After The Wedding - Chapter 1 - Withdrawl Symptoms free porn video

WEDDING BELLS - WITHDRAWL SYMPTOMS Note for Readers: This story continues the adventures of the characters previously featured in my story "Wedding Bells." That story was complete in its own right and, indeed, this one can be read without having to have read "Wedding Bells" first. (However, I naturally hope that some of you will want to read my earlier story!) xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Hi, my name is Brian Marchbanks and my wife Mary and I live in the hamlet of Tynewood Parva some 15 miles from the town of Peterborough. I run an Art Gallery complex in Peterborough in partnership with my colleague Sandra. I look after the "art" side, whilst Sandra runs the caf?/restaurant on the ground floor of our building. My wife Mary is the owner of a successful dress-agency, specialising in the recycling of designer-label outfits to ladies who cannot afford to purchase such garments "new". Sandra is in a Civil Partnership with Rosemary, a Consultant Psychotherapist at the local hospital, specialising in Gender issues. The four of us live in adjoining properties in Tynewood Parva and Sandra and Rosemary are "best friends" to Mary and me. In the 21st Century, nothing too unexpected in anything outlined above. However, the one thing that makes our relationship somewhat out of the ordinary is that Sandra is a post-operative male to female transsexual. As you might imagine, when the two of them first moved into Tynewood Parva, the fact that a transsexual was living in a lesbian relationship with a real woman, caused a bit of a flutter in the dovecots! However, over time, prurient interested waned and, by the time they came to enter into their civil partnership, few members of our little community were overly concerned. In fact, when it came to it, everyone was so relaxed that almost no eyebrows were raised when I donned skirt and heels to act as Sandra's "bride escort" at the ceremony! Now I am not, nor ever have been, a cross-dresser. However, in recognition of their history, both Sandra and Rosemary wanted their "big day" to be an "all-woman" affair and had insisted on a dress code of skirts and heels with a purple theme. In spite of my initial reservations, I had finally gone along with their wishes and, in the event, had very much enjoyed my day en-femme. During the reception which followed the partnership ceremony, I had learned a great deal more about transgender issues through chatting with Sandra's friends from before her operation. I found the whole thing fascinating but never thought for a moment that I might myself fall within that spectrum of sexuality. After Rosemary and Sandra's big day, my wedding outfit was returned to Mary's dress agency, from whence it had been borrowed, and it was suggested, by Mary, that I dispose of all my underwear and other feminine accoutrements. For some inexplicable reason I did not actually do this, but, instead, packed everything carefully away in the attic "just in case" they might be needed again. Of course, I never really expected that they would ever again see the light of day, so the dreams I experienced in the nights following the ceremony were totally unanticipated. For some inexplicable reason I kept dreaming of myself in different scenarios, but always wearing women's clothing. I had never had dreams like this in the past and it worried me that I was having them now. I found I was becoming irritable and on more than one occasion, snapped at Mary for no apparent reason what so ever. Things came to a head for me when one afternoon I found myself in the attic pawing through my suitcase of feminine things without any memory of how I came to be there. At this juncture I decided I needed help and resolved to talk to Rosemary in her professional capacity. So, one evening a few days later, I found myself sitting in Rosemary's study with a glass of red wine in my hand and an expectant Rosemary regarding me over the rim of a similar glass. "What is it you want to talk to me about?" was Rosemary's initial enquiry. "It is the dreams I have been having ever since your civil partnership ceremony" I responded. I then went on to outline the sort of dreams I had been having and to openly acknowledge that I missed wearing female clothing. "What you are experiencing is nothing out of the ordinary" Rosemary announced. "In my professional capacity I see many men who tell me similar stories. It seems that the male/female spectrum is not as clear cut as many people think. Many men harbour suppressed feminine desires. Whilst it is socially acceptable for women to dress as surrogate men in trousers, ties, and jackets; the same isn't true the other way round. If a man feels the need to wear a skirt and heels he is deemed to be deviant, although a woman in trousers and brogues is perfectly