C is for Charlotte

I spotted that he'd given me a way in.

"So you've seen my file then? The sort of thing you do there, things about footballers and singers and celebrities and so on. So what does it say about me then?"

I grinned a little at him, I wanted him to open up, and he did to an extent.

"Of course I've looked, Charlotte, that's my job. And of course I'm especially interested in the T-Ts, one of them in particular."

I realised the equivalence thing happening again, as I remembered it Helen had a thing for George, in this world or wherever I was it was Nigel who felt something - for me, for Charlotte. I moved my hand to gently squeeze his. Then I let go. I wanted him to talk, nothing else. Anyway, just for five minutes or so that's just what he did, telling me things I knew about, the fifth birthday party and the celebrations, I knew that had been covered, and several other events too. But in every case a slightly different version of my own memory of what had happened. It did what I needed, filled in the gaps in a freaky sort of way, confirming what I was beginning to realise. Suddenly I felt a bit weary.

"Nigel, thanks for looking after me. But I think I need to rest, try to get over whatever this is. Don't worry, it's nothing major. Just a bit of a bug I think."

He stood up.

"That's OK, Charlotte. I'll see you later on anyway at the party. I'd better be getting into the office anyway."

I moved over - and kissed him. Just gently, just once, on the cheek. I squeezed his hand. I knew that would be the way to do it, to say goodbye for now.

But this was going to be difficult, awkward, dealing with the male-female relationship thing. After he left I went to the fridge and got myself a beer. Well, either Charlotte liked beer or she had got several cans in for guests. She? No, me. I took my can into the bedroom and looked into the tall mirror again. Still me, still Charlotte, still a woman. I put the empty can down.

Slowly, shivering with a combination of excitement and some sort of fear I decided I had to investigate being a woman. I took off my jacket and began to un-button my blouse. I was staring. Hell, I was watching a woman undressing, and it was me. Slowly I un-did all the buttons, looking in fascination at my manicured red-nailed fingers moving under my control as I peeled off the blouse and stepped out of the skirt of my suit. I watched in awe as I gently teased the straps of my pink bra and un-fastened the clip at the front. I shivered a little more at the sight of my breasts, hanging loose. I teased my right nipple.

My breathing became more laboured as I continued to caress both my boobs, feeling the nipples stiffen as I rhythmically pushed and pulled, until the excitement got the better of me. My breasts had firmed up, and the nipples had swollen, they really were very sensitive to my touch. I heard myself beginning to moan in delight. I was beginning to lose control to an extent, something automatic was taking over as I watched my right hand snake downwards into my shiny pink panties, as I felt my fingers begin to massage - my vagina. MY vagina! I was getting very wet! I had to stop looking in the mirror, I just had to lie down on the bed to continue fingering myself, feeling the warm moisture escaping onto my fingers. I was moaning more loudly.

OK, 'as Charles' I'd never been averse to an occasional masturbation, and I had always reckoned I did that well, I got no small satisfaction from the ensuing release of sexual tension. But this was something else and somehow it seemed wrong. I shouldn't be doing this, not with someone else's body. I shouldn't be fingering someone else's cunt. But it wasn't someone else's, it was mine, that was obvious. As my fingers gently caressed the folds of my vagina it was me, ME, not someone else, feeling the warm ever-so-arousing flush through my entire body. I felt things begin to happen. I stopped. I lay there for two or three minutes, continuing to caress my new body, wondering whether to 'finish myself off'. I didn't.

The phone rang again.

"Charlotte, hi. Sorry I couldn't ring earlier, are you ok?" I recognised the voice of my sister.

"Er - sure Michelle. Yes, very much better thanks. I was just going to put my head down for a few minutes, to try to rest, to recover fully. It's just some sort of bug I think, nothing major. Thanks for ringing anyway."

"Er - is Nigel still there?"

She was fishing, I could still tell by the hesitancy in her voice, she wanted to know what had been going on. Actually it was perfectly understandable, we are sisters after all. Are we? Sisters?

"No, he isn't, he went about half an hour ago. And before you ask he was the perfect gentleman."

"Was he?"

She sounded disappointed in some way.

"Shame really, he's a nice guy, Charlotte. You could do a lot worse you know."

