five minutes later, still appropriately in my gown, his damp hair well below his shoulders.

"I’m very nervous," he said.

"That’s okay. So am I. Sit here."

He sat at my dressing table facing the mirror. I thought what to do and how. I’d done this with Jenny when she was fifteen and beginning to wear make up.

"Can I cut your hair straight across the back?"

"I guess so."

I took out my hair scissors and cut his hair to just below shoulder length and straight across. I took out my hair dryer and blow dried his hair, brushing all the time. When I had finished it appeared a shade lighter and most of the crinkle was gone. He was staring at himself, unspeaking.

"No more viewing I’m afraid," I said. "You’ll have to wait. Turn around and face me."

He did so and I pulled up a stool and began to make up his face. The way Jenny did. His eyebrows were way too thick but that would not be too bad. Foundation, eye liner, shadow, blusher beneath those gorgeous cheekbones. I outlined his lips and filled in with rose lipstick. I re-parted his hair in the middle with a rat’s tail comb and trimmed the length again. He looked so brillant it made my heart palpitate.

"Do you want to see?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, still obviously nervous and went to turn around.

"Not there. Come with me." I led him across to the long mirror inside the wardobe door and revealed himself to himself. He took just one look and spun around, back to the mirror, hand to his mouth.

"Oh my God!"

He just stood there for some moments.

"Take another look," I insisted.

"I can’t."

"Yes you can. Turn around."

Slowly he did so. "Oh God!," he repeated. "I see your sister now. It’s awesome."

"Yes it is," I said. He was still staring at himself. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know how I feel." A pause. "Yes I do but I’m afraid of how I feel. Uplifted, releaved, rewarded in some way. Certainly something is revealed."

"Do you want to stop now or would you like to..." I hesitiated because of what I was feeling myself, "...wear something of mine?" Please say yes, my heart said.

"I can’t stop now can I? Let’s finish it."

"Well done," I said, trying to cover my own excitement. "Take off the gown."

"I’m not wearing any underpants," he said, sheepishly.

"Put these on then and then take it off." I gave him a pair of my panties.

When he was ready I showed him how to put on pantyhose, helped him into a bra and padded it, gave him a floral, cotton dress and high heels. They belonged to me but Jenny had worn them from time to time. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. If the eyebrows were plucked, I thought, if I had, could, cut a fringe, if his hair was a little darker...

Back at the mirror he murmured "Oh God," yet again and stood their taking himself in. For a long time. I was surprised to notice a tear roll down his cheek. He turned to face me and he was smiling through tears.

"Oh Sandy," he said, "thank you for giving me, me."

He stepped up and we embraced and, suddenly, I was teary too.

"Thank you," I whispered in his ear, "for giving me back my sister."

We held each other for some time. Eventually he said:

"What happens now?"

"Good question," I replied. "Let’s get some breakfast."

"Will I leave these on?" he asked.

"Oh God yes," I said. "They suit you much better than the other clothes you were wearing."

I made more coffee and we sat. I was thinking if he looked not more than twenty as a boy, he looked even younger as a girl. If he looked interesting to me as a boy, he looked damned attractive as a girl. I was surprised to find my libido was up. I desired him. How to get him back to bed. There were things we had to learn together.

"I simply can’t call you Alan, I said. "How about Janie?"

He...she smiled. "It sounds a lot like Jenny but, yes, I like it."

Hesitatingly I began. "Am I the sort of girl you would find attractive Janie?"

"You already know you are." She lowered those silken lashes, devastatingly. I almost peed my panties. It had been so long. "Am I the sort of girl you find attractive?"

"Oh yes."

"There are things we could teach each other, no doubt. You me. Specially."

"I think I would like that."

"Do we need to finish this coffee?"

"I think I’m stimulated enough."

