Annie And Her Granny - Chapter 8 free porn video

Annie and her Granny By Susannah Donim Chapter 8 - My Wife's Mother-in-Law Steve's new normal - little sacrifices. Annie and I were married on the 29th June at the local Registry Office. It was a completely conventional wedding; i.e. Annie wore the dress, and she looked absolutely gorgeous. I asked Fred to be my Best Man, and he was brilliant. It was an opportunity for me to get to know Annie's family better. I had only met them a couple of times, as they lived up North and didn't like to travel much. Her mother was lovely, and I got on well with her brother, a big bluff guy with a great sense of humour. Her father was not exactly unfriendly, but he made it clear that no one was good enough for his little girl, and that I would be on probation for many years to come. On my side of the family, there were two 'mothers of the groom'. My real mother wore a skirt suit as usual, but at least she had temporarily abandoned her favoured battleship grey and gone for something in a light pastel blue. My Dad, whom I introduced to everyone as 'Auntie Rita', my father's sister, was radiant in a mauve floral-patterned dress with a matching hat. As far as I could tell, no one suspected him of not being what he appeared to be. He was actually slightly slimmer than my mother, which I think made her a little jealous. The previous six months had been hard work for us all. I was a third-year undergraduate with exams to pass and a dissertation to write - mine was on digital imagery and 3D printing, obviously. What Fred and I had done together was ground-breaking, but the really clever stuff was mostly him, and I didn't want to take credit for his work (although he insisted he didn't mind). Anyway, I had written plenty of original code which was very advanced for a third-year student, so I was quietly confident my dissertation would be well-received by the examiners. I didn't mention how my mother's work actually made use of our techniques. In fact, Transformations' new processes quadrupled our business almost overnight, though as I had predicted it was a little disappointing how many of our clients just wanted to look like Marilyn Monroe. The number of new faces checking in and out meant that we had to hire an additional receptionist and beef up our security procedures. My mother hired a private firm to patrol the premises twenty-four seven. (She got an especially good deal as their CEO was a client. Now that we could make sure he was unrecognisable, he liked to spend his weekends as a Harijan dishwasher and cleaning lady at a local Indian restaurant.) Both Ingrid and Annie were working flat out, as were Vera and Sharon, and with me still at Cambridge Fred had struggled without my support. Even Rita was hard pressed to keep the accommodation and catering running, and we had to refurbish two more empty rooms for overnight accommodation. My mother was hoping that Annie and I would gradually take over the business and she didn't want to hire anyone new until I was around to be part of the planning and decision-making. Annie was certainly happy with her role as it gave her the opportunity to practise her craft in ever more interesting and challenging ways. With that in mind, she was developing contacts within major film studios. She was confident that our transformations would reduce the need for expensive CGI when an actor had to look older, younger or monstrous. But I wasn't sure I wanted to make my career with Transformations. I was determined to keep my options open. My degree qualified me for state-of- the-art jobs in Artificial Intelligence, secure networking, Virtual Reality, and lots of other great stuff. I had feelers out with both large, long-established firms and dynamic new start-ups. I was happy to defer a decision till after the wedding. We had a wonderful honeymoon in Italy: Rome, Florence, Venice and then a few relaxing days at Lake Como. We got back on a Saturday evening in mid-July to receive a major, life- changing surprise. As I had long hoped, but had more or less given up on, my mother's attitude to Rita had softened. Now they wanted to go away together! * * * Mum and I were alone in the flat on that Sunday afternoon. Annie had gone to relieve Rita who had been keeping Dolly company while we were away. "So does this mean you're getting back together?" I asked. "Not exactly, no," she said. She hesitated. Was she actually embarrassed? I couldn't remember seeing my mother self-conscious before. "The point is, we've both been lonely, and we've found we get on as well as we always used to." When she saw my reaction, she rushed on. "But as friends, not lovers, at least so far." "So what are you going to do? Where are you going?" "I don't know yet. Your father, I mean Rita is organising everything." "But you'll be going as two women, sharing a bedroom and everything?" "We'll be working all that out as we go along. That's the whole point. But we'll be starting off as mistress and maid, unfortunately." "Nobody does that these days!" I protested. "When did you last see a woman travelling with a maid - except for Saudi princesses and Hollywood starlets?" "Quite," she agreed. "That's what I told him; her, I mean. She said that if that doesn't work out, she would be my 'companion'." "What, like the financially embarrassed gentlewoman paid to accompany a noble lady or her daughter on the Grand Tour?" I laughed. "That's straight out of Agatha Christie." "Even earlier, I'd say - Victorian." She sighed. "I did manage to get a concession out of her. She will take a complete outfit of men's clothes, and will wear them at least once for me. She wouldn't hear of it at first. She said she'd feel a fool dressing up as a man and didn't have any men's clothes anyway. I said that wouldn't be a problem. We have plenty in our wardrobe room. In the end, I told her it was a deal-breaker, and she gave in." "Well, I think it's wonderful. I hope the two of you have a great time, and find each other again." "Don't get your hopes up, Steven. We'll never be husband and wife again." "But maybe 'wife and wife'?" She grimaced. "Anyway you'll be together, and not lonely anymore. That's the main thing." She smiled. It was an odd, unfamiliar sight. Then I realised why it looked weird. It was a smile that actually reflected some genuine inner satisfaction, even happiness. The most I could remember ever seeing from her before was a 'conventional' smile; a smile to be polite; a smile designed to fit the occasion. Then she spoilt it. A calculating look came into her eyes. "I'm glad you're pleased," she said, "because of course, Rita and I going away for an unspecified time will mean you and Annie will be in charge of the business." "Oh, I'm sure we'll manage. Fred and Vera and Sharon will still be here, won't they? And Miss Parr, and Angie, and the new girl. What's her name? Susie? We may have to hire a new housekeeper..." "I don't think you quite understand. While we're away, you'll have to be me." "Well, I think I can do your job..." I began, not liking the sound of this. "Don't be obtuse. You know what I mean. You'll have to do my job as me." "What? Why?" "Because our clients don't like new faces and they certainly don't like their consultant to be a man. I'm sure you remember their reactions when I asked if you could sit in." I did. They were uncomfortable talking about their cross-dressing or transsexualism with a male who wasn't their doctor or psychiatrist. "Well, Annie can do the consulting, can't she?" "Not by herself, she can't. The business has grown too much. I've been working a sixty-hour week while you were on your honeymoon. Anyway she doesn't