Ellie's Weekend

This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead is coincidental. The story has been inspired by things I have seen, read or conversations I've had.

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I'd finished reading Carly's latest email. She had just invited me to spend the weekend with her in Brighton. We had never yet met in person, although we had been corresponding for the past six months.

Let me introduce myself, I'm 5ft 9in, 138lbs, red hair and called Eric. I had been married, briefly for two years, before divorcing. I believe it was my secret desire that lead to divorce, even tough my now ex-wife, Denise, still doesn't know about my secret desire.

I'd written a couple of mildly erotic male to female transformation stories, that had been published on Literotica. One story was a magical overnight transformation and the other involved gender reassignment surgery. Carly had commented on both.

I'd begun to make a few assumptions about her, from her comments left on my stories. One of her comments was sent direct to my private Literotica email address. I wrote back thanking her for her advice and we continued to correspond.

Her emails confirmed, that yes she did originally come from the same city in the northwest. We had been to the same clubs and concerts, even on the same nights. She'd had GRS when she was 20. Her Literotica name did include the date of her rebirth as a woman. Her story made my secret desire seem insignificant, nothing to make such a fuss, or worry, about.

Carly or Carl, an only child, knew from an early age that (s)he had been born with the wrong body. His parents worried, couldn't understand what was going on with Carl, especially when (s)he came home from school one day and told them (s)he wanted to dress as a girl. Thinking it was a phase (s)he was going through, said at home, in private (s)he could wear girls clothes. It was soon apparent that Carl was a lot happier as Carly.

Years were spent visiting psychiatrists searching for a 'cure.' They eventually were told about Gender Dysphoria. Her parents finally understood that the only 'cure' involved Gender Reassignment Surgery. Still her parents insisted that she only wore female clothing in private at home. Carl(y), now a teenager, behaved in typical teenage fashion. Sneaking out of the house, down to a shopping centre to use the disabled toilets, change and put on her makeup.

At 18, using her savings, she moved out of the family home and rented a bedsit, so she could start to live as a woman. She found a job, as a junior, in a hairdressing salon. She was upfront with the proprietor, telling her the truth about herself. Cynthia, the proprietor, didn't care so long as she worked hard and her customers didn't find out and start leaving. None of the other staff, or any of the customers ever found out. She learnt her craft, and started on her journey towards her GRS.

Four months after her surgery she moved to Brighton. She started her own mobile hairdressing business, which grew, she also studied to be a beautician. Eventually she owned her own salon.

Partly the anonymity of emails and partly reading her story, I felt able to open up and tell her about myself. After six months we felt like old friends. She invited me to visit her, so I could spend a long weekend with her, and she could help me to live my secret desire.

I'd taken the Friday off work, so Thursday evening I'd prepared my overnight bag with my clothes for the weekend. Had a long soak in the bath, shaved and laid out my clothes for the morning. Going to bed I was excited and nervous at the same time. Friday morning I was up early, too early, I showered, shaved and dressed then had a leisurely breakfast. I had plenty of time so took a slow walk, pulling my overnight bag along behind me, to the station. Boarding the train, I had butterflies in my stomach.

Arriving at Euston station, I still had plenty of time to get to Victoria station, for my connection to Brighton. Heading towards the toilets, my nerves were on edge, I could still call it off and turn back.

Closing the door to the parent and child toilet, I leant against it. ... Could I? ... Should I? ... would I ever get a better opportunity? I did! ... a nervous Ellie exited the toilets and made her way to the underground and on to Victoria station. At Victoria I bought a couple of women's magazines, they were just a prop to hide behind, if I felt overwhelmed.

I was wearing a knee length, figure hugging, ribbed knitted dress, in a pale olive green, v necked, with three quarter length sleeves. Black stilettos with a matching handbag. Shear lacy panties, with my tackle tucked up and held in place with a flesh coloured gaff. A black, 36D, lacy bra, with my breast forms held in built in pockets. Black lace top 15 denier sheer hold up stockings.

Boarding my train for Brighton, I reviewed how I'd gone from being Eric, to being Ellie for the weekend.

