Magic Dress - Zoe

CHAPTER 1

It was prostate cancer. On balance the consultant recommended watchful waiting, with hormone treatment to shrink it.

"More men die with it than of it," he told us, and warned of possible side-effects.

Still, that concentrated the mind. My wife, Clarisse, said we should start dealing with our bucket list. She wanted to go sky-diving and visit countries. What did I want?

I really only had one item, but I didn't dare say it. So instead I said I'd like to see the world, and we should get some more memories with the kids, and especially the grandchildren we hoped were on the way.

So she jumped out of a perfectly serviceable plane, but strapped to a fit man, and we went to Prague, Singapore and Thailand, and visited the kids with their first babies.

Then one day in the car I was stopped by the police.

"Good day, sir. How fast do you think you were going?"

"About thirty," I told him.

"Yes, well it's a twenty limit now. Didn't you see the sign?"

"Oh sorry, I must have missed it!"

"I see. Would you mind telling me the number of the white van on the other side of the road?"

I didn't get it quite right.

"Don't worry, sir. Tell me the number of the police car in front of you. It's a bit nearer."

It wasn't right.

"Well sir, I'm sorry to tell you that I think your eyesight does not meet the standard required, and I must ask you not to drive any further. You should go to an optician's or your doctor as soon as possible. Is there anyone who can come and collect you, and the car?"

"My wife," I said, shocked.

It didn't take her long to come by taxi and take me home.

My GP arranged an appointment and I went to the eye hospital.

The news was not good. I was going blind, and there was nothing to stop it, only learning to manage. I had to surrender my licence, but they kindly didn't give me a speeding ticket.

As always, my dear wife took charge. She said we should go and see things while I was still able.

That's when I managed to tell her.

I wanted to see myself in a nice dress and makeup.

"It's the hormone treatment," she said.

"They warned us there could be some feminization. How long have you felt like this?"

"About forty years," I whispered.

She was shocked, but she was strong and she loved me.

CHAPTER 2

Next morning we telephoned work, and took the day off. We went to the local supermarket, which has quite a good clothes collection. I hadn't a clue, so she bought some underwear and two dresses she thought might fit (we could return if not, of course). Passing by another little shop, there was a rail outside with some dresses on sale, and she picked out a green one, quite cheap.

I hadn't really thought of the differences - I just had this vague vision of being out in a dress or skirt - and I didn't know the technical details, but Clarisse said we should do it properly. There were two packs of panties - one was a bit loose, the other just right - and something called a bralet, just lace really in the shape of a bra. The supermarket dresses were too tight round the armpits, the green one was OK, being sleeveless.

She wouldn't let me look in the mirror until she had put some makeup on me, which seemed to take ages. Then at last I got to see myself, and we both cried, so she had to redo my makeup.

We both said "I love you" and it couldn't have been more sincere.

That first image of me in that green dress is still vivid in my brain. Somehow it was always the special one I came back to.

I went back to work to finish off things and to arrange retirement due to ill-health, for which I got some benefits. Everyone was very helpful. Not being able to drive was awkward, and I realised I had been having difficulty with the computer screen for a while. I also realised that what I thought was being clumsy was the loss of peripheral vision. It was why I had missed the road sign. The disease would progress to a narrowing tunnel vision getting more and more blurred at the centre.

The first thing I needed for makeup was a different shade of lipstick, which I learned to apply myself. That alone made a difference when I came home in the evening, but she could do much more with powder, foundation and mascara.

We got some new clothes. I even got an actual bra! The hormone treatment had produced very small breasts, one of the things I had been warned about, but welcomed.

She offered to retire, but I said no. I knew the job and her friends meant a lot to her, so there was no need until I really couldn't manage. I was fifty-five, she was fifty. And frankly the money would be helpful.

While she was at work, she suggested I explore the city, so I got familiar with the buses, and went to see things Clarisse didn't care about. With commuting, I had missed so much of the locality. I usually had lunch somewhere, often at a café at the local headquarters of the RNIB (Royal National Institute for the Blind) where I got a lot of help over the years. Afterwards I came home and put on lipstick and female clothes, did any minor bits of housework and was there to greet her when she came back from work.

