Double Wedding

I was about to marry my childhood sweetheart Paula Rother. I loved her and she loved me but it hadn't been straightforward. After school she went to Manchester University while I went to work at a local accountants as a lowly paid junior clerk. She said we where inseparable but during the two years she was away she met Graham. I was heart broken and knew I was beaten. He was incredibly bright, handsome, popular and with wealthy parents. Apparently everything he did was successful and predictably he left university with a 2.1 in law and a certain future. I on the other hand was unskilled, of slight build, quite and shy, an orphan with an unsure future. The only marked difference being that Graham was an arrogant ruthless bastard whilst I was not. Despite his charm and obvious assets it hurt me to think of Paula with him.

After University they came back to our hometown and lived together with her parents with the intention of marrying. Her mother was made up. Now her beautiful daughter had met a man worthy of her affections. I always knew she viewed me as unsuitable. Six months home and they had both secured good jobs in the city at the same prestigious law firm and announced they where to wed. They organised a lavish engagement party and he bought her a beautiful sparkling diamond ring. I was incredibly jealous yet I had a suspicion that Paula was not happy. On the surface they seemed an idyllic couple, loving and caring but underneath I could see cracks forming with the relationship. I knew her well and sensed all was not right.

I took my chance and homed in. She saw me secretly and told me about her mothers ambitious wedding plans, how she hated the idea of a church wedding and that her mother intended to see her wed in her old wedding dress but I didn't care as when we where together it was as if we had never split. She complained about Graham a lot. He apparently (surprise) was rude, arrogant, selfish, scruffy and impolite. None of which I was and she missed it yet I couldn't seem to persuade her to change her mind.

I was still thrilled and then one night when Graham stayed in London on business she slept with me at my tiny flat. It was like old times and she was intensely happy. On the spur of the moment I bent down on one knee and using an old coke can ring pull as a ring, proposed. I laid my heart on the line, confessed my true feelings and told her of my fears with her and Graham. She was stunned into silence and remained speechless for what seemed like minutes. Eventually she spoke and what she said sent shivers down my spine.

'Yes,' she said.

I couldn't believe her at first but she confessed to having doubts with Graham and how I was her first love. She told me of the pressure her mother put her under and she felt railroaded into the relationship.

This was a fabulous development but not everyone was pleased. When Paula broke the news to her mother she was furious. I was back on the scene and she was incredibly disappointed that I'd, so called, ruined her daughters' life. She tried to dissuade me as expected and put Paula off. She called me effeminate, a hopeless man, a born loser unable to father children but I didn't care, Paula was going to be mine. Graham, as you can imagine was equally pissed off I even thought he might hit me but after a few weeks of hurling abuse and a threatening letter he moved out from Paula's and seemed to disappear off the scene or so I thought.

It was a simple matter of simply changing his name to mine on the invites. Paula's Mother was still furious of course. And now I had the problem of the service and the dress. Paula's mum wanted her princess to have a fairytale wedding with all the trimmings but as I knew, Paula didn't. She wasn't the type, she was a tomboy and rarely wore a skirt let alone a dress and she just didn't appreciate the pomp and ceremony of a church wedding. The mere thought of wearing her mothers beautiful wedding dress filled her with horror. Myself, I couldn't see the fuss and one day I walked into her room and saw her mother's famed dress hanging on a tailor's mannequin. To my surprise I took a deep breath, my legs weak and I felt giddy. It was breathtaking but try as I might I couldn't imagine Paula wearing it.

Alone I studied it closer. The dress was snow white and the ornate bodice had little pearls or beads and sequins sewn all over it. It had shoestring straps but looked as if it could be worn off the shoulder and had zips at the back. It was amazing and must have cost a small fortune. In the corner of her room hung a hopped underskirt, train and an underskirt consisting of at least seven layers of tulle. I imagined how they would really puff the dress right out for a true fairytale Cinderella style gown and I chuckled, it was so unlike Paula. I fingered the pretty dress fondly but knew with some disappointment that it would be unlikely to be worn again. It really wasn't Paula's style. I'd never seen her in anything particularly feminine. I day dreamed for a moment and was rudely awoken by the bedroom door flying open.

Her mother still angry with me walked in and scowled, Paula was by her side equally cross.

'We have to arrange a fitting. My friend Joyce will help.' Mrs Rother cried her voice at fever pitch.

