Becoming Zandra - Part 1 (Patreon)

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We took our tea into the sitting room and sat on the floor, warming ourselves before the fire.‘So do you design dresses or what?’ ‘We can more or less do what we want, men’s casuals or suits or women’s wear, from bras outwards.’ She smiled. With her lovely smile, her eyes lit up. ‘That must be really nice to do, really creative. I could model for you.’ ‘Well, so you could.  So are you, creative I mean, what course are you on exactly, or is there just one course that covers all performing arts?’

‘Drama and dance. We do a bit of singing, so we can have a go at musicals too. No, it is not the same sort of creativity as dress design. I copy, what a script says or the mannerisms of someone I have seen at some time. I am constantly noting how people behave how they sit, stand walk, smile, and talk. It is all stored in here,’ she pointed to her head, ‘so if I need it for a character, I can draw on it, but it is basically copying. I analyze people. We are taught a bit of self-defense in case we have a fight scene, sort of how to fall, how to take a slap or punch, and how to give one without hurting.

That sort of thing. It’s just endless fun.’ ‘And you are analyzing me. Do you then make a judgment?’ ‘Don’t think I am judgemental. Yes I have analyzed you, don’t we all when we meet someone? Instant attraction or instant dislike. I shall not say what I think yet. You look very drawn, as though you have been through the mill, and of course you have. You are quite beautiful for a boy. No don’t blush; there are beautiful men, Johnny Depp, and Russell Brand whether you like them and what they do. You need to smile more.

Actually, you are pretty rather than beautiful, and you have nicer hair. Would you let me play with it, just brush it about? It’s really thick, isn’t it? It could be really nice if you took care of it.’ I blushed again. ‘Do what you like.’ She fetched a brush and comb. ‘You know you have split ends? Can I just trim it up? I promise I won’t make a mess of it. You washed it this morning didn’t you. I can smell the shampoo. You should find a better conditioner. It’s a bit fly away.

Come into the kitchen and I’ll just trim the ends. I shall have to teach you about grooming.’ She produced scissors and carefully snipped away. It was all very personal and intimate. I found it quite exciting, and alluring. I supposed I was just so vulnerable, starved of human touch, starved of love. ‘OK. Done.’ She swept the cut hair into a pan and sent it into the waste.

She combed and brushed, and from somewhere she produced a hair clip and put it in my hair. ‘Stay there.’ She disappeared and returned with a mirror. ‘What do you see?’ she asked smiling. I examined my reflection and felt myself blushing again. ‘I don’t know what you mean, it’s just me.’ ‘Yes, you do know. Don’t you think you look quite girly?’

‘Well with the way you have done my hair, yes, but that’s not how I usually do it.’ I said a bit tersely. ‘I’ve upset you. Here.’ She removed the hair grip. ‘Sorry. Did I touch a nerve?’ ‘A bit, you know doing fashion design, people think, well you can guess.’ ‘But a lot of the time they are right aren’t they?’ It’s like male dancers; everyone thinks they are all gay but only about seventy percent are. I couldn’t care less. Do you like being called Alex or Alexander?’ ‘Either.’ ‘When you are famous and have your own fashion house, it will have to be Alexander, Alexander of Paris.’

‘Do you always make fun of people?’ ‘No. I’m trying to get to know you. How about if I call you Alexandra? Shall I? Would you mind? ‘Why would you?’ ‘Because. You are very passive and quite reticent. I’m going to ask questions and you answer and I will also answer, like the favorite color?’ ‘Blue.’ ‘Me too. Second favorite?’ ‘Cerise.’ ‘Do you mean pink?’ ‘I do like pink. What are you going to read into that?’ ‘I said I’m not judgemental, only interested. I like pink too. See we have similar tastes. Hair color?’ ‘Blonde.’ ‘On you or on others?’

‘Well on me and I guess on girls too. But you are lovely, I mean your hair is so shiny and pretty.’ ‘Yes but mine is out of a bottle, well partly. I think yours is too, though you must have done your roots recently.’ ‘Yesterday.’ ‘There. Music who do you like?’ She smiled again. ‘Lot’s. My favorite of the moment is a song called Up and Cheerleader. But I like classical too, from Beethoven to the Beatles.’ ‘Eclectic.

