Magic Dress - Robin Pt. 03

PART 3 Coming out

Thankfully (or possibly because I actually did the work) I passed the rest of my exams and was through to the second year.

However, that left the summer and coming out to my parents.

It was simple but painful.

"Mum, Dad. I've got something to tell you..."

"You're gay," said Dad.

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"Oh shit!" he said. "That's what it usually is, these days. It used to be some girl pregnant, but since they got the pill, it's gay."

Mum was really close to tears.

"Do you mean you are thinking about it, or have you actually...?"

I was getting close to tears myself.

"Yes, Mum. I do it with men - other students."

"Fuck!" said Dad. "Sorry, it's a bit of a shock, but I'm sure we'll get used to it." He put on a forced smile.

"We still love you, and want you to be happy. Just make sure you finish your degree."

I carried on.

"I sometimes like to put on a dress and makeup."

"Stone the fucking crows!" exclaimed Dad. "It never rains but it pours!"

"Now then, Arthur!" said Mum looking sharply at him. "Robin's being very brave and we should try to support him."

"Oh!" she said, putting her hand to her mouth. "Should I say her, now, darling?"

"No, Mum. I'm a gay man, not transgender."

"Thank heavens for small mercies," muttered Dad.

"That's why you've grown your hair," said Mum, stroking it. "I see you're using conditioner, but you really need a trim."

"You're not picking up men in bars and sucking them off in the bogs, are you?" asked Dad angrily

"Arthur!" said Mum, obviously not liking the language.

"No!" I said, feeling guilty that I was not being entirely truthful.

"That's what they do," argued Dad, as Mum glared at him.

"I'm sure Robin doesn't," she said. "It's just a little fun, dressing up, isn't it? Student larks and all that?"

Neither of them had been to university and had been so proud when I did. They had their own fantasies and fears of what it must be like.

I heard them talking till late, and Dad being told to keep his voice down, and Mum crying.

I was still awake at 2 a.m. when I heard a rhythmic thumping from the bedroom, which cheered me up a bit, and I got to sleep.

Mum only worked part-time, so on Monday when Dad had gone to work, she got serious with me.

"I'm trying to understand this," she said, "so I suppose I had better use certain language to be sure."

She took a deep breath.

"So does your boyfriend actually..., er, fuck you? Up the bum?"

"Yes," I said. "He fucks me up the bum."

"And you like it?" Her eyes were wide. "It's actually nice for you?"

"Yes, we both enjoy it."

"Oh," she said.

"And sometimes I fuck him up the bum, and he likes it. That is what gay men do."

"I see," she said doubtfully. "But isn't it, er, dirty?"

"We wear condoms, and it's not as dirty as you might think."

"OK," she continued. "What your Dad said they do in public toilets?"

"Yes, I sometimes put my boyfriend's cock in my mouth and swallow his sperms, and he does the same for me."

"Well, if you're helping each other..."

She decided it was time for a cup of tea. (It is never any other time in our house.)

Over it, she wanted to know about how I dressed like a girl. Did I do it all the time, going to lectures and so on? I said, no, I only did it with friends.

Hesitantly, she asked "Have you got any of your girl clothes with you?"

I had transferred a lot of my possessions to Greenmill, but brought some clothes home, so I said yes.

"In that bag at the bottom of the wardrobe, I suppose," she said. "Well first of all, hang them up, and why don't you show me what you look like when you dress for your friends?"

"I am your mother, you know," she added, as I hesitated.

I went to my room, shaved, put on lipstick, and did my eyebrows and lashes. Then I opened the bag to get the green dress.

And saw the red dress.

We had had a very interesting lecture about how people get things wrong. There can be a simple error in one of several categories. This would be "right procedure, wrong object". I had packed a dress. It could also be where you are thinking so much about not doing the wrong thing that you actually do it. It could also be subconsciously deliberate: you 'accidentally' do the thing you really want, but cannot be blamed.

It was a mixture of horror and triumph that suggested it might be the last one. I had meant to pack the green dress. In fact I was sure I had - but here was the red dress instead!

But under it was the green dress, and as I touched it, I relaxed. I threw the red one on the bed, and put on the green one and tights.

Mum looked me critically up and down, made me turn and then walk around.

"Well," she said, eventually, "it's a nice dress, I'll give you that. Was it expensive?"

"Charity shop," I answered, feeling rather good.

"And is that how you normally have your hair with it?"

"No, I wear a wig, but I left it at uni."

"A cheap curly one, I suppose." I nodded.

She went "Hmm," and fingered my hair, left the room and came back with a tape measure which she put around my waist.

"You're going on a diet. We'll have two inches off you before you go back, or you'll burst out of this poor dress."

She quickly put it around my hips and bust.

"OK. I'm going out in a minute to the hairdresser. Let's see what else you've got."

We went to my room, where she picked the red dress off the bed.