Which was strange. Very strange. Because the Michelle I knew, Charles knew that is, was always trying to get me - or him - off with Helen, Nigel's co-presenter on the evening news program. Again, some sort of equivalent situation, the same but different. I spent nearly an hour after Michelle had rung off looking round the house and checking up on the differences, but I just came up with Charlotte-related similarities.

I found my driving licence, my salary statements - same estate agent's, same salary scale - even my supermarket loyalty card, all printed or labelled exactly as they would have been if I had really been Charlotte. I looked at my own new signature on the card - it was just about identical, C-squiggle Tran-squiggle. I'd intended to practice it, but I didn't need to.

I was becoming resigned to the truth by then, maybe five hours after that nine-o-clock freaky changeover event. Looking back I'm surprised I stayed sane during that time, so many totally improbable things seemed to have happened or to be happening. I mean, it had to be pretty unique, I'd never heard of anything remotely like it happening before. It's not the sort of thing you expect, is it? Just going into town in the morning, standing there with members of your family in the morning sunshine, closing your eyes for a moment, and changing gender. Like I said, not an everyday event.

However I needed rest. I stripped naked and put on a light nightdress I'd found in 'my' lingerie drawer and crept into bed. And I slept for a couple of hours. Again I'm surprised I could sleep but I did. I felt better when I woke and had a quick shower, being careful not to mess up my make-up as I did so. That was maybe a skill I'd have to learn to deal with. I looked round the bedroom yet again and found underwear and a skirt and a top in exactly the places where I might have expected them to be. I actually enjoyed the dressing process, sliding on nylon tights over my bare legs, clipping a black bra on to hold up what I was beginning to appreciate were very impressive breasts, then sliding on a pair of black stilettos I found in the bottom of my wardrobe.

I was surprised how well I coped with the stilettos, my one and only previous experience with high-heels hadn't been altogether positive. That was the time the three of us made a guest appearance in the Rocky Horror Show at the Hippodrome, all three of us in black basques and fishnets and very high platforms, and made-up to the nines. I thought I looked OK though at the same time I thought George looked totally stupid. Even though we are - or rather were - identical siblings. Michelle looked totally gorgeous though, I do remember that. I found the photo album again, and found THAT photograph. Not surprisingly it looked different though the caption was very similar - 'Michelle and Charlotte Tranter, with sister Georgina - at the first night of ....'

I remembered it differently - 'Michelle Tranter, with sisters Charlotte and Georgina - at the first night of ...'

There was that equivalence thing again.

I was suddenly quite hungry. OK, so I had the day off work. I just wondered what a doctor might write on my sick note if I'd had to have one. Gender Confusion, or something like that maybe, whatever that was in Latin. I had a small internal giggle at the thought. There was stuff in the freezer and the fridge but I decided to go out for a late lunch, just a snack maybe. I had to do that sometime.

Obviously I knew the locality, I wondered if I'd notice any differences there. I couldn't really see any reasons why. I crossed the street to the small café-cum-wine bar, still called 'Fred's', at least it wasn't run by someone called Frederica or anything. And Fred greeted me.

"Hi Charlotte. The usual?"

"Sure Fred".

I wondered just what my usual was, not a pie and a pint surely. He brought me a glass of white wine, a nice Chablis, a wine I'd always appreciated though I'd never have called it my usual. But I was Charlotte now, not Charles. And a minute or two later Wendy, his wife, appeared from the kitchen behind the bar and presented me with a rather delicious-looking sandwich, tuna in wholemeal bread, with some kind of herb flavouring I didn't recognise though it was rather tasty. OK, if that was to be my usual I wasn't going to complain.

Wendy chatted for a few minutes, saying she'd seen a very short clip on the local lunchtime news, me and my sister and brother. She asked me just what Nigel was like, and if he really did fancy me.

"It's so obvious, Charlotte, I could tell from the way he had presented the items involving you."

I smiled, chatted, enjoyed myself really, and for the first time had to cope as a female with an unwanted male intervention.

He was a big guy, fat, really, I noticed him out of the corner of my eye just as Wendy had to go and deal with another customer.

"You're Charlotte, aren't you? I've seen you on the telly."

