Magic Dress - Bobbie Pt. 01

CHAPTER 1

Being a girl is not about age, it is about having fun. Fun in a special feminine way. Women in their seventies going out for the evening call each other girls, because that's what they will be doing -- having fun in a particular way. Naturally being a boy is fun in a different way. A girls' night out is not the same as a boys' one, whatever equality there is in society.

It's not about chromosomes, either. To be fair, most girls have XX chromosomes and most boys XY, though not all. But some women are rarely girls, and some men are rarely boys, just serious women and men which is a shame for both. On the other hand, there are men who know how to enjoy being a girl and women who are great boys.

Girls like me can never be completely a woman, even with the best medical help, but we can certainly be girls and even ladies, which frankly is good enough for me. I used to be Robert, but now my boyfriends call me Bobbie.

Of course, one kind of fun is what boys and girls can do together. This is not men and women for reproduction -- it is people having fun and enjoying their differences. I love being a girl and I love having sex with boys!

It wasn't always like that. Being a man or woman is serious business: adulthood and responsibilities in society, plus biological duties. I was a man, who had managed sex a few times, but did not really enjoy it as much as the marketing suggested I would. It was something you had to do, like pass exams or eating broccoli, because everyone said you should, and it would be wrong not to.

Female bodies were interesting, and ejaculation was pleasant, but it was not what the books and films led you to believe. I clearly wasn't doing it right, but did not know why. I never got a second date because it obviously wasn't that much fun for the young woman trying to be a girl with a man who did not know how to be a boy.

This is the story of how I got it right, all thanks to a lovely person called George. It was not overnight.

CHAPTER 2

I was a home care assistant. That is, I visited the houses of elderly or disabled people to carry out or help them with some domestic tasks: cleaning, tidying, perhaps making a meal. We often help with official letters they receive and may not fully understand, to do with bills or tax.

Sometimes we are the only person they see during the week. We can report if they are struggling, or if some promised feature such as rails or a stairlift has not been fitted or is not working.

As this is a caring task which cannot be done on a computer, it is of course badly paid, and we are generally rushed. Like most home carers, I usually spent longer than I was paid for, and did things I was not there to do, in order to help. As one of the rare male ones, I was only dealing with men. (It is OK for women to help men, but some women object to a man because we do not see them at their best and they are embarrassed.)

So this was how I came to know George.

When I first came in, he was a depressed looking man in a tracksuit with long lank hair, but he brightened up a bit when he saw I was a man, saying what a nice change it was.

The next time, he had smartened up a bit. His hair had been washed, though it needed cutting; but he refused my suggestion of a home visit by a barber. We talked a bit. It seemed that he had not had a particularly interesting job or life and had no immediate family or friends nearby.

What I told him was similarly uninteresting, though it was very short of the truth. I wasn't going to share the most important thing with a stranger. No family or real friends about, and just my job, which gave me some satisfaction at least.

The following week I noticed he had a dressing on his leg which needed changing, so actually did it. I noticed some other things about his health, and ended up phoning his doctor's practice and talking to a nurse, who was very concerned and helpful. I just said I was a friend.

Two weeks later he was looking better. Treatment had been adjusted, so he had less pain and said he could move a little more easily. But as he was brighter, he also asked me how I knew and what a man like me was doing in this job, and I told him.

This was my big secret, but for some reason I confided in him. I guess we must have sensed something in each other. We were alike, though I did not yet know it.

"I used to be a nurse, but got struck off. I was just trying to help patients, but I was accused of a terrible thing, and I can't ever do anything to do with medicine again. I shouldn't really be doing this, but the council outsources the service to a company which asks very few questions, just so long as we take the minimum wages. Some of the other carers are illegal immigrants for sure. If the company knows, they don't care, and will pretend they didn't know if any of us are discovered. But there's a shortage, so no-one wants to investigate and reduce the service even further."

He was not stupid. He asked me what the terrible thing was, and I said I wouldn't say. But somehow looking into his friendly and concerned face, I felt I could trust him, and it was such a burden having the secret.