"Oh, very nice! Definitely one for a hot date! I bet the boys like this!"

Without asking, she looked through the bag and brought out the red bra and suspender belt.

"Oh, very racy!" she said, and fished out the stockings.

I had brought one other dress from the charity shop.

"You like to wear this with your boyfriend?"

"Actually, I often wear it in the evening, just relaxing. I've got another one and a nightdress, but I left them at uni."

"Well you're not having my Christmas nightie!" she said with a smile. "Now I'd better go. I'll be back to make dinner."

It was such a relief! I had done it, and Mum and Dad had more or less accepted it. I could relax at home in a dress and makeup. It wasn't all about sex, there was something else. I was a feminine man. Simple, and so much better when you understand.

Mum came back with her hair done and shopping bags. She took out a book "So Your Son is Gay".

"This is for me and your dad," she said. "He's taken it very hard, so I hope he'll be all right at work. He could do a lot of damage with that fork-lift truck. You know how proud he was when you got your A-levels, and boasting to his mates that you were off to university. It's going to be a while before he gets used to the idea, but maybe this will help."

"The rest is for you," she said. "First of all, that's the wrong colour lipstick, so we'll put that right straight away." Which she did.

"Now I don't know if you have a handbag, but I got you one anyway, and a bit more in the way of cosmetics. We'll deal with that tomorrow, before you go to the hairdresser. I got a cancellation for tomorrow at eleven."

"Here are a couple of nice nightdresses. If you want a sexy one, get your boyfriend to give you one."

She paused and smiled.

"And then he can give you one, while you're wearing it!"

It was the first time I had heard my Mum make anything like a rude joke, more the sort of thing Dad did, and she told him off for. She looked away, embarrassed.

There were two T-shirts, one red, one green.

"This is the closest I could get to your dresses," she explained. "It will help us to consider colours."

I didn't really understand, but did as instructed and took off the dress and put on the green T-shirt. She produced a skirt, which I put on.

"How's that?"

"Nice," I said.

"I thought you could wear it around the house," she said.

I liked the idea, and began to see what she meant about colour, looking at my lipstick and hair.

"And maybe your dad can get used to you."

She produced another skirt and told me to try it.

"It's nice, but it's too tight," I complained.

"No miss. It's the right size. It's you that's wrong. You're going to go back to university with it and it'll be comfortable."

"Now get rid of that makeup and get back into your slob clothes before your dad gets home."

That evening Dad was quite reserved but smiled when he saw a large portion of steak and kidney pie with chips for dinner. Mum and I had much less on our plates.

I was happy in my new nightie, and pleased when I heard rhythmic sounds from my parents' room.

Next day I was only allowed one Weetabix for breakfast instead of two. (Dad had three.) When Dad had gone, Mum helped me to get ready, including some concealer and powder on my face. Then in the skirt and green top I went with her on the bus, carrying a handbag.

I had asked if we could take a taxi, and protested that I wasn't used to being out in public.

"Are you ashamed of what you are?" she asked. "If not, get used to facing the world."

At the hairdresser, I was introduced as "This is my son, Robin. As I told you yesterday, he needs an easy-care style for university."

I was examined and tutted at. Then attacked.

The result was a 'rich auburn' colour and a shaped cut. Then an assistant cleaned off my makeup, and I looked in the mirror.

"Unisex," said the hairdresser. "Gay male."

Then someone put makeup on me. My own lipstick, but they provided everything else.

"Feminine, don't you think?" said the makeup artist, and Mum and the hairdresser agreed.

I looked and was surprised and pleased at the overall effect.

"A proper femboy," said someone, and I took it as a compliment. I was given a special shampoo and conditioner, and told to make an appointment for Christmas, remembering they would be busy.

I felt a lot more confident as we left and headed to a big department store.

"The café first, I think," said Mum, which was good, because it was well past lunch time.

"Look all you want," she said as we queued past the cakes, "but nothing more." We came to where people ordered meals.

"Pot of tea for two," she told the assistant. "Nothing else."

I carried the tray to the table and we sat down and waited for the tea to brew.

"This is nice," said Mum. "And you look nice, darling."

Next stop was the lingerie department, where again I was introduced to a woman of my mother's age as 'my son Robin, who needs a new bra for everyday use'. There was some technical discussion I did not understand, and I was measured and fitted with a simple white bra. (I had tights rather than socks as a filler.) We bought two, and some packs of panties. Then I was invited to choose another nightdress. I got another polycotton one, which seemed to be approved. We got some pop socks and some holdup stockings to wear instead of tights or suspenders when appropriate.

In the dress department I got to try on several and we bought two. Finally, a light green cardigan.

A visit to the ladies' loo and back home on the bus to put away our treasures. I was hungry, but had to put up with another cup of tea. As I was to discover, lunches were a thing of the past.

"You look lovely, darling," said Mum, and kissed me. "But take off your makeup and put on your slob clothes. We need to take things slowly with your Dad."