We walked hand in hand to the bedroom and I undressed her and she me, kissing and smooching all the time. Her cock...her clit I decided to call it...was small but pretty and hard as a rock. Jenny and I had sometimes used a dildo but this, I thought, was going to be something very different. I had to slow her down, to teach her to go slow, to use her tongue and her fingers but I was soon enough ready for her. I moved on top because I wanted to watch that pretty girl’s face. I slipped her inside me and it was heaven and I knew it was for her too just from watching. She came too soon but I had expected that and I slid off her and allowed her to finish me with her tongue.

We lay for some time after.

"I think I’m already in love with you," she said after a time.

"That’s okay," I murmured. "I’m in love with you too, my darling sister."

"Am I your sister then?"

"Uh huh."

"Then I’m a girl,a woman?"

"Yes you’re a girl and a woman. You just have a slightly larger than average clit and slightly smaller than average boobies."

She giggled at that. "So much can happen in twenty four hours," she sighed.

"We’ve only just begun my darling." I picked up her hand and placed it on my mound. "Do me again."

 

 

 

 

And I was right, of course. We had only just begun.

Later that first day, when we finally emerged from the bed after five hours, Janie went to put on her male clothes.

"Oh no," I said, "never in this house. No boy stuff around here. At the very least a skirt and top and always a bra. For the time being at least."

"But I have to go home. I have..."

"What? Just put on this skirt and shirt and comb your hair and fix your lipstick. We need to talk."

"Jesus," she said as she was filling in her lips, "I don’t believe I’m doing this. It’s so thrilling."

"Get used to it, babe. You’ll be wearing it a lot in the future."

In the living room I made my pitch. "When I first saw you, you stopped my heart for a moment. And then, when we talked, it was like I was talking to someone I knew. Knew really well. I said yes to your invitation to dinner. I’ve never had dinner with a man...male before. You asked yourself to my house and I agreed. No man - except for tradesman - has ever been in my house. When you wanted to take me to bed I agreed. I didn’t then understand why I was saying yes all the time. When I saw you this morning in make up, and the clothes and your hair out I knew I’d found a replica of my sister. And not just in appearance. Someone I could love again and be loved by."

"I’m not Jenny," she interupted. "I..."

"No, no wait. I know that. No one will ever be Jenny. And I don’t want you to be. I want you to be Janie and I want you to live with me, share your life with me."

She sat staring. "Are...you...sure?"

"Positive. We connect in so many ways."

"I have a job, an apartment."

"Give them up. Move in here. You don’t need a job. I can keep you...us. Easily. Resign. Resign today. Now. Don't even think about redundancy pay. Tell the agents to give your clothes to a charity. Don’t even go back there. There’s nothing you need."

"There is one thing I must collect. I have a gold locket on a chain. My mother left it to me in her will. I’d like to have it."

"Then we’ll go there now and pick it up."

"Right now? Like this?"

"Yes. Darling there’s no way anyone will see you as anything but a girl and we’ll just be in and out."

"Well...okay. God this is all so sudden."

"It’s the best way. May the call to your office."

Rather tentatively she picked up the phone, dialled a number, asked for a Mr. Roberts.

"Mr. Roberts this is Alan Pye. I’m sorry to give such short notice but I have to resign, immediately. Something has come up."

She listened for a few moments. "I know that Mr.Roberts. It’s okay. It’sa scarifive I have to make. You can send any final paperwork to my old address. They will forward it on."

She listened again. Not for long. "I know Mr.Roberts. I’m so sorry to be leaving you in the lurch but it has to happen."

She put down the phone and stared at me again. "God, I’ve done it."

"Yes you have. And now let’s go and get that locket."

We drove back into town and to his very suburban apartment. We let oursleves in and found the locket. For a fedw moments she looked around. There was, apparently, nothing else to collect.

On the way back to the car in the parking area we were passing by the caretaker’s office and she paused.

"Do you possibly have fifty dollars on you?"

I rummaged around in my purse and gave her the money.

"Would you just wait a minute?"

She went into the office in this simple mini skirt and T top with flat sandals, hair flowing. I waited, possibly five minutes before she returned and she was looking quite pleased with herself. We were back in the car before she explained.