"I was accused of sexual abuse -- rape in effect. All I did was masturbate some men who could not manage it themselves. Some had mental disabilities as well as physical ones, but they were all grateful and asked me to do it again. Some of the female nurses were very pretty and these young men got erections and must have been aching with frustration. I was just so sorry for them, and it seemed a simple little kindness on the night shift."

"Anyway, someone found out. There was a disciplinary hearing where it was said that I had 'slaked my lusts on these vulnerable patients, sexually abusing them for my own pleasure.' I was threatened with prison, but they hushed it up because the newspapers would have had a field day, and I was chucked out."

I was crying with the emotion, and when he opened his arms, I just went into them. He was patting me and saying 'there, there' as people do. As I quietened down, he kissed me on the cheek and I could see he was crying too.

"That's one of the saddest stories I've heard," he said. "But don't worry, I won't tell a soul. Just make us a cup of tea, would you, and I'll share my secret, if you don't mind."

The secret was this. He used to dress up in women's clothes and have sex with men. That's when he told me what a girl was, as I have already told you. And he described the girl he had been and the one I was to become, though we neither of us realised it.

"I always admired what I called the pure gays," he said. "Two masculine men who enjoyed each other's bodies just as they were. Not girls at all, just very good at being boys."

"I was what they call a sissy slut. Sissies essentially try to be girly women. We love the most feminine clothing, makeup and generally being treated as a girl. Some are just happy like that. They never have sex with men, and quite a few are married to understanding wives."

"Some get into a relationship with a man and are faithful to him. For some others, like me, one cock is never enough. We are the sluts. We aren't whores: we don't sell sex, we offer it for free, but only to men we like and who treat us right."

He looked a bit sad.

"It was a great life," he said, and sighed. "But with my accident, and now arthritis, I can only be a girl in my head."

"And you don't have to offer to give me a handjob, because I would never take it. But knowing how grateful men are for having their cocks pulled, I can only say you are an angel who has been cruelly treated."

I had to go to my next client, but I was grateful for his concern. It also gave me some feelings I could not quite understand. I had to have a wank as soon as I got home.

CHAPTER 3

The next time I visited there was a surprise. He was wearing a dress and wig, and had on lipstick and his eyebrows lined. It was a bit crude. I was glad to see his leg had healed.

"Sorry I couldn't do better with the makeup," he said. "Arthritis really makes it difficult."

"Could you do me a couple of favours, this time?"

Of course, I said I would.

"First of all, could you do up my bra? I can't manage round the back. You'll have to undo it before you go, of course."

As I was doing this, he asked "Could you also shave my legs? Just with the electric shaver? A wet shave is better, but I am so embarrassed to show my legs like this."

Of course I did, then got on with the chores and chat. He reminisced about cocks he had sucked and wanked, and how he loved them. I could feel a bit of stiffness coming, so tried to concentrate on other things.

When it was time to go, I made a suggestion.

"If you like, you can wear a bra all day, and I will stop by at about six to undo it."

His face lit up.

"You are so kind! If it's not too much trouble, that would be wonderful! Then I can be Georgie all day!"

That evening I came back as promised. He was so grateful to have spent the day as a girl, even if alone.

Somehow, I felt I had to offer something else.

"Um, er... would you like to suck my cock? Just this once?"

He looked in astonishment.

"I must be dead, and you must be an angel!"

Then he began to cry.

I had been thinking about cock sucking several times during the day, and had to hide an erection a couple of times, so I was sure I was going to give him a mouthful of spunk and thought how happy he would be.

Strangely, it did not work out that way.

He really knew what he was doing, and it was pleasant. I got fairly hard, and it seemed several times that I was going to rise up into that pre-cum excitement stage, but it never quite happened. After a while I drooped, and he let it go.

"Sorry," I said.

He was crying again.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not the pretty girl I was, and I can't use my hands like I used to."

I was embarrassed. I didn't know what to say, so I said what everyone does.

"There, there."

Then instinctively I kissed him on the lips.

"Thank you, Georgie. It was still nice for me. But did you enjoy having a cock in your mouth? Even if it didn't come?"

