The Interview; Number 02

"Let's do this," he said and threw his towel on the bed, hesitating at the new items. He didn't know where to start. Molly took his hand and showed him what to do.

"Here," she said. "Let's start with this." She picked up the corset and started to pull at the ties, loosening them so that she could wrap it round her husband's waist. It was made of the softest black satin and boned with thick plastic strips. A perfect symbol of femininity; soft, yielding, firm and strong.

"Arms up," said Molly and reached around to wrap the corset round his waist. She showed him how to do the metal eyelets at the front and moved behind him while he finished them off. She took the ties and told him to lean forward while she tightened them. She could feel her own heart pumping as she gave her husband the perfect hourglass figure, smiling as he gave an explosive breath at the tightness. She tied a bow and then tucked the stray strands behind the criss cross pattern of ties that laced his back.

She turned him to face her and smiled at his expression. His entire world was changing, shifting beneath him and he looked nervous.

"A bit tight," he wheezed and Molly kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Sexy as hell," she replied and plucked a matching bra and knicker set from the bed. "These have a pouch to tuck yourself into. It'll keep your front smooth and, if you get excited, it'll keep you under control!" She laughed at that and could see his excitement rising. "Down boy," she said and gave him a few moments to get himself under control.

She gave him the knickers to put on. They were not the thong he was used to as they had some silicon strips at the back to mimic a larger rear and emphasise the feminine figure. They were also made from a harder fabric that was more unyielding and kept him firmly in place. It reached over the base of the corset and hid any corset lines that might normally show through some clothes. She then had him pull some stockings up his legs, sheer silk that caressed every inch, yet hid the musculature of his running legs.

As he did this, she did his bra for him and told him to practise putting these on so that he didn't have to clasp the clips at the front and then turn it around. With the straps in place, she handed him the false breasts. They had a life like areola and felt so real to touch. As Chris was slender and slightly under average height, she had avoided buying the biggest sizes, but couldn't resist buying a slightly bigger pair than perhaps his body size warranted.

The bra Chris wore was chosen so that the breasts fit snugly against his chest and hid any tell-tale lines. Molly had bought some glue for them, but held off using that for now. She stepped back and looked at Chris. His body had completely transformed into a woman, all curves in the right places. She felt her heart skip a beat at the sight. She'd never been attracted to women and still wasn't. She was attracted to the thought of her husband as one. She tried not to overanalyse it lest she go mad.

Foundation wear in place, she had him sit at a mirror, dressing gown on, and face towards her so she could do his make-up. He kept looking down at his breast forms as they pushed against the satin of the dressing gown and Molly resisted the urge to touch them.

For a few seconds anyway.

"They feel so real," she muttered, half to herself. Chris blushed and she kissed him. "In the best possible way!"

She spent some time applying his make-up. She wanted to teach him, to show him how to apply eye-liner, how to line the lips and what shades to use, what shades suited his skin, but she figured that it could all wait. She simply focused on the task at hand. Chris was a handsome man in an unassuming way. Not particularly masculine, but comfortable in his skin. He had a way about him that people responded to and she hoped to retain that element while brushing away any vestiges of his masculine self. She felt like she was distilling the essence of who he was.

After a long time in which Chris was most patient, she declared her work done.

"There," she said. "All finished." Chris made to turn to the mirror, but Molly stopped him.

"Not yet. Let's get you dressed and your hair sorted."

She led him to the bed and picked up a dress for him to put on. It was a business dress, pencil skirted to the knee and tailored around the waist. She'd chosen it because of the fit. It was designed to show off every feminine curve and had a high enough front that the false breasts wouldn't peep out. She unzipped the back and showed Chris how to step into it.

She could feel him shudder as he pulled the dress up, its satin lining kissing his legs as the tight skirt clasped his legs closer together. He slid his arms through the straps of the sleeveless top and she zipped up the dress for him, seeing how he caressed the curves and smoothed the material with his hands. The material clung to his breasts, the attenuated rear and tucked in with his narrowed waist.

"Perfect," she whispered and he smiled nervously at her.

"You sure?" he asked.

