Magic Dress Pt. 01

I was doing my usual Friday evening activity of sitting exhausted after the week and gazing at some drivel in the television. My wife Eve came into the room carrying a dress she had not worn for a couple of years. She held it against herself and looked at me. "This is such a nice dress. I always liked it. The only thing I regret about losing weight is that this dress is too big. I wonder if I could take it in?"

Yes, it was a nice dress and she looked good in it, although she bought it when she had put on some weight. When it started to feel tight, that made her determined and she had dieted and exercised back to something she was satisfied with. (And I was very satisfied with.)

Any woman would give you a detailed technical description. As a man, all I could say was it was sort of green, not especially low-cut, was sleeveless and had a knee-length skirt which could spread out if she twirled. Oh, yes - pleats, they're called. Why was it a nice dress? I don't know. But it was.

"Put it on, please," she said. "I want to look at it and see what needs doing. I think you're about the same size as I was then."

Of course I protested. I had had a hard week and just wanted to relax. Anyway, I would feel a bit silly.

"You are being silly," she said. "I'm just asking you to stand like a dummy - you shouldn't find that difficult. There's no effort involved, and I won't think you're gay. There's no-one else here. No-one can see us. It will only take five minutes, and it's not exactly hard work."

While I continued to grumble, she started getting me undressed, so there I stood in my underpants feeling a proper idiot, and she put the dress over my head. She was right - we were just about the same size.

"Of course, you haven't got my bust. Just a minute." And she went away and came back with a bra and some pairs of knickers.

"Steady on," I protested. "I'm not putting on a bra!"

"But I need it," she pleaded. "I just want to see how the dress looks, and I need the padding." So on went the bra, with knickers stuffed into the cups. "Oh, that's much better," she said approvingly. "Give me a twirl!" so I half-heartedly did.

"Wow!" she said with feeling. "That is a nice dress. And it almost looks better on you than me! It just goes with your hair and complexion. You'd make a very nice woman." I blushed and resolved to grow a beard.

I felt so embarrassed that I started to get an erection. (I don't understand how this works, but it does. Some vindictive feature of Mother Nature often seems to work to make any embarrassment as bad as possible.) And of course that made me more embarrassed. Which made me get harder.

"You know," she mused. "I really fancy you now. Perhaps I'm a lesbian!" Could things get any worse?

Yes they could. "Oh, I see you like it. Well, we'd better make you have the complete experience."

She lifted up the dress, pulled down my underpants and replaced them with a pair of her knickers, adjusted the dress, and stood back.

"Very good! Well with a bit of lipstick, you would make a lovely woman. Apart from that unsightly bulge in the front. Let's do something about that." And she got down on her knees, lifted the dress, and proceeded to suck me off while I was standing in a very nice dress, wearing a bra. Till I came and she swallowed every drop.

"We don't want to mark the dress," she said, and put some tissues in the knickers before tucking me back in.

As I deflated, she said "That's much better. Now give me a twirl." So I did. I was feeling a bit more cheerful and amused at the situation. So I started to pose like a fashion model, and trying to look sultry. She clapped her hands with delight and I tried different positions until we both fell on the sofa laughing.

On Saturday we had a very good session of lovemaking. And on Sunday.

Then it was back to work. Monday was bad. Tuesday was worse. Wednesday was a pig of a day.

That evening she said "Would you let me put makeup on you? I'll suck you off if you do." I was affronted, but she said "It's just a bit of fun. Just once to see you made up. Actors do it all the time and no-one will know."

It took longer than I expected, and she checked her handiwork. "Is that good?" I said. "Can I go and wash it off now?"

"Oh no," she said. "This is no good with you sitting there in your underpants. You have to have the dress." She also gave me the knickers. And the bra which she had filled with sponge, so it just went on.

I was more annoyed than anything, and did not get hard (well only a little bit) so was not showing a bulge. "Wow," she said. "Not bad. There are many girls who would like to look as good as you."

And she took me to a mirror and made me do a twirl. And I had to agree. I could pass for a nice woman. Not out and out glamour, but nice. A nice woman in a nice dress. With almost no bulge. And I started to pose. Which was sort of relaxing. I quite liked the woman I saw.

"You have been a good girl," she said. "I should keep my promise." So up went the dress and down went her head as my cock rose to meet her. So Wednesday hadn't been too bad.

I was quite cheerful on Thursday. Work was awful, but I didn't let it bother me. Friday was bad, but I could cope, though I was glad to be home.

That evening she said. "I've got a present for you," which turned out to be exactly what I feared, another dress.

"I'm not a fucking doll to dress up!" I shouted. "And I don't want to turn into a woman, thank you! You've had your fun, now let's stop."

