I waited an eternity at my flat door to be absolutely sure the boys from upstairs wouldn't suddenly thunder down and catch me 'en femme'. Finally confident, I quickly made my way down to Milly's door and knocked. The door was ajar, and my knocking pushed it open to show the parlour dimly lit by heavily draped lamps. I hovered nervously on the threshold.
'"Come in dear, don't be shy, let me have a good look at you'. she commanded brusquely. I approached her chair, her eyes narrowed, 'yes that silver top suits you, I thought it would".
'But how.." I interjected...she raised her hands , which I noticed were encased in exquisite black kid gloves, cut me off. 'If you are to be accepted, which, at the moment you have a small chance. You must understand one thing', she paused waiting for my reaction - I nodded, 'from this moment forward you must tell me only the truth and spare me idiotic questions'. She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of sherry from a tall thin glass which tinkled with ice as it tilted. She was dressed in a long, richly embroidered house coat with a feather boa collar which was wrapped snugly around her so just her head was on show, she wore a scarlet turban with a diamante waterfall brooch, like an insiginia, which swayed hypnotically as she spoke;
'Yes, alright Mrs Randolf..."
'Please my dear, call me Milly you're not to become a servant here and I'm no dominatrix', her girlie laughter rang out 'no, no, no', she shook her head 'although Gwynedd would love to get her evil old hands on you I'm sure'.
She bade me to walk around, which I did in silence for about ten minutes, 'Your a sexy little thing but you walk like an elephant, still you have potential. Come, sit, have a sherry with me', she patted the pouff.
It was the weirdest thing but as I sat on the pouff next to her, I suddenly felt a huge affinity with her and at once I relaxed with a warm feeling spreading through my entire being. She put her gloved hand over mine which were primly placed on my knees and she questioned me about my TV genesis, about my secret desires - she about her friends, art and life. As the music ended she gestured to her collection of LP's, 'why don't you pick some music for us', I sensed everything was a test of one sort or another. I rose from my place and as I brushed passed her hand reached out and smoothed down the material of my skirt tracing the outline of my bum, she smiled slyly, 'yes definite potential there'.
As Julie London's 'Sway' washed out of the big mahogany music centre filling the parlour, Milly closed her eyes, 'Good choice dear', she murmured inclining her head to the centre of the room, 'come, dance for me'.
I moved out and swayed slowly following the rhythm, Milly sipped her sherry on the rocks watching my every move. She clapped her hands together, 'play to me dear, not the wall, I am your audience', I turned to face her. 'and smile, you're alluring show it on the outside as well as feeling it on the inside!'. She took a long sip, 'we have a lot of work to do'. Not that night though, Milly's patience and energy waned and 'the lot of work' would have to commence on another day as soon I was waved away to return to my own flat.
College lectures took on a surreal tinge after my first encounter with MIlly and a couple of weeks spun by before I saw her again. Thursday seemed like a Monday as I wearily climbed the stairs to my flat door when 'that' voice resonated up through the hallway, 'Come down tonight my dear, eight sharp....dress formally'. My heart skipped a beat, I had assumed I had was being ignored. I glanced at my watch, half past six already! I dashed up the remaining stairs then mentally screeched to a halt. Milly had clearly said, 'dress formally', of course, I had jumped to the conclusion that she had meant TV formally as opposed to the informality of lingerie and a peignoir. What if she had meant male civvies formal ie collar and tie! Perhaps she was expecting friends....oh my, that would be a pretty pickle! In for a penny in for a pound, I plumped for TV formal as much as my paltry wardrobe would provide. I selected the slinky black georgette dress that Morris had donated to my cause on our first ever meeting, more of his gifts, sparkly dangly earrings and black silk shawl to add 'formality'. I had only just managed to make up with five minutes to spare and made for the mirror by my front door jiggling by brunette 'bob' wig into place and pulling on my trusty black court shoes.
There were no sounds of upstairs tenants as I flitted down the flight of stairs to the hallway, nothing emanating from behind Milly's flat door either, no muffled polite chit-chat, no mood music or tinkling of china cups and saucers. Eight o'clock on the dot, another deep breath, heart pounding I looking upstairs and nervously keeping my fingers crossed that no one came in the front door. I knocked softly on Milly's door, as if on cue Bizet's Habanera burst forth at high volume - Maria Callas's unrestrained vocal muscles in full effect. Uncertain of the protocol I tentatively opened the door, there was a gold turban rising imperiously above the back of her throne. A bejewelled finger rose like a submarine's periscope and beckoned me in. Unable to keep a smile of relief to myself as her latch clicked shut, I entered. Here I was in the presence of a mature woman who actually knew more about me than my own mother, my penchant for dressing drawing us together rather than forcing us apart. A tingle of excitement fluttered in tummy as I rounded the arm of her chair and smiled at her but her eyes were closed, she was outwardly oblivious to me and then gradually her erect beckoning finger lowered it's angle to point at the pouff, I quietly sat as she let the music play on. There at her feet I listened to her rather crackly LP of Carmen and as Act4 came to it's conclusion, her foot tapping gaily to the Quadrille, her eyes opened and an eyebrow arched theatrically. I found the target of her gaze, the crystal Sherry decanter. I rose and moved over to pour her a glass of Oloroso. 'GIRL, NOT ELEPHANT!' she cried. I flinched and with the little glass full of the bronze liquid balanced on a silver salver I swayed back as sexily as I could. The arched eyebrow remained arched. Sipping her sherry her eyes locked onto mine, 'Now dear, go and select Marchaut, the Notre dame choir disc'.
