Magic Dress - Clarrie

CHAPTER 1

It was the best fuck I had ever had, and I think it was for him as well. He grunted as he shot his spunk inside me. He had fucked me hard but considerately.

"Fuck, you're wonderful!" he said, and kissed me. "You're so pretty, Clarrie."

"Thank you, darling," I said.

I suppose I was pretty, considering the prevailing standard.

Men in prison.

And it was still rape.

Even though I had consented, and called him darling.

But he hadn't hurt me, and I was treated well otherwise. It was better than having my arms twisted and forced to bend over, like it had been before. Face to face, for the first time, which was good for him, it appears.

Like many people in prison I was an innocent man. I was not entirely without fault, as I had actually used my position of trust for financial advantage, but not the major crime for which I had been convicted, partly on the evidence of the man who had done it.

Being quite small and named Clarence, I was immediately called Clarrie and marked out as a victim. I had fought back, of course, but it was a foregone conclusion. Barney was a big ugly man who had injured people before. Thankfully no-one had broken my teeth before he took me over as his bitch.

On the first rapes my thoughts had been fantasies of how to kill him, and not care about the consequences. A sharpened toothbrush handle was the usual weapon, but I knew it was futile to attack him. It was more likely that I would be critically injured and possibly be disabled for life. His broken nose and scars showed that he had survived many fights before. Very few would take the chance now.

Eventually I decided that a cock up my arse was not that bad when you got used to it. I decided to go with the flow, and started acting as a woman. I had a minimum of two years to survive, even with good behaviour. I was going to get fucked anyway, so at least I had some measure of control.

By playing along I got some advantages. No-one else bullied me, and I got fair shares of food. Barney got me some lipstick and I wore it. The screws took no notice. I was offered drugs, but I knew the damage they could cause. I acted as I thought a woman, in fact a lady, should act, and was interested to see how this affected the men around. They were rightly cautious of Barney, of course, but starved of female company.

I thought of the way my sister and mother had controlled Dad. The expression of preferences rather than outright requests. Barney began to moderate his language a little and learned to say please when he wanted me to suck him off or present my arse for his pleasure. I had no choice, of course, but at least that was better. He even treated me somewhat clumsily as he thought a gentleman might, and protected me from the others. Fortunately, he did not seem to be carrying disease, and I made him promise to only fuck me.

Very soon I didn't get elbowed or rudely jostled as I had at the beginning by other prisoners. However, there was sometimes a hand on my bum in the food queue and the occasional stiff cock against my cheeks in crowds.

In a sense I enjoyed the power that this limited femininity gave me. And a cock up the arse could even be described as pleasant if it was greased and not forced.

You can get anything in prison if you have the resources and influence. Barney got me a bra and some knickers. I wore them under my prison overall, and washed and dried them in my cell. The screws said nothing (though I noticed them laughing to each other at the beginning.) The prison barber (in response to a bribe) cut my long hair in something like a female style. Even the screws called me Clarrie.

I guess Barney as an ugly and violent criminal had only ever paid for sex or raped. He started to treat me as a girlfriend. We kissed, held hands and talked a bit like normal people.

It was a relief for me, and also an experience of a sort. I had not been successful with girls. The most I had managed was a few kisses with a girl who shared my love of studying. We had a date, in which we were both embarrassed and incompetent before we went off to our different universities. When I saw her next, she had an engagement ring. In my professional life I had always got on with women, but as equals rather than possible sexual partners. Fortunately (I suppose) I had a low sex drive so was mentally rather than physically frustrated. I would still have liked someone to share my life and to cuddle in bed.

Finally it was the day of release. One of the screws told me they were grateful for the way I had kept Barney calm. Barney kept my underwear, of course. He acted so differently from the brute who had first violated me. He hugged and kissed me, and actually started to cry.

"Will I ever see you again?" he asked, desperately.

"Maybe," I said.

Then it was freedom and I was back to being Clarence.

CHAPTER 2

Freedom was not that great. I had very little money and was barred for life from the job I loved. Getting any job at all was difficult for an ex-con. Then a few things happened which changed my life.