About the time Carly moved to Brighton, I moved to north west London. I married and divorced, Denise, a local girl. While she was out one day, I'd promised to put some washing on. Sorting through what could go in the dark wash, I was going to include some of her panties. I noticed a mark in the gusset, had she come in her panties? I sniffed them, oh yes that was her smell, my other hand reached for my hardening cock. In a dream I went upstairs, stripped off and put her panties on, pulled my penis back and tucked it between my legs. Caressing my 'mons' my other hand started to tweak my nipples. Watching myself in the mirror, I realised I had to put a bra on. A pair of socks went in each cup, that looked better, but I needed more. I looked through Denise's dresses, size 12, picked one out and stepped into it. How the hell do you zip it up? After a bit of struggle I managed. Going through her underwear draw, I found a suspender belt? No. Thigh high stockings went on. Admiring myself in the mirror again, not bad, pity about the beard.

Closing my eyes, I ran my hands up and down my body imagining, my lovers hands caressing me. Feeling my breasts, squeezing them, his hand caressing my nylon clad thighs felt so erotic. His hand slowly working up under my skirt, past my stocking tops. His hand was resting on the flesh between my stocking tops and panties, he could feel my heat, my inner and outer lips open swollen, my clit aching, hard and protruding. Oh please don't stop, touch me! The back of his hand touched my wet panties, I moaned, his hand turned cupping my sex. I undid his trousers, slowly pulled them and his underpants down. His beautiful erection sprang out into my face, I just had to take him in my mouth licking and sucking him. He pulled my panties aside and started rubbing my sex, playing with my clit. I was sooo wet, his fingers found my entrance and, I licked and sucked my fingers. My hand went back into my panties, his fingers started to push into me, I grabbed his cock.

"Put it in me," I sighed.

He turned me round and bent me over the bed. His cock was soon pushing into me, out, in, out, in, faster and faster we were both reaching a crescendo, I screamed as my orgasm exploded. I moaned loudly in ecstasy as I came in Denise's panties, falling onto the bed, I took my fingers out of my bum and lay there exhausted. That was an orgasm like no other I'd ever had.

Once I'd recovered, I looked at the clock. Bloody hell! An hour had past, I quickly rushed round, tidying up putting things back in their proper place. I got dressed, rinsed the cum out of her panties and put them in the washing machine, along with the rest of the washing. Denise arrived home just as I turned it on.

"What have you been doing all this time? I thought the washing would be almost finished by now."

"Oh, I got waylaid doing other things."

Needles to say Denise wasn't very happy about the washing going on late. I instead was struggling and confused about what had happened. Never had I ever contemplated of having sex with another man, it just didn't feel right. Yet in my imagination I was a woman, did that make it OK? I couldn't deny the fact that I'd enjoyed it, was it the sex or was it the clothes I got the kick from?

It became a habit, Denise went out, I dressed up. I'd shaved off my beard, so as not to spoil the vision I saw in the mirror. Sometimes I just enjoyed being 'dressed' around the house. Most times I would imagine sex with my male lover, other times I had a female lover. It was only when I was 'dressed' that I thought about sex with men. I developed a secret desire, I wanted to go out 'dressed,' en femme.

When we divorced, I missed dressing up as she'd obviously taken all her clothes. I missed the smell of her panties. I went online and bought a new wardrobe, some false breasts, experimented with, makeup and perfume, practiced walking in high heal shoes. Grew my hair and styled it for a unisex look. I had my ears pierced and wore some discreet studs. I decided I needed a femme name and picked Ellie, for when I was 'dressed.' I wanted to go out en femme, but didn't have the courage.

I needed to distract myself, all this reminiscing wasn't doing me any good. I picked up one of the women's magazines and opened at random. The page opened, pictures of matching underwear. I quickly turned to another random page, picture of a happy smiling woman, but it was an ad that screamed.

"I didn't realise such intense pleasure was possible."

"It was incredible - my legs were still shaking 30 minutes later"

Not what I needed to read just now. Flicked through, ah a story, I started reading, it was a sugary romance. It was no good, I gave up. We were pulling into Haywards Heath station. If I couldn't calm myself, when we pulled out, I was going to have to go to the toilet to 'take care of myself.'

I was gazing out of the window, waiting for the train to depart, when a voice broke into my thoughts.

"May I sit here?"

I looked up, standing there was a very pretty, very pregnant, young woman.

"Of course, please, make yourself comfortable."

"Are you going all the way? If so could you help me off with my case when we get there?" she said pointing to a small case in the luggage rack behind our seats.