natural. The world just isn't a fair place!" "But I have never wanted to wear a skirt and heels!" I expostulated. "Why should I start having these dreams now?" "I don't know" Rosemary confessed. "But what I do know is that I see many men who suddenly, quite out of the blue, experience a desire to cross-dress. You tell me that you never, even as a child, experimented with women's clothes. That is slightly unusual, as statistics show that a very high percentage of the male population have worn skirts at one time or another. Often this is in a school play or at a fancy dress party; I am surprise that you never did. But no matter; you now are having these dreams and, indeed, they may, in part, be due to the fact that you never had cross-dressed until you acted as Sandra's "bride escort". My professional advice is that you should "go with the flow" and allow your feminine side to blossom and experience what is to live for a while on the other side of the fence." I didn't know how to respond to this. Rosemary continued; "I have always been a woman and so have only second hand experience of what you are going through. Why don't you talk to Sandra? She has known what is like to be trapped in the wrong body and will be better able to empathise with your current dilemma." This seemed a good idea, and we agreed that I would relay the essence of our conversation to Mary and that the four of us would meet up for supper one evening and talk things through together. It wasn't easy explaining what I was going through to Mary but once I had, she was relieved that my recent bad temper and mood swings hadn't been as a result of anything she had done. "I can see your dilemma" Mary said, "You are confused by this apparent need to cross-dress again whilst at the same time wondering that if you suppress your feelings they will go away. I think Rosemary's suggestion that all four of us talk it through and try and see how we can help you, is a good one." Consequently, the following Friday evening found us all gathered around Rosemary and Sandra's dining table discussing my "feminine side". Naturally I was in male mode and I guess I should have been embarrassed to be sharing my most intimate feelings, but, strangely, I wasn't. Rosemary explained that this was partly due to the fact that I was starting to think emotionally in a way more common among women than men. "We women are much more open about sharing our feelings with other women," she explained. "Subconsciously you are slipping into female patterns of behaviour. For the purposes of this discussion, that is good!" Our conversation went on for ages with all sorts of suggestions and ideas being thrown around. Sandra was particular helpful in explaining what it had been like for her, as a boy, to become known in her community for wearing dresses. "It was horrible at first," she said, "but of course, unlike you, I knew I was really a girl and that my male body was just some genetic mistake. For you it would be more of a life-style choice, but my guess is that it would be a bit of a five day wonder and any malicious gossip would soon cease once people realised that you are both serious and not any sort of threat." It was Rosemary who finally came up with a positive suggestion. "We could talk all night and still not be able to put Brian's mind at rest," she announced. "Speaking professionally, I think the only way for him to get clarity about what he really wants is for him to live as a woman 24/7 for a period. I suggest that I organise a makeover for him by people I know who specialise in working with the transgendered community and that, for his part, Brian commits to living as a woman for, say, a week. What do you think Brian?" Well, the ball was firmly in my court! I prevaricated and tried to avoid answering her directly, but the other two girls joined in and ganged up on me. In the end I had no real alternative other than to agree. After all I had started this and had invited their help and advice; the least I could do was accept what was offered in honesty and love. With my decision to accept Rosemary's suggestion, our gathering broke up and Mary and I returned home. "I think you are very brave to be doing this," Mary said as we settled down in bed. "I admire you for your steadfastness in seeing this dilemma though. I promise I will support you all the way and will continue to offer my man love and affection regardless of whether he is wearing trousers or skirts!" This last sally reduced us to giggles and we subsided into sleep cuddled in each other's arms. Thus things stood until the following Wednesday when Rosemary rang me at work. "I have arranged everything," she announced. "This Saturday the four of us are going to the Rathmoor Hall Hotel Spa for a day's pampering and whilst you will enter as a male, you will exit as a woman!" And so it came to pass! Saturday dawned