The Land of Dreams Ch. 01

I have always known that I am really a girl. At first I just loved their clothes, so much prettier than mine. Then as I got older I started to feel attracted to boys. By the time I was eighteen I was entranced by their muscles and the bloom of their skin moving across their arms, their chests and thighs. I imagined their cocks inside my cunt, thrusting into me over and over again, claiming me for theirs and filling me with their sperm.

My parents had died when I was ten years old and I went to live with my Aunt Beatrice (Auntie B) in one of those tall, white, stuccoed houses near the park. Auntie B was wonderful. She loved me and I loved her; I still do, and I am so grateful for her understanding my needs.

Auntie B was an original. She was very sociable and belonged to every charitable committee and every arts and theatre group in the city. She also believed in home schooling; for most subjects she taught me herself and for lessons where she didn't feel secure, like maths and Latin, she hired tutors. People were constantly coming and going in our house and although Auntie B was often busy I was never lonely.

When I was twelve I made a momentous discovery. I started to explore the top floor of the house. It was used only for storage of unwanted furniture and other items no longer in regular use. Originally, when the house was built, these rooms would have been quarters for the legion of servants employed in such a large establishment. Now we had only cook, nanny, my aunt's personal maid, Phyllis, and two house -maids, all of whom had been with my aunt since she was a girl. Cook, Nanny and Phillis had rooms at the back of the house on the same floor as Auntie B and I, whilst the house-maids lived in a little annex in the garden.

On the first day I explored the attics I found an Aladdin's cave. All the rooms on this floor had a bed, a chair and a wardrobe but one of the larger rooms contained a bed, a full length mirror, four wardrobes and three chests of drawers and they were bursting with a collection of girls' and women's clothing going back from what I thought must be Auntie's own dresses from only a year or two ago to dresses in the styles of a century or more before. I ran my fingers against lace and silk: evening dresses, day dresses, the finest silk stockings as delicate as spiders' webs, suspender belts, exquisite panties and bras, so delicate and sensuous they were a mirage of loveliness. In the dressing table was make-up of all kinds. And all for me.

Every day I would return to marvel and to dress. I remember well the first time I pulled on a pair of stockings, the wonderful glide of silk enclosing my leg and the little surge of excitement in my cock. As I grew I was able to fit well into more and more of the clothes. By my eighteenth birthday I could wear most of the evening dresses; there was one of silver lamé, which became my favourite. I would strip entirely, then secure my cock and balls between my legs with a tight-fitting pair of pink or white silk panties trimmed with lace, with a matching bra and suspender belt. My stockings gave me such delight as I slid each leg into their whispering grip. Then I slipped the dress over my head. It clung to every adolescent curve of my body. I applied my make-up lightly and looked in the full-length mirror on it's rotating stand and, though I say it myself, I looked stunning. Auntie had let me keep my pale blond hair long and it fell in soft folds around my face, framing the wide grey eyes, the delicate nose and mouth. I was five feet ten and slim; my boy's breasts were soft with rosy nipples and they swelled the bust of the dress just enough to suggest a cleavage.

I walked back and forth through the suite of rooms, imagining I was a girl at her first ball. I danced in the arms of imaginary men who lusted after me and who ran their hands over my responding body. My cock strained to get free and after I had removed my dress I allowed myself the pleasure of imagining a man entering me. Of course I had been jerking myself off for ages but now I lay on my side and pulled my legs up so that I could reach my cunt. I licked my finger and circled my rosebud, then slowly, as she relaxed, I inserted my finger. My head jerked back in delighted surprise. I fucked myself with one then two fingers, licking them hungrily and tasting cunt for the first time, between deeper and deeper fucks. I heard someone groaning and knew it was myself. I screamed 'Fuck me, oh, please fuck me with your massive cock in my little girl cunt. Make your babies in me. I am your wife, your whore, your toy.' Jet after jet of cum leapt from my cock and covered my chest, reaching my open mouth and I slurped up the sticky, delicious, salty goo using my hands to collect and bring to my mouth all I could find, not wasting a drop.

And then I had a vision. I do not know how else to put what happened. As I lay, spent, on the bed, clad only in my stockings and suspender belt, I saw the most beautiful man in the world, shimmering like gold, but pale and indistinct. He seemed to be at once in the room but far, far away. His chest, his arms, his thighs were massive. His face was that of a young Zeus, a straight nose, blue eyes under sultry lids, a mouth exquisitely shaped but full and masculine, and golden hair, tumbling in curls about his broad brow and cheeks. He could not have been older than thirty but there was a grandeur and decision in his face any woman would have fallen on her knees to worship and I did so. He spoke and his words came to me as though from a vast distance but deep and resonant from that magnificent chest.

