Mummy's Girl Pt. 02

CHAPTER 3

When Matilda was ten, we had a talk about periods. Obviously I would never have them, but I think I understood a bit more what it must be like for girls at school. Mummy gave me some tampons and pads, and said I should try to have at least one of each at all times for when it happened. She showed me on herself, and said I should try it myself privately whenever I was ready. I did, eventually, and it was really awkward to get out when it had swelled and dried up my inside.

That was also my fiftieth birthday, so David visited and I got a funny card from Peter and his wife. There were some drinks after work and it was pleasant enough, but I couldn't wait to get home and put on a dress.

Later the same year we downsized. A two-bedroom house with an integral garage. A modern terrace, but spacious enough on a small area of land with a small back garden. In the garage there was room and fittings for washing machine, tumble dryer, dishwasher and freezer. Common in America but not here, and an excellent idea!

We got rid of the boy stuff, but kept toys, books and things that Matilda liked.

I had my own bedroom, with posters of boys from years ago and girly furnishings. That was the thing. I was not a girl of today, but the girl I would have been at that time along with the boys I would have fancied. I played music from the boy bands of the time. Mummy had got quite organized, knowing the music, fashions and gadgets of the year in preparing for my birthday each year and finding things in charity shops or retro places.

My eleventh birthday followed soon, and my most important present was a pleated skirt to go with Peter's blazer. Not the short tight skirts they wear today; but like the school uniform of those years ago. Regulation socks as well to go with my Mary Jane shoes. When I came home from work I changed in the garage, and I pretended I had come home from secondary school, with Peter's tie like girls wear it, short, and the blazer for me to take off a minute or two later. There was a locker with the clothes, shoes and an electric shaver. Each morning I had an early breakfast to give a bit of time in uniform before heading off to the garage to change into my secret identity.

When I was twelve she had a serious talk with me.

"Soon you'll be a teenager. How do you feel about being a woman?"

I realised that with the way things had been going, it was directed to two people.

I answered for both.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"If you're sure?"

It had been wonderful being a little girl, but I knew we both needed to move on. I could either go back to being a man or let my wife train me to be a woman. There was no contest.

On our 30^th wedding anniversary, we went out, had a nice dinner, came home and eventually went to bed together naked.

Nothing happened.

Then she said "Let's put on our pyjamas, Matilda, and go to sleep."

From that moment my man clothes became like a school uniform, to be worn only when necessary. As a twelve-year-old I could have sensible discussions with my mother, so there was no need to go into husband mode except when out in public.

Even then, it was only the minimum outer clothes for effect. Rather than little girl clothes, I had nice lace vests and panties underneath. What a twelve-year-old looking forward to womanhood might have.

The only men's underwear I had was ready with some other things in case I ever went to hospital.

When shopping, our conversations were what a girl might have with her mother about food and clothes. (Or an enlightened husband). We looked at clothes ostensibly for her, but with me in mind.

I put on lipstick when I came home each day, and practised full makeup at the weekend with my mother. (It was not allowed at school.)

That year we had a bit of luck. The company I worked for had an annual Christmas party for employees and one guest each. This year it was fancy dress (optional).

At last I could go out in public as Matilda in my school blazer and skirt! Mum wore David's blazer and shorts, with dirty knees and one sock up and one down as a cartoon schoolboy. She got some cheap men's lace-up shoes and scuffed them a bit. For the first time I wore a bra (with padding), and quite liked it. People said we were good. Someone said 'a bit too convincing' which I really liked. Women noticed the shoes.

For Matilda's Christmas, I got some tablets from a health food store, supposed to be natural oestrogens to help women in the menopause, and started to take them.

CHAPTER 4

It may have been psychological, but we both thought there had been an effect by my thirteenth birthday. My nipples were definitely more sensitive, and I felt a bit softer. So we did what you should never, ever, do and shared her HRT tablets. I also moisturized along with Mum each day.

She gave me some wedge sandals with heel straps to practise for wearing heels. That necessitated nail polish on the toes. We started doing each other's toenails - trimming, shaping and polishing. As well as my underwear, toenail polish was my secret femininity.