"It's not a dress, it's a kaftan!" she shouted back. "Lots of men wear them. And I don't want to turn you into a woman, I want to turn you back to the funny sexy man I married, not the bitter angry man I get each evening." I was struck dumb. Which was probably the best response, anyway.

"The dress seemed to relax you somehow, so I thought maybe changing out of your suit into something loose and easy each evening might relax you in the same way."

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "It looked like a dress to me, and I am a bit wound up." So I put it on.

We had sex on Saturday. Nothing great, just sex. And on Sunday nothing.

So I dutifully wore the kaftan each evening. And I had a shitty week. Which was not her fault. But I still took it out on her on Friday night.

Halfway through the evening, I exploded "I don't want a fucking kaftan!" and took it off and threw it in the corner. She walked out of the room as I stood there in triumphant misery and my underpants.

She came back with the dress. "Don't argue. Put it on and I will suck you off," she commanded.

So I did. And she did. And things didn't seem so bad. "Keep it on for the rest of the evening," she said. "Maybe it's magic."

On Saturday we didn't have sex, we made love. And the same on Sunday.

Monday and Tuesday were grim as usual, so Tuesday evening she took my trousers down and sucked me off. Which was appreciated. But Wednesday was bad, as I made clear. So she made me put on the dress and sucked me off. And I was cheerful on Thursday, and even Friday was not too bad. Nothing happened that evening.

On Saturday morning she went out shopping. After lunch she showed me what she had bought.

"I'm only trying to help here, but I've bought some clothes for you." Strangely the outrage I felt did not seem very genuine. "Maybe you're sort of envious of women. They can wear almost anything. All the clothes like men wear, but also pretty dresses. I don't see why a man couldn't appreciate a nice dress. Or maybe it's the fact that it is female means you can drop the tough man and just relax. Anyway, I think you owe it to me to at least try. We're adults in private and it's only some bits of cloth. I haven't got suspenders and high heels or anything like that, just some nice dresses for the smaller busted woman."

"Let's start with a couple of knee-length pinafore dresses. This one has a plain skirt; this one has pleats so you can twirl. These are a classic style. Here is a very loose flowery dress called a tea dress. This is a nice smock which can be used as top with or as a short dress by itself."

"If you love me, please just try them on." Which is of course is the offer you cannot refuse.

She also had some different styles of knickers and suggested I start with the full cotton briefs, which were very plain. There were also different lace ones and a thong!

So I put them on and she looked me over critically and eventually chose the first pinafore dress. There was no bra, just the dress and the briefs, which was very simple, really. I got a little blood flow in my groin at first, and then it went away. And that afternoon I watched sport on TV in a dress. It was quite comfortable, really. Dinner, and more TV dressed the same. Then we went to bed and made tender love.

On Sunday we went out girl watching. We went to the supermarket and sat on a bench in the park while I got a commentary on dresses and their content. We mostly but not entirely ignored those in jeans etc. With all that had happened, this was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, sitting on a bench while my wife told me things. You know how Sherlock Holmes spots tiny details and concludes clever things about a person? By comparison, he would be severely unobservant. In one glance she knew so much, and told me about the dress, the underwear (x-ray vision?) and the woman's body, and often some other features like her shoes were hurting or she's happy. It was fascinating.

She told me she was not special - this was normal for women. They observe so much, especially about other women and they do it all the time. I said in that case it was clear that I could put on a dress, but I would never be a woman!

We tried out a variety of knickers and she made me wear them out sometimes, when we went shopping or to the park for girl watching. But I refused to wear them to work. They were definitely a bit arousing. Mainly, I think because they were made without room for my equipment, plus I could feel the lace, and the smaller ones (which was most of them) tended to catch something in the elastic. That wasn't what I wanted or needed, so I mostly wore the cotton briefs or my own male underpants. Fortunately I am not generally hairy, but a bit of shaving around there helped, at least in her eyes.

I put on tights, and she said my legs looked good, but it wasn't that either.

It was a dress. What did the trick was for me to come home and put on a dress. That was it. So I the evenings and at weekends, I became the Man in a Dress. It was mainly simple but feminine ones, though she liked me in a skirt and blouse. We got some holdup stockings for when I did this, which were less restrictive and hot around the groin than tights.

Eve thought it would be a good idea if she gave me a girl's name and we used it while I was in a dress. So I tried, I honestly did, but it didn't work. I wasn't a woman and didn't want to be one. I was a Man in a Dress. I started to grow a beard, despite her objection.

Once a week, or if I had a particularly bad day, or in celebration, it had to be The Dress. I didn't wear a bra with the others - they didn't need it and I did not want one particularly - but because of the bust, The Dress needed it. We got a new bra and some breast forms which are silicone gel-filled bags which really feel and move like boobs. When I put on the bra and they had warmed up, I began to get some idea of what women experience, which was different from a padded bra - the weight and movement was a totally different feeling. Which I liked, but did not need.