Cheeks hot with embarrassment and hyper aware that my gait was now bordering on a comic pastiche of a girlie wiggle I dutifully went to the gramophone and bent over to search for the LP in her collection. The needle clicked into the first track, the flat filled with a medieval ceremonial chant, that again, was not my taste but I had to admit was a masterstroke of theatre. I was learning fast that a sense of ritual and mystery was all important to Milly, it help create a special ambience in which we could inhabit and there set the stage for her to mold the raw clay of Charla into an object of altogether finer porcelain.
'Come, let us begin....'
That evening I learned to walk like a girl. It wasn't as though Morris had taught me badly, he had done brilliantly to show me a teasing glimpse of the fundamentals of faux femme-ness and although a Queen nevertheless he was a man. Milly was made of sterner stuff and as I walked up and down under her guidance the movement of my hips, toes and heels and whole body began to make sense of the femme clothing I was dressed in. A teeny smile had glimmered at the corners of her heavily painted lips as finally as I strutted around her parlour almost to her satisfaction. I bent to pick glasses of sherry and refill the gramophone, turning, looking left right, behind and using my shoulders and hair to alter my dominant male characteristics replacing them with femininity.
As the evening wore on I expected Milly to fade but the pleasure of our progress had bouyed her and it was past midnight when she beckoned to me to come and stand in front of her. She leant forward, I felt her fingers pressing into the cheeks of my bottom as she drew me closer to her. Her fingers then tracked around my thighs to find the hem of the flimsy georgette. I held my breath, incredible as it may now seem I hadn't thought through the what's and why's of where the process may take us. Milly may have been 'mature' but her whole demeanour seemed to negate any normal standards, they simply didn't apply. To me she was ageless so when her fingers slowly raised the hem of my dress up until my black g-string was revealed to her it felt perfectly natural and exciting. I closed my eyes as her hand stroked the black satin of my g-string and then with one long fingernail expertly but gently released my ever growing clitty, 'Ah..we are lucky, it's uncut and quite, quite tiny..... perfect dear' she purrred. Her forefinger and thumb worked the foreskin back to expose the glans which was glistened, heavily coated with clear 'Charla juice'. I moaned quietly at the ecstasy that coursed through me, 'Shhhhh dear', she sampled the juice rubbing it between the tips of her fingers smelling and tasting it, 'very, very pure, very, very healthy - good girl', she released my now erect clitty and ran her fingers over where my pubic hair used to be. As per Morris's preference the whole area was completely shaven. Milly, using one forefinger to push my clitty to one side and using the other's fingernail as a ballpoint pen she etched a small equilateral triangle about an inch above the stem of my clitty. 'It won't do to have yourself shaven in this manner dear', she announced, 'of course you are to remove pubic hair from everywhere else but from now on you are to leave this,' her fingernail once again described the triangle, 'to grow a modest covering'. She deftly adjusted my clitty back into my g-string and lowered my dress. I looked down at her and nodded.
I stood alone and naked in my flat and ran my finger gently over the red triangle Milly's nail had inscribed, I quickly grabbed a red biro and traced over her handiwork to make sure my new pubic template would remain visible in the weeks it would take my hair grow back.
Winter set in with a vengeance, the meagre amount of heat given off by the ancient gas fire in my lounge hardly encouraged me to prance about in flimsy lingerie of an evening. Wellfield was a working class neighbourhood and secondhand shops, pawn shops and betting shops dotted it's high street. The secondhand shops were generally overflowing in woodworm infested Victoriana but persistence paid off with a double victory. I managed to spot in the same musty smelling shop, not only a battered old Calor gas heater but also half hidden in a pot of tarnished old tat, a lizard shaped brooch. It was similar in style to a leopard one I has seen in an article about Wallis Simpson, held up to the light it's body sparkled with tiny green gems. I felt sure Milly would enjoy it. As I trundled my prize through the front gate and up the short path of chequered purple and terracotta tiles, my neighbours from 172C were spilling out with boxes and hold-alls. They were moving out to a bigger house share nearer the University. I wondered how long Milly and I would have 127 exclusively to ourselves. To the clumping and cursing sounds of the boys as they heaved box after box down the stairs and basking in the cosy glow given off by my new heater, I gathered together some pink ribbon and matching tissue paper to wrap Milly's gift.