"You'll see," she replied enigmatically and picked up a long blonde wig. She had him sit on the chair as she fussed over its style, brushing it and layering it in waves over Chris' shoulder. Satisfied, she had Chris wear some clip on dangling earrings, some rings, a bracelet, a new watch and a necklace that hung over the front of the dress and swayed over his new breasts.

"Almost ready," said Molly and handed him a pair of court shoes with a spiked four inch stiletto heel. He gulped at that, causing Molly to laugh.

"You wore higher the other night!" Chris shrugged.

"We weren't doing any walking," he replied and Molly giggled. He managed to slip his stockinged feet into the shoes and Molly held his hand as he stood up and tottered briefly. They were the same height normally, but now he towered above her. He looked down and Molly leaned up to kiss him, their lipstick's mingling.

"Ready?" she asked. Chris gulped.

"I am now," he replied and she led him unsteadily to the mirror.

As he saw himself for the first time, Molly leaned up once more and whispered into his ear.

"Happy Birthday Clare," she said.

Chris gazed at himself for a long time.

There's been a great deal written about that moment. That time when you first see yourself for what you could be. There's a reason for that. It's life changing. It's an epiphany so deep and profound it changes the very core of your soul. For those who have that experience, it's because they are born with something a little off centre, a little broken. Not in a bad way. It just is. The external has never reflected the internal until that moment. When you have this soul changing experience, it doesn't break anything. It doesn't make your soul any different.

It fixes it.

It centres you and makes you realise what was missing all along. Your true self. Chris saw this; had this life changing moment and the changes crashed over him in deep and unsettling ways. He'd always been happy, led a fulfilling life, yet this caused him to question all of that. It swamped him and he was unprepared for it.

He shook his head. Panicked. He turned from the mirror and started to strip. Molly looked on horrified by his reaction, unsure what to say or do. She'd led him to this point and he'd rejected it.

"I can't do this," he said and kicked off the shoes. Tears started to stream down his face and he fumbled with the strings of the corset. He gave Molly a pleading look and she rushed to take it off for him. Without a sound, he turned and ran for the bathroom. Seconds later, the shower pump sounded again as he stepped into the shower and scrubbed the make-up from his face.

Despair filled Molly with grief.

"What have I done," she asked, sat on the bed and clutching the corset. She was at a complete loss as to what to do. It had all gone so well. He'd embraced his feminine side and had taken the ultimate step, yet had rejected it. Tears welled in her eyes and she sobbed quietly as the bathroom door opened and Chris stepped out, dressed in jeans and a shirt.

He saw her, sat on the bed and crying, yet said nothing. He turned away and made his way down the stairs. Leaving his mobile phone on the kitchen table, he took his keys and wallet and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

Upstairs, Molly lay on the bed and cried, great sobs wracking her body.

Chapter 9 -- Stage Zero.

Heather adjusted her uniform in the mirror. She wore a halter neck dress that looked as if it had been sprayed on. It came to just above her knees and permitted only the slightest movement of her legs. The heels didn't help; towering stiletto's on a clear two inch plastic platform that took her a while to adjust to.

I'm out of practise, she thought as she tied the straps around her leg, wrapping them around each other and tying the knot just below her knee. As she adjusted her hair, Nicola came through the door and grinned at Heather.

"Thank you," she said and gave Heather a brief hug. "I owe you one." Heather smiled at her and returned the hug.

"It's no problem hon," she replied and found that she meant it. As much as she enjoyed working for Jade, it was nice to let loose sometimes. She chatted with Nicola for a while and marvelled at what she and Angela had achieved since Louise had tasked them with handing over the bar to the collective team that lived there. She would be sorry to see them go. They were diligent in their role and easy to work with.

"We're going to need more staff soon," Nicola said. "We're getting busier every night and the girls want to expand the bar into the back rooms where the auctions were held. It's dead space at the moment, so we may as well do something with it."

"Couldn't agree more," agreed Heather. "Send me your ideas with some costings and we'll work out the best way forward." The talked shop for a while, before Heather left Nicola to the books and went to join her friends at the bar. It was like she had never left and she was laughing and joking with them as she always had. The mood, since Louise had bought the bar and renamed it L/J's, was light and friendly. If it was possible, the club got even busier with all manner of custom. Groups of people who had no interest in trannies or other affiliations became regulars, enjoying sports events, special nights and even just a drink after work.