fine and sunny and by half past eight we were all in Rosemary's car driving to Rathmoor Hall. This establishment was a beautiful 18th century stately house but is now serving as a hotel, conference centre and spa. It is situated about a fifty minute drive from Peterborough. On our arrival, we were shown into an attractive conservatory that served as Reception for the spa. The receptionist examined her bookings; "Ah yes," she said, "Mary Marchbanks, Sandra Jackson and Rosemary MacDonald; you are down for a day's "pampering". Belinda Marchbanks," - and here she looked straight at me! "You are scheduled for the "full works"! I trust you will all have a lovely day." (So Rosemary had decided that my femme name would be "Belinda"; it would have been nice if she had consulted me first, but in the scheme of things this was the least of my worries!) With this four therapists appeared and led each of us away in a different direction. I found myself in a bright attractive room with a therapist who introduced herself as Carole. "Welcome Belinda," she said. "Now there is no need for you to be embarrassed. Today we are all girls together and as the day progresses; you will become increasingly comfortable in your new role. So no false modesty please; strip off!" Not surprisingly I felt decidedly uncomfortable taking my clothes off in front of a stranger but, with no real alternative option, did as Carole requested; once undressed I turned sheepishly toward her, trying desperately to retain some semblance of modesty by covering my private parts with my hands. Carole smiled, not unkindly. "Look Belinda, you are not the first man I have seen naked," she started. "I spend a large part of my time transforming men into women so the sooner we all become comfortable with that, the easier the day will progress. Now stand up straight and turn slowly round. I want to get a good look at all parts of you." And indeed all my "parts," were closely scrutinised and I turned, bent, and raised different areas of my anatomy! Eventually Carole expressed herself satisfied for the present and handed me a pair of paper panties and a pink towelling robe. I put them with relief and quickly sat in the chair Carole indicated. "Well the good news is that your basic physical structure is ideally suited to a feminine transformation," she started. "You are small boned; quite slim; and have shapely legs. Of course we are going to have to get rid of all that unsightly body hair, but once again you are lucky in that you are not overly hirsute. The process shouldn't take too long or be too painful." This last comment caused me to sit up and pay attention! "I think we will start with a waxing," Carole mussed and proceeded to get me to take off my robe and lay face-down on the treatment table. At this point another young woman entered carrying a bowl of hot wax on a small heater together with a number of strips of fabric; she was introduced to me as Anne. Without further ado Carole dipped fabric strips into the hot wax and placed them on my back. As the wax cooled and set she suddenly, and without warning, ripped them off, taking my hair with them! Yes, I did shriek the first time! But Carole told me to stop being such a sissy, pointing out that many women went through this process every few weeks and that if they could cope, then so could I! I bit my lip and endured as Carole gradually worked across my torso, arms, and legs removing all traces of masculine hair. At some point she cut away my panties and proceeded to wax my bum and between my legs. By now I had abandoned all hope of retaining any modesty or dignity and moved my body as Carole instructed. Once she had finished with my rear, Carole had me roll over onto my back and the torture continued all over my front. Eventually she declared herself satisfied that I was as free of hair as was possible using wax. She then produced a cut-throat razor and shaved off the odd areas of hair the waxing had missed. As some of these were around my groin, I kept very still, hardly daring to breathe, as the sharp blade skated around my private parts. Finally even this second shearing was complete and Carole proceeded to rub me all over with a sweet smelling moisturiser. "This contains a mild anaesthetic," she told me; "It will help reduce any soreness you might be feeling as a result of the waxing." She was right; in a few minutes the burning sensations I had been experiencing faded away. As she still had the razor in her hand, Carole next shaved my face, extremely closely; again she anointed me with a moisturiser, explaining that this one contained a beard-growth retardant that should mean that I wouldn't need to shave again for a week. By now I was becoming accustomed to being naked in the presence of two attractive women, and so wasn't too fazed when Carole suggested it was time to sculpt my body into a more