"I told him I was Alan’s sister and that he had had to leave town ratgher quickly - no explanations. I gave him a fifty dollar tip - bribe maybe - and asked him to get rid of the clothes and anything else lying around. Keep the food for his family. And tell the agents what had happened. Tell them he sacrifices the bond money and the up front rent. He was surpsied as hell but he bought it."

"Good girl. You’re free then."

"Yes I guess I am. I felt so good doing it."

We drove in silence for a time.

"He ogled me a little, dirty old man" she said.

"Oh darling I’m surprised. You’re gorgeous. Those legs! Wow!."

She stretched them out in front of her. "They are pretty good aren’t they. I guess I should them."

"Oh yes. There’s a lot to do."

She was grinning to herself. "Penny for them," I said.

"I was thinking if only Basha Rand could see me now. Basha was my persecutor in school for a couple of years. He made huge fun of me in front of the other boys but I found out eventually he wanted to fuck me."

At home I poured us a celebratory drink. "Here’s to Basha," I said, "and all the other gay bashers."

"I’ll drink to that."

"And then you can take me to bed again."

We began work the next day on what was, effectively, her re-education. It would surprise me ofen over the next few months that there was absolutely nothing about her which was instinctively female. She had to learn everything, to understand, to practice, to hone and to perfect. She became tired and irritable from time to time but she worked hard and she learned well. To me she was like a work of art I was developing. Some things she learned fast. Make up, for example. She had a flair for it. And voice which was never really male anyway. Deportment and body language took a good deal more effort. She had been too long trying to be male. She was good with clothes but there was a tendency for her to look a little tarty at times and I had to tone her down. I demonstrated classy, tarty which was sexy without looking cheap.

On that first day I plucked and waxed her eyebrows and it made ahuge difference. I cut a fringe for her and she learned how to care for her hair very quickly. I wanted to get her into a salon, though, to add some auburn lights. She was thankfully free of hair on her body and she shaved the down from her legs. The only hair on her face was on the point of her chin. The sideburns, when they grew out, just became part of her normal hair. But I had to do something about that chin hair. I managed to convince her that my beautician, Margaret could be trusted but she steadfastly refused to leave the house until she was "perfect". I got Margaret on the phone one evening and spent an hour explaining the whole situation. So at not inconsiderable cost I talked Margaret into coming to the house to do electrolysis and she was wonderful. She never treated Janie as anything but female and the chin hair was completely gone in six weeks.

Then and only then would Janie venture out and her first visit was to Margaret’s salon in the city where she had her hair trimmed, layered, waved and colored, her ears pierced and enjoyed a manicure and pedicure. And enjoyed is the right word. She came out of the salon looking a millions dollars and positively glowing.

"That’s almost the most exciting thing I’ve ever done," she gushed.

Time, we thought, for the final step in the tranformation. I discussed some matters with my doctor - a female - and we booked her in with the best cosmetic surgeons in town. For a cost of $50,000 he took a thin slice of skin from her forehead to raise her natural eyebrows line just a touch, removed her lower false rib which tucked her waistline a little, pumped a small amount of natural body fat into her hips to increase their width buy about an inch or two and implanted saline breasts under the tissue beneath her nipples.

Thereafter she absolutely refused to allow me to see her naked until the bandages came off and the bruising and swelling disappeared. I was on tenterhooks.

The first revelation was when she removed the head scarf she wore since the operation. With her almond eyes and those lovely uptilted fine brows she was now Jenny to a T. It was a further three weeks until she came home from the clinic one afternoon and announced, with a grin, she was ready for ‘exhibition’. Naturally we retired to the bedroom where, with her back to me, she removed her clothing so that my first delighful view was of her newly plump rounded hips and nipped waist. Then she turnd to face me, rather bashfully which surprised me, to reveal those magnificent orbs with rose red, uptilted nipples. She was one of the most splendidly beautiful creatures I had ever seen and made the more so because her pretty clit was erect and pointing at me.