know the ins and outs of the business as well as you do." I desperately tried to think of reasons why I couldn't do this... "We already know you give a perfect imitation of me," she said. "No one saw through you at all last summer, did they? We've still got the specs for your prosthetics." That was one reason gone. "And it may not be for long," she continued. "We're still reacting to the boom that came from the new facial prosthetics. The business may die down to its previous level again, in which case Annie will be able to manage alone. Or we may be back in a couple of weeks if things don't work out for us." There went another reason to refuse. She paused thoughtfully. "If you don't do this, I don't think Rita and I will be able go away... together." How is she so damn good at this? This emotional blackmail? "I've just realised," she added, "I can't remember my last holiday..." Aarggh! * * * Annie took it very well. "It's not a problem, is it? You'll be Ingrid during the day and Steve in the evenings - well, his lower half anyway." She grinned. "You can't remove your breasts or Ingrid's face every night, obviously." "You can't be happy about this!" I said. I looked pleadingly at her. "I don't mind - really," she hastened to reassure me. "This is our family business. It's worth making a few little sacrifices for." Little? "It'll be fun," she continued, "and you can be Steve at weekends; well, every other weekend anyway." The discussion continued all evening, but she gradually convinced me to go along with my mother's plans - for everyone's sake (or at least everyone else's). So on the Monday morning, back I went to Vera, who took great delight in waxing me all over... again. "You know, you really should have all your body hair removed permanently if you're going to keep doing this," she said. "I did that for your father, you know. It's not painful; well, not as painful as regular waxing anyway; and I'm sure Annie will appreciate a totally smooth husband." "I'll think about it," I said through teeth gritted against the pain. Afterwards I lay on her table, smarting, while she rubbed me gently all over with the soothing lotion. This was the only part I liked. "We don't know how long you're going to be Ingrid for, do we?" she said. I shook my head. "So I'm using a new lotion. It has a low dosage of female hormone." I looked up sharply. "Don't worry, it's very mild. It won't affect your virility or change your body shape - much - but it should slow the growth of your body hair. You may not need any more waxing." By now my mother had appeared with new versions of my Steve-to-Ingrid prostheses, hot off the 3D printer. She stood and watched as Vera used a marker pen and the template from the printer to draw guidelines on me. That done, she began gluing on the prosthetic pieces. It was fascinating, but dispiriting, to watch my mother's face gradually replace mine. I had a new nose and chin; well, double chin. What little masculinity my face had once possessed was replaced by the femininity of a middle-aged woman. The prostheses covered me almost completely but they were soft and light, and they moved naturally as I changed my expression. Vera took up her paintbrush for the finishing touches, concealing the few remaining places where my own skin was still showing. "Excellent," my mother said. "I'll call Sharon. Come up to the flat when you're dressed, please, Steven. I have a lot to go through with you." Our resident beautician appeared moments later with a wig and her little case of cosmetics, brushes and sprays. "I've got a client under the dryer in my room, so I thought I'd better come to you," Sharon said. "This is weird, 'cause I just left one Ingrid next door, and now here's another one; or at least you will be when I've got your wig on you." She stretched a wig cap over my head, tucking any errant strands of my real hair inside. She paused. "Actually your own hair is nearly long enough to give you an 'Ingrid do', maybe with some extensions. Would you rather I did that? You could go without the wig then." "But I want to be Steve at weekends," I said. "You could always brush it differently," Sharon said. "Maybe wear it in a little man ponytail." "I'll think about it," I said, "but I'm hoping I won't need to be my mother for that long." In the mirror I saw Vera and Sharon exchanging glances. Did they know something I didn't? "OK, sure," Sharon said, returning her attention to my head. "Just let me know if you change your mind." She pulled the wig down and adjusted it carefully, checking that it was secure. Then she ran a brush through it and gave it a good spraying. When she finished I turned my head from side to side. My mother's familiar stern schoolmarm bun was clearly visible on the back of my head. "If I'm stuck as my mother for any length of time, I am definitely changing my hairstyle," I muttered. "At last!" Sharon trilled. "I've been trying to get you - I mean, the other Ingrid - to do something sexier with her hair for years!" She reached into her little case and took out some very plain cosmetics. "You can do better than this lot too," she said, applying some pale foundation. "Maybe I will," I said, very aware that my mother's preferred make-up scheme was understated, to say the least. Next she applied a little mascara, eye shadow, and a light lipstick. Then she moved on to my nails, filing them tidy and painting them a familiar pale pink with a gloss finish. While they were drying, I lay on my back for Vera to attach my breast forms; droopier than Milly's, but not as droopy as Dolly's. When she was satisfied that the adhesive had set, she helped me into a new 42C bra, very plain. "So, are we gluing you into your abdominal prosthesis?" Vera asked. "I suppose we have to," I agreed grudgingly. "It's much more comfortable when it doesn't move around, and there's too much risk of it slipping at an embarrassing moment if it's not stuck on. Just make sure you leave the usual opening 'down below'." Vera smiled and helped me wriggle into the fearsome thing. My genitals were once again concealed and inaccessible to me, though if I knew Annie, she would find a way around that obstacle tonight. I stood up and stepped into a pair of sensible knickers which matched my bra. "Here are your glasses, Ingrid," said Vera. When I looked at her askance, she continued, "Well, you might as well get used to answering to that name again." I took the ladies glasses, put them on, and turned to the mirror. The familiar plump, middle-aged figure stared back at me, complete with cellulite on her thighs and buttocks, and the beginnings of batwings and a double chin. I shuddered. "Your mother sent down a complete outfit for you," Vera said. "It's in the case on the desk. You don't need my help to get dressed, do you? I mean, you're an expert on women's clothes now, aren't you?" * * * My mother had left me a smart, black skirt suit (big surprise), with a white, nylon, long-sleeved, V-neck blouse. My legs were encased in plain tights and my feet in black, patent leather, two-inch heeled pumps, from our wardrobe store. I made my way upstairs. She was sitting at her desk in the alcove off our dining room, where she kept her computer. The filing cabinet in the corner was open and several folders were piled on her desk. She motioned to me to pull up a chair next to her. I did so, and plumped my new, rotund bottom down next to her, remembering to smooth my skirt under me at the last moment. She began without preamble, or any comment about my appearance. Apparently she now took it for granted that our technology had once again made me her perfect double. "I'd like the fact that you're substituting