She called "Honey, I'm home!" in a deep voice, and I answered in a high one.

It was after about five months, when the narrowing of my vision became really noticeable, that I plucked up the courage to go out with her as a female, or at least a man in a dress and makeup. I just had to do it while I could still see myself.

The first time was to be fitted with a new bra and try on some dresses in a big store. It was nerve-wracking, but the assistants were very kind. I wasn't trying to fool anyone - Clarisse actually introduced me as 'my husband' in saying what we wanted.

After that, with the weather improving, I was able to go out with her in parks and public places. It was wonderful!

I hadn't thought about it, but she found a shop that sold large women's shoes, and I actually wore a pair with two-inch heels. Not the very pointy ones, though they look nice, ones with round toes. There's an increasing market for taller women and older ones with swollen feet or arthritis.

Over the course of the year, I got a set of outfits for all seasons and occasions, and was photographed in them. We got some more the following year. This was important later, when my vision was virtually gone, because I knew what I looked like when I went out, which gave me great confidence and pleasure.

Oh, another thing to notice - the feel of different clothes. The length, the texture, the way the cloth moved. These were finally the only part of my clothes I could appreciate. Fortunately, women's clothes have a delightful range from soft silky to strong tweed, and I learned to love them all.

My underwear didn't last forever, of course, but I could tell different kinds of lace and fabrics on my body, even later when I had to be told the colour. With new ones, I traced the designs with my fingers.

Later on, when I really had no vision, I sorted the clothes for washing by touch quite successfully, not mixing the colours with the whites, and knowing the material by feel for the correct program. With Clarisse at work, I did most of the housework, helped by keeping everything in its place, and in the correct order. The RNIB gave useful tips, like vacuuming in bare feet so I could feel dust and grit.

CHAPTER 3

Going back to that earlier time, there were three important changes.

Firstly, when my vision had closed in more, I got a free pass for local public transport. The RNIB encouraged its members to maintain independence and manage with whatever partial vision we had. By practising it was possible to continue on familiar routes with less or even total loss of vision. Initially I had what they call an indicator stick - a small telescopic white stick which could fit in a handbag but got out to show, and people like bus drivers recognised.

The second thing happened the first time I went for my routine prostate check wearing a dress - the special one, as it happens. They referred me to an NHS centre for gender issues, and eventually I got more hormone than was needed for the prostate to deliberately feminize me. In a year it was good; in two years it was wonderful! I had real breasts - not large but nice - so I had to increase my bra size twice!

The third thing was Derek.

Clarisse's company had an annual dance. I didn't go the first year after my diagnosis, but I did the second, wearing the green dress. Derek was one of her colleagues, about ten years younger, and very nice. He danced with both of us. I had no idea, of course, particularly backwards and with no peripheral vision, but he managed to keep me upright.

He said I looked very nice and it was silly to introduce me as her husband, so suggested the name Zoe, which I accepted.

I guessed there was something between them, and told Clarisse if there was she had my blessing. If not, I would be happy if she started. We hadn't had much sex in recent years, and none from the time I started the prostate treatment.

I was honestly glad when she started going out with him openly, just telling me when she did. She never told me the details, but sometimes told me how she enjoyed the sex, and loved me for encouraging it. I didn't go to the company dance after that.

As television was getting difficult to follow, I discovered the wonderful world of the radio, and even began borrowing audio books from the library.

There were other things I learned about dealing with the world. Blind people don't have magical extra senses - we just take more notice of what we have, and combine it with anything we can see. In the past, going out for dinner I had often scarcely noticed the food, what with talking and looking at the people and surroundings. Eating began to be an increased pleasure as I ate slowly, paying attention to both the texture and the taste. With some gadgets like talking scales I actually got to enjoy cooking. Cutting back on salt and spices I learned or relearned to appreciate plain simple foods like boiled or mashed potatoes, then started to experiment with more subtle combinations of herbs. Fortunately the special dress told me when I was eating too much!

It also felt even more special when I filled the bust properly and had a little bit of fat around my bum and hips. More like Zoe, in fact.