We had also shifted from the little girl having things done for her into a teenager with her own ideas and tastes, which included some arguments but nothing serious. Of course, the one thing I never did was beg to be able to go out on my own and stay late.

For my fourteenth birthday I had a pretty beginner's bra with tiny tits to put into it. I didn't really need it but wore a bra most of the time at home, except in bed. I also started putting a tampon inside me occasionally, having got the technique for getting it out with some Vaseline, though that petered out after a few months.

I was given some court shoes, with two-inch heels, fairly wide. It took a while, and was a bit painful at first, but I felt like I was growing into a real woman when I could wear them most of the time at home. That and the bra, of course.

Mum also started training me in deportment. Not only walking, but to sit with my knees together and straight up, reminding me like a teenager when I sprawled.

Unlike a real girl, I could still wear my little girl clothes, but started to wear more skirts and tops.

About this time, something happened in my other identity as the mild-mannered accountant. A new guy joined the firm, named Dexter. I was asked to show him the ropes. Somehow there are people you just click with straight away, and he was one. As he was new to the area, I phoned home, and took him for a drink and a meal after work. We started meeting after work for an hour or so at least once a week. It delayed me getting back to being Matilda, but he was good company, so I didn't mind.

He was about ten or fifteen years younger than me and divorced. Nice guy.

That Christmas the company had another fancy dress party, and several people asked if I would be the schoolgirl again. I said maybe, but was happy to oblige. Dexter (a pirate) didn't have a partner so asked me to dance, and one of the office girls danced with my schoolboy brother. I was hopeless, but everybody laughed.

On my fifteenth birthday, my breasts had not grown, but I was given a proper bra: A size cup, but with foam padding to give some shape even though it wasn't filled. I loved the experience in my clothes at home.

Mum said I was old enough to start dating and asked if there were there any boys at school I liked.

I immediately thought of Dexter.

"Well, Dexter's very nice," I said, blushing.

"I know you like him," Mum responded with a smile.

"You mention him often enough!"

"Why don't you bring him for a meal?"

So we did, and she liked him as well. After that he became my imaginary boyfriend. Drinks after work were a coffee with him.

Mum bought me a school skirt that was too tight. I started dieting and got my waist down till it fitted! I was glad that my bum did not seem to shrink so much. I actually had a tiny bit of shape. Dieting became part of my life as a woman.

For my sixteenth birthday, I was given my first proper stilettos! Just what they call kitten heels, just a bit under two inches, but challenging at first to get the balance.

And a B cup bra with some foam pads to fill it.

And a vibrator. A simple pink plastic one.

"You're sixteen, now, Matilda," she said.

"It's legal for you to have sex, if you want, but don't rush into it. There's no reason why you shouldn't practise a bit. I think most girls have a vibrator these days. You don't have to, of course. I just thought you should know that I wouldn't mind if you had a boyfriend, but I'd rather you told me."

There were some packets of condoms, which I was warned should always be used.

This was the conversation she had always wanted to have, of course. Yes, a sixteen-year-old girl would be thinking about sex, if she hadn't already started, so I got a bit of a thrill imagining. It had to be Dexter, of course.

It was half automatic and half deliberate, but I started touching him. Nothing overt, just a pat on the arm or hands actually brushing together, occasionally bumping a bit and saying "Sorry". Back with Mum this as reported as holding hands and little kisses.

For my seventeenth birthday we went out and bought me some women's jeans and leggings. Then to a shoe shop where she tried on some shoes with heels, then bought a pair of my choice in a larger size.

Coming home from school I changed into jeans or leggings as a seventeen-year-old would do, but at the weekend I practised in a dress and 3-inch heels. And sometimes in the evening I would dance to music in a very short skirt!

By this time I had got so used to sitting like a modest woman in a skirt that I had to deliberately mansprawl at work occasionally so as not to draw attention to myself. And on two days a week I used a urinal, making sure I had plain white panties so far as they might be glimpsed.

For her birthday we went out to café. It doesn't sound much, but it was. Wearing my new jeans! In fact everything was women's clothes apart from the trainers (which could have been) and the man's coat. I had my A cup bra again, which scarcely showed under the coat. I had toenail polish, of course, but also clear varnish on my nails. I had the colourless lipstick they sell to prevent chapping and renewed in the (men's) toilet.