When it came to The Dress, they were perfect. The weight made the bust just right. We agreed I looked good (apart from the beginnings of a beard) and I felt wonderful. I did not want or need boobs, but The Dress did.

And work went so much better. It was just as busy and annoying, but I could cope with it. I was also working better, sorting out problems and dealing with other people in a more effective way. (Hint: being friendly works better than being annoyed, which is how I had previously been most of the time.) I shaved off my beard - it was not looking good.

People noticed, and not just the beard. One of my female colleagues, Jean, said to me when we happened to be alone together for a few minutes "I just wanted to say how well I think you're doing. I was really worried about you a while ago. We were all a bit fraught, but you most of all. Now you have changed, you're really on top of things. You're quite masterful, but you also know when to use a bit of tact and sympathy. I think you've helped the whole place to work better and got rid of a lot of the tension. Have you been on a course or had therapy or something?"

I thought for a moment. What could I say?

"I suppose I have in a way. It's really down to my wife. I talked through things, both my problems and those of work and I began to realise there might be other points of view. Often, I find it helps to ask myself how would she think about it. Sometimes to look at a problem in two different ways goes a long way. Sometimes it isn't even a problem, just a perception. I also learned to be more observant, look for details, and especially put myself in someone else's shoes. It was often not an organizational issue at all, just that someone was being treated very badly by the arrangements, and I was able to smooth it over."

Had I really? Yes, that is exactly what I had done, though this was the first time I put it into words.

"Wow!" she said. "Your wife must be an amazing woman!" I agreed happily.

Looking round to see that we were still unheard, she moved closer and said quietly "I've seen the way you look at women."

"Oh?" I said. "Oh no!" I thought, and I expect it showed.

"No, no, don't worry," she added quickly. "It's not bad; in fact it's just perfect. You're one of the few men who gets it right. You treat us with the utmost respect and equality, but don't pretend we're just men. If one of us comes in with a smart new outfit, your look shows you appreciate it, which is a great boost. The others say the same."

"Another thing. We like the way you mention your wife. Many guys only speak of their wives to complain. Others never mention them at all. Your little remarks and the way you say them shows you really dote on her. You must make a great couple. I wish I could meet her some time."

Sherlock Holmes, eat your heart out! I thanked her, a bit embarrassed but cheerful.

"By the way," she added. "We were really worried when you grew a beard. You must have been so stressed, I guess that might have been when she started to talk to you. You were so much better when you shaved it. I mean better looking, but also more able."

They did actually meet. We were in a department store, looking at dresses when Jean hailed us. "Oh hello! Is this the wonderful woman who changed your life?" She went on to say how stressed I had been, and how grateful everyone was that I had come round, and that apparently she deserved the credit. She also said it was great to see a husband go dress shopping with his wife, and how wonderful it would have been if her husband had only been willing.

Then I was sent off to look in some other areas, while they went to have a coffee and talk.

When we got home, I put on the new dress and was told the result.

"Well," she began. "That was enlightening. Apparently you're brilliant at work. All the men like you and the women think the sun shines out of your bottom! They especially liked how you are obviously in love with me." She kissed me, and I kissed back. "I love my Man in a Dress!"

Two minutes later there were two pairs of cotton briefs on the floor, two dresses pulled up and two people having sex. I wasn't making love to her. I wasn't fucking her. This wasn't one person doing something to another. This was two people in mutual, joyous sex!

Even the boss (a man) had noticed my performance at work. He said that things had been rather tough, and it was appreciated how I had held things together. They were getting in some extra people to reduce the workload and promoting me. I still stayed in the same area, so people said I deserved it and they were glad, and I believed them.

From then on, work was still demanding, but not quite so much, and the atmosphere was much better, so I did not come home exhausted. But I still put on a dress.

We bought another smaller bra and forms, as she said the blouse really needed some bust and it did not hurt some of the others, but I only wore it when she asked me. We found that French knickers were a useful compromise. They were comfortable for me, and she liked the lace. I always wore them when we went girl watching.

(Note about women. She liked the fact that I was wearing them, even though she could not see them. Many women like to wear sexy lingerie even though no man is ever going to see it.)

We began to be really careful about The Dress, as it had been so special to us, and we could not get another one. We looked online, but it is in the nature of women's fashion that they come and go, and it was just some small company from a long time ago. Though I was sucked off most weeks, we never did anything else while I was wearing it, not even food and drink. Mostly when I put it on, I did not even sit down, just strolled around appreciating and being appreciated.

We took it to a drycleaners and paid for the most expensive careful cleaning. When it came back it seemed quite perky. We also bought a set of green French knickers and bra, and The Dress seemed to approve.