It also meant I could wear skirts without them slipping down.

We didn't have sex, but I enjoyed feeling my wife's beautiful body with my hands and face. It felt strangely exciting when she felt my breasts as we kissed.

My hair had been thin on top, but recovered enough for me to go to the hairdresser, and enjoy the pampering. For a while I could see enough of myself in the mirror, but in a few more years it would only be by feel and my internal vision. The hairdressers were exaggerating, of course, but it was nice to believe I looked as good as they told me.

I tried to be as independent as possible, just going to familiar places with a full white stick. I was not yet totally blind, but it helped to just check so I didn't trip or bump into things. Then one day I somehow got it wrong, and got totally lost, so stood holding my stick up till someone approached me.

"Excuse me madam. I'm a police officer. Can I help you?"

I thanked him, and he put my hand on his arm so he could lead me to the RNIB café. It wasn't far away. I offered him a cup of tea, and as he wasn't on duty, he accepted. His voice was familiar, somehow, and I eventually realised what it was.

"I think you stopped me for speeding a few years ago," I told him.

"Sorry," he said with what I imagined was a smile.

"No you, won't remember me. Keller Street - they'd just changed it to twenty. I was in a VW Polo."

I imagined his puzzled face, and added "I was a man then!"

I had to explain, and tell him how grateful I was that my condition had been discovered before I had an accident, and how it had allowed me to become a woman.

He said I looked very nice, and was it all right if he kissed me. I giggled and said yes, so he did, just on the cheek, of course. I think someone laughed and someone else said something, then there was some whispering as those that had been able to see told others.

As he left someone else came over and said "Can I have one too?" kissing me on the cheek before I could answer. He sat down in front of me. In my limited view I could see it was a smiling face with dark hair, but that's all.

"Donnie!" called out one of the staff (or volunteer helpers), "Leave her alone!"

"It's all right," I said, a bit amused.

"I'm Donald, but everyone calls me Donnie. I see you've charmed Sergeant Dixon, our local plod. What's your name, beautiful? I've seen you here before."

"Zoe," I told him.

"What makes you think I'm beautiful?"

"I can see you are. Sorry, I feel a bit of a cheat hanging around here. I'm only half-blind, hemianopia. Lost half the vision in both eyes, so I can get around and look at women, but I sometimes crash into things on the right."

"May I feel your face?" I said, holding up my hand with fingers out.

This is something I had started doing with the kids and grandkids, now I could no longer see them properly. And Clarisse, of course, just because I liked seeing her in any way possible.

"Sorry," he said, and I didn't understand why until I felt his face.

"Car accident," he explained.

"My fault for not wearing a seatbelt. Now you know why I like people like you!"

He was a cheeky sod, but I liked him. And I'd learned that people with restricted vision often joke about it amongst themselves or with friends and family. It's more annoying (or sometimes funny) when people try to skirt around the fact that we can't see. Totally blind people say "nice to see you."

"Have you got a jealous husband?" he said suddenly, and I realised he must have seen my wedding ring.

"No, I haven't got a husband," I said, but didn't know how to continue.

"Sorry for your loss, but if you don't have a boyfriend, can I ask you out? There's a charity dance on Friday, and the RNIB's one of the beneficiaries. It's all in a good cause."

I was flummoxed, so I just sat there.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, handing me a piece of paper which I guessed (correctly) had the details, and I put in my handbag.

"Bring friends, family, lovers, it's for charity. In the old military hall, just up the road by the tram stop. I'll be really disappointed if I don't see you there. Eight o'clock on Friday."

I wanted to tell him sorry, I'm a man. But I also felt a thrill at the idea of dancing and being treated as a woman. Not sex, of course, just to complete the sensation of the clothes and makeup. That was all I had wanted for all these years.

So instead, rudely and clumsily, I asked "So the car crash, was that also how...you...you know?"

He laughed.

"No that was a stroke. Just when you've come to terms with something and tell yourself things could be worse, suddenly they are. I got up one morning and started walking into things and knocking over objects on the right. It took me two years to learn to read again, but now I've got a job. I.T. with the police, but I also help the RNIB a bit. If you've got any problems with the aids on your computer, let me know."