I went to a charity place. They took donations from the general public and sold them very cheaply, but also supplied them free to people in need. I had been referred to get some kitchen things for my little room and basic clothes.

I was feeling very down at the state I had been reduced to. When the young man asked me my name I must have said "Clarrie", as I had been used to it for so long. I followed listlessly, and we got a kettle, saucepan and some cutlery, plus two mugs and a few items of crockery. Then he took me to the clothing.

"We can let you have something decent for interview, and you can buy anything else you want for a pound or so. How about this? It looks about your size and would be good for interview."

He held up a green dress. With a shock I came out of my dull state.

"It's nice, but I'm a man," I managed to say. "My name's Clarence." He was mortified, apologising profusely, and took me to the men's clothing. In my cheap tracksuit and hairstyle I suppose I didn't really look like anything. Actually, I still had the suit I had worn at the trial, but needed some other clothes more suitable for the kind of job I was going to get. My other possessions had been seized and sold to recompense the company I had supposedly stolen from, or rather their insurance company.

On the way back, I could not help stopping at the green dress. There was something about it.

The charity volunteer suddenly smiled as if a light bulb had gone on above his head.

"You gave your name as Clarrie. Is that a name you've been known by, or would like to be known by? Would you really like the dress?"

"Well, er, no," I said in a sufficiently unconvincing tone for him to start preaching.

"It's called gender dysphoria," he said, proud of the long words. "Where people aren't sure if they want to be in the gender they were allocated at birth. I can put you in touch with some people who might help. Meanwhile, why don't you take the dress and try it? Bring it back if you don't like the idea. Ask for me, Peter. Just a minute."

He dived off and came back with a small packet.

"This is a bra and panty set in your chest size. Unopened bankrupt stock. I'll give you a leaflet for gender help at the counter. And the church at the top of the road will welcome you, whatever your name and however you dress."

I took my loot and went back to the shabby tenement which was now my home.

Having used the shower I shared with four other tenants, I went back to my room.

Why not? I thought. On went the bra and panties and the green dress, and I looked at myself in the mirror.

"Not bad, Clarrie," I said to my reflection.

Then everything became clear. The vague thoughts and emotions which had been swirling around in my head crystallized. I knew what I wanted. I wanted Barney, and I had to be his Clarrie. Somehow putting on that dress got rid of my worries and frustrations. I knew who I was, and was calm. My life made sense.

I also knew that the green dress was only my first one. It was always going to be my special one. My best one. My one for Barney.

Next day at the Job Centre there was a man furtively speaking only to women in the room. I was sitting dejectedly looking down, and with my long hair and slight physique he made the same mistake.

"Nothing kinky," he whispered to me. "Just a few hours washing dishes. Cash in hand. No national insurance, no tax. Girls only." He dropped a typed piece of paper in my hand with the name of a restaurant and bar, before a security man got to him, and he hurried out.

Well, if people thought I was a woman, and it was a bit more money than the dole, why not?

I bought some cheap lipstick, combed my hair and in my tracksuit went for job interview. I guessed that looking poor and desperate was the main requirement.

The man in the restaurant barely glanced at me. I would be paid less than the legal minimum for as many hours as they needed me, and only if they needed me, and could be sacked at any time. They only needed a first name.

The kitchen had men to do the cooking and women to do the cleaning. You could generally pay women less than men, and boss them around, which is why they were recruited. The men were not paid well, but we worked hard for less, a few hours at a time. Seeing what happened, I would not advise anyone to eat there. The wages were not the only illegal practices. But extra money was useful while I waited in vain for a proper job.

I always shaved and put on lipstick before going to the restaurant. I didn't have a bra, but then I was not going to be on show.

One evening, the restaurant manager came in and spoke to the chef.

"Just a minute, girls," he said. "Look over here." We stopped and did what we were told.

"You," said the manager, pointing at me. "What's her name?" he asked the chef, who told him.

"You, Carrie. If you want some extra money. No. If you want to keep your job, clean up and put on some makeup. We've got two waitresses off, and you look about Tracy's size." He rushed off.