for me to be kept to our little 'Inner Circle', if possible," she said. "Fine by me. The fewer people who know about this the better, as far as I'm concerned." I knew who she meant but for the avoidance of doubt she reeled off the list. "That means Annie, Fred, Vera, Sharon and Dolly. Oh, and Alice Parr. She'd notice something wrong immediately anyway. In fact I'd like you to spend some time with her. She can get you moving like me, and she knows my mannerisms and speech patterns very well, and can train you to reproduce them too. Then your impersonation will be perfect." I wasn't looking forward to that. Miss Parr was something of a martinet. I envisaged marching up and down with a pile of a books on my head. At least I would be the boss this time and wouldn't have to learn to curtsey. "None of our other staff need to know," my mother continued, "and it's much less of a risk to the business if no one else does know. Agreed?" "Well, yes, I suppose so," I agreed tentatively. "But it won't be for long, will it? I'm not sure I can fool everyone all the time. When I sat in for you last summer, doing a few client interviews, it was for less than two weeks, and I didn't interact with the household staff much, but I'll have to now, won't I, as we don't have a housekeeper? Also, you were always around if I needed you, and you still did all the admin." "True, but Annie was new then. She's been here for a year now. She knows quite a lot about the business side, and you can always call her in for a 'consult' if there's something about a client's transformation that you're not sure of. She's probably better at that than I am now, in fact. You'll manage between you." She paused. "So she'll be the Chief Transformation Consultant, but I want you to be the Managing Director of the business, and for that there are other things you need to know." She paused and reached for the folder on top of the pile. "First, Fred and I have created a new identity for me while I'm away." She saw my quizzical look. "Don't ask how we did it. It's better that you don't know, in case something goes wrong. You'll have 'plausible deniability'. The point is, while I'm gone, you will be the only 'Ingrid Jones' and the only 'Ingrid McLaughlin'." "Who will you be?" "I'll be going by Kathleen - my middle name - Johnson. That way Rita and I can be sisters if we ever have to explain ourselves, like to a hotel receptionist. I have a new mobile phone. Here's the number - for emergencies only. Otherwise, don't call me; I'll call you." I must have looked concerned. "Oh don't worry. I'll check in regularly to let you know we're all right. "Now, in this folder are all my personal documents," she continued. "You need to skim through them and make yourself familiar with everything. Put all the folders back in the safe when you're finished. You know the combination, don't you?" I nodded and took the file. It held all the usual stuff, very similar to my father's documents which I saw in the bank safety deposit box: birth certificate; marriage certificate; school reports, exam certificates; and her Will. "Your passport is in here. Won't you need it?" "No, but you may need it. I have one for my new identity, but I don't know if Rita plans for us to go abroad. Fred assures me that both our passports will stand up to any scrutiny, but it's probably an unnecessary risk to use them." "Are you going to change your appearance?" "I've bought some new clothes, and I may change my hairstyle, but I'm not going to use any of our prosthetics, if that's what you mean. I can't be bothered with all that stuff." But she doesn't mind me having to put up with them - and indefinitely, apparently! "Here's my - your - handbag. Your purse is in there, with your driving licence and credit cards. You need to lock your Steve Jones IDs and bank cards away in the safe. Don't try to use them while you're me." "You mean I should use your credit cards? Isn't that fraud?" "Certainly not. You're a signatory on all my accounts - business and personal. You'd only be drawing out your own money." "But still pretending to be someone I'm not!" I protested. "But you're not defrauding anyone; it's your money as much as mine. You won't even need to forge my signature, at least not very often. I do all financial transactions online. The PIN numbers and passwords are in the safe. I haven't written a cheque for years." She looked exasperated. "Oh, stop worrying. Firstly, nobody will suspect anything - your disguise is too good; and secondly..." She took the file back from me and drew out a document from near the bottom. "...this is a Lasting Power of Attorney for Property and Financial Affairs, signed by your father for the estate and by me for the business. This shows that you have full authority over all our assets." Wow! I never thought she trusted me to that extent. "That means you can be me all the time. You won't need to change back to Steve at all." Why on earth would I want to be my mother all the time? I was about to protest, but she was picking up another folder and resuming her lecture. "Now this next file is our family investments," she said. "I've tried to diversify, but I suppose I've always been a little risk-averse. We've got Life Insurance, ISAs and Unit Trusts, but I don't dabble in the Stock Market. Of course, there's no mortgage on the estate." The numbers flashed past my eyes as we scanned the documents together. I didn't take in the details but it was obvious we were comfortably off. "I've always tried to fund new developments from profits, to protect our family assets," she said. "Now this next file is all about the business - just the really important documents. All the day-to-day spending and receipts are in the top two drawers of the filing cabinet, but most of that stuff is on the computer anyway. Fred can show you if you ever need to know." We spent the next hour going through the business accounts. They weren't complicated, but again I was surprised at how well we were doing. "I only take a notional salary to minimise our tax burden," she said, without bothering to explain what that meant. "Fred and I are the only shareholders and most of our remuneration comes as dividends from the company profits after corporation tax. We'll need to add you and Annie to that scheme." She paused again, perhaps sensing that I was sinking under this deluge of information. "Do you have any questions?" she asked. "Millions, but I'd better look through all these files first." "Fine, but don't forget I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll need to take the Range Rover to carry all our stuff. I've insured myself - that is, yourself - to drive your Yaris and I've insured Steve to drive the company van, so you should be all right for transport in both your guises." I sat back in the chair, exhausted and bewildered. "Don't slouch like that, Ingrid," she said. "You're not a navvy. You're a respectable lady." I snapped my knees together and sat up straight. "Sorry, Kathleen," I said with as much grace as I could muster (not much). "You should make yourself comfortable as me," she said. "I'm taking most of my casual clothes and all of my underwear, so you'll have to buy a lot of new things, but do try not to be too different. There's no point in deliberately attracting attention. You can make a few minor changes if you must, but you should live my life as closely as you can. You know I don't go out much, and I don't have many friends, so it shouldn't be too difficult. You can play Bridge with Dolly or Fred on Wednesdays." She sat back, watching me carefully. I think she realised I was feeling overwhelmed. "I'm terrified, Mum," I said, serious