Z is for Zoë

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Transgender-themed stories which I hope will be of interest to those who like women, or would like to be a woman. Which includes me!

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My name is Zoë. Sometimes. At least that's how I like to think of myself. A sexy name for a sexy lady. Again, that's how I like to think of myself. For the last 18 years or so I have lived a sort of a double life. Most of the time I'm Alan, a guy who works in the medical profession - let's just say that shall we so the GMC don't find out - and some of the time I'm Zoë. I hadn't been able to dress much at all while Harriet was alive but in the ten years since her death I'd done so more and more. Initially it was, I suppose, as some sort of therapy really.

Withdrawing into Zoë and allowing my feminine side to come to the fore did indeed relax me and help me to overcome the problems of losing my wife so young and of being in a responsible, stressful occupation. Nobody knew, of course, not even my parents or my late wife. Actually, not no-one.

Jeff and Marie knew, my closest friends and also my next-door neighbours. Since Harriet had passed away they'd become even more friendly, helping me a lot through the early years even though they'd only recently moved in when she died. I'd 'come out' to them simply because they'd shared so many of their problems with me and it only seemed right.

We'd managed to help each other and just before my birthday Marie had confessed they wanted to give me a special birthday present.

"Alan, please, let us. You've been a brilliant friend and - well - you know - we owe you a lot."

Marie was hesitant about speaking about it and I know why. Again, the GMC. If they knew about it we'd all have been in trouble. Basically I'd abused my position of trust at the hospital to help Marie and Jeff. After they'd been trying for a baby for about six years without success, and gone through all the IVF they could afford, I'd sneaked a look at Jeff's and Marie's records. And, totally unofficially because I'd known damn well that the NHS wouldn't fund it and they couldn't afford the private route, I'd decided I was maybe in a position to help them out. So I'd 'borrowed' a couple of items over one weekend after discovering a paper in a medical journal about a revolutionary and slightly odd procedure which had surprisingly good success.

I'd assembled a couple of specialist items of medical equipment, and a sample of a drug not available in this country, and a sample of Jeff's sperm. And in a couple of hours with Marie lying on her back with her legs in the air one weekend - with Jeff in attendance of course, he'd even operated the microwave oven - I'd tried the so-called unconventional procedure. I'd have been struck off if anyone had found out. It had been a long shot but Marie and Jeff were really desperate.

They had been so good to me it would have been churlish of me not to make the attempt. I owed them a lot, and this had seemed a way of trying to pay them back. OK, so I shouldn't have done it. Ethically it was wrong. Actually, no. Medically and legally it was wrong. But medical ethics sometimes go slightly out of the window when you're dealing with family and close friends. There wasn't much risk involved really, and the chances of success were slim but I knew I just had to try.

And it had worked! We found out several weeks later when both Marie and Jeff turned up at my door several weeks later. Jeff was holding the 'wand' from a pregnancy testing kit, and wearing a grin as wide as I've ever seen on a patient.

"Alan! Look!" was all he said.

Marie was pregnant. Jeff and I got smashed that night, and Marie had a sherry and several tomato juices to celebrate.

Their GP had been totally amazed, though delighted. The very-unofficial procedure I'd tried had left no trace and their doctor's only comment had been to say that Jeff had been incredibly lucky, impregnating her 'by the usual method'. As the weeks passed and my birthday approached, Marie warned me that they were keen to do something special for me. I'd been hesitant, telling them to save their money for 'Little' which is what they were calling him or her. Marie was three months gone by then and they were being very careful. Absolutely everything seemed totally normal though, and we were all hopeful the pregnancy would proceed to term to plan.

"Don't worry, Alan. We've spent a bit on your treat but not a lot. Do you trust us?" Marie had asked the night before the actual birthday day.

"Of course I do," was my reply.

"OK. So, you've got tomorrow afternoon and evening off work? No surprise call-outs?"

"No. Everything's covered. Bar a national medical emergency, I shouldn't be beeped. I should finish at two, and be home about half past."

"Right. I'll be round at about three. OK?"

"What about Jeff?" I asked.

"You'll see him later," she replied.

She was teasing me, but I didn't know why.

I arrived home from work after slight traffic problems just after a quarter to three. Marie was there already, she'd let herself in. We're emergency key-holders for each other of course. She was sitting in the lounge, sipping what she liked to call 'a Bloody Mary without the vodka'. She smiled at me strangely, indeed rather wickedly. There were several bags on the dining table behind her.