We started chatting, exchanging our stories. I didn't exactly lie, but what was under my dress was my business. I couldn't help but stare at her large, heavy breasts. I fantasised, I'd love to suck on those breasts, to cuddle up together, naked. She saw me looking at her breasts and giggled.

Hefting them, she said, "they've grown enormously, as have my areola and nipples. They're also much more sensitive."

"Sorry I didn't mean to stare, but I think you're leaking."

"Oh that happens quite often, my pads don't seem to be able to cope."

Strangely all our talk had calmed me. We were just two ordinary women passing the time away. All too soon we arrived in Brighton, I helped her off with her luggage, saw her safely onto the platform and bid farewell.

Carly was waiting for me in the station foyer, her photos hadn't done her justice, she was gorgeous. We hugged and kissed each other on the cheek.

"I'm desperate for the loo," I said.

"Can you wait, there's a cafe five minutes walk from here, where we can have lunch."

"No. I really need to go now."

The toilets were very busy. I should have gone on the train, it would have been quieter, but I'd been too busy chatting to notice my need till it was too late. I shut the cubicle door, lifted the seat, started to pull up my dress. Suddenly realising my mistake, I lowered the seat again, turned round, lifted my dress and pulled my panties down. Hovering over the seat, it looked dirty, I let my stream go. I heard somebody in the next cubicle give a satisfied sigh as she let her stream go. I reached between my legs to shake the drops off, when I heard the next cubicle pulling off a load of toilet paper. Bugger! So much to learn. I've got to do better, get in character, remember your Ellie.

Smoothing my dress down, I exited the cubicle. Carly was checking her makeup. As I washed my hands, exiting one of the cubicles was the pregnant lady from the train.

"Hello again. Hi Carly," she said, "I keep wanting to pee because of this bump. I should have gone on the train, but was too busy talking to Ellie."

At the cafe Carly and I shared a Greek salad, followed by a Portuguese tart for me, a marble cake for Carly and two cappuccinos. OK, prima che qualsiasi Italiano tra di voi dica, il cappuccino dopo le 10:00 è disapprovato, le stesse regole non si applicano in Inghilterra.

Back at Carly's I kicked my stilettos off, what a relief, I'd never worn them for so long before. We settled in as she told me her plans for the weekend. Tonight we would go for a meal to an Italian restaurant and cocktail bar, I loved any Mediterranean food. Tomorrow she planned to go dress shopping and a visit to her salon. She was going to style my hair and give me a manicure.

Carly told me Jane, the pregnant lady from the train, was one of her customers.

"I've often fantasised having lesbian sex with a pregnant woman, but I never mix business with pleasure," she said.

I knew from her emails that she was bi-curious.

"I must admit the thought did cross my mind," I replied.

"Ah, were you Ellie or Eric?"

"Oh, until you mentioned it, I never gave it a thought, I just assumed I was Ellie."

Soon it was time to start getting ready for our evening out.

"Right, before we start getting ready to go out, do you mind showing me what you have in your handbag?"

"I've done my research," I said, "and you will find what you would expect."

"You have done your research," she said, spotting the feminine hygiene products in my handbag, "you can use the bathroom first. I've left you a couple of towels and help yourself to shampoo and shower gel."

Going to the spare bedroom, I carefully took off my dress and stockings, before sitting at the dressing table so I could take my makeup of. That completed I trotted down to the bathroom, in my bra and panties. Even though I was alone and in private, I still sat to pee, remaining in femme mode. After showering, I checked for any unsightly hair, wrapped a towel round my chest and one round my head. Picking up my bra and panties, I went and knocked on Carly's bedroom door.

"Come in,"

I poked my head round the door to tell her the bathroom was free. She was sat at her dressing table in bra and panties, taking off her makeup.

"Don't just stand there come in. Come and sit on the bed, while I take my makeup off."

I told her I was excited about clothes shopping tomorrow, as up till now I'd only ever bought online. Some successes, but some were absolute disasters, so being able to try on before buying would be wonderful. We talked about fashion, she showed me her collection of 1950s dresses. I told her it was a style I really would love to try.

"Let's dress 50s style tonight then," she said. "First you need to start with the right foundation garments, none of this modern underwear."

She picked out what she called a bullet bra, some high waisted panties, a girdle and nylons with a seem.