for a moment. "Not just that I'll give myself away, but I might make some really bad mistakes and ruin the business." "I have confidence in you," she said gently. "You've grown up a lot recently. I'm sure it's Annie's influence," she added, not willing to give me too much credit. "I wouldn't be risking this if I didn't think you could do it." It still sounded suspiciously like an actual compliment. But it sounded horribly like she was saying goodbye for ever. * * * My mother and 'Auntie Rita' were ready to leave after lunch the next day. Annie, Dolly and I saw them off from our private entrance round the back. If I hadn't known it was her, I might not have recognised my mother. She was wearing jeans! They must have been new; they might have been the first pair she had ever owned. Her top was a T-shirt with the words, 'I'm with Stupid' and a finger pointing to her left, presumably where my father would be sitting in the car. She had let her hair down; it was held back in a brightly coloured Alice band. She wore dark glasses, completing the job of making her unrecognisable. The combination also made her look at least ten years younger - than me. Meanwhile Rita was wearing a simple black dress with white collar and cuffs. It looked like a maid's uniform, but without a cap and apron it could have passed for a plain house dress. My mother isn't one for long drawn out partings. We hugged briefly and she reiterated her confidence that Annie and I would be fine. She said no more about how long they would be away. She didn't tell us where they were heading. She might not have known herself. She was driving; Rita was navigating. After they'd gone Annie had to rush off to a client session and Dolly went back to the kitchen catering office. She had insisted on standing in as housekeeper until either Rita returned or we found a full-time replacement for her. That way, my contact with staff outside our Inner Circle could be minimised. Annie agreed to this only as long as Dolly promised not to do any hard physical work herself. To make things easier - and so that Annie could continue to keep an eye on her - Dolly would stay with us during the week, sleeping in the Girls' Room. She would go back to her house for weekends. I would sleep in my mother's room, to help me get into the mindset of being her. Steve's room would stand sadly and symbolically empty. I went back to Ingrid's - my - office. I took off my suit jacket and sat down at my desk. I put my handbag in the drawer. I kicked my high heels off and rubbed my stocking feet. I would have to get used to shoes like these. I reached for the day's mail, but then I paused, staring into space. Belatedly, I realised I was no longer just testing prostheses in the guise of Ingrid Jones/McLaughlin, I was her now; indeed the only person answering to those names. This was real - and scary. For as long as my parents were on the road 'finding themselves', like hippy teenagers in some dopey seventies flick, I was a forty-eight-year-old woman, running a business, with people depending on me. I opened Ingrid's - my computer and checked her diary. I had no appointments that afternoon, which would give me the chance to respond to the day's post and incoming emails. Tomorrow I had new prospective clients both in the morning and after lunch. Annie came in at a quarter past three; she caught me staring out of the window. "Finding it all a bit overwhelming, Ingrid?" I frowned. "Don't look at me like that," she said. "You know I have to call you Ingrid even when we're alone. It's not just that I don't want to risk making a mistake in company, it's because it's the best way of helping you get used to your new role." "What if I don't want to get used to it?" She looked at me reproachfully. "You can't always have what you want." She tutted. "I hoped that the boy I fell in love with, and the man I married, would realise people are depending on him, and suck it up." "You sound like my mother sometimes." "Well if I sound like her and you look like her, we should be able to manage together, shouldn't we?" I sighed. She must have realised I wasn't in the mood for humour. "Look, Steve, it'll be OK," she said soothingly. "You can do this, really you can. You already know your impersonation is virtually flawless. No one caught you out last summer." "That was only two weeks." "It may not be much more than that this time." "I have a nasty feeling it will be longer, maybe much longer." "We'll manage," Annie said. But that wasn't what I was really worried about. "Will we? And what about us?" She looked puzzled. "We've been married less than a month and your husband has gone. You're living with your mother-in-law, for Heaven's sake!" "Is that what this is about? I don't mind as long as we're together. I lived with you as my Granny for most of last summer! Look, this..." She waved her arms at my plump, feminine body. "...doesn't matter. We can be husband and wife in bed at night and properly every other weekend. We'll be fine." I had nothing more to say. She came over and put her arms around me. "Think of it as like wearing a uniform for a job. Lots of people do that - policemen, soldiers..." "Maids?" "Ooh, yes please. I've always wanted my own lady's maid!" I couldn't help laughing at that. "Come on, it's tea-time," she said. "We need to go down and show everyone that the captain is on the bridge and everything's ship shape." * * * Despite my misgivings I had to admit that the next two weeks went smoothly. The first thing I did was call our accountant and arranged to appoint Annie and Steve as the third and fourth Directors of the company. My mother hadn't suggested it, and hadn't given her permission, but she shouldn't have left me in charge, should she? Annie wanted to know what difference it would make, and I assured her it wouldn't change anything, although in fact, I hadn't a clue. I had no problems with my share of the client interviews, only passing one on to Annie. This was a rich young lady who wanted to impersonate her brother for a Fancy Dress party, and since Annie was the only one of us with any experience of female-to-male transformation, it seemed best that she handle it. I accepted that physically I was now a perfect duplicate of my mother. My remaining challenges were to get her mannerisms, speech and behaviour right. So I had three half-day sessions with Miss Parr, who I had to admit was superb at her job. She began by reminding me of the anatomical reasons why men and women moved differently, and gave me exercises to help me stress the feminine. My prostheses helped here; my weight distribution was now decidedly female. My enhanced breasts, hips, thighs and buttocks limited my ability to move any other way, so Miss Parr just had to make me more aware of their effects, and help me adapt. Then she moved on to social behaviours. Society expects different things from men and women - aggression from men, compliance from women (or at least passive aggression) - and whatever our personalities, we mostly tend to conform. She agreed that this was less true of my mother, who had become fiercely independent over the years because of her circumstances. However her dominant personality did not display itself as a need to dominate social groups. She was more likely to remain silent in the background, listening - often with disdain - while others attempted to lead, and then do precisely what she wanted all along. I wasn't sure how this analysis helped me, but agreed that whatever else my mother might be, she was never chatty. I needed to learn to button my lip sometimes. She finished my course of instruction with a list of mannerisms and gestures to