Mrs Bamford

"Mrs. Bamford. I needed to move the wardrobe to get to the window to finish painting it."

"No problem Terry. Can you manage it? It's heavy."

I liked Mrs. Bamford. She was mid 50's, and always dressed well. She exuded femininity. I admired that so much. I had done several small jobs for her. My handyman business was really starting to take off. I hoped that it could grow and I could give up my job at the fast food restaurant.

"Yes, I only need to slide it across the floor a few feet. Even I can manage that."

"OK. If you're sure. I'm popping next door for half an hour. I'll pay you when I get back."

I put my arm around the back of the old wardrobe and gave it a series of short tugs. I am only 5ft 7, but it didn't stop me from doing most things. Slowly the wardrobe inched away from the window. One last tug.

As I put my body weight behind that last tug the right-hand door fell open. I moved to close it, then stopped. The smell of lavender was intoxicating. What really caught my attention was the mass of frills pushing out from the rest of the dresses and skirts. It looked like an old-fashioned ballroom gown.

I remember seeing women spinning around on the dance floor on the tv. The skirts would rise as they span. I would be so envious of them. I wished I could wear something that pretty.

I knew I shouldn't do it, but the sight of that pink lace net and chiffon was just too much. I carefully drew it out of the wardrobe. The rustling sound made my head spin. What must it be like to wear it! I would never do that though. It wasn't mine. What I was doing was wrong. I would just hold it up against myself and then put it back.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My head above the sparkling collar. I wondered what I would look like made up with my wig on. For a few moments, I was lost in my imagination.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The voice felt like a hammer blow on my soul. I couldn't breathe. It felt like my heart was stuck in my throat.

"Well? You disgusting pervert. I have heard about sick little men like you. What were you going to do next? Masturbate in my knickers?"

I froze. I tried to talk, but no sound would come out of my mouth. I just gapped at her. I dropped the dress on the bed.

"S...s....sorry. I'm so sorry. I wasn't.."

"Wasn't going to what. Betray my trust. You make me sick. Get out of my house. I'm going to warn everyone what you do, you sick horrible pervert."

I saw my life collapsing before me. I thought back to when my mother threw me out when I was 19. I told her I thought I was trans. It was like I had confessed to being a serial killer. My old life ended there. I spent weeks living on the street and sleeping rough. I finally thought my life was getting on track, but now this happens.

I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. I passed out.

I awoke to find Mrs. Bamford leaning over me.

"Here, drink this Terry."

She offered me a glass of water. I sipped it and coughed.

"Mrs. Bamford. I'm so very sorry."

"No Terry. I'm sorry. I overreacted. I'm not happy, but I should have let you explain. Well now is your chance."

I saw a faint light at the end of the tunnel. I would tell her everything and throw myself at her mercy.

"I was just holding the dress up to myself. I wouldn't have worn it, I promise."

"Why though? Why that dress?"

"Mrs. Bamford. I have wanted to be a girl for as long as I can remember. When I told my mother, that was it."

"What did she say?"

"She gave me a slap so hard, I cried. Then put a lock on her bedroom door. I tried to tell her again later. She reacted just like you did. Then she threw me out. I lived rough for months until I managed to get a job in a fast-food restaurant."

"I'm sorry. I was just so angry. You read about nasty men doing things with women's underwear. I thought that was what you were doing. You don't do that then?"

"It was like deja vu. You screaming at me like that. The woman I trusted most in the world, my own mother, threw me out because I told her I wanted to be female. I felt so betrayed. I'm only just getting over it."

"Listen Terry. I don't really understand, but I can see you didn't mean any harm. Do you want to talk about it?"

"What! You will listen to me? Every time I talk about it something bad happens. You'll actually listen to me?"

"Terry. You are a nice young man. You were recommended to me by my friends. They all told me how polite and trustworthy you are. I want to understand. "

"Well, as I said. I have always wanted to be a girl. Seeing that wonderful dress, I just wanted to see what I would look like in it. You are such a beautiful woman. You dress so well. If I were ever to be a woman, you would be my role model."

She stared at me in disbelief.

"What me Terry? You like the way I dress."

"Yes, Mrs. Bamford. You always wear such nice clothes. I never see you without makeup, and your hair is always perfect."

"Call me Grace, Terry. When my husband was alive, he really appreciated the effort I made with my appearance. Now I am just so used to dressing this way, I can't stop. Do you dress at home? I hope you don't mind me asking."

"I have only just got my bedsit. I have very little money, but I do have a dress and some underwear. I do dress when I get the chance in the privacy of my own place."

She looked me in the eyes.

"How do you feel when you dress Terry? Be honest with me. Does it turn you on?"

I fixed my eyes on hers, and replied honestly.

"I feel right. I feel relaxed. The tension seems to drain away from me. I just wish I could stay like it. Why Grace? Why is it so wrong that I want to be a woman? Who am I hurting?"

"No one Terry, no one." She shook her head.

She paused. I saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

"Terry, I'm sorry for what I said. I have been reading too many tabloids. Wanting to be a woman is not a crime. You have been badly treated by the world. I'd like to help you."