Somehow it was she, not he. Georgie, not George.

She brightened up a little.

"It was wonderful! I just love cock, and I haven't had it for so long. Just to hold it in my mouth again was fantastic."

"OK," I said "you can suck me every time, so long as we don't mind how it turns out."

CHAPTER 4

Next week she was in the tracksuit, but asked me to come upstairs with her. She took the stairlift. The bedroom was a woman's room, but rather cobwebbed. (I later put this right, of course, and added the room to my list of tasks.)

"I never let the women helpers upstairs," she said. In the wardrobe was a row of women's clothes. I helped her into a matching bra, briefs and suspender belt, then a tight-fitting dress with a zip up the back.

She sighed with pleasure, and said how long it had been since she had been able to wear it.

I shaved her legs and put stockings on the suspenders: something I had never done before.

She had not been able to comb her hair properly, so it took a lot of brushing to get the tangles out, but it looked better.

Under her instruction I put some mascara on her eyelashes, and eyeliner round her eyes. She looked much, much happier. In flat but pretty shoes she hobbled around on her walking sticks to admire herself in a full-length mirror.

I helped her to kneel on a cushion by the bed, took off my trousers and pants and sat down.

She spoke in a most seductive feminine voice that I had never heard before.

"Do me a favour, love. Just think about all those cocks you wanked. Remember how they came, and the joy you brought to those men. Just try."

Thinking back, I had done it for their sake, not my own. But there had been a certain feeling of triumph when I they came, and I had sort of admired the cock for its achievement.

Georgie's sucking and tonguing began, and I concentrated on cocks having pleasure till my own was rigid. Then it was all under way. The roller coaster was now heading along and there was nothing to do but enjoy the ride. There were exciting ups and downs and the inevitable crescendo, as I shot several times into her mouth and she slurped it up. I could see her smiling as she held on while I got soft, then she raised an eyebrow as it plopped out.

"See, Georgie's not lost her touch!" she said with satisfaction. "Now help me up, would you, please, darling."

I helped her up and we went downstairs for a cup of tea, but there was not much time as I was late for my next client.

I came back in the evening with a takeaway Chinese meal, and we sat at the table like a couple on a date. Georgie was radiant. Eventually she told me of her life which was anything but uninteresting! There had been good and bad, but she had eventually become a happy slut.

"I love cocks in any way I can take them," she explained. "I love seeing them come, I love the feel of spunk in my mouth. And let me tell you, until you've had an anal orgasm you don't know what true pleasure is! Of course, you being a nurse will know all about the prostate. I think it gives a man the closest to a female orgasm you can get."

I had sort of known this about gays, but not really thought about it. It made sense. But what could be pleasant about taking a cock in your mouth? I had to ask.

"Obviously it's all in the mind. I can't speak for the pure gays, but there is nothing that makes me feel more like a girl. It's good to feel the lust and enjoyment with your hand, but the mouth is so much more sensitive. Everyone likes to be on the receiving end of oral sex, so it is a thrill knowing what pleasure you are giving. Above all, of course, the cock is the absolute definition of maleness, and spunk is the proof. I love the smell, the feel and his enjoyment, to know that I am exciting him as a girl."

That evening I put a raw carrot in my mouth and sucked it like an imaginary cock. I could not see what the appeal was. But I was still wondering.

We did much the same the next week. I think Georgie had developed, or recovered, and I could see her more as a girl having fun in our little times together.

CHAPTER 4

I had been given some basic information, so knew that Georgie's birthday was coming up. It would be nice to say that it was a surprise, but I couldn't afford to pay for it all myself, so had to discuss it. Nevertheless, it went well.

I took the day off work.

It started by helping her into a bubble bath. She had a shower with a seat, but we knew that a girl could enjoy a long relaxing perfumed bath. At the end of it I shaved her legs right up to the bikini line. I had practised on myself, and had begun to appreciate the smoothness on my own body.

I helped her dry and moisturize. Then nice clothes and basic makeup, and I did what I could with her hair.