'I'm not wearing your stupid dress,' Paula says sharply. 'I've told you before.'

I wince, as Mrs Rother looks fit to explode so I try to help. 'It's lovely,' I say merrily. 'Paula you'll look very pretty.'

Paula glared at me angrily.

'If you love her bloody dress so much, you wear it,' Paula screamed.

That was it. Those few words set her mother thinking and in a desperate bid to stop the wedding she suggested to Paula that we swapped roles. Most normal brides would perish the fault but not Paula she loved the idea. I'm not sure if it was a way of irritating her mother but I couldn't believe my ears.

'You're kidding me,' I gasp. But she wasn't.

'Nonsense, it's a great idea. The dress will suit you so well. The bodice will accentuate your shapely figure and the delicate sleeves will make you look so young and slender,' Mrs Rother smirks and I shuffle awkwardly. 'I can see you now,' she continues mockingly, 'with your long glossy hair tied back, your face beautifully made-up, a colourful floral bouquet in your tiny manicured hands, with your idyllic bridesmaids holding your pretty train as you step majestically down the isle in heels.' She sighed and patted her dress lovingly. 'This dress brings so many happy memories back of my wonderful day with your father, Paula. I'm so glad you suggested it. I would have preferred you to be wearing it but alternatively I couldn't think of a better person. You'll make me so happy.' she smiles and screws her eyes like a witch.

'I can't wear your dress,' I cry, 'I'd be a laughing stock.'

'That's a shame then,' Mrs Rother says menacingly. 'I had my heart on my dress being worn again. If its not Paula it will have to be you, otherwise the weddings off. You won't get our blessing, Paula's father wouldn't give you away and you can pay for it yourself.'

Put that way I didn't have a great deal of choice. I wanted to marry Paula so much, but with no money to pay for the wedding myself and desperately wanting her mothers approval, I saw no other alternative. Paula was adamant she wasn't going to back down and the more she thought about me wearing the exquisite wedding dress (and how it upset her mother) the more excited she became.

'Deal,' I said reluctantly in the misguided belief that at the last minute they'd both change their minds.

'Excellent,' Mrs Rother grinned like a suitcase unzipping on three sides. 'I have to say, despite your obvious inadequateness, when the chips are down you always do the right thing. Hasn't done you much good, of course but I'm proud of you anyway. Now then strip and lead the way.'

'Not so fast,' I folded my arms in a manly gesture of steely resolution, but I had a nasty feeling that it just made me look as if I had an upset stomach.

'What guarantee have I got that you're serious and this isn't a twisted, bitter plot to ridicule me?'

Mrs Rother laughs mockingly. 'Absolutely nothing, my dear,' she grins again, 'You'll just have to trust me.'

Paula touches me gently on the arm and nuzzles her mouth on my neck. 'Don't worry, my darling,' she whispers, 'if this wins her over it will be a small price to pay.'

As the two of them sized me and the dress up I made some feeble excuse saying it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress and after howls of laughter Mrs Rother agreed. With some relief I then hoped that she would forget the notion.

I was very wrong and as preparations got under way they both got increasingly enthusiastic about me as the new bride. Invites where hastily changed again, guests informed, the vicar notified and I was literally frog-marched to the hire shop to return my grooms suit.

I had a forlorn hope that the vicar would come to my rescue and refuse but to my surprise he was in fact a she and of the young modern breed. She saw no problem in the role switch as long as we loved each other. In fact, according to the gleeful Mrs Rother the Vicar seemed positively delighted with the idea. 'More couples should try it,' she said, 'men in skirts - that would bring them down to size, reduce their over inflated egos and give the relationship some hope of survival.'

Needless to say I didn't share her enthusiasm.

The inevitable day came when her mother invited me begrudgingly to her house for a fitting. Paula was at work and I got the day off. It was surreal being stripped by her mother, my future mother-in-law and being dressed as her bride to be daughter.

'Come on don't just sit there. Move!'

My legs were wobbly and defective. It took me three goes to get out the sofa, and Mrs Rother and her friend Joyce were laughing at me.

'Please Mrs Rother,' I pleaded. 'I'll be a laughing stock' but my cries went unnoticed as without the support of Paula, Mrs Rother showed her true feelings and didn't hold back.

'Don't be so pathetic many men would be overjoyed to be dressing as a bride.'