'You belong to me, my wonderful girl. Only my cock must enjoy your silken cunt. Come to me and I shall make you my wife, my princess. I am your husband. Remember and come.' And then the vision ended and I was alone in the garret on my knees.

***

I thought no one knew of my dressing sessions but, of course, they did. It was a week later when my aunt said to me, 'Darling I have to talk to you about something serious.'

She said that she had known about my dressing for some years but had said nothing in case it was a phase and she did not want to embarrass me unnecessarily but now I was a young man and, even though I was so fair the hair hardly registered on my cheeks and chin, she felt she had to ask me whether I identified as a boy or a girl. I sat in shock then I started to cry. Aunt B came to sit next to me on the sofa and put her arms round me.

'Dearest,' she said. 'Just tell me.'

Everything came out in a rush. How I felt that I was a girl, that I loved girl's clothes and that I knew that what I wanted above all things was to be the wife of a loving, masculine man.

'This will be a hard path,' said Auntie B, 'but I shall do everything I can to help you. You will have to be able to resume life as a man, at a moment's notice, in an emergency, but if you want to live most of your time as a girl we shall move house. Everyone here knows you are my nephew, Christopher. We shall have to go somewhere we are unknown and you will live as my niece, Christabel. Is that what you would like?'

'Oh, yes, Auntie, please.'

And that is what we did.

Auntie B found a lovely house deep in the countryside. The nearest village was a mile away. Cook, Nanny and Phyllis came with us and the two housemaids stayed in the city house because my aunt would need to go back there for several days each week. Nanny agreed to help me with dressing and make up and auntie would teach me proper feminine deportment. Nanny was delighted to have a pretty girl to look after and I was pretty, indeed more than pretty. Before we moved my auntie bought me a few clothes of my own to wear when shopping, then we went together to buy my new wardrobe.

On our first Sunday in our new home Auntie B and I went to church with our household. It was a typical country congregation and some of the farmers and their farmhands looked ill at ease in their Sunday best but I could tell that they had fine strong bodies and I looked forward to seeing them in the fields. Those early months went by like a dream. I now really thought of myself as a young woman and I loved watching the men working and they clearly enjoyed my doing so and some of the younger ones played up to me, taking off their shirts and making sure I noticed their strength and agility. I once heard two of them discussing me, when they didn't know I was there. One said to the other, 'I know what I'd like to do to that Chrissie' (my aunt's usual name for me). Then the other said, 'I get hard just thinking about her. Given a chance I'd fuck her senseless and start again when she came round.'

Three months after we moved a new face appeared in the vicarage pew. The vicar's son was twenty years old and was home from university for the summer vacation. Even in a formal suit he looked gorgeous, with massive shoulders and a chest to match. I decided there and then to get to know him. It was easier than I thought. As we made to leave the church he came up to us and started to talk. It turned out he was an enthusiastic rower, hence the shoulders and chest. He walked us back to our house. That evening Auntie B said to me that Colin, for that was his name, was clearly taken by me and that I must be careful, because she could see that he was a very attractive young man and I mustn't get carried away by his charms, since it would be difficult for me, in an even slightly intimate situation, to hide what I had between my legs, and who knows what complications could ensue for all of us if he was shocked or disgusted. Later that day an invitation arrived for Auntie and me to go to dinner at the vicarage the following Saturday. In our honour it was to be a black -tie affair.

I was pleased because this meant I could put on my most fetching evening frock. It was pale grey to match my eyes and it was made of layers of the finest chiffon, woven with a touch of silver. It was cut low enough over the bosom to suggest a cleavage but had demurely covered shoulders and floaty sleeves almost to the elbow. Auntie gave me a simple pearl necklace and a pair of matching earrings. She and Nanny made me up with only the faintest hint of lipstick and eyeshadow so that I looked as virginal as, indeed, I was. When Colin saw me I could tell that the effect was entirely right. When we got up from table after a pleasant dinner I noticed that he held on to his table-napkin to hide a very impressive hard-on. Colin and I were the only two people of our age group at the meal. Mrs Jameson, the vicar's wife, had invited the local doctor and his wife, a solicitor and his elderly sister and an old, retired judge who lived in the village. It seemed only natural that whilst our elders sat talking over coffee Colin should offer to show me the vicarage garden, which was known to be particularly good, on such a fine night.