feminine profile. She had me lay back down on the table and produced a pair of silicon breast forms which carefully positioned on my chest. Once she was happy with the placement, Carole applied adhesive to the back of the forms and glued them to my chest. She had me hold them in place until the glue dried. The forms feathered out to a very thin edge. Carole used some makeup to blend the edging with my natural skin and, once she had finished, it was virtually impossible to tell where my skin ended and the breast forms began. Next Carole asked me to stand up. As I swivelled myself off the table, I was surprised by the weight of the new breasts - (MY new breasts!) - hanging from my chest. Carole explained that the forms were roughly the same weight as a pair of real breasts and that I had better get used to the strain on my back, just as real girls had to! She did relent sufficiently to help me put on a bra. The lacy confection hardly looked strong enough to support the enormous globes I could see as I looked down my body, but, once fastened, the bra certainly made me feel a great deal more comfortable. (In fact whilst they looked enormous to my unpractised eye, Carole informed me that my new bust was really quite modest; a mere 38C.) Once my bosom was adequately supported, Carole turned her attention to the lower part of my body. She had me step into a complicated garment that seemed to consist of a number of straps, a small tube, and several solid areas of material. It was made of some sort of flesh coloured latex material. Carole explained that once in place it would look as though I had a vagina whilst, at the same time, facilitate my using the bathroom to cope with natural bodily functions! There then ensue a great deal of tugging, pushing, and some intimately embarrassing squeezing! Eventually we had the garment in place. My testicles had been forced back into the cavities inside my abdomen from which they had descended at puberty; my penis was enclosed in a sheath attached to a tube that enabled me to pass water as any other woman would. Padded sections enhanced my hips and bottom, giving me a nicely rounded feminine derriere whilst not interfering with other bathroom functions - if you get my drift! Finally the whole assembly was carefully glued into place and the edges, once again, concealed with makeup. When Carole finally allowed me to look at myself in the mirror, I was amazed to see a female body topped off with my head. OK so my waist was a bit thicker that I might have liked, but it wasn't too bad and, after all, I had to remind myself that I was a 40 year old mature woman, not some teenage chick! (I suddenly realised that already I was thinking of myself as a "woman". My transformation still had a long way to go but, as Carole had promised, I was steadily becoming accustomed to my new role and status.) The garment giving me the appearance of a vagina was amazing. My male parts had been so successfully squeezed out of sight that I now presented a smooth feminine front to the world with no sign of any unsightly bulges. It even had a neat triangle of pubic hair pointing the way to my "garden of delight"! Carole allowed me to put on a pair of knickers; a pretty lilac pair with purple lace trim that matched my bra. It was now just after 1pm and Carole announced that it was time to pause for lunch. I slipped back into my towelling robe and slid my feet into a pair of flip-flops. (The fact that they had little plastic "jewels" decorating the thong served to remind me of my female status!) "Now we can't having you going out to meet your friends with a female body and a masculine head can we?" said Carole with a laugh; so she tied up my hair in a turban and applied a quick dash of lipstick and mascara to my face. "Don't eat too much at lunch," she cautioned, "we have quite a bit more to do this afternoon and don't want you feeling full and sluggish!" Thus warned I proceeded to the dining room where Mary, Sandra and Rosemary were already seated and waiting for me. They gave me a round of applause as I approached and I was blushing with embarrassment as I sat down. "Don't be upset or embarrassed," whispered Mary; "We all think you look amazing. I can't believe that it is my husband who has such a curvaceous figure and a pretty face!" We all laughed at this sally and this served to break the tension. Thinking about Carole's advice, I limited my lunch to a light salad and a glass of warm lemon juice. The other three were equally abstemious. "Don't worry," said Rosemary, "we won't miss out; I have booked us into the hotel restaurant for dinner this evening and I hear they have a really excellent chef." On this cheering note we finished lunch and all retuned to our respective treatment rooms. Carole welcomed me back with an enquiry as to what I had for lunch and nodded her approval when I told her how