"What's going on?"

"We decided, Alan. Zoë should share today. I'm going to give you the make-over to end all make-overs!"

"Christ, Marie, you might have warned me."

"We decided not to so you couldn't chicken out. So, Alan, strip. Bathroom. And don't worry, you've seen me naked, in fact we've been way more intimate than just me being naked on that one occasion. I need you to strip so I can do this properly."

"Hell, Marie. What about Jeff?"

"He knows, and he also knows this is in a good cause. So, jump to it. No excuses. You know you want to do this. You said last week you haven't been able to cross-dress for months. Well, tonight's the night. So. Strip."

Marie was right, I had been suffering some sort of 'withdrawal symptoms'. They were the only people who knew of my secret, and I realised it would give them pleasure to do something like that for me. Basically, a very unconventional birthday present in return for a most unusual medical intervention. It sounds odd put like that but it made just a small amount of sense.

I smiled at Marie, and grinned. I trusted them, I realised again I could get banned from practicing for what I was about to say to someone who was basically a patient.

"Hell Marie. OK. But I warn you, I'm hard already!"

"Slut!" she said and grinned widely herself. "Come on then. I said strip!!"

I walked through into my bedroom and peeled off my shirt, pausing then but only briefly to wonder if this was a good idea. But. Marie had called me 'slut'. That settled it, I so wanted to do it. She'd helped me dress in the past a couple of times though only in a small way. A woman's contribution was bound to end up with a better result. OK, so I was convinced. I did as she'd asked, I stripped, then padded along to the bathroom. I heard the shower running as I approached the door, Marie was in there already.

I could hear that she'd put on some music on the stereo in the lounge, a rather lush strings sound was pervading the house.

"Just to get you in the mood. But - just in case you were wondering, there'll be no lesbian action here tonight! I've got to be careful. 'Little', you know."

She was teasing me but I didn't mind, it all added to the air of mystery surrounding whatever Marie had planned.

"I wouldn't dream of it, darling," I joked.

At which point Marie started on what she referred to as her own 'unusual procedure'. She had me jump in the shower and cover myself with a depilatory cream.

"'To make your body as smooth as a baby's bottom," she said.

As if that wasn't enough I then lay for a quarter of an hour in a very hot tub of water, 'to clean out your pores, so you can absorb the oils,' she told me. After which, thoroughly smoothed and cleaned I lay on a thick towel on the bed while Marie massaged a richly fragrant oil into my whole body - except that I myself did 'those bits'. Somehow my erection didn't seem to bother me, I was trying to think in 'Zoë' mode and as a woman Zoë couldn't have an erect penis. Could she?

When I sat up Marie started to paint my toenails, taking great care applying a bright red varnish. I'd only ever done my toenails a couple of times before, and having them done by a woman was indeed rather a thrill. She did a good job. Then while the varnish drying Marie stuck onto my hands the longest pair of false fingernails I'd ever worn, well over an inch and a half long, and then with equal care she painted then in the same bright red. I've always thought that wearing nail polish was one of those essential extras that just help create the feminine feel, and going that far on that occasion really was a thrill for me.

When we moved over to the dresser, Marie began to apply a foundation cream to my face and round onto my neck a little. I was still only wearing a towel round my waist, thankfully my erection had begun to calm down even though my continued 'beautification', as Marie called it as she proceeded, was still producing quite some excitement.

She surprised me by taking out, from a small bag she'd brought into the bedroom with her, a set of false eyelashes which she then proceeded to glue into place. OK so I'd painted my toenails but false eyelashes I'd never tried. Then after she'd finished with mascara and eyeshade and eyeliner, and applied a very effective eyebrow pencil, I began to realise that my own previous attempts had been quite amateurish. I'd looked - OK - but Marie was way better at this than I'd imagined. She applied a little blusher to my cheeks, than asked me what I was thinking.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I said.

"Well, Alan, when I was a girl I used to enjoy putting my Mum's make-up on my dolls. And when I've finished, well, if it continues to go this well, you really are going to be a doll!"

I imagined myself dressed and made up, sitting in the lounge with Jeff and Marie all tarted up. It felt good. Hell, I wondered if they wanted me to go next door with them even? I could do that, in the dark, nobody would see surely. That would be yet another thrill.