'But I'm not many men,' I cry

'Maybe not now but you will.' The two of them then grin like hyenas and I feel like a ten-year-old girl.

Joyce, an old school friend, could remember coming to Mrs Rother's wedding so seeing the dress again was a delight yet when Mrs Rother explained who was to be the bride she roared with laughter and Mrs Rother looked at me with a cocktail of anger and contempt.

'You, my lady,' she said, 'are going to the church as the beautiful feminine bride whether you like it or not or this weddings off.'

Mrs Rother went to town with no half measures. To start she majestically selected a tiny pair of lace panties, matching bra, silk stockings and pretty suspenders.

'Is this necessary?' I said mildly, without looking up from the pile of expensive looking lingerie. 'All that you require is that I wear the wedding dress for a few hours, not become a complete woman.'

'Wrong, smartarse,' Mrs Rother snapped back. 'Got to wear the complete pretty outfit, or you won't do the dress justice, see? All right,' she went on. 'If you are to wear my bridal gown I don't want you looking like some cheap drag queen. You're to look 100% convincing. I don't want the guests to recognise you and that means wearing these lace panties, stockings, bra and corset. It's not just about a look. Don't you know anything? I want you to embrace the whole fairytale experience and become part of the dress as if its perfectly natural.'

'Corset,' I groaned.

'Yes, boned corset,' Mrs Rother confirmed. 'I didn't say it wasn't going to be plain sailing did I?'

'But ... But ' I whimper.

'Don't be so pathetic, what's the problem are you getting second thoughts?'

'No,' I sniff.'

'Well then, don't just stand there like a prune. Get these lace panties on.'

The panties where easy. They slipped on like cool silk and despite their small size they concealed my shrivelled cock beautifully and gave me an unmistakable feminine looking crutch. The corset on the other hand knocked the breath from me, pulled my waist in and after she had stuffed my bra cups with what she refereed to as chicken fillets I had an enviable figure. Mrs Rother then gave me such a look of sheer cold hatred I'd never seen before; it glowed through her eyes like candlelight through a Halloween pumpkin.

I shivered as I stood before them dressed in the romantic lingerie and felt a complete fool. I guessed this was her intention yet strangely I felt more determined than ever to carry it off, just to prove to my evil mother-in-law to be that I'd do anything to marry her daughter.

'How do I look?' I said in a high pitched, girlish voice as I rubbed my nylon covered legs together, pouted and pranced about the room swinging my hips. The two women gasped with my sudden role acceptance and clapped excitedly like little children and to top it all Mrs Rother began to sing 'here comes the bride.' Then to my surprise she pulled a digital camera out from nowhere and snapped away like a professional photographer immortalising a catwalk model.

I tried to hide but there was no escape and she made me pose standing and bending in the most coy and sexy way, showing the lace on my panties and bra and how the stockings accentuated my long slender legs. I was soon exhausted with all the prancing about and as I calmed down Joyce dropped a sumptuous silk slip over my head. As it cascaded down my shoulders as if in slow motion my cock began to twitch excitedly. Joyce oblivious to my arousal then held the dress out invitingly and as I stepped into its many folds of silk and lace I came over dizzy with excitement.

'Very good,' Mrs Rother said, her voice full of savage delight. 'You're looking beautiful already.' I grinned as they hauled it up over my shoulders like a curtain and buttoned me in behind securely. It was heavy and fitted incredibly well. The skirts where full and hung from my hips in massive silken folds the bodice nipped me in at the waist and the lacy bust cupped my large breasts like a well fitting glove, the sleeves where perfect.

'What's it to be straps or off the shoulder?' she asked.

I had no idea, 'Straps,' I say then a moment later, 'off the shoulder,'

Joyce laughed. 'You change you're mind more often than a tart changes her knickers.'

As required they adjusted the dress so it hung off the shoulder and to my surprise it showed off my tan and made my shoulders look slim and feminine. In fact my skin changed or so I thought. It felt soft and supple and incredibly sensitive. I felt all the new materials is if for the first time and I became very aroused. I wanted more and was delighted when they made me step into a hoped underskirt that they pulled up under my skirts. I hoped they couldn't see my mounting excitement but on recollection I doubt nothing passed the eagle eyes of Mrs Rother.