careful I had been. "It is now time to tackle your hair," Carole announced and she proceeded to set out an array of implements and products on a side table whilst Anne cleaned my face of makeup and removed my turban. Now it so happened that since retiring I had been letting my hair grow somewhat longer that had been deemed suitable whilst I was working. When I had been a student I had sported shoulder length hair and I suppose that in some way I was trying to regain the memories of those exiting days of my youth. By now my hair hung over my ears and more than brushed the collar of my shirt. After examining my hair for a short while, Carole announced that the fact I had grown it was a definite advantage as far as my current transformation was concerned. "Not knowing what your hair was going to be like I had picked out a wig for you to wear," she said. "However, I now think we will be able to weave in some hair extensions. This will mean that effectively you will have your own hair styled; which will make it much easier and more comfortable for you to maintain." The next three hours got extremely complicated. First lengths of hair were interwoven with my natural locks and then everything was bleached and coloured. Once all my hair - both original and new - was of a single colour, Carole proceeded to use dyes and foils to give me high and low- lights. I seemed to have to sit under the dryer for hours! But Anne sorted out a pile of ladies' magazines for me to read. Somewhat to my surprise I quite enjoyed them, even to the point of indicating to Carole one or two hairstyles I liked the look of. Once all the colouring processes were completed, Carole set to work with scissors and comb, cutting and shaping my hair. Then strands were wrapped around rollers until it felt as though I was wearing a pincushion. I developed a dreadful headache! Foul smelling solutions were then sprayed over all over my hair and it was back under the dryer. Then a further washing, blow-dry, and brushing out. Even once she had finished Carole refused to let me see the results of her ministrations. "Just wait until I have done your makeup and got you dressed," she admonished, "then you can admire your reflection to your hearts content. For now I want to keep it a surprise!" With that I had to be content. Anne appeared with a tray full of makeup products and Carole set to in an attempt to make me look beautiful. If I am frank, I thought she was on a hiding to nothing! Still, undaunted, Carole applied foundation, powder, blusher and eye-shadow. "As I am making you up for an evening of fine dining I will be giving you an evening look," she announced and promptly glued a set of false eyelashes onto my lids. From the corner of my eye it looked as though I had a pair of caterpillars crawling across my face! Eye-liner and mascara followed, together with drawing my brows in a feminine profile. My lips were the final area requiring makeup as Carole took a lining pencil and drew an outline slightly more pronounced that my natural lip-line. She then used a brush to fill in the colour and finally a gloss sealer as a top-coat. A final wafting of the powder-puff, and Carole declared herself finished. "We just need to get you dressed and then my work is complete," she announced. Whilst Carole had been working on my face, Anne had been busy giving me a manicure and pedicure so I now sported long, dark-pink fingernails and burgundy coloured toes. By now I had been sitting for nearly four hours and I was quite relieved to get out of the chair and stretch. (Pulling my shoulders back to ease stiffness in my neck caused my new bosom to thrust out vigorously! Carole laughed; "You will need to think of unanticipated consequences like that from now on or people will assume you are trying to draw attention to yourself!") I blushed - not for the first time that day - and said I would try and remember to behave in a more ladylike manner. I slipped off my robe and slippers as Anne handed Carole a black waist- cinche. This was wrapped around my tummy and I was instructed to hold onto the top of the doorframe whilst Carole tightened the laces. I thought she would never stop as it became more and more difficult to breathe. I was told to stop being wimpish as women had to be prepared to suffer for the sake of fashion! Eventually the laces were tied off and in spite of the constriction I found I was able to breathe perfectly satisfactorily so long as I took small breaths and only used the upper part of my lungs. After a few minutes I totally forgot I was wearing a corset and it certainly helped improve my posture. As I was already wearing bra and knickers, the next challenge was to get into a pair of tights without laddering them with my newly extended nails. With Anne's help I achieved this and was soon admiring the appearance of my legs clad in a pair of 10 