Sometimes there are advantages in being a sort-of D-list celebrity, getting priority treatment in restaurants and so on, but there are negatives too. And this was one of them. OK I'd had the experience as Charles but not in my new feminine guise. Frequent interruptions of your private life, people assuming familiarity because they know you and imagine you want to know them, that sort of thing. I mean, I was just sitting there, minding my own business, how dare he start to come on to me in that sort of way? I was surprised, this really was new to me. I wondered if Michelle had ever had a complete stranger approach her in a bar and put his hand over hers.

Luckily I'd finished my luck and my drink. I smiled at him, moved my hand away and stood up.

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm afraid I do have to go now. I'm meeting George a bit later, nice to meet you."

Which was really a lie, I know, but it served its purpose. I grabbed my handbag and turned, heading for the door and smiling my thanks in Fred's direction as I left. So. What to do now? I turned left, away from my house and did a little window-shopping in the small arcade next to the café. 'Annabelle's' attracted me, somewhere I'd noticed before but never been into. Well, I wouldn't have would I? It was a women's shop, clothes and shoes and scarves and so on. I looked with interest at a blue skirt on a model in the window.

And then I saw a pair of shoes. They definitely did attract my attention. A pair of open-sided stilettos, black, shiny, really very attractive and indeed very high heels. I hadn't the background experience at that moment to come to a proper judgement as to whether they would suit me or not. But I thought they might and they were in the sale anyway. I went in.

I think it may have been Annabelle herself who served me, she was very nice. Maybe she recognised me anyway, perhaps that's why she was so attentive. Added to which, as a minor celebrity I would perhaps bring her shop some publicity. I had a bit of trouble dealing with the size, I just didn't know what size my feet were! But I bluffed my way through that and did try on a pair, and ended up buying them. I coped with the bank card OK, my own version of the 'Charlotte Tranter' signature was so very similar to the signature on my card and Annabelle didn't inspect it too closely anyway. She was just happy to have the sale.

So, bag in hand, I headed back towards home. Just as I turned into my drive I realised. It was the 'Annabelle' name which prompted me I think. My car, Antonia. OK, silly I know, but I'd actually given my car a name, for some reason it reminded me of an old girlfriend so I'd got one of those stick-on name labels, 'Toni', and stuck it on the dashboard. I had a feeling I knew what I'd find there. If the car was there of course, so what if anything was sitting in my garage?

I turned towards the garage, it looked just as I remembered it. The key on my key-ring fitted the lock, I swung the door open. My car was there, this time exactly as I remembered it, my scarlet soft-top MG, probably my most prized possession. Ever since I'd been a young boy I'd loved the whole idea of sports cars and just after my twenty-first birthday I'd seen this one for sale in a garage I'd just been passing. I moved round the side and opened the driver's door. I looked inside. 'Tony'. Obviously. I wondered what he'd been like, I mean, I remembered Toni, medium height, brunette, gorgeous legs and very well endowed. But 'Tony'? No idea.

I shut the garage and locked it, turning to walk towards the front door. I'd actually been out longer than I'd intended but then again I was having a rather lazy day after my most unusual start. And Michelle was just getting out of her car outside the gate.

"Hi Charlotte." She looked at my bag. It was obvious it contained a shoe-box. "OK, I can see you're feeling better, a bit of retail therapy? Are they for the party tonight?"

The party! Of course, the party. I'd forgotten. Not surprising really, with so much else to occupy my mind. The special celebration the local Chamber of Commerce were giving us. Really it was just a bit of an excuse for a piss-up, get some of the local companies there, give them champagne and little things on sticks. Basically the whole idea of the shindig was to try to generate some enthusiasm for regional business and so on, and hang the whole thing onto the peg of the semi-famous triplets and their twenty-fifth birthday. Well, despite my own personal situation I imagined that would be going ahead. But - I had to think, maybe our own arrangements wouldn't be as I remembered them. I was maybe going to have to carefully quiz Michelle about that.

But she started giving me answers before I'd even started trying to think of subtle questions.

"It is at 8 o'clock, isn't it Charlotte? I know it's in the Grosvenor, actually I'm quite looking forward to it, I haven't been in any of their posh suites. George is picking us up at half-seven, I think he said. Now. Have you decided? Who gets which dress? Let me see."

I unlocked my door and we went in, Michelle took the bag from me and opened the shoebox.

"Oh thank you, Charlotte. Thank you. I really was hoping you'd let me wear the red one."

