Tranford Tales - Maisie

"I like your new breasts."

That was it!

"Me too," I said, and shook them a little.

"You can have a feel, if you like, later."

"Shall we skip dessert?" he asked, and called the waiter.

Back in a taxi to his flat. He had his hand on my thigh and we kissed. Not too much, so as not to distract the driver.

In his flat, he grabbed me and kissed me.

I struggled free, and said we should at least go and sit down.

On the sofa I was able to put my handbag down, and he began serious snogging with a hand on my tit, still covered by the dress.

It wasn't long before I forced him off, and asked for a moment. I slipped the dress off my shoulders, undid my bra and put my pride on display.

Neither of us were disappointed.

It was great to be admired, and then have them felt as if they were something very special and precious. (As they are.)

Bill said he liked them, but it was good to get a second opinion!

Brett looked nervously as if asking permission, then put his face down. I gladly squeezed my beauties together a little for him to bury his face, and let him suck my nipples. It wasn't so much the sensation of being sucked as the desire of the man doing it.

A man who was not Bill!

I stood up, and he did as well. His trousers were straining, so I forgot the plan and unzipped him.

He had a pretty decent cock -- a little longer and thinner than Bill's, and a bit more pointy.

This was the second man I wanked off, enslaved by my tits, and it was a great feeling!

I just managed to point him away from the dress.

"Thank you. You're beautiful!" he said.

"It was nice for me," I said.

He cleaned up and I washed my hands and rearranged my clothes, then we had a cup of coffee.

He begged to see me again, and I said I would text him.

Back at Bill's, I told him what had happened, then had to lock the bathroom door so that I could wash and get ready for bed.

He fucked me like there was no tomorrow, then hugged and kissed me and said he loved me.

In the middle of the night he accidentally-on-purpose woke me up with a raging hard-on. I didn't want the mess, so sucked him off.

I gave him a wank before we went to work.

A couple of days later, I had my third date just in Brett's flat.

Which consisted of me having my tits attacked and wanking Brett off while the Chinese meal went cold. Afterwards he microwaved it, and we had a leisurely dinner. I told him that really was the end. I was Bill's now.

He said he understood, but if ever...

Bill was desperate when I got back.

Afterwards I told him I understood it got him going, but that was enough for me. I was glad of the experience, but he shouldn't expect anything like that again.

I didn't see Brett again, but he sent me a thank-you card with his new address.

He was nice, but not really my sort.

"You mean posh, not common, like me?" said Bill.

"Yes," I said. "We're both common as muck, which is why we suit each other. I do love you."

We went to the final year art students' exhibition, where Jessica got a commendation. The prize-winners I thought were rubbish. Literally for the first prize which was bits of litter stuck onto a big board with some title like "college de jordi". At least the second prize had a proper title, though it was really ugly.

Jessica really had done an exhibition of about twenty stiff cocks, in different techniques. I thought I recognised Brett's.

She introduced us to her tutor, as two friends.

"Maisie here is a painter -- it runs in the family. She's had quite a few commissions, mainly architectural studies, although she's exploring some new areas now. Bill's not a painter -- he's more into the concrete in terms of what he does."

We moved away before it went any further.

Bill and Jessica hugged and kissed in a really sincere way, and I felt a bit guilty.

Should they really be together? Had they really parted out of kindness to me, just because I was needy?

Bill said no, but I've never been totally sure.

"She's too posh," he said. "She was a great girlfriend for a while, but we were ready to be just friends. I was a bit of rough, but it would never have worked out in the long run."

"But I'm common as muck?" I asked.

"Too right!" he said and I was strangely pleased.

CHAPTER 6

The contract we were on would soon be finished and I was going to have my final operation, so would have a break from work, but Bill needed to work, of course, so was looking around.

One day he was very pleased to show me an architect's drawing of a little bungalow. It was semi-detached: two residences suitable for couples.

"We can't afford a new house," I said.

"Yes, we will," he said. "We'll build it ourselves."

"There's a new development, part built to sell or let, and part self-build. We can work on the main site, and do our house in the evenings and weekends. I've been offered a job as a brickie, and they're bound to need painters. I've even been offered a caravan while we do."