learn - things she had noticed over the years that were distinctly Ingrid. My mother had a way of twirling the pearl necklace she habitually wore, as I now had to. When outside she walked with her arms folded under her bust, especially in cold weather. (I was sure there were complex psychological reasons for this, but all I had to do was remember to duplicate it.) She held her handbag in a certain way, often fiddling with the strap. I had to do that for fifteen minutes under Miss Parr's watchful eye. My mother often kicked her shoes off when she sat down at her desk. She never fastened the buttons of her skirt suit jackets. She always fastened the buttons of her silk lace blouses right up to the neck. The rest of the Inner Circle also helped in their different ways, correcting me when I said or did something too unlike Ingrid. The essential message was: be brisk, brusque and business-like. Cut out the smiles and laughs, and don't even think about telling jokes. Anyone would think my mother was a real gloomy Gussie. Oh wait - she was. I played Bridge with Dolly on the first Wednesday and with Fred the second week. Annie and I went out to dinner a couple of times, during which she insisted on calling me 'Mummy'. I could hardly object now. I paid with my mother's credit card. Otherwise I preferred to stay at home in the evenings. In the privacy of the flat things could be different. I could let my hair down and change out of my stern business suit into one of the two or three casual dresses my mother... that is, I possessed. At home both Annie and Dolly encouraged me to be myself - my real self - as much as possible. The three of us got on well. We cooked and ate dinner together; we watched TV; we played board games; we laughed; and we did the chores: laundry, ironing, cleaning, shopping. We all did our share. It was just like three real women sharing a flat. Then Annie and I would retire to our bedroom and she would sit happily on the bed as I stripped off. "I've missed this," she said, as I stepped out of my dress or skirt. "It's been nearly a year since I've seen you as Ingrid doing a strip-tease for me." I posed seductively in my shapewear: my boobs bursting out of my bra, my cellulite thighs and buttocks clasped tightly by my girdle. "It's a bit odd though, don't you think?" I said, provocatively. "I mean, I'm forced to do this..." I brushed my hands up and down my voluptuous figure. "...but it must be some kind of fetish with you." "So what?" she said. "What's a little dressing-up between married consenting adults? It's not bondage, is it? There's no unhealthy domme- sub stuff going on. It's all harmless, isn't it?" She grinned. "And for some reason it turns me on more than any 'vanilla' foreplay." "Must be something to do with your obsession with transformation," I suggested. "And/or your delight in being transformed," she said. What would be the point in arguing? I certainly didn't hate it anymore. Not sure I ever really did. "Now, knickers down, Ingrid darling," she said firmly. "Let the dog see the rabbit..." I think she liked it more because she got to go on top. My excess flesh and ungainly figure made it too difficult the other way. * * * As she had done the previous summer, she would lie in bed in the morning watching me transform back into the stern lady boss. I would lift up my nightie and wriggle into my abdominal prosthesis. Most days I needed her help to 'arrange myself' comfortably. Then I would step into tight spandex knickers or a pantiegirdle, and she would fasten my bra for me. (I could do it myself after all the practice I had had, but she was always keen to help.) Wig and makeup were next, and from then on I was Mrs Ingrid Jones to my wife and friends, and Mrs Ingrid McLaughlin to our clients. That would be the routine for the next two working weeks. We managed to keep the weekend in between free for once. I desperately needed clothes, so Annie and I spent most of that Saturday morning at the nearest large shopping centre. My priority was lingerie as my mother had taken all of hers with her (and I really didn't want to wear any of her intimates anyway). My prosthetics had duplicated my mother's figure more or less precisely, but I found that some of the underwear that Vera had provided in Mum's sizes - presumably to make me sexy for my wife - was quite uncomfortable. My generous prosthetic flesh bulged out over the edges of a tight bra and bikini panties. I couldn't actually feel anything through the padding of course, but the overall sensation was that everything I had was trying to escape all the time. Annie therefore recommended firm shapewear, to keep all my synthetic blubber under proper control, and with the added benefit of emphasising my plump, curvy female form. I had some difficulty persuading her that I wasn't of an age or figure for Victoria's Secret - not the obvious emporium for middle-aged ladies buying control panties anyway - and she grudgingly conducted me round the more prosaic secrets of Marks and Spencer. "They advertise everything from light control vests to VPL-free knickers - styles to smooth out those lumps and bumps," she said, reading from a pamphlet. "That sounds like exactly what you need," she grinned. "Our collection of shapewear for women is designed to give you a sleek, streamlined silhouette with seam-free bodies, sheer slips and waist cinchers. Take advantage of the latest technologies for day-to-night comfort: shaping knickers, shaping bodies, waist and tummy control..." "All right, all right," I growled, grabbing the leaflet from her. "Bad enough I have to get all that stuff without you announcing it to the world." We made our way over to the appropriate section. There was, as usual, no sign of any sales assistants, but for once that was a blessing. "Do you want to try this body on?" Annie asked, innocently. For a moment I was confused, then I realised what she meant. "No, I don't! Look we know my sizes. Let's just grab a range of stuff and go. This is M & S; I can return anything that doesn't fit." "I'm not sure that's true for lingerie, mummy-in-law dearest, not if you've actually tried it on, but anything you say." She filled her basket with cardboard boxes of matching longline bras and granny knickers, bodyshapers, girdles, and at least two dozen packs of stockings and tights. I tried to drag her over to the till. "What's the hurry?" she said. "You're out clothes shopping with your daughter-in-law. It's supposed to be fun." "Maybe for you, but I'm not comfortable browsing in Ladies' underwear." She giggled. "OK, let's head over to the dresses section." With little experience of shopping for women's clothes, I didn't really know what I was looking for, so I had to trust that Annie would choose dresses and skirts appropriate for her mother-in-law, and all with long sleeves, appropriate for her feminised husband. We had more or less filled the basket when I saw a face I recognised. "Ingrid!" she called in a voice that could have been heard over in Menswear. "You're back! Why didn't you call?" It was Maggie Tyler from the Garden Party. We exchanged girly cheek kisses. I had learned the convention: no actual physical contact to avoid smearing each other's make-up. She had finished her shopping and was heading for the caf?. We arranged to meet her there after we'd paid for my new clothes. Annie was intensely curious and insisted on a full explanation in the check-out queue. "I met her and her friends at the Mayor's do," I explained. "We hit it off." "You mean you got blotto with them," Annie chuckled. "I remember that day. I've never seen you so drunk, before or since." "They were a good bunch. I had