It had taken months of planning and not a small amount of dosh but today was finally the day that James would become Jemima – if only for a few days. But we are getting ahead of ourselves - and James, lets take a step back.
Once again James was - frustrated, that might not be the right description but it’ll do. Single, living alone and not exactly a social butterfly, James spent much of his free time surfing the net, not for anything in particular but often a search would end with an evening looking at pictures of shall we say adult themes. No not the tacky pornography but more edgy pursuits, piercing, tattooing, bondage, the Goth scene and softer areas like Cosplay and period, maybe far left field wardrobes.
Of course James considered himself to be pretty ordinary, nine to five in a call centre, clothing from department stores, a collection of prog rock and science fiction and vanilla sexual preferences – not that it ever got beyond wishful thinking. The pictures he found on the web sometimes excited him but not in a particularly sexual way. No it was something else, a desire perhaps to enter these forbidden worlds.
It was a particularly dismal Saturday after a more boring than usual week at work when things took a turn. Of course Saturday was shopping day, as usual James took the car to the out of town supermarket, or rather he didn’t – the road was closed, flooded by a burst water main. He still needed stuff so he diverted to the town centre, somewhere he visited but rarely these days.
He’d never seen them before, clearly the out of town was no attraction to them but a group of youngsters caught his attention. They were minding their own business but it was their appearance that caught his attention, piercings, brightly dyed hair, a tattoo here and there and dressed in diverse styles from neo punk to Goth and one or two in fairly ordinary street clothes he saw youngsters wearing these days. The fashions he’d seen on the net were here, in Bardney in the very rural fens.
Not only that but the girl or was it an effeminate lad on the checkout in the Co-op sported blue hair, stretched lobes and a nose ring. He was fascinated despite himself, these fashions, these life styles were apparently accepted enough that you can see them on workers in a pretty quiet backwater and no one really seemed to take any notice. He took more notice of those around him as he completed his shopping, there were a surprising number of citizens young and not so with tattoos, piercings and less than vanilla clothing choices mixing happily with the denim, tweeds and brogues of middle England.
Back home he turned on the computer and started some new searches.
The list, when he put it down was quite long. It had started out as things he thought he might think about, a tattoo maybe, ear piercing but as he surfed other things got added, things that caught his eye, clothing, hair styles, footwear and so on. It was only when he appraised the roll that he realised that most of the stuff related to female appearance and attire.
Instead of the usual Sunday of TV watching he was back on the Internet looking at cross-dressing and cross play sites. Some of the pictures – well yeah some were obviously male but others, well he couldn’t believe they weren’t card carrying XX humans. So that led to more searches, more lists and the start of a fantasy scenario, one that of course was all in his head and would never come to fruition.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about the fantasy, the next Saturday he was back in the town hoping to see the youngsters, the tattooed, the edgy fashion. The girl/boy at the Co-op really was an enigma, blue nails, eyeliner, the hair of course but the unisex uniform was no help in identifying the gender and the nametag was no help, Chris could just as easily be Christopher as Christine. On returning home the web searches became a bit more focused and another list made, a shopping list.
Of course making a list is easy, buying just requires the funds but following through to the completed idea is something altogether different. Several more weeks saw a similar pattern to the weekend; he chanced adding stuff to his shopping, a bottle of nail varnish, a packet of tights. Of course in the anonymity of the town no one took any notice but whilst it took him out of his comfort zone it did little to resolve his fantasies.
“Margery, what’s up?” he asked his supervisor.
“Your holidays, you’ve got a fortnight to use or lose by the end of April.”
“I’ll get you some dates.”
“Okay, everything alright?”
“Yeah, bit tired I guess.”
“Well book that vacation,” she bullied.
The Christmas – New Year break had James formulating a plan, he’d stick to it, he’d take a walk on the wild side. The plastic took a bit of a beating and by mid January he thought he had everything, however the truth was different. He’d decided to go for a gender unspecified look, a Goth costume of psuedo burlesque corset dress, fishnets and flat calf high boots.
On paper, on the Internet it looked great but in James’ mirror it was pretty awful. It wasn’t his flat chest, it wasn’t his short hair, it wasn’t even his pretty poor attempt at makeup but all added together it barely became a parody of his hoped for result. No this would never do, back to the drawing board.
The problem, he decided, was that you couldn’t do it properly if you were half hearted about it. No a more committed approach was needed, do it properly and see where it goes. He opened the list again and started over.
“That’s fine James,” Margery advised returning his signed holiday slip, “you going somewhere nice?”
“Here and there, thought I’d see where I end up.”
“Free spirit eh?”
“Call it unplanned.”