"You would do that? For me?"

"Yes, Terry. When do you want to start?"

I was taken aback. I stuttered. My heart was thumping. I had never shared this part of me with anyone, apart from my mother. I was too scared. Now it was like my soul was laid bare. I had always expected hate and derision. Grace was willing to help me.

"I hope you don't mind me asking. I have heard all sorts of words about men who dress as women. Sissy, transvestite, crossdresser, drag and transexual. What do you call yourself?"

"I call myself Teresa. There is a lot of confusion about the terms. This is my understanding. Sissies tend to be men that like to be humiliated. Sometimes women's clothes are used, but not always. They do not want to be women though. Transvestite just means a person that dresses in the clothes of the opposite gender. Our society very rarely calls women transvestites, yet they probably wear male clothes more than men wear womens'."

"I sometimes wore my husband's shirts. He thought it was cute." She said

"That's the way the world works. If a woman wears male clothes, it's like they are trying to imitate something better. If a man wears women's clothes he is lessening himself. That's the way I see it. I myself don't see it as making myself anything less. I admire women. I see it as improving myself. Crossdresser is just an updated term for transvestite. It can include someone who just likes to wear any item of female clothing. Shoes, underwear, or dresses. Many of these men probably just have a fetish."

"So what about the other two?"

"Well, drag is often done for entertainment. The men who do it are sometimes gay, but not all are. They tend to go to extremes with their look. Over-the-top hair and makeup. Now a transexual can be very difficult to explain. At its most simple, it is a person that feels they are trapped in the wrong gender. From the male to female point of view there is a wide range of people. Some have operations to create female genitals. Some, have breast implants and take female hormones. Some have facial surgery, and even vocal surgery."

"They can't have children, surely"

I smiled at her naivety.

"No Grace, that is not possible yet. Although some of the surgery is so good it would fool even doctors. There are also trans women that live their lives without having any surgery. Some go their whole lives without being discovered. There are many that fit between both of these types. The thing is Grace, trans women, want to be women. The others just enjoy wearing women's clothes. Not that there is anything wrong with that."

"Where do you fit in all that?"

I don't know why, but my eyes welled up with tears and I cried uncontrollably.

"Oh, Terry. I'm so sorry. What did I say?"

Through the sobs, I managed to tell her it wasn't her fault.

She held me to her bosom. This was the first time any woman had done that for years. My mother had stopped cuddling me when told her my secret.

"Sorry, Grace. It's just lately at home I am finding it harder to force myself to change back to being Terry. It feels wrong. I want to be Teresa all the time but I can't."

"Why can't you Teresa?"

"I barely survive now. Imagine if Teresa turned up at the burger restaurant. Or a handywoman turned up to fix the leaky tap. No one would want me."

She hugged me tightly. It felt so good being in contact with another human being. She held me away from her after a few moments. Then looked into my eyes.

"Teresa. Mr. Bamford could not father children. Just one of those things. I always wanted a daughter to pass on my knowledge to. I would like you to be the daughter I never had. How does that sound?"

I could not believe my ears. I had never shared this part of me with anyone. Now this wonderful woman wanted to help me in ways I could not imagine.

"Yes! Yes please, Grace."

"Good. Just call me mum, please. I have always wanted to be called that."

"Yes, mother. Do you have a tissue? I'm a bit of a mess."

After I composed myself, I felt like I had won the lottery.

"Right Teresa. Off you go and shower. You wanted to know how that ballroom dress felt like. We shall start with that."

I took the fastest shower of my life. When I returned the dress was on the bed. I stood with a towel wrapped around me covering my chest.

"Lovely, you wear a towel in the right way. I'm glad to see you are nice and smooth too. On the bed are the knickers that go with the dress. Put those on first. I'll turn my back."

They were white satin covered in rows of frilly lace. I suppose they had to match the dress if the skirt flew up.

"They're on mum. What now?"

"When I was young, women wore corselets and girdles. I used to wear this white basque with this dress."

She wrapped it around me and started to tighten the laces.

"I know this will hurt a little, but the results will be worth it."

I was in a dream-like trance when I stepped into the dress. I felt every inch of the lace petticoats as they rose up my legs until they were just above my knees. I couldn't put my arms down now as the dress stood out nearly two feet. The lace rustling against my thighs felt wonderful.

"Shoes next, then makeup, Teresa"

The shoes were three-inch white court shoes. I wasn't surprised they fit. I was only size 7. I could do my own makeup, well I thought I could. When mum had finished I did not recognize myself. When I did makeup you could still see Terry. Terry was gone now. There was only Teresa.

"Mum, I don't know what to say."

I started to get emotional.

"No tears Teresa. You'll look like a panda. I must say you look beautiful. How do you feel?"

"Oh, mother, you have made a dream come true for me. I always wondered what it would have been like if my mother had allowed me to be a woman. Now you have done this. It's the greatest gift I have ever been given."

We hugged. I couldn't believe my luck. Two souls had found each other. Both fulfilling an unspoken need in the other. I did not know where this road was leading, but I know I would not be traveling it alone. Teresa would finally be with a loving mother.