I was puzzled for a moment, then I realised. Logical really, OK so we had two dresses somewhere. Clearly two new dresses - for the party. And since we were clearly the same size - whatever size that was - each of us could wear either.

And I'd been given the choice, but since I'd bought black shoes I wasn't going to wear the red dress, so she was going to. Simple really. Michelle disappeared into my bedroom for a moment and emerged with two dresses on hangers, and laid them across the sofa. One was red, one was black. So I was right.

"I thought we should get ready soon, Charlotte. John is looking after Maria, they'll meet us there. And you said you wanted me to help with your make-up. Really Charlotte, you should be more confident you know, after all you are twenty-five now."

Well, Michelle. I want to get things right -- for a special occasion," I commented.

Hell, what a feeble thing to say. But overall things seemed to be working out. OK so 'as Charlotte' I was going to have to go to this party. Really I'd much rather have stopped in and kept on thinking and trying to work things out. But at least I was maybe going to get some help.

"I need to shower, Charlotte. Do you want to call George and check on the timings?"

So I did. His number was correct, of course it was, and indeed he was coming over at about a quarter to eight. His wife and John were going to be taking the kids along later just for an hour or so, leaving the three of us to enjoy the spotlight, and to milk it to an extent. The extra income from appearances and the like did always come in useful. In fact it had gone some way towards buying Toni. Tony, I mean.

I was surprised by Michelle coming out of the bathroom almost naked, especially when she dropped her towel to put on her red bra and panties, I mean, I just had to look, I hadn't seen my sister naked for years. Well at that sort of age you don't, do you? I didn't dwell mentally on the differences in that respect between me and George, it really is different for guys. Charles and George, that is.

But I didn't get caught out staring, I just followed Michelle into the bathroom, stripped myself and began to get myself ready. This time I did remove my make-up, I remembered about make-up remover pads and conditioning cream and some of those things, the sort of preparation I'd seen several girlfriends involved with over the years. OK so I'd not watched them carefully but I had watched. Specially since on most such occasions the girls in question had been at most partly dressed.

And while I was looking in the bathroom cupboard I noticed something else. A small bubble-pack of pills. I checked the days on the bubbles, Friday's was missing. OK so I was on the pill and up-to-date. Really I'd no reason to suppose this Charlotte was a virgin, it's just that - in that sense - I was. A virgin, that is, as a female. I'd never experienced - IT - as a female. I did remember the feelings I'd encountered earlier in the day as I'd laid on the bed, fingering myself. Would I ever?

And how would I react, I mean, was I a lesbian even? I was certainly attracted to Michelle's body, she looked gorgeous. Which is in fact a very vain statement, we look so alike. But again in a way I could be dispassionate her, Charlotte was indeed a very attractive woman. Like I said, as Charles, I'd have fucked me.

Steadily we dressed together, Michelle and I. Obviously with all the cameras that were bound to be around we had to look good, I realised that. Which was the reason for the two dresses, different colours but very similar styles, short and tight and low-cut. I got yet another thrill when I saw the effect on my cleavage of the plunge under-wired bra I was wearing. Michelle's tits too were clearly in evidence, though my black dress showed my own bulging boobs even better than hers in her red dress.

I slipped my new stilettos on and posed a little in front of the large mirror.

"Gee, Charlotte, I didn't realise those heels were so high."

Michelle looked me in the eye, a devilish grin of sorts on her face.

"Is it Nigel? Is that why? I mean, you do know what those shoes are, don't you?"

I looked puzzled.

"Those, Charlotte my darling, and if you'll excuse my language, are real fuck-me heels. So I think Nigel may be getting lucky tonight."

I didn't know how to respond.

"And you're blushing. I'm right, I'm so glad."

With which my sister grabbed me tightly round the waist. I probably blushed again as our combined boobs squashed together and she gently kissed my cheek.

She didn't refer to it again. I had to deal with a couple of phone calls, both from friends I knew but both approaching our conversation in a way which just didn't sound right. Or at least in a way I wasn't quite expecting. Then Michelle and I, sitting side-by-side in front of my dressing table mirror, sorted out our make-up and our jewellery and so on. Despite my anticipated problems in those areas I reckon I did quite well, even as far as fitting in my earrings into my pierced ears, difficult with my long nails.