The Interview; Number 02

Redemption through transformation.

As she finished, Chris found a tear running down his cheek.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice coming out in a choke. Grace lay a kindly hand on his knee.

"Don't be," she said. "I'd do it all again, a hundred times if it meant that I could be Grace. I live upstairs and I'm happier and more content than I've ever been. I found my purpose. I found who I am." She gave him a sly look.

"Have you?" Chris thought on it for a moment and shrugged.

"I thought I had, but you and Heather have made me question that." Grace smiled.

"Good answer," she replied. She gave him a searching look. "You ready to start finding an answer?" Chris, his head slightly fogged by the wine shrugged, not quite certain what Grace meant.

"I think I am," he replied and Grace gave him a cheeky grin. She took his hand and led him behind the bar, telling the waitress to look after the place until she returned.

Chapter 11 -- Stage...unknown?

Chris was terrified, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He felt a bead of sweat start to form on his brow and tried desperately to calm himself. Grace looped her arm through his and led him down the stairs.

"You're going to get read," she said matter of factly. "Act like you don't give a shit and people will leave you alone. Don't walk like a victim. Back straight, be proud."

"I can't do this," muttered Chris, talking himself out of it. Grace's arm was like a steel rod through his, leading him on and forcing him outside.

"I'll take you to the station and get you on a train," she said firmly and led him through the streets.

An hour earlier, she had taken him upstairs and had him sit on the bed in her bedroom as she rummaged around for some clothes that would fit him. She tossed several things his way and told him to put them on. He struggled with the cincher and Grace stopped her treasure hunt and tied it tightly behind his waist for him, giving Chris an hour glass figure.

He struggled with the tights, but eventually pulled them over the tight knickers he still wore from earlier. He'd not taken them off and so he was able to keep his manhood tucked away and ensure his front was smooth and feminine.

"I don't need these anymore," said Grace with a smile and tossed him a pair of silicon falsies, a little smaller than the ones Molly had bought him. For the second time that day, Chris found himself transformed into a woman. Grace applied his make-up and he was glad that he didn't grow stubble quickly. He was still smooth from his close shave that morning and Grace shared a few more hints and tips. As she applied the make-up, Chris asked if she knew who the L in L/J was.

"I do," she said. "Louise. A damn scary woman. A made the mistake of being rude to her wife, Jade, and found myself at the end of a physical and verbal beating."

"Oh," said Chris, a little unsure. She didn't sound like the person Heather had spoken of.

"Heather said that she had saved everyone at the club." Grace gave her a sad smile.

"She's saved hundreds of us," she said. "Both in her charity work and by other means. She saved me too, in a way." Chris frowned, causing Grace to tut as she smudged some make-up.

"How," he asked.

"She showed me that any one of us can be as strong as any man or real woman. That what defined us doesn't weaken us."

"How did she die?" asked Chris. Grace shrugged as if to say she didn't know and there was a silence as she finished the make-up. She lent him some jewellery and then handed him a leather dress.

"This is the only one that will fit I'm afraid." She was a little skinner than Chris, a remnant of her old addiction and Chris took it nervously. It was a halter neck dress with laces at the back and looked as if it would be a very tight fit. The skirt would come to her knees and was tight.

"Turn around," ordered Grace and told Chris to step into the dress. Mirroring what he had done that morning, he stepped into the dress and pulled it up, the skirt instantly pushing his legs together. He pulled the halter neck up and Grace fixed the buttons at the back.

"I bought this when I first started out," said Grace. "It was a little loose, but I fell in love with it. The neck hides any trace of Adam's Apple. I used to glue my falsies on so you didn't see any bra straps, but I'll lend you a jacket anyway, so that won't be a problem." Chris barely heard Grace as he was enveloped in soft leather with the smoothest satin lining imaginable. It caressed him in the most sensuous way and he could feel himself hardening, the tight knickers keeping him painfully tucked away.

Grace started to tighten the laces and pinch his waist in tighter. She chuckled and told him he'd get used to it. Chris knew there was no getting out of the dress alone and had a moment of panic. This was exacerbated as Grace handed him a pair of knee high boots.