"OK Alan. Time for Zoë to properly come out of the closet! Lie down on the bed, it's time for your tits!"

I giggled but ten minutes later, when I sat up and inspected the result, I was amazed. Marie had seen my breast-forms before though usually I'd just slid them into a bra. I'd never actually gone as far as sticking them on. I had the special adhesive, I'd just not had the opportunity to use it. But Marie had sprayed and positioned and stuck my rather over-size 'boobs' onto my chest and then spent some time applying a little make-up round the edges to blend their colour and texture with my own skin. I was delighted with the result, and realised the 'make-over to end all make-overs', as Marie had put it, was going way further than I'd imagined.

Indeed, things were beginning to get really serious by then, I realised I was moving into another stage in my make-over. I gulped when she reached into yet another bag and removed a tiny black G-string! . The back was no wider than a piece of string and the front was so incredibly sheer. I slid my towel off - after turning my back on her of course - and slid it up my legs, pulling it high over my hips and 'tucking' as effectively as I could. The feeling of the string excited me and I walked around the bed and back, the movement making me want to sway my hips.

"That feels incredible, Marie."

It did. I'd worn some exotic lingerie before, what tranny hasn't, but this was so different.

"They look good too!" she said, grinning widely at me.

She held out a matching black bra and helped me to slide my arms through the straps and position the bra cups round my breast-forms.

"Most men seem to like big tits, Zoë. This is a 38-EE bra - and it only just holds them!"

I stared incredulously into the mirror at the deep dark cleavage Marie had created.

"Wow!" was all I could say.

"Wow indeed!" she replied, holding a hand out to lead me back to the stool by the dresser as she took out the new pair of 10 denier hold-up stockings with lace tops.

I rolled the first one on and took extreme care not to ladder it, then the second. I looked down, my red toes were clearly visible through the reinforced toes on the stockings. Then Marie, as if she hadn't surprised me enough, amazed me. She produced from a long cover the most gorgeous glitzy black dress I'd ever seen.

"Streuth, Marie, I can't...."

"Yes you can Zoë. You look good already. When I've finished with you, and in this dress, you are going to look drop-dead gorgeous. I promise. Now, come on, let's see just how this does look."

I stood as Marie slid the dress over my head and pulled it into place, zipping it up the back and then adjusting the low-cut bodice over my 'tits'. I'd rarely worn a dress before, and never one like that. The dress was tight, the sleeves were long and sheer, the hem was - a considerable distance above my knees! I gasped at my reflection. OK so I wasn't finished yet but the dress looked lovely, clinging and followed my newly-enhanced curves. The neck was pretty low and exposed quite an amount of flesh and flesh-looking upper boobs.

When Marie put a silver chain with a pretty locket over my head, I delighted in seeing it nestling between my breasts. Then she produced a handful of dress rings and slid two onto my right hand and three onto my left. The large pair of silver-look earrings she clipped into place gave my face a distinctly more feminine appearance. I'd nearly done, or at least Marie had. She led me back to the dresser for my lipstick, a bright red of course to match my nail polish.

"Right girl, nearly done. Now you need to smell as beautiful as you look. This is mine, it's Jeff's favourite."

She sprayed a fine mist of perfume onto my neck, under my arms, between my 'boobs', just a small spray each time. The odour was light, exotic, and definitely feminine.

"Now, Zoë. This gave us some problems but I think we've cracked it. Now, don't complain, these did cost some money but believe me, they're worth it."

She was holding what was obviously a shoebox. She opened it. If the sexy black dress had surprised me, the shoes positively delighted me. Black, shiny, ever-so high heels, really spiked stilettos, a tranny's dream.

"I thought you'd like something open-toed, Zoë, to show off your painted toenails. I hope you don't think six inch spikes heels are too slutty for this outfit. Jeff hadn't any idea really, so I chose a pair with three straps across the foot and an open back. The heels look really sexy, I think, enough to really show of the shape of your legs and give them a really elegant appearance. What do you think?"

I looked. I stood and I walked round, I loved them! I was literally speechless.

"OK then Zoë, enough posing and admiring yourself. We've only the wig to sort out. And I won't have it any other way, it's got to be the big hair. I know you've said before it didn't look convincing but with exotic make-up like that and with that dress, it's just got to be the big high curly wig, not the short bob. Come on, sit."

