H Is for Helen

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A series of stories with TG themes, dedicated to women, and to men who like to be women (which includes me!)
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It really all began in late-ish teenage for me. OK so I realise now there had been signs before that, but I'd not paid them much notice. Little things, significant now that I could put them into context, but seemingly unimportant at first.

The acne started it, typical teenage problem really, with all the raging hormones and so on, it wasn't too bad but it did cause me some concern. Mum and Dad both kept trying to reassure me, tell me that I'd grow out of it and so on, but like all teenagers I thought it was the end of the world. It did hammer my chances with the girls at school, at a time when everyone else in class was pairing off I was at something of a disadvantage.

Eventually my parents decided to do something about it, before at the start of my last year. With exams due at the end of the year and the possibility of college I really did want to do well. I went to the doctors and was prescribed some tablets, nothing really special about that. And they did begin to have an effect, my skin began to clear. OK it may not have been the pills, I was on a health-food kick at the time, salads and low-fat and low-cholesterol foods, anything which might make a difference. My friend Peter said he'd tried some sort of herbal derivative and it had helped him, so I gave that a go.

It was about a month after that I noticed the beginnings of my 'problem'. It had started with a bit of a rash, just itchy, nothing nasty, under my arms of all places. Again I'd gone to the doc and he'd prescribed a mild steroid cream, just to smear gently over the affected area for a week or two.

The itching stopped. And the swelling started. And I began to get hungry, specially for cheese and milk and cream and stuff. I began to put weight on, but not on my waist. On my breasts! The swelling got out of hand quite quickly, after only ten days or so my flattish manly-ish chest was sporting two definite mounds. It was embarrassing! I didn't tell my parents at first, just carried on going to school, wearing a loose sweater whenever I could but things soon couldn't be hidden any more. I just had to tell them.

One evening I did. Naturally they were both very worried, as soon as they saw the evidence, Mum went with me to the doctor's again the very next morning. He was worried too, I think he'd not come across a case like mine before. He referred me as a matter of urgency to the local hospital for some tests, he even rang them up there and then to be sure I could be fitted in immediately. And Mum drove us straight there. They did blood tests, urine tests, various others, rather mechanical really. And then we went home.

It didn't ease my mind when our own doctor rang Mum at home that evening. He'd had the tests rushed through and the results faxed to him, and could we come in again the next morning at the end of the surgery to see him?

"Well, Harry, the good news is that we've got something positive from the results. I admit yesterday I was puzzled but I did some research last night. I found seven cases like yours in the UK, all in the past five years. And every one has been cleared up totally satisfactorily"

"Well doctor" said my mother. "That's a relief. A big relief. So you can suggest some treatment."

"Yes I can, Mrs. Davies. But not yet. That's the bad news. It has happened rather more quickly than in any of the other cases but the blood tests do show that it is totally reversible. The difficulty is that it's going to take a little time, maybe as much as several months, even a year."

"A year! Oh no!"

That was my comment.

"Oh no!" was my Mum's comment.

"Well, maybe not so long. But there have been major changes in Harry's hormonal system, we can't just rush in and try to undo them. It might do more harm than good."

The doctor went on to explain. As some sort of side-effect to the treatments I'd been having, as well as a minor initial condition, I was developing MPMs - 'masculine pseudo-mammaries'. They weren't real breasts, obviously, but they did look like female breasts. It would take some time to settle down my hormones before I could be given the best treatment.

"Look, Mrs. Davies. Like I said, I was worried yesterday but the prognosis really is very positive. By this time next year Harry should be totally back to normal, and permanently so."

We left the surgery, both of us with confused emotions. Dad's reaction was the same when he got home that evening and we told him.

"But what about Harry's exams? OK, he'll be able to do them next June bet this is going to disrupt his education. He won't be ready for the exams."

I was sitting in a large armchair, feeling sorry for myself, and feeling the weight of the two bulges in front of me.

"Mum, Dad, there is NO WAY I'm going into class looking like this. I could take a bit of general ribbing, but like this I'd be a total laughing stock. You HAVE to do something about that."

And they did. Give Dad his due, when he decides someone has to do something he will write and call and chase to get it done. Within a week, just before the very end of the holidays, we had a visitor. I didn't really want to see any visitors at that time but Dad had persuaded me, even taken the day off work for it. He showed the man into our living room.