"These were left by a friend of mine," explained Grace. "They'll fit, but you'll need to bring them back." They had the most wicked of heels, a thin spike of a metal stiletto that were five inches of pure lust. Chris gulped.

"I've never walked in heels," he said and Grace laughed.

"Baptism of fire," she said and had him sit on the bed. Chris struggled to sit, the cincher and tight leather dress restricting his movements.

"You'll need to learn to move differently," said Grace. "It takes time and patience. Observe the little details. You slouch, but you need to keep your back straight, knees together. It'll come naturally, the more you do it." She knelt down and helped Chris to put the boots on and his heart fluttered as she zipped up the boot, the leather gripping her firmly. They felt soft, yet unyielding. Sexy, yet terrifying. Heaven and Hell embodied in footwear.

Before Grace let him stand, she found a wig and put it on Chris, fussing over it until she was happy.

"Don't need this anymore," she said happily. She'd grown her own hair and supplemented her diet with hormones that had made her skin soft and her hair silky and thick. She then helped Chris to stand and spent ten minutes helping her to walk. The flat was small and cluttered but feminine and homely. Chris wandered at why she didn't claim her inheritance, but understood her reasons.

"Like you're walking a tightrope Clare," said Grace and a shiver ran through Chris at the use of his en femme name. He liked it. Satisfied that he could walk, Grace handed him a leather jacket and smiled as he put it on. She zipped it up to his chest and smiled as his breath caught, the tight jacket pushing the silicon breasts closer to his chest and pushing the soft material out.

"Never gets old," she said and handed him a handbag. She'd tossed his wallet and phone in there and, before he had chance to lose his courage, pushed Chris from her flat and down the stairs. Within minutes, he was walking down the street with Grace, arm in arm. He instinctively ducked his head whenever they walked past someone.

"Head up Clare," muttered Grace. "You're not a victim and you've done nothing wrong." Chris took her words to heart and started to hold his head up, ignoring any looks he received. Grace looked amazing next to him and he felt drab, but Grace had been honest with him. It had taken her a long time to get to the point where she was no longer read.

He started to enjoy himself, despite the throbbing pain in his feet and Achilles. A cool wind whipped around his stockinged legs and cooled the silken material against his skin. The dress was tight, yet sensual, warmly gripping his body and he felt the satin lining caress him every time he moved. The sound of the heels on the pavement sent his heart fluttering and he loved the feel of long hair on his neck. He held his bag as he had seen Molly do a hundred times, nestled in the crook of his arm and he got used to walking with his back straight hips swivelling a little more than if he was in trousers and a T-shirt. He'd forgotten them at Grace's flat and thought that there was no turning back now anyway.

It felt like it took an age to reach Charing Cross station. In such high heels and a restrictive dress, he was only able to take small steps and Grace had chatted easily as they walked, as if oblivious to any stares her companion got. She showed no nerves and Chris took strength from that.

"Good luck Clare," said Grace as she checked the times and ushered him to the right platform.

"Thank you," said Chris. "You've done so much for me, I don't know how to thank you." Grace smiled and hugged him.

"Give Clare a chance," she said. "That's all the thanks I need."

"Pay it forward," Chris muttered and Clare smiled.

"It's a small community and we're the last taboo," she said wryly. "We need to look after each other." She gave him another hug and turned to leave.

"You're gonna be fine," she said. "You look great." Chris watched her go for a moment and fought a surge of panic that washed over him. He scurried to the train and struggled in his tight dress to step up onto the carriage." He ignored the looks his ungainly entry caused and sat down on an empty row as the train pulled from the station.

He stepped from the train with a little more dignity as he reached Waterloo East and enjoyed a stroll through the station as he made the short journey to Waterloo and caught the next rain to Wimbledon. He had fallen in love with the dress. The feel of his falsies was the most wonderful sensation as he walked, and the shoes, though damning his feet to an eternity of pain, were the most sensual and exciting thing he'd ever worn. He vowed to get his own pair.

He walked tall and proud, not caring what people thought. His terror had turned to elation and he felt giddy as the train pulled in to Wimbledon and he walked through the streets as quickly as his shoes and dress would allow.