denier, sheer, gloss, dark-tan tights. Carole then appeared with the most gorgeous dress. It was made of royal- blue satin with a matching lace over-dress decorated with glass beads that glittered and sparkled in the light. The dress was cut to knee-length, with a boat-shaped neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. I stepped into it eagerly and Carole zipped it up the back. It fitted me snugly, revealing just a hint of cleavage before flowing smoothly over my waist and hips into a straight, but not pencil-tight, skirt. Matching blue 3- inch spike- heeled shoes with a cute little bow at the back were slid onto my feet and I teetered slightly until I regained my sense of balance. (At this point I was glad I had had previous experience of walking - and indeed, dancing - in high heels as I don't think I could have carried it off had this been my first time.) A heavy gold-link chain was fastened around my neck and a matching bracelet placed on my right wrist. I was just about to ask Carole if I could now see myself in a mirror, when she asked me to sit down again briefly. I did as she requested and, without any warning, sudden sharp pain in both earlobes told me I now had pierced ears! "I'm afraid you won't be able to wear pretty, dangly earrings for a few days until your piercings have healed," Carol announced. "Still the studs I have inserted for now have a lovely little zircon stone, so you will show a bit of sparkle as you move your head." I wasn't too happy about having my ears pierced. This wasn't something just for a week but rather more permanent. Still it was done now and there was nothing I could do about it; better to sit quiet and not make a fuss. At long last Carole announced that she was ready to let me see myself in a mirror, so I turned eagerly to where one stood in the corner of the room. Anne had cleverly covered it with a scarf so it was literally like a curtain going up to reveal the new me. My first glimpse of the new me caused a sudden in-draw of breath. This couldn't be me? In place of the middle-aged man with hair greying at the temples I was presented with the image of a thirty-something woman. Attractive without pretending to be beautiful she displayed a curvy figure with a generous bosom shading away into a trim waist - (the corset had indeed worked wonders) - before swelling again over broad hips and a neat, rounded bottom. Long, shapely legs with rounded calves and slim ankles descended into a pair of pretty heels. But the crowning glory was undoubtedly my hair. It was "big hair", bouffant on the top of my head and then falling in soft waves either side of my face to fall just below my shoulders. It was an attractive shade of dark-blonde with auburn lights running through it; I loved it! My face was exquisitely made-up and I knew it was my face by the open mouth parted in a moue of astonishment! I had to fight back the tears as I turned to Carole and Anne and poured out my appreciation of what they had achieved, given such poor starting material. Carole smiled; "This is the moment I love," she confessed. "Time and again men are overwhelmed that they can be transformed into such pretty women. That is why I love my work. I'm delighted you are pleased with the final result and now you know why I wanted to keep it a surprise until the last possible moment." I hugged her warmly and told her I was truly overjoyed at the transformation she had achieved. "I thought I looked pretty good the only other time I cross-dressed," I confessed, "but compared to this I was a plain little thing. This "look," is amazing and I just hope I can look half as good when I have to do my own makeup." "Practice will make perfect," Carole assured me. Now for the embarrassing bit; I had enjoyed the ministrations of Carole and Anne for about eight hours. I was sure their services did not come cheap. "How much do I owe you?" I enquired nervously; "Whatever the cost it will be well worth it!" "You don't own me anything," Carole replied. "Rosemary sorted everything out in advance. I have worked with many clients of hers over the years and she and I have become good friends. It has been a delight to help out such a close friend of hers. Ever since she told me how good you had been in agreeing to cross-dress for her and Sandra at their Civil Partnership ceremony, I have been dying to meet you. I am only too pleased to have been able to help you take the next step along the pathway of your personal journey." This was so kind I had to fight back tears once again. (I didn't dare think of the consequences if I burst out crying and caused my mascara to run!) I tried to proffer Carole and Anne a substantial tip, but they steadfastly refused to accept it. Eventually I managed to strike a compromise; I obtained the address of Carole's salon and said I would send round a case of champagne. If they wouldn't