a great time." "Well you must arrange to see them again. Ingrid should have more female friends, especially as she's not in a relationship." "What are you talking about? Both of us Ingrids are in relationships!" "But the Ingrid you're pretending to be isn't in a relationship with a man, is she? So she needs women friends." "So you, my wife, are encouraging me to go out, maybe getting drunk, with half a dozen attractive other women?" She laughed. "It does sound odd put that way, doesn't it? But you know what I mean. And I'm assuming that I'll be the only one who actually gets into your knickers." Heavily laden with my new wardrobe, we made our way to the caf? and located Maggie. She waved. She was at a corner table with three coffees and a tray of cakes. We made our way over and sat down, dropping our bulging shopping bags beside us. "Wow!" Maggie said. "You look like you bought the whole store!" "Well, I've been away working and I decided I needed a few new outfits to celebrate my... return," I explained, sticking as close to the truth as I could. "It's lovely to see you again, Maggie. This is Annie, my daughter- in-law." They exchanged polite greetings. Maggie asked how long Annie had been married - I hadn't mentioned my son being in a relationship the previous summer - and congratulated her. After the usual good wishes regarding married life, she turned to me. "So are you back for good now?" "Um, probably..." "Because, if so, you must come out with me and 'The Girls'. You were a big hit at the Garden Party." "Really? I don't remember..." "I'm not in the least surprised!" Maggie said. Annie laughed. "None of us remember much about that day, but we all enjoyed ourselves so much we've tried to keep the little group going. We have a slap-up meal in a restaurant once a month." "That sounds wonderful, Mummy!" said Annie, with a twinkle in her eye. "You must go. Don't worry, Steve and I will find ourselves something to do while you're out." I looked at her askance. Maggie laughed at the sexual innuendo, without really knowing what she was laughing at. We exchanged details (although I still had her number on a scruffy napkin in my handbag). So now I had another date for my diary. * * * The second weekend was approaching and we hadn't heard from my parents. I didn't know whether to be worried or not. I had arranged with Vera to be liberated from my disguise last thing on Friday afternoon so that Steve could reappear for the weekend, and I was not going to be put off. I lay on her table starkers while she rubbed solvent under the edges of the prostheses. "It seems to be taking a long time, Vee," I said. "Yes," she agreed. "It's because the adhesive hasn't started to break down yet, and the top layer of your skin seems to be more persistent than most people's." She grunted, and tugged, and rubbed more solvent in, and tugged again. "Oww!" "Sorry! I'll have to take it more slowly." In the end it took nearly an hour to get everything off me. Finally, Steve appeared from underneath, but a raw, red, blotchy and very sore Steve. "I think you may have to stay as Ingrid for three weeks at a time, kiddo," Vera said, apologetically. "That should be long enough for the prostheses to come off easily. I don't think either of us wants to go through that again." I agreed, grudgingly. I thanked her, then got dressed as myself and gathered up my Ingrid clothes. Annie was waiting for me upstairs, and made an appropriate fuss over having her husband back. * * * We had a great weekend. We played Mixed Doubles at the tennis centre on Saturday afternoon and went to a nightclub in the evening, with dinner and dancing. On the Sunday we drove out to the coast. It was bright and sunny and we even risked a brief dip in the North Sea. This was how summer days should be in England. (The nights were even better - and I got to go on top for once.) We decided that we were very lucky, even allowing for our unusual circumstances. We scoffed scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream at a picnic table outside a little seaside caf?. As I refilled our teacups, a cloud came over. I shuddered. The sudden chill reminded me that I had an appointment with Vera at eight o'clock next morning. "If I'm going to be Ingrid again - maybe for three weeks this time - I'm going to make some changes," I said, in a quiet voice, not wanting to be overheard by the other diners. "Ooh," said Annie, excitedly, "such as what?" "Clothes, for one," I began. "I hate my grey skirt suits, and my boring hairdo. Come to that, I'm fed up with wearing a wig. I'm going to ask Sharon if she can do something with my own hair." "Great idea!" she said. "I've never understood why Ingrid insisted on dressing like a schoolmarm." "My theory is that she didn't want to attract men, given her... unusual marital situation." "So either she didn't want to be unfaithful to your father even though he'd deserted her, or she was just off the male sex generally..." "Or both." "Yes," Annie nodded. "So you're going to make more of yourself, are you, New Ingrid? In that case, you should get out more too. We can go to restaurants, the cinema, theatre. We can play Ladies Doubles, as well as Mixed." "Oh, I'm not sure about that. I'm a lot stronger than most women. I can hit much harder. I might give myself away." "Not when you're wearing your Ingrid prostheses, Porky," she pointed out. "You won't be able to run as fast either, but you'll look great in a tennis dress." Her imagination was motoring now. "What about Ballroom Dancing? You enjoyed it when you were Dolly. All three of us could go!" "But we'd all have to dance with strange men. I'm not sure I could trust you," I said, with a mock stern expression. "What about you?" she giggled. "You were quite attractive in your Garden Party outfit. I dread to think what those dance floor Romeos will make of you in a sequined ballroom dress." I laughed. I couldn't imagine being propositioned by any of those sad elderly dancers, however beautiful my dress. "Come on, we need to get back," she said. She passed me the last scone. "Eat up. There's no point in you worrying about your figure, is there?" It was a good day. Just before bedtime a text came through to both my Steve phone and my Ingrid phone. 'Wont be back this week. Keep up the good work. - K' * * * We woke early the following morning to make the most of my remaining time as Steve. We dragged that out as long as we could but all good things must come to an end. At eight a.m., while Annie went to pick up Dolly, I packed a little case of Ingrid clothes and reported to Vera. The waxing was much quicker and less painful this week, and after giving me a quick rub-down with the soothing, hormone-laced lotion, she was soon gluing my prostheses on. "So you're going to be Ingrid for a while longer?" she said, conversationally. "Seems like it," I sighed. I told her about the previous night's text. "I hope they appreciate this." "Look on the bright side," the ever-optimistic Vera said. "You've got a beautiful young wife who loves you - in both your guises. You're your own boss, more or less. You're fully employed, making good money at safe, indoor work. You even live above the shop, so no commuting. Lots of people would give their eyeteeth for all that." "I hadn't thought of it like that," I said. "So I should try and make the best of it?" "That's the spirit... Ingrid," she smiled. "Now come on, get your bra and knickers on and make yourself respectable." "Could you make arrangements to remove my body hair permanently, please?" I said, accepting the inevitable. Vera smiled and got out her appointment book. I went off fully dressed in my boring skirt suit, my