"That's not the best bit," he added, beaming.

"It works in with you having your op. There's a couple who rent a room, and one of them is a nurse. So it would be a great place for you to convalesce. They've already offered."

"The thing is, they're building a village where women like you and some other folks can have a peaceful time. It's a housing association and couple of transgender charities. So the nurse has got experience, and they've already got some couples like us in the first houses."

"It's called Tranford."

I was surprised, but didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, though I was a bit worried about the money, especially as Bill would be taking a drop in wages from being a foreman.

"The housing association loans us the money to build the whole house," Bill explained. "We do what we can, and employ trades when needed -- we'll have to have a sparky for the electrics, but I can do most of the woodwork and plumbing myself. It's been specially designed for self-build, so looks pretty easy. Then when it's up and passes inspection, they'll buy the other half of the house, and we'll have more than half the loan paid off. Then I can get some work with the tricky bits for the other self-builders."

I wasn't very good at maths and finance, so I trusted him.

I thought it was by Manchester, so told Bill he had taken a wrong turn on the motorway.

"No, that's Trafford," he said. "This is Tranford. Much nicer, I'm told."

There was a street of modest middle-class houses, mostly semis, which was the first phase. Bill was going to be putting up a community centre and then a shop, and there was already work going on laying roads and foundations, on the main site, which would have a block of flats and some bungalows including ours.

The architect and the site manager showed us around. I don't really understand the technicalities they were discussing with Bill, so was mainly following around, smiling and agreeing. I know what needs painting, of course, and all the materials and techniques, but that would be later.

They took us to the pub for lunch. Bill only had a half, of course, because he would be driving, so I did the same.

I was amazed to find that the waitress and a couple of the other customers were women like me!

I was just going to my handbag to get a tissue to dry my eyes, when one was handed to me, by a smart woman on an adjacent table.

"I felt the same," she said. "I can't tell you how happy I've been. I do hope you'll be joining us."

We did!

Mum and Dad gave us some money, which helped. Things were OK between us.

The caravan was tiny, and I was a bit worried about winter, but the site manager said they were giving priority to the flats, which would be rented by self-builders, and then be available for anyone.

I was introduced to the people who would be renting me a room, Liz and Sophie. Sophie was the husband who was the nurse, but had been a man. Or still was a man, since Liz always said "he" and "my husband" but with modest tits and nothing down below. Apparently anything goes here!

Bill had a couple of labourers (both called Dave!) when required, and a joiner for the community centre and the other trades came in when necessary. There would also be an apprentice some days.

I got some work on the existing houses. They had been done in standard magnolia. Some had decorated themselves, but others wanted a professional job.

I tried to come and have lunch with Bill in the site cabin when I could. One day there was him and the apprentice, a rather shy young man called David. (I know!)

"David was a bit worse for wear this morning," said Bill cheerfully. "Eighteenth birthday, yesterday."

"I hope your girlfriend gave you a good present," I said, "or maybe you gave her one!"

He looked as if he was going to cry, and I was immediately sorry.

"I haven't got a girlfriend," he said. "There's a girl I like at college, but..."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But as a late birthday present, would you like to see my tits?"

I looked at Bill. He was startled, but gave a shrug and smiled.

I have rarely seen anyone so surprised as David at that moment.

"Really?" he said, and Bill waved his hand in my direction, so I started to unbutton my overalls.

He was goggle-eyed as I went right down to the waist and pulled it open to show my treasures in their bra.

"Just looking," said Bill, as I eased them out.

David's mouth was open as I gave them a wobble for our mutual pleasure.

Bill got up and went to the door.

"You can take a bit longer for lunch, David," he said, miming a wank to me behind David's back. "But I'll get back."

It hadn't been my plan, but I didn't argue.

"Do you like them?"

"Yes, Missus. They're lovely." (He always called me Missus. It was nice to be respected.)

I could see he did.

I got up and bent over where he was sitting, my tits hanging down in front of him.

"If you get your cock out, I'll give you a wank. As a birthday present."

Clumsily he got it out, and I tossed him off, still standing, and pointing it at my tits.