I'd given up on the computer. I'd tried magnifying for a while, and vaguely knew there was speech to text, but hadn't tried it.

"I think I'd better be going," I said, taking my stick and standing up.

"Which way do you go?" he asked.

"Down to the town hall and then the number six."

"Permit me to escort you, my lady," he said, standing up, and I could tell he was taller than me.

"I'll make sure you get on the right bus."

I didn't say no.

As we stepped out of the door, he said "Why don't I take your stick for a while? You take my left arm, then I'll knock into things to save you the trouble."

I was amused, and accepted as he took it and put his arm to my right hand.

I could manage, but I let him guide me onto the tram, and even the bus, where he asked someone to give up their seat, sat me down and gave me my stick. He kissed me on the cheek, and said "Bye, bye, gorgeous. See you Friday at eight," before getting off at the next stop.

CHAPTER 4

"You've got a date?!" Clarisse said, when I showed her the leaflet.

"Of course not," I told her.

"He's just advertising the dance."

"Well, I'd like to go," she said, "and I'm sure Derek would. So we're not leaving you here like Cinderella."

She took a day off work on Friday and booked a session for both of us at the hairdresser (and nails, of course). Just on the way, she stopped and said "I don't believe it!"

I didn't know what, of course, but there was a dress shop which had a dress like my green one, but in red. She checked, and it was the same size. I could only see a red blob, but she said it was exactly the same design.

"It's the same colour as your red shoes," she remarked, and I thought it was. We had bought them in the first year's enthusiasm, but they were a bit much for ordinary use, so I hadn't really worn them.

The dress felt exactly the same as the green one, of course, which was nice. But knowing it was red gave some kind of psychological effect, and I felt different. She bought some new lipstick in a brighter red for me.

"Very sexy," said Derek, and I realised that was the difference. From the first green dress I had felt comfortable and happily feminine, but never sexy. Now I did. Feminine and desirable. (Which was nonsense, of course. I was a sixty-year-old man. Perhaps it was lucky I couldn't see myself properly!)

Derek was able to park near the hall, so I decided not to take my stick. I held Clarisse's arm.

There was a wolf whistle, and I heard Donnie say "Zoe! You look great!" which gave me such a nice feeling. Clarisse urged me forward, and he took my hand. Clarisse whispered "Give him your cheek," so I offered and he kissed me.

For all those years I had wanted to be a woman just in the sense of wearing nice clothes and makeup. Even when I was actually doing it, I never once thought of even being kissed by a man, never mind sex. Derek had danced with me (or rather danced me) once, but that was only to be polite, and because he wanted sex with my wife.

Somehow tonight was different. I wanted to be with a man as a woman. Not for sex itself, but to be the opposite sex. The fact that Donnie was bigger and stronger than me was just right.

We introduced ourselves, and the policeman came across to say hello and he liked my dress. His name was George. He kissed both me and Clarisse on the cheek.

Then the music started and Donnie got me to my feet, and made an encouraging start.

"Don't worry. Just hold on tight, and after a few collisions they'll keep clear of us!"

But it didn't work out like that.

He led and I followed, that's all I knew, but somehow it was dancing and it was delightful. When the music stopped, he kissed me on the lips, and I was glad. It was the first time I had kissed anyone but Clarisse on the lips for decades. And the first man ever. It was strangely exciting and even a bit satisfying. A little voice in my head said "about time, Zoe."

"You dance well," he said. I was puzzled, and wanted to deny it, but things had gone so well, I just said "Thank you. You too," and put my face and lips forward, to be met by his, giving a little tingle of excitement again.

We danced again, then took a break and talked a bit. Then George asked me to dance, and Donnie agreed. As we danced, he whispered to me.

"Just so you know, when Donnie had his accident he was due to get married, but his fiancée dumped him. It took him years to get over it, then he had his stroke, and was very depressed. Getting back to work was the only thing that saved him, but he also helps the RNIB a lot. If he acts a little over the top, don't mind him, but don't take him seriously."