Reaching the door to his house, Chris saw that there was a solitary light on in the bedroom. He pulled his keys from his handbag and decided against it. He rang the door bell instead. After a few moments, the light in the hall came on and he saw the shadow of Molly through the small glass pane set into the centre. She saw the light come through the peeker as she peered through the small hole to see who had rung the bell.

There was a long pause. A little awkwardly, Chris gave a wave. He heard scrabbling as Molly pulled at the chain and unlocked the door, yanking it open in her desperation. She stood in stunned silence as Chris greeted her and he saw, with some guilt, that she had been desperately upset.

"Hi," he said. "My name is Clare and I'd like to be your wife."

Tears streamed down Molly's face and she blinked them away as Clare stepped into the house and kissed her wife. Molly laughed with sheer delighted and wrapped her arms around Clare's neck, drawing her deeper into the kiss, the only sound the creak of leather from Clare's outfit.

After an age, Molly withdrew and stepped back to admire Clare. Tears of happiness streaked down her cheeks as she saw how wonderful Clare looked.

"You look..." She paused, too shocked at the transformation. Clare looked amazing. Not only that; she glowed with radiance and confidence. "Amazing," she said. "You look amazing." Clare smiled her gratitude and allowed herself to be led to the sofa in the living room, unzipping her leather jacket as she did so, noticing Molly's sly look at her dress.

"What the Hell happened?" she cried as they sat on the sofa, both with their legs tucked under them, leaning against the back and facing each other. Molly reached out and stroked the soft leather of the dress. "Where did you find this beauty? Who did your make-up? Love the boots, where did they come from?" She stopped and laughed, aware of the barrage of questions she was firing at Clare. She was giddy with excitement and joy. She'd spent the day in the depths of despair, wondering at the damage she'd done to their marriage and now soared with elation.

Clare smiled and told her story. She told of L/J's and meeting Heather. She saw that Molly was bursting with more questions, but managed to contain herself and let Clare speak. Clare wasn't sure how her voice should work, so settled on a slightly softer cadence to how she usually spoke. She described how she had been sent to Grace who had helped her again.

"And you came all the way from Leicester Square dressed like that?" asked Molly, amazed at the courage. Clare shrugged.

"Grace fair dragged me half the way and then it was too late. I had a little Dutch Courage too." Molly smiled and kissed Clare deeply, her hands caressing the leather dress, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through Clare. Eventually, they withdrew, yet stayed close, their heads almost touching.

"I'm sorry I left earlier," said Clare and Molly shook her head.

"I pushed too far," she replied. "I'm sorry." Clare gave her a sultry grin.

"You think we should go upstairs and kiss and make up?" Molly grinned in return.

"Only if you keep this dress on. The boots too." Clare pretended to consider the motion but could feel her pulse quicken at the prospect.

"What are you going to wear?" she asked and Molly gave it some thought.

"Well I've got some boots that would match yours nicely." Clare struck out a hand and pretended to spit on it.

"Then we have an accord," she said and Molly took it formally, pretending to spit in her own palm.

"We do indeed ma'am." They held hands and raced up the stairs as quickly as they could, Clare's tight dress no match for Molly's impatience.

Clare kept her word and left the dress on. Molly kept hers too, the boots accompanied by a sexy corset and stockings.

As the dawn brushed over the night, gently sweeping it away, Molly and Clare continued to explore, tease and titillate. They ignored the cry of birdsong, tuned out the morning rush hour and forgot all about lunch as they laughed and delighted in their new world.

Chapter 12 -- Stage Five.

"You sure?" asked Molly as Clare held the match aloft. They were standing in the back garden, wrapped in matching dressing gowns as the sun was harried from the sky. It was the most they'd seen of the day and glowed with immense satisfaction. Clare gave her wife a sardonic look.

"Seeing as you threw paint over the rest of my stuff, this hardly counts as nothing more than symbolic," she said, sarcasm lacing her voice. Molly gave an easy shrug and kissed Clare on the cheek.

"Then go nuts," she replied and clapped her hands, dancing a mock jig as Clare lit the match and tossed it onto a pile of clothes on the fire pit. The oil soaked clothes leapt into flames as Clare's remaining male clothes were burnt to a crisp. Clare reached over and grabbed the champagne bottle from its cooler, twisting the cork until it burst out in a frothing cascade of bubbles.