I think we were both pleased to get a splash.

I got some tissues from my handbag, and we wiped ourselves.

"Don't think I'll be doing it again," I said. "This is just a one-off. But you've got a good cock, and there's sure to be a girl who will appreciate it. Just make sure you use protection."

"Th-thank you Missus," he stuttered.

"I think you can call me Maisie, now we've been introduced," I said.

Bill told him not to brag about it at college if he wanted to impress the girl more than his mates.

That evening Bill fucked me hard before dinner and again at night.

A week later David told us he had asked the girl out, and she had agreed. A couple of weeks after that he was looking very cheerful. After that we called him Dave as well.

CHAPTER 7

"It fucking hurts!" I said when the nurse asked me if I was a bit sore.

"That's what they all say," she said cheerfully. "What did you expect when Butcher Bulstrode carves a big hole out of you?"

She was really very caring, but didn't allow us to feel sorry for ourselves. I'm sure Mr Bulstrode is a good surgeon, and nobody else calls him Butcher. I liked her a lot.

Actually the painkillers worked well, but it was not a good time as the big hole healed, while being kept open by dilators -- they look like a dildos but are definitely not a pleasure to use.

I was now staying with Liz and Sophie, who was as good as everyone said, both in looking after me, but making sure I did my dilation exercises, and stayed cheerful.

I was visited by many of the women on the street who had had the same procedure.

Finally I was pronounced "fuckable with care".

Sophie said there was no way I was going to live in the caravan until I was "well and truly fuckable", so it was not a secret when Bill did the service. Sophie would have the TV on fairly loud and Liz used her sewing machine as Bill and I made our first attempts, and Sophie checked me afterwards.

The first was the best and the worst.

Best because I was so happy when Bill was inside me properly for the first time, and could hardly control my emotion when he came.

Worst because it was uncomfortable, but it got better.

And better.

I was pleased at the feelings I got. I hadn't quite believed them when they said that some of the nerves could be adjusted so that I got some pleasure from my pretend clit, and in my new cunt.

But Butcher Bulstrode had managed it, and I enjoyed being fucked not just for Bill's sake, but something like any woman would, I thought. This is what I was made for. Granted it was a conversion of an older property, but Bill said it all looked and felt like original, bless him!

And if I say so myself, with good paintwork, and tastefully decorated by Liz.

The community centre was nearly finished, and had a flat for the caretaker. We moved a bed in there and used it for sex sometimes as the caravan was very cramped.

Finally, the community centre was all finished and painted, and the architect (also David!) moved into the flat and used the main room as an office and for site meetings.

Bill wanted to thank both of the labourers for their good work and was going to buy them a bottle of drink each. But when he asked them what they wanted, Big Dave (what we called him) turned out to be teetotal.

They were well pleased when I gave them both a handjob instead.

Little Dave (not that little) whispered "If there's anything you're short of on your house, just let us know and we'll see if we can get it."

Which meant, of course, nicking it. Not unknown on building sites.

The caravan must have been rocking terribly that night as Bill gave me a really good seeing-to!

Afterwards he asked me to marry him.

Mum and Dad were very good about it. Just a Registry Office, of course, and a reception at a pub. Not many people. My Mum's sister and a cousin from my family. None from Bill's. Liz and Sophie and David (the architect) from Tranford. We were pleased to see three blokes from our former company, and there were some friends of Bill that I didn't know, including his Best Man.

Jessica and Brett were there, and we were glad to see them holding hands.

Liz had made me a nice dress which would have shown my bits if I still had them (so showed I didn't, if you get me), and showed a bit of the top of my tits, which our workmates and Bill's pals said looked good. Dad said he was proud to walk his daughter down the aisle. (Though it wasn't an aisle, of course, just a path between chairs in the Registry Office.)

In the evening, Jessica did two fairly quick drawings of me: one in my underwear and one nude.