Everyone and anyone was welcome provided they stuck to one rule. Heather had emblazoned it in lights above the bar as her last act before leaving to work for Louise as she left on her quest to find Jade.

Everyone is equal. No one is better than you. Or worse. If you think otherwise, security will be happy to explain.

Oddly enough, folks didn't feel the need to have it explained to them by the frightening guards and so folks from all backgrounds and persuasions mingled in a big fuck you to the world, post Brexit and Trump. Heather soaked in the atmosphere and swayed to the music as she cleared tables, served drinks and scurried around with baskets of delicious bar food. Her feet hurt, the dress was tight and restrictive, leaving little to the imagination, but she was having a ball.

The dress code for waiting staff was the same as it had always been. New theme every night. There had been much discussion about this after Dimitri had been arrested, but the girls enjoyed it. A few items had been taken from circulation and a few tweaks made here and there so that they trod the line between sexy without falling into slutty and whorish. Well, most nights anyway.

As she weaved through the busy crowds, she spotted him in the far booth, sat alone and nursing a solitary drink as he looked nervously around. She scanned him over. Eyebrows well maintained, sideburns a little higher than most men, nails well cared for. Not a Tranny Chaser. Newbie. She sighed and called over to the waitress at the bar. She nodded to the guy in the booth.

"PIF," she yelled, barely heard above the din of the music. The waitress gave her the thumbs up to acknowledge that Heather was taking ten. She helped herself to a drink and then sauntered over to the guy. He looked at her nervously as she placed her drink on the table and sat opposite him.

"Hi," she said and looked around the thrumming crowd, waiting for the guy to acknowledge her. when she got no reply, she continued anyway. "I'm Heather. First time?" she asked, knowing the answer. The man gave her a nervous grin.

"That obvious?" he said. Heather smiled and put him and ease.

"Life is full of first times," she replied. "The more, the merrier, I say. How did you hear about us?"

"On the internet," he said. "This place always comes up at the top of any safe place list." He nodded to the sign above the bar. "How often do you have to explain?" he asked. Heather chuckled and took a sip from her drink.

"Couple of times at the beginning, but not for a while. You been dressing long?" The blunt question took him off guard and he stuttered for a moment. Heather gave a wry smile.

"Newbie eh? Lots of firsts for you then." She leaned forward and the guy found himself captivated by the red headed beauty. "You're no tranny chaser and I've seen how you look at the staff. Not with lust; you're scared, but also transfixed. You want to try it but are utterly terrified by the idea. Makes you question the last thirty or so years of your life?" He gulped nervously.

"Are all staff...?" Heather let his question tail off.

"There are no labels here. Are we fabulous creatures? Yes. Yes, we are indeed." She winked at him and leaned back in the plush booth. She caught the eye of a waitress who passed near and indicated a drink for the customer.

"What's your name?" she asked as the guy finished his drink.

"Chris," he replied. Heather sipped some more of her own refreshing liquid, her lacquered nails drawing his eye.

"Well, Chris," said Heather. "Tell me your story. From the beginning." He hesitated at first, but the alluring woman's demeanour brooked no argument and he paused to gather his thoughts. He started from when Molly spilt the paint and ruined his clothes and told her everything up until that morning when he'd fled from the house. He'd never met this woman before, but felt so at ease with her. She'd clearly seen all manner of folks come through the doors and was open minded and honest. He couldn't have hid anything from her even if he wanted to.

As he finished his story, Heather burst into peals of laughter. For a moment, Chris was shocked, stunned by her sudden outburst.

"What?" he asked lamely as Heather composed herself and wiped a tear from her eye with a dab of her knuckle.

"Your wife," she replied and started laughing again. "You still think she spilt that paint by accident!" Chris thought for a moment and shook his head.

"I suspected as much, but never believed it," he said. Heather lay a gentle hand on his arm.

"Honey, your wife wants you in a dress so bad it hurts," she said, grinning as she finished off her drink. Chris looked thoughtful.