The transformation was spectacular, my waist transformed into an hourglass as the skirts filled and hung outwards like a huge bell that swung demurely with every step. The two women even gasped and Mrs Rother studied me carefully, practically quivering with excitement, like a dog about to be walked. 'So this is the bride? Mrs Rother said, 'isn't he gorgeous. He's far better looking than I expected. He's so sexy and feminine, no one will ever know.'

Joyce nods excitedly, 'He reminds me of you on your wedding day,' she says fondly to Mrs Rother brushing down my skirts and for the first time I see her smile sensitively. I feel strangely captivated, twirl gently in a trance and the dress swings uncontrollably from side to side but after a few attempts I've grasped the general idea and I'm soon shaking my hips like a fairytale princess. I feel magical, I'm not repulsed at all and I savour every sensation and begin to realise, in a warped way, how lucky I was getting the opportunity to experience the bride's role.

They both saw the change in my sparkling eyes and laughed as I bent to the loud rustle of the tulle skirts and slipped on the white court shoes. My stocking covered feet slipped into them like oiled silk and they accentuated my shapely ankles in a way I could never imagine.

'Oh! I knew he would,' Mrs Rother chuckles with pride, ' he loves my dress just you watch he won't want to take it off.'

I frown somewhat alarmed at my appearance. 'You have no idea what its like,' I say, 'wearing a dress of such feminine importance when I feel like an impostor.'

They nodded knowingly and I felt trapped as if sinking in quicksand.

I'm sure they expected me to stamp my feet in frustration and stick my tongue out child like but instead I stood on the low stool so they could admire my transformation and adjust the hem. As I perched on the stool like a proud peacock I felt every bit like a young woman. As they fussed around me taking in bits here with pins and marking bits there I felt like the bride on a wedding cake and a warm pleasant glow flowed through my body. I closed my eyes and a warm dreamy wash cascaded through me. I was the bride all dressed in white and I was looking forward to my big day.

'How do you feel?' Mrs Rother familiar voice asked awakening me from my dream.

I took a deep breath because I knew this was going to sound stupid. There was a long pause and Mrs Rother seemed to shimmer, like the heat haze on the road.

'Don't be shy,' she said calmly, 'tell us your true feelings.'

I feel my face redden and twiddle with some sequins on my dress. 'I... I... I... feel pretty,' I say.

The two ladies grin proudly. 'Very good,' Mrs Rother said, 'I knew you had the right stuff, deep down inside where nobody but I could see it. You'll make the perfect bride all radiant in virginal white silk and lace. If Paula could see you now... She'd be so proud.' but then just as I feel I'm connecting with her and totally awash with femininity, Mrs Rother laughed. 'My arse,' she screamed. 'Paula will be horrified, when she claps eyes on your sissy transformation. You look more of a woman than she does,' and as she flicks an imaginary speck of dust from my skirt Joyce nodded, picks up the camera and takes even more incriminating photos.

'That's not fair,' I cry, 'I'm doing this for you. It was, if I may recall your idea.'

'Nonsense you're doing this because you want to be a woman and you love dressing in lingerie and a dress.'

'No, no,' I cry but deep down there was some hint of truth. Unbeknown to me I had a yearning that I had with held and Mrs Rother had unwittingly unleashed it. I was enjoying every moment and she knew it. I sighed, ran my hands over my skirt and realised if asked I would have happily traded my masculine life to one of femininity. I wanted to stay at home, wash, cook, clean and mother children, it was most peculiar. I shifted my weight awkwardly from one foot to another and rubbed my nylon-clad legs together so that they rasped alluringly.

Mrs Rother grinned then almost spat the words. 'You're a pathetic sissy and you don't deserve my daughter.'

'N... N... No, that's not true,' I stammer yet I knew I wasn't saying it with conviction.

I gazed down at my dress and my feminised body, my beautiful white court shoes peeking from under the dress. I felt dizzy and just wanted them to be nice to me and accept me as a woman.

Remarkably the dress fitted like a second skin with only a few minor alterations required. But the ladies where not content. They needed to see me fully made up to evaluate the wedding days requirements. Therefore her mother quickly applied some creamy foundation with a sponge, dusted pink eye shadow on my lids with a brush, rolled black mascara on my lashes with a wand and coated my lips with a glossy pink lipstick and as I gazed at my face in the mirror I felt my eyes slowly dampen. I was so happy I began to enjoy playing the part of the blushing bride and it didn't take much imagination to become totally taken in by the masquerade.