I can always look, I thought. Time to taste. I held my arms out to her and she came to me and we engaged in a deeply passionate session of love making for some hours. Suckling on those firmly erect nipples and playing with her hard, hard clit at the same time was scarily erotic but having her inside me, our boobs crushed together even more so.

We lay quietly, hand in hand, well into the night, women together in love and sexual fulfillment.

Soon after this we went shopping togther and we spent a bomb almost doubling our wardrobe. Janie was like a kid in a toy shop.

"In a million years a boy could never have as much fun shopping as a girl does," she said, eyes shining.

By the time we’d finished Janie had a wardobe any girl would be proud of.

She started to talk at one time and told me a couple of stories.

"I think my mother would have liked me to be a girl," she said. "We never talked about it but my father was never very intersted in me but my mother, most protective. I think she would have liked to see me this way, once she got used to it."

"She could only have been proud of your beauty," I said.

She turned and kissed me on the lips. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"I used to masturbate as all boys do," she continued, "but I always felt it was wasted and wrong, that I should be saving it for someone. I was never actually turned on by older girls and women but I used to admire them their confidence and their sexuality. I came out here for the first time when I was nineteen to take a look around, as it were. A woman and child got on the plane in London not long after I had taken my seat. The mother was about thirty and kind of pretty and tarty in the way you don’t like much. But the child was extraordinary, bizarre really. In a way she reminded me instantly of Brooke Shields in "Taxi Driver" but she was much younger, truly not more than about ten. She was wearing high heels - not little heels, high heels - and those shiny pantyhose and a short mini skirt and a bra, for God’s sake, and her very young undeveloped face was made up with lipstick and shadow and mascara. She had this serious, almost frightened look on her face and she was gripping her mother’s hand very tightly. For some reason, I got it into my head that she was not a girl but a boy but I had no idea why. I was shocked to discover I found her very sexually alluring. On the flight I got up a few times to go to the toilet and each time I did my eyes were drawn to her as I returned to my seat. Once she caught my eye and kind of smiled but turned away quickly. When we got to New York I walked behind them all the way to customs. I got in the queue behind them and once she, the child, turned around and looked up at me. I smiled and said ‘hello’ as one might to a child. She mouthed hello back and lowered her eyes, you know like Princess Di used to do, and gazed at me from under these long silky lashes. She frowned a little in puzzlement and I figured she was also wondering about my gender. I was wearing my hair out as it happens and over the top I had a jacket and fairly tight jeans. Her mother turned then and looked at me, then at the child, then at me again. Then she said to the child "Rosie don’t stare at the...don’t stare. It’s rude.’ She didn’t know what I was either. To this day I’m sure the child was a boy and I later figured out they were probably running away, incognito as it were. What I still can’t fathom is why she dressed him...or her for that matter...in such a tarty manner."

"She’d know what you were now, sweetheart, " I said.

"I know. But it’s strange isn’t it, how that experience has stayed with me."

"I know a few boys who dress as girls," I said.

"You do?"

"Yes. Jenny and I used to sometimes go to the lesbian bars around where we lived. We’ll go one night if you like. It’s fun. Anyway there are ofen boys there looking and acting as girls. Some of them are gorgeous. Not as pretty as you though, of course."

"Why do they go to lesbian bars?"

"They’re not gay, darling, anymore than you are. They want sex with girls and some of the girls are happy to accomodate them. You know, it’s like if they look like girls and smell like girls and sound like girls and taste like girls, they must be girls."

Janie giggled. "How wonderful."

 

 

She had to learn to put on a bra again after this, leaning forward slightly to cup her tits comfortably. She often wore low cut tops from then on, with such pride.

We did go, from time to time, to a lesbian bar in the city. Janie was impressed with how many times I had to explain we were not available, we were a couple. We met Honey there. She was a boy and very definately a tart. She was tall and skinny but with a pretty face even in too much make up. She spent the night feeling up the girls and often copping a slap in the face but often a welcoming gesture too. She spent some time chatting with us one night even though I had told her we were engaged.