Eventually she persuaded me to open the coat, but I refused to take it off. Still, we had a little cream tea together, and when we got home we hugged and kissed.

"My daughter!" she said.

CHAPTER 5

Then Dexter broke up with me.

In the real world, all that happened was that he now had a girlfriend and introduced her to me as his best friend. Well, of course that was true, and I was glad for him. He was a younger man, and she was a similar age and very nice.

I still had lunch with him at work most days, but didn't go for drinks so often. When we did it was for him to be enthusiastic about her and only stay for one drink.

As Matilda and Mum we were only pretending, of course, but there were real tears. I guess this was something special to her, helping her daughter through her first romance and heartbreak.

But it somehow provoked me into getting the courage to go out. Not just in jeans so I looked more or less like a man, but actually as a female. I don't remember which of us suggested it, but it was her plan. I was fully dressed and made up as Matilda when I drove the car out of the garage, and Mum got out to close the door, so I didn't have to show myself.

I was a bit nervous on the motorway, but it wasn't far to the out-of-town shopping centre at the next city. It was a work day, so we were unlikely to see anyone we knew, but busy enough as it was nearing Christmas. I had a knee-length tweed skirt with black tights and trainers, a blouse and cardigan on top. Slip-on shoes for driving, with a pair of heels in which was well practised. My B cup bra gave me just enough bumps at the front. Some spandex panties disguised my real bump lower down. We had coats in the car, but reckoned it would be warm enough without. Mum had spent an age styling my hair, but I had managed my makeup all myself.

The hardest thing was getting out of the car.

"Take your time," Mum said.

It was maybe fifteen minutes when she said "Well, I need to go and pee," and got out.

Suddenly I needed to as well!

There was nothing for it. I had to get out and for the first time ever hurried to the women's toilet. They have a lot of toilets and a lot of cubicles and it wasn't really busy, so there was no need to queue.

I didn't actually pee much - it was probably nerves.

No-one took any notice of me as I washed my hands and looked in the mirror. Not beautiful, but not too bad.

Then we were out. In a shopping centre with thousands of other people. I didn't look good enough or bad enough for a second glance, and the fear turned into elation.

"There you are, Tilly," Mum said. "Nothing to it. Now let's go shopping!"

Which of course meant looking, and after a while I grew less self-conscious. We had lunch in the food court amongst loads of others - mostly women, and mostly chatting with others.

"I'll treat you," Mum said, as we put our trays away.

After the toilet she took me to Ann Summers, the sexy clothes and toys shop.

"How are you getting on with the vibrator?" she asked as we stood outside.

"I haven't tried it," I whispered.

"That's what I thought," she said, "come on."

Suddenly I was inside. The sexy clothes were frightening enough, but there was an intimidating array of rubber and plastic cocks, some of them huge, as well as vibrators and strangely shaped objects. There was also fetish and bondage. I was vaguely aware of these things but it was a shock to see them so openly.

"See if there's anything you fancy," she said. "Don't worry about being embarrassed. The staff are used to it. Excuse me, I need to get some things for myself."

Suddenly she was at a counter and I didn't want to hear the discussion, so I just wandered around and fended off the friendly assistant, saying I was just looking, until Mum came back with two bags.

Sex was something I had put out of my mind. I didn't particularly want it, and our mother and daughter chats were romantic fantasies. I certainly didn't want to know what she had bought.

It was easier when we went to another shop. I tried on (and bought - though Mum used her card) a pair of boots. Women's boots, with heels! They put my trainers in a bag, and we went and put them and Mum's erotic purchases in the car boot.

There was more poking around in shops and I actually bought a silk chemise and French knickers, which felt lovely as well as looking good when I got them home.

We had a nice oriental meal before we went home. I changed into trainers to drive.

I showered, put on new makeup and my new silk lingerie as Mum went to shower then to her room. I waited in a dressing gown until she came in her dressing gown.

"You first," she said, and I disrobed and turned around.

"Oh beautiful!" she said, "how does it feel?"

"Delicious, Mum," I answered happily, feeling gorgeously feminine.

She took off her gown and surprised me.

She had on a red bra and suspender set, with lace stockings to match.