One of the other cleaners, a rather large older woman and a widow with two children, took my elbow.

"Come with me, dear. I'll see you right."

"But I'm..." I began to protest.

"I know what you are," she insisted, taking me to the staff toilet and changing area. "You're a man. But he doesn't seem to have noticed, and it's quite dark upstairs. They're obviously busy. I'll make you up. If you refuse, he'll sack you anyway, so give it a go. Make sure you keep the tips. Don't put them in the staff box."

With makeup on I went upstairs. One of the waitresses rushed in, opened Tracy's locker and told me to help myself. The staff outfit was a classic waitress one with a fairly short skirt but a high enough neck not to give me away. The waist was all right, but it was loose on my hips. I had no bra, but stuffed my socks in to make a sort of bust. Her shoes did not fit, so I had to continue in my trainers.

There were no waiters. The woman at the cash desk was obviously in charge. She gave me a nametag saying 'Carrie' and was displeased with my trainers, but said they would have to do, and gave me a spare pair of tights. I had no training, just a few minutes instruction in which hygiene was not mentioned once.

"If they leave a tip on the table, then tonight you can take it. If they give a tip here, I'll give you half. If they add to the credit card, tough luck for both of us. Smile!"

It was a busy evening, but strangely exhilarating.

It was dark, the bar area was noisy, and everyone was very busy. If a waitress had no customer to deal with for a few minutes she had to go and collect glasses from tables. I smiled, men smiled or leered back and my bum was patted several times.

When I finished, I got money at my usual rate but more hours, but a reasonable amount in tips. I insisted on sharing this next day with the woman who had made me up.

"See you tomorrow," said the cash woman. "Put on a decent bra."

I did three nights until Tracy came back. I was put on reserve, so always wore a bra. The restaurant grudgingly agreed to pay half the cost of some shoes to keep there.

The money was useful, but I was also getting used to being a woman.

CHAPTER 3

I finally got a proper legal job, as a hospital porter. I had proper training. I kept my hair long but tied it back in a ponytail. I had not myself realised how valuable we were, just moving things about. Nor how invisible we were. Trolleys and wheelchairs were moved around, sometimes with patients in them, and we were hardly noticed. Not by the patients, not by the doctors. Only the nurses and nursing assistants greeted us.

I also went back to the charity shop where Peter (I thought of him as Saint Peter) was glad to sell me some more women's clothes for very little. In these (not the precious green dress) I practised going outside, which was harder than in the restaurant. Eventually I could put on basic makeup reasonably well, and have a meal in a café or buy something in a shop.

I also worked the occasional evening in the restaurant as a waitress.

Barney got a big surprise when I turned up at a visiting day. As Clarrie in the green dress! I was really becoming a woman in my spare time. Clarrie.

I visited him every month, and was there as I had promised when he was released. He had money and a place to go, so that was where the taxi took us. He was obviously expecting sex straight away, but I told him no.

"It was rape at the beginning, and I can't quite forgive you yet. I want you to treat me like a normal girlfriend for a while. Let's go on dates, and see if there is anything more before I commit to you."

He eagerly agreed.

Barney's criminal career had obviously been profitable, as he took me to expensive restaurants. We went shopping and he bought me some nice shoes, flats and heels, plus some sexy underwear.

But I never allowed him to do more than kiss me.

Until the day I gave him a handjob in a dark area of a dance club, and said "next time!"

For next time, I went to his apartment with a bottle of drink. He went to get a Chinese takeaway. I insisted he went to wash his hands while I put out the food and poured drinks.

"To us!" I said. "And to lovemaking!" with which he heartily agreed.

We proceeded with our meal.

"You're not eating much," he remarked.

"I'm not hungry," I answered, pouring him another drink. "Just too excited!"

"I don't feel well," he said, going pale. Then his face contorted.

"What is it darling?" I asked.

"It hurts," he gasped. I kissed him on the forehead.

"It's supposed to," I answered with a smile.

"Excruciating, in fact."

"Why?" he gasped.

"That's what you get when you rape a qualified pharmacist!" I said with glee.

He tried to get up, but failed, groaning in agony.

