Magic Dress - Petra Act 01

CHAPTER 1

I screwed up my courage and picked them up. Panties. Ladies' knickers. Women's underwear! I added them to the tights I had in my hand and went to the counter. I was in Marks and Spencer, buying women's underwear! The assistant did not look at me, but just passed them across the barcode reader and announced the price in a bored voice.

"They're for my mother," I said in a frightened squeak. Then she looked at me. Really looked. And smirked. Shit! I knew the best thing was not to say anything, and that is what I planned. So stupid to draw attention to myself. I gave her the wrong money and she had to ask for another 50 p.

Did I want a bag? I nodded. Did I have a store card? I shook my head. At last they were in my rucksack and red-faced I went out.

On the bus I got that feeling that everybody knows. Which makes you look nervous, so they don't know, but wonder what you are hiding.

Home at last to ponder my miserable self. I had done well at a good grammar school. (At least it was a boys' grammar school and the headmaster often told us that it was a good one.) I got good A levels and went to a good university, (good for similar reasons: not Oxbridge, but good) to do English and Theatre Studies. According to the prospectus, employers were falling over themselves to hire graduates like me, valuing us for our skills in critical analysis and advanced communication. However, here I was, having done so well in a project on mediaeval theatre, unable to find a job commensurate with my intellectual standing. Loafing around at home while my parents were at work.

Maybe if I had a job, I would have concentrated on other things, but it seemed all I could think about was how nice it would be to be dressed as a girl. Actually I had been once, and I had hated it, so why did I want it now? It was in the final year at school that I was in the play, and was cast as one of two female parts on grounds that the costume was my size. The word mortified would describe my state of mind on stage: I wished I were dead. (Note, not 'was dead'. Subjunctive, not indicative.)

All the boys knew it would be a risk, of course, but hoped to play the lead. Yes, I hated it, but somehow in retrospect I felt I sort of enjoyed it. To be fair to myself, I think I acted quite well. Perhaps I only hated it because I was expected to. I did Theatre Studies at university, not Drama, but we did some little bits of acting to help our understanding. However, the problem in my class was an oversupply of females and a preponderance of masculine roles. Still, some of the mediaeval costumes were quite like a dress and I remember thinking it was a shame that men could not dress like that today. I started looking at my fellow female students in a different way. Most came in some sort of trousers and top, but I befriended a couple who liked to come in cheerful dresses and skirts. Again in hindsight, I was appreciating their clothes as much as them, though they were nice. I went out with both of them, though never got further than snogging.

At home with nothing much to do, I was volunteered to do the laundry while Mum was at work. Constantly handling her clothes, that is when I got attracted to them and started trying on garments before washing them.

The day I arrived with my own panties and tights, I put them on, then a bra, padded with socks and admired myself. Then a slip and more admiration, then an actual dress! It got to be my habit to dress up before doing the laundry, taking the clothes off to add to the washing machine, which I started while naked and with a huge erection. A very satisfying wank then took place. Afterwards I took care to remove my own panties from the washed clothes and hide them with my tights. I also started to wear panties under my normal clothes.

No, I was never found out. Something much stranger happened.

CHAPTER 2

For some reason I decided to visit my school. This was usually done by old boys who had just had some great success as an opportunity to boast, but I really wanted to see my old English teacher. In fact (like many people) I had chosen my degree subject for no other reason that it was my favourite subject and that only because he was my favourite teacher. He had taught us for three years in a row and was inspiring. Not just my opinion, everyone said so.

I went in, found the staff room and timidly knocked on the door. The chemistry teacher opened it. She didn't recognise me, of course, but I knew who she was, as one of the few women teachers, actually very nice but known as Stinking Violet by the boys because of her subject. I explained who I was and she invited me in, saying he was teaching, but it was last period. I sort of hesitated before crossing to the inner sanctum, the holy of holies where no boy was ever allowed. I still felt like a schoolboy, of course. She must have seen this as she smiled and encouraged me. In fact, she had probably seen it before with old boys turning up.

She made me a cup of coffee and I said "Thank you, Miss," at which she managed not to laugh.