With a folding wheelchair I got her to my car, and went to a big shopping centre, where I was able to borrow a sturdier wheelchair, and go to our first stop: a hairdresser and beauty salon. I had been there before to make them fully aware of the situation, and what we wanted.

Her lank hair was washed, cut, tinted and given bounce in a style which we hoped would be easy to manage. Manicure and pedicure, of course, and full makeup (just a little over the top!). I was touched as she luxuriated in this unaccustomed pampering. I was interested in what was going on in the other chairs as well, and flipped through some magazines.

She was so happy as she came out, and the staff and some other customers said how good she looked.

The next was at a fancy lingerie shop where I had arranged for her to be measured and fitted with a couple of front-opening bras, which I insisted on paying for. (They also had new foam fillers, at my request -- not as expensive as the silicone ones.)

"Well, it's a long time since a man bought me underwear, so I will gladly accept," she said, sounding more like a girl than ever before. She also bought herself some pretty knickers and a new nightdress.

We got a good vantage point in the central food court where she could see and be seen, and had a leisurely meal as she commented on the dresses and makeup of the women passing by, and selected a few men as imaginary conquests. I took her to the disabled toilet, of course.

Back at her home, it was of course time for cock sucking. As a former nurse, I had of course washed my genitals thoroughly beforehand on previous times. This time she begged me not to. It was her day, so I just helped her onto her knees and stood in front of her. I released my belt and she struggled a bit, but got my pants down and my cock out, holding onto my hips. She remarked how smooth my legs were before getting down to work.

Her eyes were almost pleading with me, and I realised what was wanted.

"Oh yes! Suck that cock!" I said.

I wondered what it must be like for her and how could she enjoy it? The more I thought of this, the harder I became, and made some honest groans and "Yes!" sounds, as well as more demands to suck me.

I think for all concerned it was a good sucking: a good length and a good coming.

We made a meal together, and had an evening as friends.

It was quite early when she said she was ready for bed. She proudly showed how she could manage her new bra. She asked me not to help, and I watched to see how she overcame the difficulties of her conditions to do ordinary tasks. There was a lot more effort and ingenuity than I had guessed, and I admired her independence.

She didn't put on the new nightdress, but one she had ready. She was a little sad to take off the makeup, I could see, but put on night cream.

As I made ready to go, she handed me the knickers.

"These are for you. Every man should try it once. There are more men than you would suppose walking around with women's knickers under their smart suits. I think you will like it, but just promise me you'll try. That's all I ask. Apart from a goodnight kiss, of course."

When I got home, I was cleaning my teeth when I remembered the bubble bath. I had brought it back with me, since she could not manage a bath alone. It had seemed so luxurious, and it wasn't late, so I made myself a bath and had a long soak in the bubbles and perfume.

Getting out, I was very relaxed and as I dried myself remembered the knickers. Why not?

I put on a pair, and they felt very nice, of course. The material was luxuriously smooth and the lace was not hard. I also appreciated my smooth legs. Was this what it was like being a girl? Not bad.

I changed into my pyjamas.

In the morning I put the knickers on again, and felt amused at my secret all day, especially when I went to the toilet.

CHAPTER 5

Was it a coincidence that something happened while I was wearing them? Or was it something to do with the previous day?

It was one of my regular clients, Tony. He was not disabled or very old, just temporarily injured, so I was only given half an hour. I asked him if there was anything he needed and he answered "A good shag!"

Looking at his bandaged hands, I realised he couldn't wank himself and was sorry for him, as I had been for the patients when I was a nurse.

"I can't do that," I heard myself say, "but I could give you a handjob, if you like."

Understandably he was astonished.

"Do you really do that?" he said.

"Only to myself," I said, "but seeing your hands I thought you must be desperate, and... sorry, just forget about it."

He was silent for a while.

"Well, if you could? How much do you charge?"

I was offended.

"I'm not selling sexual services! I just offered it as one man being sorry for another, that's all. I don't know why I said it. Now just let me get on with my job. Report me if you like, and I'll be sacked for trying to be kind!"