"Go and try those on while I shower, then we can try on some dresses."

By the time Carly came out of the bathroom, the adhesive had dried, my false breasts were firmly stuck to my chest. The bullet bra was on, looking like I had two missiles poking from my chest and I was checking the seams on my stockings. Together we picked through her wardrobe, I picked out a circle dress in a pale green with a matching pale green puffy petticoat to go underneath. Carly selected a navy sheath dress with a pale blue full length petticoat. She did my hair, makeup, red lipstick and, red finger and toenails 50s style.

We turned a few heads as we walked to the restaurant, five minutes away. The waiters seemed extra attentive, in fact I think they all found an excuse to visit our table. In the cocktail lounge we were chatted up by some of the men, despite their wives being with them. I was enjoying the attention, but made sure to include the wives, when responding. Even so, I think some husbands were going to get an ear bashing when they got home.

We walked home arm in arm, both slightly tipsy. In bed, wearing my new pink satin camisole top and matching shorts, I thought back over the day. Running my hands over my body enjoying the feel of satin on my newly hair free pubic area. What if I'd needed the toilet? I'm not sure how I would have coped, getting all that material out of the way, ah, the things we put up with just to look beautiful. I fell asleep dreaming of tomorrow.

Carly, in her bed, thought back on the day. She had been expecting to see a man in a dress, getting off the train, instead she saw an elegant, slightly nervous, woman. She couldn't believe that Ellie had never before ventured out en femme. Apart from a little nervousness in the ladies at Brighton station, she seemed poised. Her confidence had grown throughout the day, she was even flirting with both the men and women in the cocktail bar that night. Ellie didn't seem to know just how sexy she was. Carly had been planning on taking Ellie to a club frequented by the crossdressing community, the idea being that Ellie would be more comfortable amongst other crossdressers. They would still go clubbing, but to a venue Carly often frequented when she was between lovers. In the past she had picked up both males and females, even on one occasion a married couple, for some sexual fun.

I the morning I could hear Carly moving about, so getting up I went to find her. The sight that greeted me as I entered the living room, was Carly, still in her pyjamas, on all fours, her bum up in the air and looking at me between her legs.

"Morning Ellie. I'm doing my morning yoga. Why don't you join me? It's a good way to keep supple."

I joined her and learnt, the down dog, down facing cat, up facing cat, cobra, various warrior poses and others whose names I can't remember. It all looked fairly simple, but after half an hour, I felt stretched in areas I didn't think could be stretched. We then spent ten minutes just breathing and relaxing.

After breakfast and on our way to do our shopping, she told me we were going clubbing tonight. Well I would definitely need at least one new dress, as I didn't have anything to wear. Where had I heard that phrase before? We first bought some comfortable bras and cotton panties. Carly had advised that shear, fancy, lacy underwear was best kept for those special occasions. Like when you were out and wanting to entice someone, or for your partner/lover on a sexy date. The rest of the time it was best to be comfortable. If you did find somebody you wanted to be intimate with, they wouldn't care what you were wearing, if they thought they were going to get in your knickers.

Then she helped me try on some dresses. For home, in private I selected a skirt and blouse, for tonight it was the eponymous little black dress, no sleeves, v necked and finishing two inches above the knee. I also bought some dangly earrings, a necklace and a couple of bangles as I didn't have any of my own jewellery yet.

Before heading to her salon we stopped for a bite to eat. Somehow we got to reminiscing about the chips back home, probably because there were chips on the plate. How, since we'd moved south we couldn't get chips with gravy or curry sauce. We would only have the curry sauce from certain chippies.

At the salon my hair was trimmed, tidied up, still a unisex style, but depending on how you combed it could be more or less feminine. My finger and toenails were filed and buffed with new pale pink nail varnish applied.

At the club that night, I felt sexy and excited. When we arrived we got our drinks from the bar, found a table and eyed up the dancers. A couple of vodka gimlets later, I'd have to slow down or I'd be out of it, we started to dance. Making our way towards a group who were celebrating a birthday. It was an office party, one of the girls, apparently called Gay, was celebrating her 22^nd birthday. She was getting up close and personal with her colleagues, no matter what sex they were. Eventually she made her way to me, in no time at all, she had her tongue in my mouth and was grinding her hips against me. No way was I going to stop her. Her hands were on my bum pulling me into her.