"Weren't you in the school play?" she asked. "In a green dress?"

"Don't remind me," I sighed.

"I thought you were rather good," she answered with another smile. "Considering your disadvantages."

"What disadvantages?"

"You were an 18-year-old boy, officially a man, so it must have been really embarrassing for you. Secondly you were a teenager, a terrible curse, but at least it seems to have worn off." I liked her and wondered if I should have tried harder at science.

The bell went and there was the familiar rumble like a herd of buffalos, and a series of teachers started to come in with 'I'm glad that's over' expressions and body language, some grumbling about the nitwits they had to teach. A couple greeted me and made perfunctory enquiries out of good manners.

Then Mr Harris came in, drooping like the rest.

"Simon," said Violet whatever-her-name-was. "Look who's come to visit."

At once he brightened. "Peter," he said, "my favourite student!" and shook my hand and put his arm around me. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

To which I should have made some witty remark or quoted Ibsen or something, but instead (with horror) heard myself say "Dunno. I just sort of thought I'd come and say hello." Grade A English and a degree, and I said 'Dunno' and 'just sort of'!

He sat down, as the others bustled about, some getting piles of marking together, some making coffee and some just flopping. "You got your degree, of course?"

"Yes," I said. "2.1 honours,"

"Excellent," he said, looking disappointed. "And what are you doing now?"

"Nothing much," I said listlessly. (Why did I come?) "I'm unemployed, so back at home."

"Look," he said "why don't you come home with me? I promised Freda I would be home early for once." I remembered Freda was his wife, who had come to the school for various events, and some of the boys sniggered at her name. "Oh, when do you have to be home?"

I told him dinner would be at 7 and he said I should text my mum and he would get me back for then.

"Thank you, Mr Harris," I said automatically.

"For pity's sake," he laughed, "try to call me Simon!"

"Yes sir," I said and we both gave up.

At his house we were greeted by Mrs Harris. They kissed and he said "Peter, this is Dr Freda Harris. Freda, love, this is Peter."

"Oh Si!" she said (said like sigh) "I wish you wouldn't do that!" and she play slapped him. "Peter, if you call me anything but Freda, I shall be most annoyed."

"Pleased to meet you...er Freda," I managed to say.

"I'm so glad to meet Si's special pet." I was embarrassed and surprised.

"I'm sorry," said the man I was trying not to think of as Mr Harris. "Teachers are not supposed to have favourites, but I did."

"Don't I know it!" laughed Freda, "He was always coming home and telling me about your essays, how witty they were and insightful. That reminds me, we've got something of yours. I'll go and get it." I did not know what it could be. Had I forgotten something?

She came back with a green dress on a hanger. The one I had worn in the play.

"He was so proud of that play and your part in it, he kept it as a souvenir. It is probably theft of school property."

I was dumbstruck for two reasons. Firstly because of what I had just been told. Secondly because I wanted that dress. More than anything I wanted that dress.

"I know you were a bit uncomfortable," said Simon, "but you did carry off that role, and it was the key character."

"I thought the key characters were Matthew and Eric," I said.

"Come on, Mr Hotshot English graduate!" said Freda. "Even a simple scientist like me could see that was just the setting, like the feud in Romeo and Juliet. The real story was the unrequited love between Petra and Silas, with Veronica and James running interference."

It was obvious. Why with all my skills in critical analysis had I not realised it? I managed to create a distraction.

"What sort of scientist, Mrs... er Freda?"

"A humble chemist: test-tubes and smells, not your local pharmacy. From the same university as Si here, which he tells me is a good one."

"The same as yours," said Simon to me. I supposed that is where they had met.

It reminded me of Stinking Violet.

"Do you know St.. er the lady chemistry teacher at our school?"

"Violet? Oh yes, she's great, and a full member of the RSC to boot!"

"The Royal Shakespeare Company?" I said, somewhat puzzled.

"No, you pudding! The Royal Society of Chemistry. It's a sort of chemists' mafia. Now don't try and distract us when we were trying to praise you. You were his favourite student and he really did think you were the only one who could do it. Didn't it strike you as a coincidence that she was named Petra and played by Peter?"