We walked in moonlight along avenues of roses and lavender under an arbour of white wisteria to a circular garden within yew hedges, where a fountain played in a central pond amidst mignonette. The scent was intoxicating. Colin stopped and turned to face me. He took me in his arms and placed his lips on mine. I melted into his embrace and opened my mouth. His tongue played with mine before becoming urgent. He pressed me closer to him and I felt the hardness of his growing cock through his dress trousers. I wanted him but I knew I must resist before he found out my secret. I pulled away and said, 'I am not that kind of girl. This isn't even a first date. Stop, please.'

'Do you find me repulsive? I didn't think you did.'

'No, far from it, but please let's go back. We hardly know one another.'

'We'll go back but I know already that I want you more badly than I've ever wanted anyone or anything. May I come to see you tomorrow?

And I said, 'Yes.'

That night, at home, I told Auntie B that I thought I was in love. She made a tutting noise and repeated that Colin was a very good- looking young man but I mustn't jeopardise my disguise so readily. I had almost forgotten that to him, if he felt my genitals, I should not be the woman he thought I was, but would be a freak. I cried myself to sleep.

He called the next day and Auntie B sat with us for an hour, then I walked with him back to the vicarage. He called the next day and the next. On the fourth day he kissed me as we parted and leaning against him I felt his arousal. I made sure my own cock and balls were securely grasped between my legs but even so I feared I should have an evident erection. I decided to take matters literally into my own hands.

On the Friday we walked together through the water meadows to the river. We found a secluded bank beneath a willow surrounded by flowering bushes. Colin had brought a rug and a picnic and we spread the rug and I sat down, demurely stroking my full skirt to cover my legs but making sure he saw and appreciated the curve of my thigh under the thin material. I saw that as he sat next to me he was already half hard. He leant in to kiss me and placed his hand on my thigh. I whispered that I was sorry, that it was the wrong time of the month, but that I wanted to help him and I unzipped his trousers. He stood to take them off and his cock stuck out like a nine- inch pole in his boxers. I pulled them down and put my hand around the glorious piece of meat. My fingers just met as I pulled back his foreskin and kissed the scarlet helmet within. He tasted and smelt wonderfully of manhood. With my other hand I stroked and held his balls, then I took first the one then the other into my mouth before returning to lick a delicious drop, my first ever drop, of a man's pre-cum from his piss slit. I savoured it and it was like nectar to me. He let out a groan of ecstasy. As I sank my lips around his beautiful dick I raised my eyes, hoping to find his eyes watching me service him, but what I saw made me stop in horror. It was as though a jagged hole had appeared in his chest through which the face of the man I had seen in my vision was glaring at me with sorrow and fury. I scrambled to my feet and ran and heard Colin cursing as he tried to pull on his trousers whilst pursuing me. I saw him at church each Sunday but we did not exchange another word before he returned to university in October.

The house we rented belonged to a family who had lived there for six hundred years and whose library had accrued over that time. My aunt had told them that I was of an academic turn of mind and they gave me permission to read their books. One day I took down from the shelves an old volume of travels. Most of the journeys were clearly fabulous, including sightings of unicorns and griffins and other mythical creatures, but one dealt with a country where people like me were honoured. There was an engraving of a man dressed much like a Roman warrior with a high, crested helmet. He was the image of the man of my visions but twenty years older and was described as the prince of these people, about five hundred years ago, when the traveller had arrived there after a difficult journey through deserts. The traveller was kindly looked after and was escorted back to a land from which he was able to return home. In return he had promised to say nothing about the country except that there a man-woman was always queen and men- women were so respected that families hoped to produce at least one in each generation and felt that they had failed if they did not.

After a moment's consideration I realised that actually the traveller had indicated a fair amount about the situation of this wonderful place in his description of his journeys to and from it. Then, as I looked at the engraved picture, I swear the face grew younger and became the portrait of the man who said he was my husband. Only this time he looked utterly heart-broken. I reached out my hand to comfort him but it only met the paper page. My own heart was torn by the misery I could see on his face and that told me, definitely, that he was right when he said he was my husband and I was his wife. It felt inevitable. I pressed my lips against the page. I heard again that thrilling voice say, 'Come to me.' And I replied 'Yes.'