"Harry, this is David Carlisle. He's a home-study tutor. I've got the school governors to fund his coming here, or you going to his house, to give you individual tuition until you're able to go back into class. Mr. Carlisle, this is my son, Harry."

I got up carefully, so as not to cause any frontal 'wobbling' on my part, and shook his hand. Then I sat down again, equally carefully, while Mr. Carlisle asked exactly what stage I was at in my various studies, taking copious notes.

"Well, Mr. Davies. And Harry. I think I can help you. The Maths and Geography and Biology aren't a problem, I've tutored students in all those at this level. And the English Language I know of a decent self-study programme Harry can follow. Maybe one or two afternoons a week. I have one other student at the moment, she sees me each afternoon. So if mornings are all right for you we can go ahead, Mondays to Thursdays if that's OK. Starting Monday?"

Dad and Mum were both pleased, this Mr Carlisle seemed a nice man. And, while I'd been telling him about my various courses and so on, he clearly knew his stuff.

"Harry, you never know" said Mum. "With this private tuition you may be able to do even better in your exams next year." Good point.

The first awkward moment came the following Monday, when we broke for a bit of air in the middle of our Maths session. We were sitting in Mr Carlisle's garden in the late summer sunshine when he asked me if I wanted to tell him just why I was getting the home tuition.

"You don't have to tell me, Harry, if you don't want to. But some of the students I've had in the past like to get it off their chest."

I almost choked on my orange squash!

"I know yours is some sort of medical problem, the school governors told me that when they approached me. You know, I've had pupils with all sorts of problems. Broken homes, drug problems, youngsters with criminal backgrounds. And disabled pupils too."

"Oh I wouldn't count myself as disabled" I said. "Just a very embarrassing medical problem. That's why I wear loose sweaters."

"Yes?"

I decided to tell him.

"I've got a hormonal problem. I've developed female-looking breasts. They won't stay, though, it'll take quite a few months but they will go away. I should be back to normal in a year."

He didn't say anything for a while, he looked rather worried. Anyway, we got on with the Maths. It was on the Wednesday, in Maths again, that he commented again. I was a little unsettled, physically that is, though the worst of my symptoms had lessened since I'd stopped all the medications the acne was coming back again a little and I itched in other places on my body. Not in a major way but the weather was still quite warm and the big sweater and baggy trousers were uncomfortable.

"You OK, Harry? You don't seem it. If you're going to study properly, you know, you really do have to be comfortable."

"It's OK, Mr Carlisle. Just a bit uncomfortable, that's all."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes, just a bit tender in some places."

"Can I see?"

There was nothing at all untoward in his request. Just a concerned adult, a tutor indeed, wanting to find out what a pupil's problem was. I decided, I had thought about it, to be honest with him, to show him what my problem was. It was indeed the entire reason I was there.

"I need to warn you, Mr Carlisle, I am wearing a bra. It's one my Mum got for me, a sports bra, to try to hold things in so I don't get too embarrassed when I come here."

We'd decided, since Mr Carlisle had all his books and stuff at his house it was easier for me to be tutored there, he was only five minutes' walk from where we lived and I could manage that. Suitably clothed of course. And in that respect the bra helped, though it really did itch.

I lifted up my sweater to show him. I suppose he could see my 'swellings', the two of them, though I didn't take the bra off.

"And in case you're wondering, they're a 38-C at the moment. The doctor says they'll probably peak at about a D-cup and then subside."

"Oh my! And when will that be?"

"A few weeks, maybe months. He can't really tell. But he did say once that starts happening they should go down quite quickly."

Mr Carlisle thought for a moment. He seemed to be day-dreaming. Then he coughed a little.

"OK, Harry, try to concentrate. Meanwhile I'll have a think, see how you could maybe manage things better."

And for a few days that was that, we just got on with the studying. Then one day a week or so later he came up with a suggestion.

"Harry, look, I've got something to show you. It might make things a little better for a while. I spent a rather embarrassing afternoon in the Ladies' Dept in Roddhams yesterday. Please, if these aren't alright please say so."