She got me a cup of tea and a nice piece of cake and we chatted while I tried not to look at the dress.

It turned out that Simon had in fact contributed a couple of pieces of drama for the radio, and was trying to persuade someone to produce his play. I asked if there was a copy of the script I could borrow, which pleased him. I realised (and explained) that I had been too busy trying to learn my own part that I had not really thought about the overall story in the detail I should.

We were just about to leave when Freda thought of something.

"Si, why don't you take Peter to the theatre tomorrow? As we've got tickets. It's more his thing than mine, and I have got some RSC stuff to get on with. I am sure you two can have erudite discussions afterwards."

CHAPTER 3

Mum was pleased to hear that I might be getting out, and said that Mr Harris had always seemed such a nice man, and she was glad he had such a nice wife. It took me a long time to understand the significance of this remark, considering my supposed skills.

Over the next months I saw Simon and Freda a lot. Sometimes we went to the cinema together and discussed films, but with the theatre it was always just me and Simon. I quickly grew confident enough to argue with him which he greatly enjoyed. It was better than moping around, Mum said, but it shouldn't stop me from having fun with friends my own age. And if I wanted to bring a girl home, they would understand so long as we took precautions.

Simon found me an acting job (ha ha!) It was one day as an extra on some TV programme where I pretty much had to stand around in old clothes and a flat cap looking bored (which was definitely part of my skill set.) Still at least I could say I had appeared.

To be entitled to unemployment benefit, I had to be seen to be looking for jobs (which did not exist) so had to write a CV and patiently wait while some tosser with no knowledge of English grammar and little familiarity with the dictionary made changes which he thought were corrections. A typical example was changing "would have" to "would of". I ask you! I quickly learned that it was best not to argue, but let them get on with it and watch the clock move slowly on, just like in school. We also had lectures on things like "diversity training" which was basically that we should not beat up people of different colour, religion, gender or sexual preferences. No mention was made of rival football team supporters, so they were presumably fair game.

Along with all the others, I had to make applications to a specific number of jobs each week irrespective of whether I was in any way suitable. It must be terrible for the employers to receive such mountains of dross to sort through. Of the few jobs on offer, most wanted things like abattoir experience or having been trained to drive a fork-lift truck. None mentioned critical analysis, or advanced communication skills.

Freda suggested I could do one day's voluntary work in a charity shop a week without using my unemployment benefit. This had the advantage of putting me in contact with women's clothes so I got some vicarious pleasure from thinking about wearing them while pretending to put the stock neatly in order. A couple of times when I was alone on the till, I sold myself a couple of items which I took home and hid. I wished I had my own bra, but they rarely came into stock, and the few that did were for football sized breasts. Nevertheless, it was good to see myself in a skirt and flowery top, then pull up the skirt, crouch down and wank at myself in the mirror. Not elegant or edifying but definitely satisfying. I liked women's clothes and I liked having a wank, so together even better. Diversity!

Meanwhile I was going out with my former English teacher. He was 32 and I was 22. I did not think of it in terms of going out, but anyone else would have recognised it as dating. Finally, it was Freda who (following Freytag's analysis of the structure of a play) brought our rising action to a climax in both a figurative and literal sense one evening. Of course, we would have to wait for the denouement to find out if it was a comedy or tragedy.

"You really are two puddings. Both of you on stage too busy with your lines to understand the plot! Peter, don't you understand that Si loves you? Ever since he saw you in the play he has been smitten. He's often said what a shame it was that you weren't a real girl, but the way you've been acting around him, you might as well have been. Petra was a fantasy, but there's something that has developed between you which is not."

My witty response was to stand there with my mouth open.

"Listen, Si is desperate to kiss you and I think you should let him. If it disgusts you, then you can stop hanging around us and find some nice girls to fuck, and Si can just get over it and find someone else, like I did when I broke up with Sarah. Go on."

"You want your husband to kiss me?"

"He's not my husband, you ninny! He's my younger brother. We inherited the house from our parents and have no reason to move out. And if you haven't worked it out, Violet is my girlfriend. We have chemistry together but don't need to live together. We wear wedding rings to save getting bothered. Si, get on with it! Stage direction left. Action!"