big bottom swaying, my nylon-covered legs rasping against one another. I hated Mondays. * * * Sharon was delighted when I asked her to do something with my hair. As it had been a while since I'd last had it cut - when do students ever go to the barber? - she decided it was long enough for a shortish feminine hair style without needing extensions. But I would have to have it coloured to match my mother. Unfortunately Ingrid suffered from a sort of 'reverse vanity' and so had never had it tinted. It was therefore a mousy brown with irregular streaks of grey. This would be a challenge for Sharon to match, but surely no one would notice if the streaks weren't in exactly the right places? My mother always wore her hair up in a bun anyway. I reported for my makeover first thing on the Tuesday morning. I took off my suit jacket and sat down in Sharon's chair. She wrapped a brightly- coloured protective smock around me and set to work. She began by washing, trimming and tidying my hair. At this point it suddenly occurred to me that Steve might look weird with a too obviously woman's hairdo. Oh well, he was only going to appear for one weekend every three weeks. He could always wear a baseball cap. Sharon started colouring individual strands of my hair with a grey spray. "This is the opposite of what hairdressers normally do," she said. "They're usually asked to colour early grey hairs brown, but sometimes an older woman who has tinted her hair for years decides to stop all that and gradually let the natural colour come through. I call this 'transitioning to grey'. It will probably make you look a little older. The other Ingrid - sorry, I mean Kathleen - may be cross about that." "I doubt she'll care actually," I said. "My mother isn't vain. In any case, I want a new make-up regime to compensate, please." "Brilliant!" she cooed. "I've been dying to doll Ingrid up for years. She could make so much more of herself. We're going to have a great time." "Just so long as we're finished by eleven. I have a client session." "No problem," she said, reaching for her curling wand. Like all good hairdressers Sharon kept up a continual patter of conversation that a woman of my age should find interesting. In general, these were not really topics to capture the imagination of a twenty-one- year-old male, but the experience was educational - as was all the time I spent with her and Vera. Two and a half hours passed quickly and I emerged knowing a lot more about babies, periods and the menopause than I did before, or had ever wanted to. It reminded me of the drunken conversation at the Garden Party, so I supposed it could come in useful when I saw 'The Girls' again. When she had finished with my hair, she spent a long time fussing with colour charts and a huge range of expensive-looking cosmetics, before muttering something about 'autumn colours' and starting on my make-up. When she eventually released me from my smock and span me around so that I faced the mirror for the first time, I nearly fell out of the chair. I was still my mother, but this was not an Ingrid I had ever seen before. A short pepper-and-salt bob of real hair had replaced the wig in its ugly bun. My make-up was professional and striking. The woman in the mirror was borderline beautiful. No, OK, must be realistic; she was just on the wrong side of that border. I stood up, gawking, unable to take my eyes off my image. I didn't think a baseball cap would suffice to conceal this work of art. "Happy with that?" asked Sharon, with a twinkle in her eye. "'Happy' isn't the word," I said when my voice returned. "You're a genius - especially considering what you had to work with." "That's not fair to your Mum," she smiled. "I always knew I could make her - you - eye-catching, but I admit, you've turned out better than even I had expected." I picked up my jacket and slipped into it. Today's suit was a brown pinstripe. "My new look doesn't feel right with this ugly outfit," I said. "I must do something about that." I checked my little gold ladies' watch. "Oh, if we hurry, we can just catch the end of the morning coffee break. I'm dying to see what the others will think." When we walked into the coffee lounge, there was a sudden hush, then gasps as heads turned in my direction. "Ye Gods!" said Fred. "If it wasn't for that ugly suit, I would never have recognised you." "Thank you, Frederick dear," I said, "but it's Sharon who should take the credit." I went over to get a cup of coffee from Dolly. She was back in her old role of tea lady, but no longer in a maid's uniform. She wore a smart black dress, as befitted her elevation to housekeeper. She could, perhaps should, have delegated this menial task to one of the younger catering staff, but she insisted. She just loved being here with us all at our morning break. "You look amazing, Ingrid," she said. "Are you going to stay like that?" I nodded. "You'll cause quite a stir at the Bridge Club. I can't wait for Harriet to see you!" * * * The Wednesday Pairs at the Bridge Club was my first outing as Ingrid 2.0. I chose something from my new Marks & Spencer's collection, a smart casual dress in dark blue with white polka dots. I wore a lace cardigan with it, nude nylons, and three-inch heels. I felt the combination, with my new hairdo and Sharon's best evening make-up, made me look ten years younger. When I walked into the church hall on Fred's arm, heads turned as they had at coffee break the previous morning. Everyone - well everyone except Harriet - was friendly and complimentary. I was surprised to see Jane Campanella there. She waved when she saw me and beckoned us over. She was sitting at a table on the opposite side of the room from Harriet. Her partner this evening, presumably a client, was an elderly lady called Doris, who I vaguely remembered to be rich but clueless. "Hello, Ingrid," Doris said as we sat down. "You look very nice tonight. New hairdo?" "Yes, thank you for noticing. I thought it was time for a change. Are you well?" Doris nodded and exchanged pleasantries with Fred. I turned back to Jane. "Nice to see you again, Jane. Not playing with Harriet, I see?" She smiled. "No, our little arrangement is over." If so, why was she still around? I couldn't see why an American international, albeit in exile over here, would want to play at our little backwater club if she wasn't being paid to, but I could hardly ask. "I had to join your fine club to play regularly with Harriet, and even though that partnership is kaput, I'm determined to get my subscription money's worth." That was a somewhat unconvincing answer to my unspoken question. "I'd love a game with you one night, by the way. You and Dolly were most impressive in the County Ladies' Final." "Er, yes," I said, "that would be great." I couldn't see why not, but this was one sharp lady - certainly sharp at Bridge anyway. There was no reason to think she would see anything suspicious about me, was there? Come now, no need to get paranoid, Ingrid (I mean, Steve). At the end of the evening Fred and I came top of the East-West pairs. Jane and Doris were just above average, one place above the Bairstows. Doris was delighted; it was her best result for months. Fred was helping me on with my coat when Jane appeared. "Good result, you two!" she smiled. "Do you have your diary handy, Ingrid? Can we fix a date?" "Oh yes," I said, reaching into my handbag. I found my phone and opened up the calendar app. We arranged to play together two weeks hence. If I wasn't still Ingrid then, I'm sure my mother would enjoy a game with Jane. "For some reason I assumed you'd use an old-fashioned diary," she said, watching me struggling to