He took a bag from a drawer in the old-fashioned dresser we were sitting next to in his dining room. I saw the big green-and-white Roddhams logo. I opened the bag and pulled out the package

'Lingerie set, 38-D, Deep Purple'.

I looked at the label. I looked at the contents through the clear packaging.

"I thought they might be OK. The size is the nearest they had to what you said. And the colour might not be perfect but it was either that or red in that size, I thought that might be best."

I was amazed. Puzzled and amazed. I split open the seal at the top of the packet carefully, I always did that in case the size might be wrong and they might have to go back. I slid the contents out onto the table in front of me. They looked incongruous on top of my Biology folder.

"Well, I think ...."

"That's OK Harry. Leave it if you don't think it's a good idea."

"Er - no. It's not that. I just wasn't expecting this."

"I thought it might suit better than what your mother has got you, that's all."

"Well, it might I suppose."

"OK. If you want to try them on you can go into my daughter's room. I thought it might be more comfortable to wear while you study."

"Your daughter?"

"Yes, my daughter Marion. She doesn't actually live here of course, but she keeps some of her stuff here for when she visits. It's mainly clothes she used to wear when she was younger, she's just never got round to clearing them out. No need to really, they don't get in my way, she lives in London now. She's in Australia at the moment though, back-packing, says she's trying to forget her birthday. It's a special one, you know, one with a '0' at the end."

I thought for a moment. I hadn't asked about Mr Carlisle's family, well, you don't do you? I knew his wife had died quite some time ago. His daughter must be - forty? No, surely not, that would have made him over 60 probably. And twenty was too young, she must be thirty. That must be it.

"OK then. I'll give it a go. Like you said, if it works, ...."

Mr Carlisle showed me upstairs into Marion's room. There wasn't much in there, probably most of her stuff was in London. I didn't look in the drawers or the wardrobe, maybe she'd left some clothes and so on in there. There was just one pair of shoes near the bed, that's all. Anyway I inspected my package again. I looked at the bra, then at the label. '38-D under-wired padded, brassiere.'

I pulled the curtains closed, then took off my sweater and the white sports bra I was wearing. I slipped my arms between the straps of the bra, clipped it at the front and then slid the shoulder straps up into place. And then I adjusted the 'cups' so that my own swollen breasts settled into the right places. It seemed that they didn't really hold things up, then I realised the shoulder straps were adjustable. Again I nestled my breasts in the cups. Now, it made a difference. The straps definitely did support the weight of my 'MPMs' and felt so much better than the white one mother had given me.

I looked in the mirror. Obviously, apart from the silkier smoother texture and the colour, this was an item with a different purpose from the tight-ish sports bra I had been having to wear. This didn't just grab things and squash them in to prevent any unnecessary movement. It was supposed to support the breasts of course, but as well as that it was designed to be attractive, to allow a woman to show off her breasts and her cleavage to an extent. It did push my own MPMs up and together rather, giving me what I could only describe as quite an impressive cleavage.

I smiled. I was thinking about Holly Tomkinson in my class, she of the large boobs and prominent nipples. I'd noticed hers from quite close up a few times but she'd have been jealous if she'd seen mine there and then! And I was also thinking I'd like to see her in a plunge bra like mine.

I shook myself out of it, got my thoughts back on track. Basically it worked. The texture of the bra was much nicer next to my rather sensitive skin, and it did indeed support me very comfortably. I pulled my sweater on. Luckily I'd chosen a dark blue one, the bra didn't show through at all.

Then I looked at the panties in the bag, the same purple colour and the same material, but very skimpy indeed. It occurred to me that these might help too. The troubles with my skin had started up again a week or two earlier, again not as seriously as when I'd been on the medications but this time more widespread. Maybe these would feel better than my ordinary boxers?

I slid off my trousers and shorts and stepped into them. I pulled them up rather tightly and again fiddled to adjust them round my own , this time male, bodily parts! Indeed they did feel rather nice. Quickly putting on my trousers and shoving my own bra and boxers back into the Roddhams bag, I headed back down the stairs.

"Well, Harry? Any comments?"

"Yes, Mr Carlisle. Thanks for the idea. They do actually feel much better, less liable to rub and cause my skin problems to worsen. Thanks."

"No problem."

"But you really shouldn't have, you know. I'm sure that's not part of your job. You shouldn't have to buy things like that for your students."