Me too, but not country, too mournful, too sad. I see those endless prairies, girls in faded denim dresses, nails dirty and broken, starved of real love.’ She was so fascinating. ‘Favourite painter?’ ‘Oh, that’s difficult. Lots, van Gogh in his pointillist period, Monet, Lautrec, Hockney sometimes, well lots sometimes. Not all pictures artists paint are good paintings. I mean some Gainsboroughs are awful, and Constables too, those  Stubbs horses don’t look right and even the sainted Turner produced some awful stuff.

I went to The Orangerie in Paris, some Renoirs there, terrible daubs. I have been to Musée d’Orsay twice, no rubbish on display there. Stunning.’ ‘I went there last year. We must go to some galleries together. I like art too. I think we will have a lot in common. ‘I’m sorry if I have embarrassed you. I’m sure we are going to be good friends. Can I do something else with your hair?’

I didn’t know what to make of her or what would come next. ‘Do what you like,’ I said submissively. ‘Come and sit in front of me, back between my knees. But first, do you want more tea, Alexandra?’ I ignored using the feminine of my name, but it sent a thrill through me. ‘Yes please.’

She went to the kitchen and soon returned with a fresh mug. She set it by my side. She sat behind me and combed my hair through. ‘Do you use straighteners?’ ‘Sometimes.’ ‘You know what I am doing?’ ‘I’m guessing you are plaiting.’ ‘Is that OK?’ ‘I don’t mind. Actually, I like my hair being done.’ ‘Hey, that’s a breakthrough. You have actually volunteered something personal about you. Good, we are making progress.’ I did like it; in fact, sitting there with Jacquie playing with my hair was heaven. It was sensuous, the most intimate thing that had happened to me for a long, long time.

I was quite turned on. She stopped. ‘Put your left hand up here,’ she said. She took my hand and placed the end of a pigtail into it. ‘Hold that. I’ll be back in a moment.’ She eased from behind me and took off up the stairs, a flash of long legs in a mini skirt. She returned and bounced into her seat behind me. She took the pigtail and I heard her fastening it with an elastic band. Then she was tying it with what I took as a ribbon. She bounced away again and returned with the mirror.

‘You like?’ I looked. My reflection was even more girlish than before. ‘What are you trying to do to me?’ ‘Just playing. Do you mind?’ ‘Not if you want to do it.’ ‘You said you liked having your hair played with.’ ‘I do. Actually, it is really nice. I do look a bit of a girl though.’ ‘If I plucked your eyebrows, even more so. You have small ears and good skin. The others won’t be home for two hours yet and we are having spag bol, which you and I will do. I have an idea.

Can I change you into a girl, play a joke on them?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Well, I have done your hair. How about I do your face, just for fun.’ ‘OK.’ I shrugged, trying to give the impression that it didn’t affect me. Actually, it did. It was really exciting. To use a biblical expression, my loins stirred. Why? I hoped it didn’t show. Away she scampered again returning with a makeup case. She swabbed my face with a cotton pad and some liquid, then moisturized me. ‘You haven’t much stubble, hardly anything.’ I blushed again. ‘Boy or not, your eyebrows do need some treatment. I am going to pluck the stray hairs.’ She worked away, her face serious, concentrating. ‘That’s better.’

She applied foundation, penciled my eyebrows, then did my eyes, lined and shadowed, mascara followed by blusher. Lastly, she applied lip liner and lipstick. She leaned back critically. ‘Mmm.’ She said. ‘OK, now to get you dressed. Stay exactly where you are and don’t touch the mirror.’ She turned it face down. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. No, I don’t trust you.’ She picked the mirror up and took it with her. She was back in a minute with a bundle of clothes. ‘I think this has gone far enough, Jacquie.’ ‘Oh don’t back out now and spoil everything. It will be such a joke. I have got this far, don’t make me take it all off again!