"I took note of the tablets you took in prison, and arranged a bit of an interaction with them and alcohol and something I took from the hospital. It will be assumed you got it on the street."

"Fuck you, bitch!" he said.

"Bad language," I admonished him. "And I was just thinking about giving you the antidote." I showed him a syringe, and a little hope appeared in his eyes, followed by a narrowing I knew well as he became cunning.

"Listen," he gasped. "There's a holdall with money in the wardrobe. We can share it. I've got more. I'm sorry how it started, but now I love you. Please, Clarrie, I beg you!"

"OK, you've learned your lesson."

He looked so grateful as the needle entered his vein, and smiled as he felt a burning rush.

This changed to a series of painful gasps, and he stopped breathing.

I had earlier put clear nail varnish on my finger tips and had been careful where I touched. I put the syringe in his hand, then on the floor. I washed and dried the plate and glass to make it look like only one person had been eating. I put the remaining spring roll and food from my plate in a plastic bag to dispose of elsewhere.

I had two packets with a little of the drugs still sticking to the sides, which I dropped on the floor. In the wardrobe I took only a quarter of the money to rule out robbery. I found a key to a locker at the station, which was the only other thing I took. I put on my coat, a pair of glasses and a headscarf, and left.

I was pleased to find there was a larger amount of cash in the station locker. A few days later there was a small report in the newspaper of suspected drug overdose. The police were not looking for anyone else in connection with the incident. They were doubtless glad to see the end of Barney and would not want the trouble of a thorough investigation. The Coroner warned of the uncertain composition of street drugs and the dangers of mixing them with alcohol and prescribed medicines.

As Clarence I went back to my job as a hospital porter. I was careful with the money, just spending it in small amounts mixed with other notes, as I didn't know if any of it could be traced. The £50 ones were a particular concern, so I used them one by one in different betting shops or at the dog track to place bets. Sometimes I won and got cash I could spend. I got a better place to stay. I had a haircut and one of the nurses said it was good that I had smartened myself up, so I asked her out. My practice being on the other side of a date helped, and it was not long before we had sex, which was actually rather good. I like fucking a lot better than being fucked. My sex drive turned out to be higher than I had supposed.

But one day I looked in the wardrobe and saw the green dress. And I started thinking of the lying bastard who had put me in prison instead of himself. I put on the dress.

CHAPTER 4

He didn't recognise me, but then we had not known each other that well. In fact, we had kept apart to allay suspicion. I had been an innocent pharmacist tempted by a bit of money on the side, and he had been the representative of a drugs company. We only met twice before the court case, where he positively identified me as the ringleader.

I had actually only received two thousand pounds in all, but unknowingly had facilitated a fraud of over two hundred thousand. The offshore bank account (that I did not know I had) had been used to pass the money elsewhere. Some purchases in my name suggested access to more money. It appeared that I had used him rather than the other way around. He was so sorry at having been tempted by me, and the police confirmed his cooperation.

He got a short sentence, which allowing for time on remand meant that he was freed immediately. I got five years. My solicitor begged me to reveal where the money was, to get the sentence reduced, but I stuck to my 'not guilty' plea and was punished for it by the judge, along with a lecture.

Of course, the fact that I was now a woman made a difference (and quite a smart one, I might say). I worked as waitress full-time and lived as a woman in the same way. Saint Peter at the charity shop had been delighted that I went to a gender issues support group. They had been very helpful, though not in the way they thought.

I actually had no gender issues. I was a man who had been regularly fucking a rather nice nurse. But I was dedicated to revenge, and would do anything to achieve it. Revenge for the loss of my career and my friends. Revenge for the bullying I had received in prison on remand. Most of all, revenge for the two years I had spent being raped by a horrible ugly man, Barney.

Barney was now dead, but he was the instrument not the cause. I gave up my nurse in order to become a woman. In order to kill the man who was the cause: handsome Jonathan, who had looked so contrite as he lied his head off in court.

I would do anything to repeat the satisfaction I felt in seeing Barney dying. Having been used as a woman, I found I could fairly easily pass myself off as one. The gender issues group had given me all the extra help I needed.