It happened. He took me in his arms and kissed me. And I kissed him back.

"Simon!" I said.

"That's not my name," he whispered. "Call me Silas."

"Silas!" I said.

"I love you," he said. And I understood the play. Silas so desperately wanting Petra but unable to tell her and Petra not knowing what she wanted and missing the signs which should have told her. Of course! Petra was obviously an idiot, and I was perfectly cast.

(He called himself Simon because he had been bullied at school over the name Silas, which sounded like a comic villain but was actually a saint. Only his closest family called him Si. Both he and Freda were named after grandparents.)

Freda had left the room. She came back with the dress, the padded bra from the play and some nice panties which definitely were not.

"I'm going to bed," she said. "Do the same if you want."

CHAPTER 4

There was no other course of action for me. I stripped off my clothes and put on the bra, panties and dress. And Silas held me again. And we kissed. And it was so right. I was Petra, the woman he loved, at last united with him. Not a word was said.

Silas knelt down, slowly raised my skirt and gently pulled down my panties. Then he put his lips on my cock. Just a light kiss at first, then holding my knob between his lips. I felt it all slowly starting to swell, and he took more into his mouth. There was no hurry. We just felt the intimate physical contact. Can there be anything more trusting than a cock in a mouth?

I could just say 'he sucked my cock' but that would not express the soft loving movements with his lips and tongue. It was nothing like a wank, it was lovemaking. Finally, it was standing so hard it was almost painful, and the pleasure was almost too much and I could feel the semen gathering as his hand held me and his tongue and lips seemed to be saying "come, come". I was trying to hold still, but could not stop myself thrusting a little as I spasmed and pulsed with glorious ejaculations and his mouth still held me, and I could hear him gulping and gasping a little as he swallowed.

"Si!" I said, and it contained a whole world of meaning.

It was literally the greatest pleasure of my life, and I knew that I wanted to give the same to him. Immediately!

We did not speak, but he went to the sofa, sat down and undid his belt and zip. I knelt down, pulled down his trousers, then his pants as he raised his bum to help me. Then my face was on his stiff cock and balls. I had never been close to man in this way. It was musky and sweaty and I loved the smell. I sort of wiped my face across it to experience it all, then took his balls one by one into my mouth and tongued and sucked them. I had never done anything like this before, but I instinctively knew what to do. I kissed my way up his cock, all along the tube up to just below the head, felt around with my tongue and moved up to slowly take the knob in my mouth. There was a flavour to it all, slightly sour, musky, not what you would normally call pleasant, but the flavour of man which at that moment was perfect. I was kneeling in my favourite dress with my mouth around the knob of my favourite person. I could not see us, of course, but the picture was in my head and is with me still. A perfect moment in my life.

I poured all my love onto him through his cock. I did not think what I was doing. I only knew I was loving him as much as I could and trying to give him pleasure. And he rewarded me, pulsing strongly into my mouth. And I too was gulping and gasping and trying not to lose a drop. It was thick and slimy and had a taste, all of which you would not normally call pleasant, but at that moment it was perfect. This was my man, coming into my mouth and I had everything I wanted in the world. I held his cock gently in my mouth as it began to shrink, which I found very touching. I continued to hold it gently. I had no plan to do anything else, just kneel there with Si's cock in my mouth.

In a while he said "I love you. But I need to pee." I let him go. (But I thought with some excitement "one day he will piss in my mouth!" which was a bit strange as an idea. I have literally no idea where it came from.)

We staggered upstairs. Clothes were abandoned except for the dress which I put on its hanger.

We both pissed, made a perfunctory wipe to clean most of the semen off, and went to his bed. I had never shared a bed since I was a small child. We started hugging naked. Somehow there seemed nothing to say, and every possibility that speaking might break the spell. Then he lay on his back and I put my head on his chest, which was nice. And I held his soft cock gently in my hand, which was even nicer. Then I went down and kissed and sucked it a little. Just affection. I lay back and he did the same to me. We kissed on the lips again, then lay there holding hands.