I did. Marie insisted I turn away from the mirror while she combed and brushed it into place. She stood back, and gaped.

"There, done. Grab that black handbag, you need to put a few things in it, lipstick and mascara and so on. It's time to leave."

I stared at her.

"Leave? Why? I mean, I thought, you said Jeff was busy. I thought he'd be coming round of course, to see how you've done."

"No, he's staying in tonight."

"Sorry, I don't get it."

"He's entertaining a gorgeous visitor. If it was anyone else looking like you do, Zoë, I'd be insanely jealous. But it is you. Now. Can I be honest?"

She was looking me up and down as I continued to walk round a little picking up things to put into my handbag and getting a great buzz from seeing the 'woman' I'd become in the mirror. I wasn't at all sure what Marie was going to say.

"OK then. Go on."

"Right. In daylight, Zoë, or in a pub or wherever, you might not quite pass as a woman. I have to be honest."

I was thrilled with her words.

'Might not quite pass...'

That was good enough for me. I'd appreciated her comments and help on previous occasions but this time she really had excelled herself. I knew I couldn't do '100% woman', but whatever percentage she'd achieved, it was much bigger than I or we had ever done before.

"Marie, I know that."

"But you do look stunning. And Jeff is going to love the 'look', believe me."

"What about you?" I asked.

Marie reached down to her own capacious handbag and pulled out a ball of wool and two knitting needles.

"I'm going to sit downstairs and watch a soppy film on DVD on your big TV screen, and get on with this. It's a cardigan, my Mum gave me the pattern. And you're going to have a wonderful time. So. Come on. It's time to go. It's dark outside now, none of the neighbours will see. Good job too, if they see you looking like that turning up next door they'll think Jeff is having an affair!"

At my front door, just before I was about to leave, I thanked Marie for her efforts. I probably went overboard and was too effusive in expressing my gratitude, she began to cry just a little. Not surprising really, her hormones were starting to go all over the place with her pregnancy.

Then, suddenly, I was outside the door. Marie smiled and closed it. I was on my own, outside, well-and-truly tarted up, with the twenty or so yards to cover along my drive, round the corner, and up to next door's front door. I breathed in deeply.

'Go for it, girl' I thought.

I turned and breathed in deeply again. That twenty yards or so was wonderful, striding out as far as my tight short dress would allow, just feeling the delight of putting one stiletto-heeled foot in front of the other, enjoying all the traditional tranny thrills of being 'out'. My breasts were bouncing, my hair and earrings were swinging in the very slight breeze. It was a warmish night though, I revelled in the sensation of exposing my substantial bosom to the elements, showing off my feminine assets. I walked down to my gate and then up the next-door path.

I arrived at the door of number 19 and pressed the doorbell. I waited. The outside light came on! Suddenly I was afraid, I could see the headlines. 'Respected doctor found dressed as a tart' or something like that. I reached to press the doorbell button again, but before my red-nailed finger reached it, the door opened.

Jeff stood there, resplendent in the dress suit he'd worn for the New Year's party the previous year, looking very handsome I suppose, bow tie, white shirt, the lot. I smiled and quickly stepped in.

"Good evening, Jeff. You do look good tonight. It seems I'm not the only one dressed up!"

Jeff didn't say anything, he was staring. I could tell, he wasn't acting, he wasn't just doing it for my benefit.

"Gee, Zoë. You look gorgeous!"

He meant it. Marie had done a brilliant job, we both knew, and I was thrilled. He leant over to kiss me lightly on the cheek and took my hand. We walked down the hall towards the lounge, and he told me yet again that I looked fantastic.

"Thanks, Jeff. I mean that" I said, as we stood facing each other in the lounge.

He was still staring. I'd recovered somewhat from the euphoria of my slight stroll from next door, and smiled at him.

"Well, aren't you going to get a girl a drink?" I asked.

"Hell, yes."

Jeff was flustered. I think he'd been expecting something dramatic but I'm sure he hadn't anticipated quite the transformation he was seeing before him. He crossed the room, returning with a gin-and-tonic and a large scotch for himself. I took my drink, sipped it a little, and stood there. Jeff looked me up and down, from my big blonde hair, down past my exotically made-up face and my bulging breasts, past my hips and to my stocking-clad legs and my stiletto-heeled feet.