Quiet settled over 127 by tea time and now the sole tenant I revelled in the knowledge that I could happily venture downstairs dressed in my baby blue shift with a narrow white plastic belt with the 'bimbo' wig and a pair of white peep toe sandals. Bearing my gift in a white clutch bag it felt so good strolling fearlessly down the fight of stairs to the hallway. I knocked on Milly's door, 'Hi Milly it's me, Charla'. The door opened and to my shock a pretty blonde girl stood smiling at me, my heart plunged and I'm sure all colour must've drained from my face. 'Oh hi Charla, I'm Cherry', I feebly took her outstretched hand, 'I'm a friend of Milly's from the dramatic society, sounds grand but really I just run her old shop, come on in'. I followed her into the parlour as she continued chatting, there was no sign of Milly. After the initial shock had worn off she either hadn't realised I was a TV or she was ignoring the fact. Cherry was lovely and we laughed and chatted as she explained that when she was little girl her parents had taken her to dancing lessons run by Milly held in a little community hall next door to Milly's Costume shop. 'As I grew I realised I was never going to make the grade', Cherry laughed as she bounced her large perfect 38dd's, 'but Milly and I kept in touch and after her husband passed away she asked me to help out in her Costume shop'. Many blanks in my understanding of Milly were filled in as Cherry chatted freely away about their history. That voice rang out from behind a door at the far end of the parlour, a bathroom maybe. 'Cherry darling, I'm ready...and who on earth are you talking to?'
Cherry jumped up and we kissed goodbye, I delved into my handbag and handed over my gift for Milly, 'Awww that's sweet', she popped the present on the silver salver, 'I'll let Aunty Milly know you've left it - lovely to meet you Charla,'. I returned to my flat with carnal thought of Cherry running rampant in my head. I imagined my hands kneading her incredible breasts, tongue buried deep in he pussy making her wild with desire...all very contradictory when I was sat in a baby blue shift dress and blonde bimbo wig!
That friday night as I ploughed through another essay for my course work, I suddenly noticed a slip of paper had appeared under my door. In neat copperplate handwriting was a note from Milly thanking me for my gift and she would like to return the compliment that evening at eight o'clock sharp.
The wooden box looked like it was for duelling pistols, Milly stood next to me and opened it with a flourish, there nestled in blue satin were a set of three white china dildos small medium and large. Her free hand stroking the cheeks of my bottom, there was to be a more basic lesson that evening. Milly switched into old fashioned Matron mode and undressed me down to my waist cincher and wig. It was with some trepidation that i was led into her surprisingly large bathroom. It looked very clinical, on a stainless steel trolly was a set of rubber hoses and nozzles which made me feel slightly anxious. Cleanliness for a femme girl like me was of the utmost importance if I was to fullfill my girlie potential. I stradled a bidet-like fitting, my cheeks spread by Milly's right hand her left hand now in a latex glove probed my pussyhole. 'So, so tight dear, are you a virgin?', I nodded, 'how wonderful, now relax dear I'm afraid I will have to stretch your pussyhole just a little'. Over the next fifteen minutes or so Milly worked her fingers into me, my clitty was stiffly erect and pleasure swept through me as she lubed, probed and re-lubed some more until she announced that two fingers were comfortably being accommodated. There was an embarrassing and unmistakeable odour, 'Oh my...Milly I''m so sorry..I err'. I was hushed into silence as she proceeded with the next stage. A rubber nozzle shaped like a head and shoulders was eased into me plugging my anus tightly, a rubber hose carried warm water from an elevated bag into my rectum through the plug. A stopper in the plug was removed and the waste water flowed out with some considerable force. The stopper was refitted and more water squeezed into me. After several episodes Milly declared me clean. As she towelled me down I felt incredibly light headed and needed her help to walk back to the pouff, which was now adorned with a pink rubber sheet. Milly positioned me on all four supported by the pouff and immediately got to work parting my cheeks and inserting the smallest dildo, lubing and working the cleverly shaped toy in and out of my pussyhole. It was ecstasy and my erect clitty responded by issuing copious amount of Charla Juice, Milly lifted my left leg and reached forward to gently grip my clitty, massaging the glans with my own lube. It was hard not to cry out in pleasure but I was to be quiet as Milly worked. The biggest dildo was difficult to insert and took a long time but Milly's expert lubing and twisting technique saw it eventually slide into me, I gasped as my pussy clamped around the girth of the big dildo, Milly sensing my orgasm milked my clitty in a clever peristaltic action. Out of control, my hips writhed as jets of white semen splashed onto the pink rubber sheet. Milly let me lay still and recover myself to strains of Vaughan Williams, dabbing my brow with a cool flannel, the teeny green gems of the lizard twinkling on the front of her turban.
By the time Christmas came along Milly had prepared my pussyhole thoroughly and I had been introduced to the joys of anal cleanliness and a new year trip to her old shop to see Cherry was planned upon my return. Reluctantly I had to make the long journey to the family home for Christmas but as I sat round the tree opening presents my mind was on events that would unfold upon my return to 127.
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