Mum remarked that I had had a haircut while serving Dad sausage and mash. We had salad.

Next, I was around with in a skirt but regular T-shirts. Dad snorted the first time, before tucking into his fish and chips.

It was a Sunday evening when I came to the table in a dress. Full roast dinner with all the trimmings. Dad looked but said nothing. It was early at night when I heard their bed banging. And again, early in the morning.

"Sorry about the noise last night," said Mum. "Your Dad's doing his best but he's finding it difficult. So he takes it out on me."

"Still I can't complain," she added, patting her hair.

The following Sunday I had lipstick and my eyebrow pencil.

It was not only Dad and Mum who were getting used to my new self: I was too. It was nice to be about in a dress or skirt. I felt calm and right. I didn't have to have a bra or makeup, and did not always bother, but it felt more complete when I did - just the basics.

Finally came a day out. It was a pleasant summer day and we went for Sunday lunch in a nice pub by the park. I wore the green dress and full but modest makeup. I chose the salad, and afterwards we went for a stroll in the park. Dad held my hand for a bit.

"I love you, son," he whispered.

"I love you too," I said quickly, before I choked up.

When we got home, Mum made me put on the tight skirt, which was no longer tight.

"Wear that sometimes at university," she said. "Don't let it get tight."

One day when Mum was home, she insisted I put on the red dress. So I went through the full procedure of washing and shaving, and she gave me what she called 'going out' makeup.

Then with stockings and suspenders, the dress was on.

"You look stunning!" she said. "Your boyfriend would certainly fancy you like that."

"Yeah," I said, happily. But I thought boyfriends, not just one. And not even friends. Anyone with a cock really. It had been so long!

"You look just right for a night out," she said, happily.

And I thought of the drag ball. Where could I go round here to get some cock?

She cleared her throat.

"I see you've got a bit excited. I'll leave you for a while. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

The front of the dress was lifted up a bit. My cock felt huge and hard, and I was loving it. I just wanted to bury it in someone's arse, then get my own filled and do some sucking and swallowing. I was on fire!

I was desperate, but somehow managed to wank slowly, looking at myself in the bedroom mirror. It was almost painful ecstasy as my hand was moving and I could not help myself thrusting, needing to come so desperately but trying to hang on a bit longer. Then, as a jet of spunk hit the mirror, there was the triumph of being a dirty sexy bitch!

That was not the end. It was the start. I was ready for an evening of sex with as many men as possible. But first I had to clean myself to protect the dress. I did it with cold water, and put on new panties, admiring the stocking tops on my smooth thighs as I did so.

"Robin! Your Dad's back." It was my Mum calling from downstairs.

"Come down and show him how nice you look."

Hesitantly I went downstairs.

"There. Doesn't he look lovely?" said Mum, beaming. "I think it's even better than the green dress."

But Dad's face registered horror, then shock.

"Very nice," he managed to say. "A very pretty dress. You look good, Robin."

I knew instantly. He and Mum saw different things, and we men knew it wasn't right.

I knew he had a cock, and I wanted it. Not because it was his, just because it was there. Did he feel any desire for me? Or was it that he could recognise my lust? It wasn't right.

"I think I'll change for dinner," I managed to say before going reluctantly upstairs.

It was an effort to take off the red dress, but I managed it, and calmed down a bit. I took a cold shower, took off my makeup, put on my slob clothes, and went downstairs.

They said nothing. Mum looked disappointed; Dad looked relieved. We had dinner and didn't talk about it.

The afternoon before going back to university, Mum came to me.

"We've got you a little going away present," she said. "Hope you like them."

It was some wobbly plastic breasts, quite realistic.

"They're amazing, Mum," I said and kissed her. "I'll try them right away."

She beamed, and left me to it.

Of course, it had to be the green dress. The weight was a new experience. Probably quite natural.

I came down to where they were anxiously waiting. I sauntered around and wobbled my chest a bit.

"Nice knockers?" asked Dad, sounding a bit choked.

"A lovely pair of knockers," I answered, my voice a bit unsteady. I went and hugged them.

"I love you, Mum and Dad, I really do!"

We were all grinning in a silly way with tears in our eyes.

Mum had made a cake, but I couldn't eat much as I was used to the diet. She put the rest in a tin for me to take to uni, where it was devoured in one go by my housemates.

That night I was so happy, because I understood myself. The knockers had been really wonderful because I had discovered I didn't need them!

I didn't want to be a woman with tits and a cunt. I was a feminine gay man. The bra was just for shape with the dresses. I had an arse that wanted cock, and I wanted to keep my own cock and use it on other men. And I would suck some as well. Not because I was pretending to be a woman, but because I liked men and I liked cocks.

Next day I thanked them again for the wonderful gift, and meant it, though I didn't say why.

I decided to leave the red dress at home.