We had a week in Blackpool as honeymoon. It was off-season, and rained, of course, but we went up the tower, and danced in the ballroom. (Well, shuffled around, while retired people did it properly around us. Bill had some idea, though I didn't.) But just being not at work and being out as an ordinary man and woman was lovely. We went up and down on the trams, wasted our money in the arcades and looked in shops. And in the evenings, the other guests in the boarding house probably heard us making love. Anyway, I hope they did, because I was so proud of this wonderful man fucking me as hard as he could!

When we got back, Jessica had sent two pictures -- the mixture of paint and drawing she does. Mum said they were very artistic, but should be private. Flattering, of course, especially my figure, but Bill said she'd really caught my likeness, and they were both sexy in different ways. It was the best wedding present we got.

CHAPTER 8

The main site now had most of the roads, foundation and services in. The architect said the shop should be put on hold, and Bill should work on the block of flats, which would be used as temporary accommodation for the self-builders. A house and office for the architect was being constructed next door, and some other premises began to take shape.

The site manager was a bit rude. He said he didn't want Bill skiving off to work on our house when he was being paid to work on the flats, and not to nick anything. He obviously thought Bill was just a thickie brickie. I think he might not have approved of the people the site was for. People like me.

So it was a bit of a problem when Bill pointed out a fault in the drainage system, and they had an argument. Bill said some of it would have to be taken up, which would mean any work on our house would have to be undone, so there was no point starting. He was in a bad mood every day as he worked on the flats.

There was no painting to be done so I was at a bit of a loose end (and not getting paid) so I went around the site getting to know the blokes there. They didn't really know what to make of me, but they realised I was their sort, not middle class like the Tranford folks, and accepted me as a not very good-looking woman, who could be a bit like one of the lads. I wobbled my tits at them, and they all understood it was a joke, not an offer.

(Bill is a big strong man, and they liked him.)

Finally I went to see the site manager. I apologised for Bill's cheek, and said he actually admired how well the site was being run, and had only meant to be helpful, but was obviously worried about our house, so may not have put things well.

I said I didn't know about hydrol-something, (and he said 'hydraulics') but there was probably a mistake on the civil engineering drawing, or someone might have misused a theo-something (and he said 'theodolite'). I said according to Bill the drains wouldn't work because 'shit doesn't go uphill', and pointed to the level numbers on the drawings for the drains by the bungalows.

He looked startled, then peered at the drawing.

"Fuck me!" he said. "Sorry, Miss, I mean Mrs."

"It's all right," I said. "I work on building sites, so I'm used to it. Doesn't bother me at all. And call me Maisie, please."

"OK," he said. "Buggeration! Thanks for letting me know. I'll get onto it right away."

He went to make a phone call, and it sounded as if someone else was in trouble.

Next day there were JCBs digging up the drains, and the site manager said there was a few days painting wanted in Tranbrook (a nearby suburb of the city) if I was interested.

I managed to get some work most weeks to tide me over till the main site started needing it. Then there was plenty to keep me busy. Having got to know them, the lads were very friendly, and I could always get a cup of tea when I wanted -- often a biscuit.

Bill didn't skive off. He did an honest day's work every day. Then a good part of one on our house while there was still light in the evenings. He was often too exhausted to make love, the poor darling, but I was glad to suck him off.

I did what I could manage, of course. One or other of the three Daves sometimes came round after working elsewhere and did an hour or so, and refused payment. Dave the apprentice often did a bit, straight after knocking off time, before going off to shag his girlfriend. He said we had both helped him so much in different ways.

Neither Big Dave nor Little Dave refused when I offered them the occasional handjob.

Bill was doing most of the woodwork himself. The joiner on the flats said he wasn't good enough for the tricky bits, and insisted on doing them himself. He also refused payment, and also refused a wank, saying he wasn't doing it for that.

A couple of weeks later, I told him I would really like to toss him off once just to show my appreciation and he let me.

Bill wasn't too tired that night.

CHAPTER 8

The flats were sufficiently finished by Christmas so that we could escape from the caravan. The architect also moved into his house, so the community centre was ready for Christmas and New Year parties.

Liz made me a nice outfit which showed off my tits, and Bill said I was the belle of the ball. However, the caretaker, Bernie, was probably the most impressive in a frilly pink dress with lots of lace! He's what they call a crossdresser, not transgender.