Mummy's Girl Pt. 01

CHAPTER 1

I was an accountant according to my job description, but really just a book-keeper in a not very interesting company, married to a girl I had known at school.

We fairly soon had twin boys, Peter and David, who were fun and a handful. My wife wanted a daughter, but we decided we didn't want to risk two more boys.

Then when they were gone, everything seemed a bit flat. Then her periods got irregular and she had the first hot flushes. That reminded her that the chance had gone, and she cried that maybe we should have taken the chance.

She decided to have a clearout. There were things more than twenty years old, including a maternity smock, just on display in the bedroom as I was changing into pyjamas. It had a cutesy design which might well suit a little girl. I put it on and went to the bathroom where she was cleaning her teeth.

"Mummy, will you read me a story?" I asked in my best little girl voice.

She was startled, then laughed.

"In a moment, Matilda."

I never knew, but that was the name she had chosen for the daughter we never had.

In a while she came, having rummaged through the old books she was going to throw out. Then we sat on the bed and she read me several stories. It was lovely.

Then we both cried.

"I kept thinking about what I would be doing with a daughter as the boys grew up," she told me.

"What I would buy her for birthday and Christmas. Doing things together. Talking about boys."

"You can do it for me," I said. "I'll be Matilda!"

She smiled through her tears.

"You're so daft! And I do love you!"

But on my next birthday (46) there was a cake with six candles, and two cards. One said Happy Birthday, Matilda, from Mummy, and the other said Happy 6^th Birthday, from Daddy. There was jelly and ice-cream.

There were two dolls, a cuddly toy and a children's video.

The maternity smock had been taken in to my waist size, and there was a pair of women's pyjamas with teddy bears on them.

"I hope you don't think..." she began.

"Thank you, Mummy!" I said and gave her a big sloppy kiss. That night she read me a bedtime story and I was allowed to sleep in Mummy's bed in my new pyjamas.

Just now and again, I put on the dress and we pretended.

At Christmas, Peter and David came to visit, Peter with his wife, having visited her parents. David by himself - his girlfriend was visiting her parents.

When they'd gone, Matilda had her Christmas. Santa had been very generous! My stocking had a chocolate orange, some bubble solution and wand, a pretend watch (pink), coloured pencils and some bubble gum.

There were colouring books, reading and picture books, some paper and paints, and more dolls and accessories.

I really have no talent as an artist, so my efforts at painting were pretty much like a six-year-old, but I had forgotten how much fun it could be. The colouring books were quite relaxing when I came home from work. And playing at dolls with Mummy was actually very sociable.

And some pretty pink panties. After a bit of hesitation, I wore them at work! She was surprised, but we agreed it was a laugh. So when one of us was down or annoyed I would put on the dress and play with my Mummy.

It had gone beyond a joke. In our different ways it was something good for us. She was a good mother, so it was probably nice for her to mother her husband. Perhaps men don't allow women to do that enough. And if your man is playing a silly game then he's being childish which means he needs mothering.

I mean, I loved my Mum but I didn't let her mother me enough. As a young man, I would have loved to put my head on her breasts and hold her close, but instead it was a peck on the cheek and "All right, Mum?" Not even "I love you Mum."

And being a six-year-old girl was so much better than being a six-year-old boy. I remember by then our two had already learned boys are not supposed to be soppy, and I think I was the same. Both I and they had learned that breasts were rude and not to be touched. Of course it didn't matter for my sister.

At some point it became a Friday evening ritual. Monday to Thursday, I was the accountant, often bringing work home, in my head at least. But on Friday evening I changed into a little girl, and all the stress dropped away. Mummy would give me a bath, and put me to bed with a story. Later she would come to bed and I would get out of my pyjamas and be her happy husband as we made love.

There was no plan. It was just that when my next birthday came round, of course it was Matilda's seventh. I got a new dress, a skirt and some tops, plus some funny socks and books appropriate for a seven-year-old. And Christmas for a little girl was a lot more fun than an adult one. There was no alcohol, of course. In fact, as husband and wife we drank a lot less than we would have normally. We didn't need it when Matilda was around. I also got a pair of nightdresses.

We watched tapes of children's TV that had been recorded for the boys. As a mother she had spent more time with them than I had, so many of them were new to me. And funny and entertaining. Childish was better than serious adult drama.

It was interesting and informative learning about the world as a mother would explain it to her daughter. A focus on different things, generally more gentle, and noticing women in the world a whole lot more. There were things I had never thought about, but were interesting to know, and things I didn't know but should have.

On our 25^th wedding anniversary dinner, she remarked to me "You know, I've had all these conversations in my head almost from the time we decided to have children. It's wonderful to actually say some of them at last!"

We were both happier with our little game, and the lovemaking was good.

CHAPTER 2

It was all gradual, but if I had to pick a time when we realised the difference, I would say it was my eighth birthday, when Mummy said what a big girl I was now, and how much Mummy loved me.

It was love, but different from that between the randy young adults we had been when we married. And not like with my actual mother or father. It was so utterly comforting to be a little girl with her Mummy. There was something magical about her womanliness, and I felt a little of her femininity in me as I worshipped her - all providing, all-knowing, who would look after me.

In the real world, as you might say, my hair had grown longer, but my wife had instructed the hairdresser, and at the same time bought me more fashionable clothes. Not too much, just an older man looking more casual but smart. And enough to be a girl when at home. Long enough for bows, headbands and clips to be put in the hair, which we did for fun.

Not only that, we had a little adventure. I was in my boy disguise when me and Mummy went to a big shoe shop that had ladies' shoes on one side and men's on the other, with trainers at the end. She brought me several pairs of trainers to try, and sorted out some shoes in a style called Mary Jane. It is the classic girls' shoe, low at the front but with a strap and buckle so it does not come off when you are skipping or running about. But you can get it in adult sizes, and this shop had them. When no-one was looking, I pretended to be inspecting trainers and she slipped a couple onto my foot till we got the right size. So we came home with trainers for me and Mary Janes supposedly for her, but really proper shoes for Matilda! They were for outdoors, of course, but as Matilda never went out I wore them indoors for a couple of hours a day.

I really looked forward to putting on a dress or skirt, and talking with her. I started helping her with household tasks, as she showed me how to do things which I had never thought about as a husband. I learned about cooking, but only under supervision, especially with knives and hot things.

And I talked about people at work as if they were pupils in my class and the boss was the teacher. How they were naughty but the teacher didn't see, but sometimes the teacher was angry, and how the boys were rude and I liked the girls better.

Actually I was getting on better with the women, just by noticing them more, I suppose. Maybe I looked better or was behaving a bit differently. I was happier at work and at home.

We got another little ritual going. I would have a child-size dinner then play until 7.30 when Mummy would wash and put me to bed with a story, tucking me in for 8. I would sleep for an hour or two, get up and have some toast or other snack with my wife, chat, watch the news, then go to bed together and sometimes have sex.

She actually bought a sewing machine and went on a dressmaking course so that she could alter clothes to fit me. I really appreciated my dresses, both for what they were and the love that had gone into them, and spent as much time in them as possible. It was nice to look at dresses in shops with Mummy and see what might be good for me.

For my ninth birthday she had actually made me a princess dress! In pink with frills and a gauze overskirt. You couldn't buy the happiness it gave me and her. There was a tiara as well. I also had kitten ears and deely-boppers I could put in my hair.

I guess that if I had just stayed six it would have got a bit boring. It was more interesting for me to grow up a bit as a girl, and of course for her to say the things she had always wanted.

But I wasn't doing I just for her. It was lovely being a girl, really.