"And how do I look?" she said, posing and turning.

I felt a stab of guilt. As her husband, I should be saying she looked sexy and take her to bed.

At the same time I was so used to thinking of her as my Mum that it was a bit of a shock.

There was too long a pause, before I said "Great. Really sexy, Mum."

I wasn't sure what her smile meant.

"Not too much for an old lady?" she asked.

"No," I said honestly, "you look great."

"You've still got a good figure, Mum."

It was true. She had trimmed herself along with me and was still shapely.

She came and kissed me and I was aware what a wonderful woman she was.

I knew that lingerie shops sold sexy underwear to women which would never be seen by a man, but gave them a good feeling, and felt a wave of love. At least she should have that.

I hugged her and kissed her. Not as her daughter, not as her husband, just someone who loved and worshipped her. I started to cry thinking she deserved a real daughter and a real husband.

She must have read my mind.

"There, there, darling. It's fine. I love you and you love me, and you've given me some wonderful years. But things don't stand still. Let's just enjoy things the way they are, and see what comes."

The next day she showed me what else she had bought. There was a rabbit vibrator for her, since her work friends had recommended it, and she hoped we would not mind anything we heard but give each other privacy.

But there was also a butt plug for me to learn to open up, and a rubber dildo on a rubber sucker. And dispenser for lubricant.

I thanked her politely but hid them away where I wouldn't see them.

That night I heard little sounds from her room, and was glad, though a bit guilty.

Next week we went to the café again. This time I had boots with my jeans, lipstick and light makeup.

No-one said anything.

It was wonderful!

I didn't want sex with a man, nor to stick rubber or plastic things into me.

I just wanted to go out as a woman and be ignored. To walk down the street in makeup and a skirt, go to shops or the cinema and not be afraid I would be called out or worse.

We made a few more expeditions, well away from the locality. They were each a trial and a triumph, exhausting and thrilling at the same time. Wonderful in their ordinariness. I was so grateful to her.

CHAPTER 6

I discovered that Ann Summers sold online, and bought her the same set but in black, for her birthday. I am ashamed to say that in the whole of our marriage it was the first time I had bought her sexy underwear.

She cried a bit as she said it was very thoughtful.

She was quiet for a while, then she sat up and took a big breath.

"I may as well tell you. I've been seeing someone."

She paused and then added "and by seeing, I mean having sex. You might not need it, but I do."

"Oh, another thing. You're not sharing my HRT any more. I want every molecule of oestrogen I can get. Sorry, but you'll have to get your own."

I was stunned, but what could I say?

"OK, that's fine. Of course. Naturally. You should. Yes. It's fine."

The rest of the evening was a bit quiet. We didn't even finish the bottle of wine.

Like me, she had sometimes stopped for a drink after work or gone out for some kind of event with colleagues. She hadn't had to stay at home for Matilda since I was what? Ten? And she'd certainly had no sex with her husband for five years.

I couldn't really blame her.

Next day when I came in as schoolgirl, she announced "I want you to meet him. He's coming at eight o'clock, bringing a takeaway."

I said "OK. Grey or blue trousers? Shirt or T-shirt?"

She shook her head.

"Dress or skirt. And good makeup. He's meeting Matilda."

"I can't!"

"Of course you can. I need you to. I've told him and he doesn't quite believe me. Would you prefer him to think that I've been lying and I'm just unfaithful? Or that you're some kind of pervert that gets off having his wife sleep with other men? Please, darling! Let me be proud of you as a woman, so he can see it's all honest."

"I still love you," she added. "Just as much as always, but it's different, isn't it?"

"I love you too, more than ever," I said.

Then we had less than two hours to get ready.

Mum of course had her sexy underwear and stockings, but we decided on pleasant dresses for the domestic situation, and as my legs were shaved I had nothing other than moisturizer on them. Makeup had to be good, but not too formal.

When the doorbell went, Mum said "He may be surprised, but he won't be shocked because he knows. Remember you're Matilda, but don't talk about school, just say where you work and it's in finance. And try not to call me Mum. I haven't told him that, just that my husband dresses as a woman, so it'd be a bit weird. You do remember my name Jacqui, don't you?"