enter the details with my long, painted nails. I didn't picture you keeping your appointments on your phone." "That would have been true until recently," I said. "But my son is a computer expert - just graduated with a First from Cambridge - and he said he was ashamed that his mother was still living in the Dark Ages." "I taught him all he knows," put in Fred. "I'd love to meet him," she said. "Why don't we all get together for a drink or dinner sometime?" "That would be lovely," I replied, "but I'm not sure when that might be. He's just got married and I know he and my daughter-in-law are very busy." I couldn't see how Steve and I could both make it on the same evening. * * * Annie persuaded me to go along to Ballroom Dancing that Friday, with her and Dolly. I feigned reluctance at first but actually I quite fancied the idea. I hadn't exactly hated it at Cambridge with Rachel and had quite enjoyed myself as Dolly. Unfortunately my mother had nothing appropriate in her meagre collection of clothes, and I hadn't been looking for evening dresses at M & S. Vera thought I might find something suitable in my size in the company's wardrobe room, and we went along together to look. I was dubious about finding anything I'd like in a collection that was intended for cross-dressers and transsexuals. "When I was Dolly I just did the slow, sedate dances," I said. "I sat out when they played the faster ones like the Tango and the Quickstep. As Ingrid I'll probably do the same. So I suppose I should be looking for a long dress, like the one I wore before?" "Probably," she agreed. "You're not planning to enter any competitions, are you?" "Hardly, but why do you ask?" "Generally in competitions the women's dresses are designed for specific dances. For example, if you're doing the Tango, you'd choose a short dress, a mini actually. For a waltz, you want something long and flouncy, with an ankle-length hem. But those are all a bit elaborate - and expensive - for a casual night out." "Well I'm not entering any competitions, so I just need something all- purpose, and certainly not short. I haven't got the legs for it." "Actually you do, but you're supposed to be in your late forties." She was rummaging through the wardrobe, examining a rack of long dresses." It wouldn't be appropriate for you to wear a mini. I think you want something mid-calf - any longer and you might trip over the hem. Here! This is perfect!" She checked the label. "And it's size sixteen - just right!" "It's a bit elaborate, isn't it?" I said. It was labelled 'Teal Ballroom Smooth Waltz Dance Dress'. It had what would be a virtually skin-tight bodice for a large-busted lady like me, covered in elaborate floral decoration, and long, flowing chiffon skirts, all in a dramatic turquoise colour. Crucially, it had long sleeves. It was a cross-dresser's wet dream - no wonder it was in our wardrobe. I loved it as soon as I saw it. "It's just right for Ballroom Dancing," Vera insisted. "Now I'm sure I saw a pair of size ten high heels in teal somewhere, and a matching clutch bag." * * * "I feel horribly over-dressed," I said to Annie as we made our way into the leisure centre sports hall. "You look fine," she said. "Much better than fine," added Dolly, with a grin. I'd needed a proper corset and quite a lot of help from Annie, my lady's maid, to get into the dress. My hair wasn't long enough for anything complicated but Annie had found a tiara, a matching necklace, and clip-on earrings in our props cupboard. We caused quite a stir when we went in. Some of the people I had met when I was here as Dolly came over to greet us. "Hello, everyone," said Annie. "This is Ingrid, my mother-in-law." A couple of the women realised that she must have got married since we were last here, and congratulated her. "Three generations of lovely ladies all together!" exclaimed Gregory, the elderly Casanova who had asked me out to dinner when I was Dolly. "But where are all the gentlemen in your family?" "Good question!" said Annie. "I'm newly married but I can't seem to persuade my husband to come dancing. He's shy, which is a shame because he's a lovely mover." I was glad that Annie had made it clear to all the men crowding round us that she was here for the dancing and nothing further. "Well, it's an ill wind..." said Gregory. "Shall we, my dear?" He offered his arm to Dolly. She had been fully briefed and took it with an enigmatic smile. I wondered if she would accept his dinner invitation when he, inevitably, repeated it. A tall, thin, gawky-looking guy asked Annie to dance. I guessed he was in his early forties. That left me alone, a wallflower. That didn't last long. I must have danced with a dozen different men by the time the evening came to a close, and I can't pretend I didn't enjoy it. There was something truly sensual about being whirled round the dance floor, my beautiful dress swirling around me in cascades of turquoise chiffon. I had been afraid of falling off my high heels, but all my partners were too experienced - and strong - to let that happen. Whenever we came to a complicated part where I didn't quite know where my feet were supposed to go, I found they were up in the air, and then returned to earth in good order. I began to see the appeal of Ballroom - though I wasn't sure why the men enjoyed it so much. It looked like hard work for them. The last dance was a waltz to 'Moon River', and I was sorry it was all over for the evening - except that my last partner got a little too friendly. "One of those old fools pinched my bottom!" I said to Annie as we collected our coats in the Ladies' Cloakroom. "How could you tell?" she asked, with a laugh. "Your actual bottom is shielded by the best part of two inches of Fred's finest plastic blubber, not to mention your spandex girdle!" "That's the trouble - I happened to look round at just the right moment and saw him doing it!" "So what's the problem? You didn't seem to mind when Peter did it to Milly last Christmas." "That was different. I knew he'd feel stupid after the big reveal at midnight. The problem here is that I don't know how many times the old lech did it before I caught him." She laughed. "That's the trouble with being so attractive. He probably thinks you're a right slut and were encouraging him! What did you do anyway?" "I pulled my hand free to take a swipe at him. You should have seen him flinch! Then I realised I would probably kill him if I connected, so I just stormed off. What will I do if he's here next week?" "He'll probably have forgotten, or he may just try his luck with some other woman." She looked at me slyly. "So you enjoyed yourself? You want to come again?" "Well... OK, it wasn't all bad," I admitted. "Maybe once more. Where's Dolly?" "Gregory offered her a lift home, and she accepted." "Oh OK, so it's just you and me then." "Yes, and I can't wait to rip that dress off you..." "That's no way to talk to your mother-in-law. I'll race you to the car." "Not in those heels, you won't," she cautioned. "You'll break your pretty neck." Then I noticed something. I put my hand up to my ear. "Shit! I lost an earring when I nearly hit that old fool." "We'll have to get your ears pierced before next week then." I started to argue but she hushed me. "Ingrid's ears are pierced," she said. "Someone may notice if yours aren't." I sighed and agreed. I finished doing up my coat and hung my handbag over my shoulder. Then a thought struck me. "I'll have to get another dress for next week, won't I?" I said. "I mean, I can't turn up in the same dress two weeks in succession." "Now you're talking like a proper woman," she laughed. "I'd say your transformation is complete."