accept money, they surely wouldn't turn their noses up at a good drink? Laughingly, Carole agreed to this compromise and said she would save a couple of bottles until I could come to the salon and join them in a glass. "I would really like to see how you get on and learn how you progress with your feminine experiment," she said. I promised I would come and see her before reverting back to a full-time male role. Carole raised her eyebrows quizzically; "We'll see about that in due course," she said. Just before I left the treatment room to join the others, Carole handed me a pretty blue, beaded, clutch-bag that went perfectly with my dress. On opening it I discovered that it contained my phone, wallet, and credit cards which she must have transferred from my jacket. In addition there as a lacy handkerchief, a powder compact, and a tube of the lipstick I was wearing. "Enjoy your evening," was Carole's parting remark as I set off down the corridor in search of the dining room. Initially it took a few moments to reacquaint myself with walking in high heels. Fortunately my experience from Rosemary and Sandra's civil partnership ceremony stood me in good stead and, by the time I reached the dining room, I was striding out confidently with quite a sexy wiggle to my steps. Once again the other three were there before me but this time a bottle of champagne was conspicuously cooling in a wine-bucket. Sandra quickly poured me a glass and the four of us toasted "the new girl in our midst". Everyone congratulated me on the success of my transformation and Mary, leaning over, whispered in my ear; "You look so sexy in that dress I can't wait to get you home and ravish you"! Mary may have been being polite about just how good I looked, but there was no doubt in my mind regarding the stunning appearance of Mary, Sandra, and Rosemary. They were all wearing beautiful cocktail dresses and, as I later discovered, Mary had been raiding the stock of her dressing agency to ensure we all had new frocks for this auspicious occasion. The meal was quite as good as Rosemary had promised. Wearing a corset I had to be careful about how much I piled on my plate, but by the end of the meal I was feeling well stuffed! Rosemary had been very good during the course of the evening; consuming only half a glass each of the champagne and the excellent burgundy we enjoyed with our meal. She was therefore quite capable of driving us home once the evening came to its conclusion. It had been a marvellous day and I thanked all three girls, but especially Rosemary, for having set it up for me. As we walked back to the car, I found myself arm in arm with Sandra. "Seriously, how has it been for you?" she enquired. "Amazing," I replied; "I know I have been exhibiting withdrawal symptoms since your ceremony, but now that I am back in skirts it is as if I never stopped." "I know," giggled Sandra; "It was different for me as I always knew I should have been born a girl and therefore wearing skirts and dresses just seemed "right". For you the experience is more about releasing the feminine side of your personality, but I can empathise with your excitement and, if I may say so, you present much more convincingly as a female than I did after only a couple of sessions in skirts." I was flattered by her remarks and gave her a brief peck on the cheek by way of acknowledgement. On the way home I sat in the back with Mary, whilst Sandra was next to Rosemary, who was driving. Mary and I cuddled, kissed, and generally indulged in a little gentle petting so, that by the time we arrived back in Tynewood Parva, we were both as randy as hell and, pausing only to say goodnight to the other two, rushed indoors and upstairs. In no time at all, I was helping Mary unzip her dress and she was doing the same for me. I retain sufficient control to remember to slip my beautiful dress onto a hanger, but the rest of my clothes joined Mary's in a tangled heap in the floor. As I was wearing my "vagina device," it was impossible for me to penetrate Mary, so we had to settle for me going down on her for vigorous oral sex. Mary managed to find a way of giving me pleasure by massaging my cock through the false vagina. It wasn't the best sex ever, but it did relieve the tension for both of us. As we cuddled up and I gradually drifted off into sleep, I reflected upon my day and the range of experiences I had gone through. When I originally agreed to participate in Rosemary and Sandra's civil partnership ceremony by cross-dressing as Sandra's "bride escort", it never occurred to me that only a few weeks later I would be taking part in a week-long experiment, living as a woman 24/7. I had to admit, however, that the actual transformation process had been very enjoyable and I had felt extremely comfortable in my new role. Now it only remained to see what the rest of the week would bring.