"Oh how lovely," she said. "An all girl wedding. I’d love to be there. Better still I’d love to be in the bedroom afterwards." Then she shrieked with laughter and leaned down and whispered something to Janie. Janie whispered something back and she shreiked again and moved away.

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She said she love to have me suck her cock some night. So I said only if you’ll suck mine."

On the way home Janie asked: "Why did you say we were engaged?"

"Instead of that boring old line about being a couple I guess."

"We could be though."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I’m still legally a male. We could be engaged. In fact I’d like us to be engaged. I’d like to marry you."

I looked at her to see if she was serious and it was clear she was.

"Oh God, Janie. I’d adore to marry you."

It had never occured to me before. I’d always been thinking of her as my sister and, of course, I could not marry Jenny.

We bought idenical wedding dresses and underwear and shoes and we found a gay priest who would perform a legal ceremony since Janie was still a male. We took out all the necessary papers and Father Judith - I kid you not - reminded us we needed a witness. As a laugh we went to the bar and found Honey and asked her. She was over the moon and even more so when I offered to buy her a bright red bridesmaid’s frock with matching underwear and heels.

On the day of the wedding Janie and I both went to Margaret’s salon for a special hair do and make up. When we left we looked more like twins than just sisters. I’d paid for the same treatment for Honey too and when she turned up at the registry office I was quite startled. The red dress was actually quite classy and her make up was toned done and her hair something better than ratty and she looked just lovely. It reminded me forcefully again how much some males could look female and, I suppose, vice versa. Father Judith performed a simple but lovely ceremony and we kissed and were legally "man" and wife. Soon after Janie changed her name by deed poll to Janie Marie Wyer.

There is a photograph of us in our wedding gowns on the bureau in the living room. I pause to look at it from time to time and am always amazed at how alike we were...are... and how like Jenny, Janie is.

We’ve made a few friends - all women and mostly lesbians but not dykes if you know what I mean. They visit from time to time and occasionally some of the girls sleep over but we never, ever share. We’re a kind of small sorority but two of our members are not quite female. Not that you’d know. Honey is a little different these days. She’s given up the tarty look and is rather elegant. And permanently en femme. And looking. I suspect Margaret, who is thirty five and divorced, is interested. She’s

one of our group and she had taken a shine to Janie. She once said to me if she could find a ‘girl’ like Janie and who loved her like Janie loves me, she’d marry her in a flash.

I’m no longer reclusive of course. Janie wouldn’t let me be. She’s the little extrovert, is Janie. So we go out a lot so she can show off. I once watched a group of men at a gallery opening follow her with their eyes from the bathroom back to where I was waiting. I’m sure they were all drooling at the dick. When she came up to me she gave me a kiss and took my hand and the collective disappointment was palpable. We wear identical engagement rings and wedding bands and when guys don’t readily get the hint we flash them. I can’t easily describe the look of shock that produces.

I once asked Janie is she was interested in men sexually.

"Yes," she replied. "I am."

"Truly?" I was very surprised.

"Yes. I’d like to bite their dicks off."

I guess she’s a true feminist lesbian. She’s on a quest now. She’s looking for a boy - twelve, thirteen, fourteen - who feels like she felt at that age. She wants to ‘adopt’ him and show him the ropes. She feels a little disadvantaged at missing out on being a teenager. I think we could get into trouble but if she finds one I’ll be in it. It would be nice to have a young ‘girl’ around the place. To help ‘her’ find ‘herself’.

She might not have to look too far from home. I’m pregant and the scans show it’s a boy. If he choses - choses mind you - to wear dresses he most certainly may. If he turns out like Janie it won’t be a bad thing at all.

I can’t begin to imagine how I got to be so lucky as to have Jenny and Janie in my life But I’m not complaining.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Linda de Burge. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.