"Is she gay?" he asked. Heather shook her head.

"She loves you," she replied. "That much is clear. She's as scared as you are. But she's the one driving this. How about you? You clearly want to do it as well. What's holding you back?" Chris hesitated. Eventually he shrugged.

"I'm worried I'll lose who I am. I'm worried that I'll enjoy it too much and travel too far down the Rabbit Hole. What if I can't come back?"

"And?" Chris frowned at the question.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Heather gave him a hard stare.

"Is it such a bad thing? Look around you. Every staffer here loves their life, has found meaning and purpose in expressing their true self. You poured every minute of your life into your business and then let it go because you knew it was wrong."

"I wanted to spend more time with Molly," Chris said defensively. Heather chuckled.

"That was part of the reason," she said. "You filled your life with work, then with Molly. It's all or nothing with you." Chris said nothing for a long time. Heather took her pad from the tie of her black apron and plucked a pen from behind her ear. She scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Chris.

"Go to this bar and ask for Grace. She'll be expecting you." Chris gave her a puzzled look.

"Why?" he asked, nonplussed. Heather gave him an enigmatic smile.

"You'll see," she said and made to leave. Chris thanked her and handed her some money for the drinks with a large tip. She pushed the money back.

"I don't work here for money, but thank you," she said.

"So why do you?" She gave him a sad smile and Chris could see a wave of grief wash over her, barely kept in check.

"The woman who bought this bar, the L in the L/J, freed us all and saved every one of us. She asked for nothing in return, but made us swear that we would pay it forward." She nodded to Chris. "You make sure you do the same," she said.

"I will," he replied. He searched her face for a moment and realised what her grief meant. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said and meant it. Heather smiled, a brief emotion that flitted across her face as she struggled to stay calm. She slid from the booth and melted into the crowd.

Chapter 10 -- Stage Zero

Grace was checking through the receipts at the bar as Chris entered. Heather had phoned a few moments before and given her a heads up. She wore skin tight jeans with knee high boots and a silk top that was cut low to show off her new breasts. She was inordinately proud of them and they still tingled as she moved. A little sore, but worth every penny. She gave him a friendly wave as he entered and indicated the stool next to her.

He approached nervously, holding out a hand in greeting as he drew near. He'd walked the short distance to the bar and looked around at the venue. It was much smaller than L/J's and intimate with a friendly, calm atmosphere. He liked it immediately and took an immediate liking to the manager. She was stunning, with flowing brown locks and bright eyes that sparkled with mischief. He didn't know whether she was male or female or what? He had entered a whole new world and didn't know etiquette or what to say. He started with Hi.

"Hi," replied Grace. "Take a seat." As Chris sat, Grace beckoned to a waitress and asked what Chris wanted to drink.

"Wine please," he said and shrugged off his jacket, laying it over the back of the stool as a large glass of wine was poured for him.

"So," asked Grace when he was settled. "What can I do for you?" Chris thought for a moment and then shrugged.

"I'm not sure," he said. "Heather said that you would be able to help." Grace gave him a patient smile.

"Then I guess you'd better start at the top," she said. As Chris told his story for the second time that night, Grace asked questions, laughed at Molly's plan with the paint and then looked at him thoughtfully when he'd finished.

"I know why Heather sent you here," she said. She poured Chris some more wine and then poured herself a glass. Chris was silent, letting Grace gather her thoughts.

"There's an inescapable truth in life," she said, speaking slowly as if carefully selecting the right words. "Until you know who you are, you can't truly know your purpose. Until you find your own self and express that, both within and without, then you can never be happy, your soul will always be restless." She gave Chris a searching look.

"Your wife seeks that. She seeks that within you as well. Did you know I'm worth over five million pounds?" she asked. Chris grinned, not sure whether to believe her.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked. Grace smiled.

"I'll not touch that money even though the lawyers all say it's there for me to take. You want to know why?" Chris nodded and so Grace told him her story. The story of a drug addled addict who found redemption. It unsettled Chris at times, but he came to realise, as Grace told her story in a blunt and truthful way, that her road to becoming Grace had been what had saved her.