"Oh, I'm not paying. I'll put it down as expenses, probably as 'special clothing'. The Authority will pay it. I don't claim big expenses, they know that, they'll probably pay it without even looking."

I just had to smile.

"You mean they are paying, basically, for me to have women's sexy lingerie while I'm not attending school. That's weird."

Mr Carlisle smiled widely too though with a bit of a strange look on his face when I'd said 'women's sexy lingerie'. "I suppose it is, I hadn't thought of it that way.

"Anyway, come on, back to your studies."

"OK. Oh, I tried to leave things tidy in your daughter's bedroom. You may want to check before she comes back, she might get the wrong idea."

Mr Carlisle grinned.

"Don't worry, she's not due back for some months, sometime before Christmas I hope."

And we got on with the Biology. The different under-clothes really did improve things, quite a lot, I was surprised. And I was also taken aback at the comment I made at the end of the session.

"Thanks for thinking about the comfort thing, Mr Carlisle. The bra is fine, I'm not too sure about the panties. They are rather brief. Maybe having something smooth over the whole of my leg surface might help."

I really couldn't read Mr Carlisle's reaction to my comments, he looked rather uncomfortable himself.

"Sorry, Mr Carlisle. Maybe I shouldn't anyway. But I'd better change before I go home, Mum will probably be back when I get in. Bye sir."

Funny that. I had got into the habit of calling him 'Sir' at the end of our sessions, though it was always 'Mr Carlisle' during them, and when talking to Mum and Dad.

The next day was a Friday, and I went for my medical check-up which I did every other week. This time at the hospital I had two doctors to myself, one an attractive younger woman, the other the same older man I saw most weeks. They tested and measured my MPMs and went into a huddle to whisper something.

"Don't worry, Harry, it's just that yours is a rather rare case" said Dr Hill, the usual doctor. "I wanted Dr Weston to see, maybe give me her opinion."

"Yes Harry" she continued. "I've read up on the literature. As Dr Hill has told you, we're looking at a full recovery in a few months time. I think the swelling has maybe finished, certainly it shouldn't carry on for more than a few more weeks. I reckon your breasts would be a 38-DD at this stage, did your mother choose the sports bra? It seems a good idea. Anyway, how are you doing in other respects?"

I told her about the skin problems, and the irritation I was feeling.

"Well, Harry, I'm sorry but unless that gets really bad you're just having to endure it. I know it's difficult. But your original problem has been caused by the complications in the different medications you were prescribed. I'd like to keep you drug-free, in all respects, for a while yet. OK?"

I nodded my agreement, I could see the sense in that. I put on my big sweater again and went back, head down, out to the car park where Mum was waiting. I could probably have coped on a bus then but I didn't want to risk the ridicule or embarrassment.

At the start of the next week I turned up again at Mr Carlisle's house and started off by presenting him with my Biology homework.

"OK Harry, I'll have a look through it now. Do you want to go up and change? You don't have to, you know."

"No, I'd like to."

"OK then. And there's something else up there you mentioned" he said, burying his head in my notes.

I went up. The bra and panties were on the bed. And another packet. A pair of tights. I again looked at the label again before opening them. 'Sheer, black, 10D'.

I put on the bra and thong and then opened the packet. I was surprised at how flimsy the tights seemed, so I handled them extremely carefully. They really did seem silky-smooth, I think because the '10D' label meant they were of a good quality. I rolled up each of the legs in turn and slid it smoothly into place, then stood and pulled them tight.

I was at that moment wearing only that set of lingerie, I hadn't put my sweater on after sorting out my bra again. OK so I'd inspected myself previously in Marion's large mirror when I'd first put the fancy bra on, I was intrigued to know just what I did look like now. AND - I realised - I had to make sure my tights were on correctly. I looked in the mirror.

Wow, what a figure. There was a reaction inside my panties! I just had to stop looking as soon as I'd checked my legs, I had to settle down. I was here to study after all. I put on my sweater and trousers and pushed my feet into my trainers, standing to accustom myself to the rather strange feeling of the tights covering my legs. The feet felt - wrong. They just didn't seem right in my trainers, probably because I wasn't wearing my thick-ish trainers. I would have to put the socks on over my tights.