transformation

July 21, 2019

He became she that day, his wife’s thirtieth birthday: it had been an ongoing fantasy of hers, and he’d finally, reluctantly acquiesced. His transformation took four or five hours, including depilation of body hair, make-up, fitting a blonde wig – but it was worth it: he looked very feminine, indeed, most convincing.

They were in a groundfloor apartment at Grenoble, France on holiday.

His wife named him Margot after the doll she’d had as a child. She provided the breast-forms to fit in his bra, and the rest of his female attire, dresses, pantyhose, panties. She taught him to walk on high heels like a woman. And tied a chic, silken scarf round his neck to hide his Adam’s apple. She also provided the press-on manicure gel nails for his fingers and toes.

‘You really are beautiful,’ she told him.

And he was.

They went out to a local restaurant for dinner. Male heads turned as Margot walked by.

‘They all want you,’ his wife said.

They ordered risotto and champagne and Margot flirted with the waiter.

‘You need a boyfriend,’ his wife said. ‘I can arrange it. It’d be so hot to watch you getting laid.’

‘That’s not on,’ Margot replied in a hissed whisper. ‘Not part of the arrangement. I’ll be Margot for the week but sex with a man is out.’

‘Oh, not one man, darling – many men.’ Before he could respond her hand had become busy up his skirt under the table. Her fingers were expert. She concentrated on the end of his penis which now jutted from his panties. ‘You will do it, won’t you darling? Just for me? For our love?’

‘Just the one time, yeah. A one off.’ And then he groaned as the sperm was teased out of him by her pinching fingertips.

Three days later as Margot, he entered the sitting room of their apartment to be confronted by four athletic-looking young man in bathing costumes. All four had obvious hard-ons.

His wife at his side urged him to get on with it.

Outside, beyond the wet patio, it had stopped raining, but he could see that drops of rain clung to the petals of the rose bushes. But by then the four young men were pulling him down to the mosaic floor. And it really didn’t matter anymore.

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