Molly cheered as Clare poured her a glass and drank deeply from the flute. Molly reached through the window into the kitchen and turned on the music, dancing to the beat and drawing Clare close as they moved to the rhythm, all traces of Clare's masculinity burning behind them.

It felt cathartic. Uncertainty replaced by certainty.

"Big day tomorrow," murmured Molly into Clare's ear. Clare frowned. The last day had been seismic, what more did Molly have planned? In answer to her unspoken question, Molly gave an enigmatic grin.

"You'll see," she said and drew her closer, their lipsticks mingling as they kissed. "Got a few new ideas to try tonight though."

Clare never found out what those ideas were. A few hours later, exhausted from their last marathon, Clare and Molly collapsed in a heap on their bed and woke the next day to find that they had entangled themselves together in the night. Sleepily, they curled up into a more comfortable position and went back to sleep.

It was early afternoon by the time they awoke and Clare grinned at her husband, wife, who cared?

"I'll get breakfast," she said. "You get showered and find something to wear."

It took Clare a long time to shower and choose something to wear. She had to shave thoroughly and remove all traces of hair and vowed to find a more permanent solution. Choosing what to wear proved infinitely more difficult and Clare realised that she was a child stuck in an adult's body when it came to dress sense.

Or rather, a hormonal teenager. She rummaged in Molly's cupboards, choosing a dress that was too short, too tight, too slutty or too revealing. Molly watched her and made a mental note to set some of the choices aside. They could be worn to certain clubs or even together at night. Eventually, she sighed and intervened.

"Ok, honey bun," she said. "Let's sort this out into day wear, night wear, combos of both and then work out what fits your body shape." She held up a low cut top. "This is sexy as hell, but you can't wear it to the shops and you have no cleavage to show off." They'd discussed what Clare wanted to be the night before as they drifted off to sleep.

"Just a regular girl," Clare had said. "I want to walk down the street and be like any other well dressed, smart and sexy woman. Nothing to draw attention to me unless we're on a night out!" Molly had giggled at that and commented that her leather dress had certainly drawn some attention.

As Molly helped Clare work out her style and showed her what went with what, she could see the concentration on Clare's face as she drank it all in, soaking up every titbit of advice.

Molly tossed outfit after outfit at Clare and had her try them all on. They spent hours laughing at the clothes that were too small or slutty, Clare teasing Molly on her clothes from her wilder days. Molly promised to wear some of them later and Clare only agreed if she could wear something equally daring. Clare tried on an array of shoes and skirts, trying to decide if she loved the tight ones more than the long pleated ones that swirled around her smooth legs as she walked.

Dresses were her favourite and Molly owned more than they could both wear in a month. Clare tried them all on and they separated the best out into a separate pile for Clare. They'd share everything, but it helped to have a go-to pile. All the time, Molly would offer tips on how to walk, sit, speak and carry herself and Clare was lost in a giddying phalanx of colour and silks.

Eventually, they'd tried virtually everything on together and Molly left Clare to it as she chose her outfit. Molly was pleased that she had chosen a maxi dress with wedge heels. It would show her curves nicely, hide any tell-tale signs of her birth gender and feel incredibly sexy to walk in as the long skirts wrapped around her legs with every step. She'd chosen a large pair of shades to wear with it, a sun hat and a denim jacket.

"Nicely chosen," she commented and saw Clare blush with pride. "You can wear that to the shops and then it'll work nicely for sitting outside in the evening." Molly let Clare try her own make-up and then wiped it off and let her do it again, lending a helping hand a few times and feeling proud of Clare's second attempt. She'd done an excellent job and glowed with her achievement.

As she had done two days ago, Molly helped with the wig and jewellery and they stood in front of the mirror to admire their handiwork.

This time there was no running away. Clare was relaxed, happy and content. She knew that she would be read, but didn't care and neither did Molly.

"Ready?" asked Molly and took Clare's hand as they made their way downstairs. Clare felt nervous, terrified almost at the thought of leaving the safety of the house but refused to be cowed by it. She wasn't going to hide and took a moment to gather her courage. Molly noticed her slight hesitation and remembered how Clare had described what Grace had done. She simply looped her arm through Clare's and opened the front door, stepping outside with her wife, husband, who cares?