They expect miserable Alex and they’ll find instead, lovely Alexandra.’ ‘But I can see a bra and skirt there, even heels. I don’t think I want to go that far.’ ‘What are you scared of? Casting off your frail masculinity?’ ‘It’s just not normal for a man to do this.’ ‘I know couples who cross-dress, just for fun or for a party or a trick. It’s only clothes for God’s sake. As an actor, we do it all the time. I could play a prostitute or a murderess. Lady Macbeth or Anne of Green Gables. Or if a small company was short of an actor, a boy. Come on, be a sport.’ ‘OK if it means that much.’ ‘Good boy!’ At least she was calling me a boy.

Yet there was part of me that really wanted to change into these clothes. Why? But I knew why. My senses were assaulted by the touch of another human and intimacy had long been absent. Her interest in me, her touch, and her absence of any barriers broke through the shell that I hid behind. I had not been this happy in a long time. ‘I can’t change in front of you though.’ ‘Why not, I know what boys look like, I have two brothers.’ ‘And did you dress them up too?’

‘Yes actually. They thought it was great fun. Well take your top off and I will help you with the bra. You can put tights on I take it and knickers?’ ‘Knickers? I can wear my pants.’ ‘No full kit or you will not get into the part. They are not terribly girlie pants, Look.’ She held up some white pants, thin pink lace edging, and a pink bow. My face was burning under the makeup. She was already carefully pulling off my shirt and jumper so as not to ruin my makeup.

She put the bra straps over my hands and pulled them up my arms and fastened it. ‘I’ll let you do the rest. No chickening. I’ll start the Bolognaise.’ I looked at what she had left me. Black thick tights, a mini skirt in red, a blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and a black jumper. I drew the curtains, suddenly realizing that I was standing wearing a bra in full view from the street and it was now nearly dark outside. I found that quite humorous, dangerous, and exciting.

I put on the knickers and felt my penis expand. Oh damn, the thing has a mind of its own I thought. I tried tucking everything down forcing it, trying to make everything disappear. My testicles vanished upwards, burying themselves inside somewhere. They did that. I knew they would come back. With the blood supply cut off, my penis subsided. I pulled the knickers up tight and hoped. I struggled with the tights, pulling them up each leg bit by bit. They helped contain my male anatomy. I put the mini on and the blouse with its fiddly little pearlized buttons. And then the sweater, careful not to smudge my face. My hands were shaking.

I swore to myself. I loved it, I was in ecstasy. Lastly, I worked my feet into the shoes. They were rather tight. Shyly I went to the kitchen door and opened it. Jacquie turned. ‘Oh my. If I didn’t know. Moses, you are beautiful.’ She turned off the gas under the pan. ‘Come,’ she grasped my hand, ‘upstairs and see for yourself.’ She more or less towed me up the staircase and into a bedroom where there was a full-length mirror. I took in the apparition that stood there.

I saw a reasonable-looking girl, blushing, head downcast a little like Diana Princess of Wales had once stood in her early day photos, that dreadful engagement photo shoot when Charlie had said, ‘whatever love means’ I had seen on a documentary on the sad Princess last year. ‘Head up chin up and stand up straight with shoulders back.’ I did as I was told. ‘Bloody hell!’ I said. ‘Have you never cross-dressed before?’ ‘Not since I was a child. I think I did then, but dad wanted me to get involved in cars and things.’ ‘What not since then? Are you sure?’ She looked at me sideways. ‘Hmm, I won’t press you, but I do not believe you.’ I suddenly felt very vulnerable. This vivacious, rapacious girl was so perceptive and so unstoppable. ‘Well come on Alexandra, we have dinner to do.

We can’t stand here all night admiring your reflection.’ ‘I think I want to take it off.’ ‘Uh uh, and spoil the fun? Come on Alexandra and help get the dinner. It is a term of your lease on that room that you assist with household chores.’ She grasped my hand and made for the stairs towing me behind her. I wanted to stay like this forever. Down in the kitchen, she set me to preparing some veg.  We heard the front door open and a shout of hello.