The penis and nipple piercing had been painful but it wasn’t something he could do last minute, they needed to heal before ‘D’ day. Letting his hair grow wasn’t anything desperate, allowing his nails a bit of extra length just required leaving them be. Removing leg hair could be done anytime but practice was a good idea, for ‘D’ day all his body hair would go.
His beard was the problem, it came in dark and fast, the choice was either let it be or something more permanent. Well he never wore facial hair so with the new commitment each Saturday in February saw him having his facial hair, and after some cajoling by the operative, his sparse chest zapped clean. If nothing else he’d save on shaving supplies.
The breast forms were another issue. Really good ones that you attached directly were expensive, the cheaper bra fillers unfulfilling on his flat chest. The adverts suggested the pills were safe, the effects mostly temporary, stop taking them and the results would fade, taking the first was the big thing, after that it became the norm.
Other stuff was ordered, made to measure even, the Internet supplied plenty of instruction for applying cosmetics and arranging hair. Weekends became a round of experimentation, maybe trying new arrivals for fit, the new persona gained a name, Jemima was born. Of course the plan was furtled and adjusted over the weeks, appointments made, orders placed.
“There’s something different about you James.”
The longer hair and six weeks of taking the ‘wonder’ pills had indeed altered James’ appearance.
“New Years resolution, fewer takeaways.”
“Well it suits you,” Margery opined.
Indeed losing a bit of weight was fairly central to the whole; the takeaways were the first to go in the new regime. Cutting the calories helped but daily runs made as much impact, in six weeks he’d lost ten kilos, hopefully by April another ten would go. The pills effect on his chest had been minimal; it was disappointing but not the end of the world.
More of his orders arrived and he’d taken to wearing a denim skirt, hold ups and a pair of women’s shoes with a three inch block heel around the flat each evening, graduating to higher, narrower heels after a couple of weeks. An early Easter gave the opportunity to get extra piercing done, through the septum and in a moment of madness a double tongue piercing. With hair now covering his ears three studs adorned his lobes, whilst not ideal, healing would take a bit longer, but he could take them out for work – and there were still several weeks before ‘D’ day.
It wasn’t just piercing he had done, although James wasn’t big on tattoos, Jemima needed at least one. The tattooist, a heavily decorated woman in her late twenties was a good salesperson, his appointment was for two but after the cherries were etched on his left shoulder blade he’d had enough. How he left with a colourful posy on his right hip he wasn’t sure but no one but he would be seeing them.
After the Easter break the effect of the pills on his chest accelerated, he now had distinct mounds big enough for the ring in each nipple to hang free, albeit still fairly small. An overheard remark at work resulted in the adoption of a looser fleece and an elastic bandage to disguise his new appendages. The piercings were all healed now, and with the clock ticking his ability in heels and comfort and expertise with make up continued to improve.
“See you in a couple of weeks Marg.”
“Enjoy your break James.”
“I will, cheers.”
Instead of heading straight home it was the piercing studio that he headed for, the appointment made at Easter. Today the resulting piercings would be more obvious, stuff impossible to hide at work but that’s a while away. By the time he left there were eight extra holes, both conches were ringed; both nostrils shared a bar through the healed septum piercing, a pair of Angel Bites and both dimples. His face hurt a bit but operation Jemima was under way.
Back home it was hair time, he’d decided against using a hairdresser, he was confidant that he could do it himself. A full bleach job took an hour, adding the colour the same again and cutting in the straight fringe a couple of minutes. Looking in the mirror his brows spoilt the look he was going for; it took but a few painful moments for them to disappear under a waxing strip.
The last thing before bed was a shower and fitting the faux vagina arrangement he’d bought. His breasts were, if he’d measured them right, a full B cup, the sensation of the water hitting them not entirely unpleasant! Dried and powdered he headed to the bedroom.
The latex garment looked very realistic, he’d opted for the shaven look on aesthetic grounds. The penis piercing was to be used to keep everything in place, getting everything in place was fiddly but finally the bar was in place and after a quick shuffle he pulled it into place. As it was planned to be in place for over a week he finished things off with the dermal glue to seal the edges in place.
Bodily functions were of course possible and before bed he got to check it out. Looking in the mirror all he could see was a woman’s body, well a woman really albeit with something like his face although the piercings, brows and hair made it seem more like his sister if he had one. The dieting and exercise had shrunk his waist to under thirty inches, accentuating his hips that appeared wider and rounder than he remembered.
Saturday morning came as a bit of a surprise – well the image in the mirror was at any rate. It had taken months of planning and not a small amount of dosh but today was finally the day that James would become Jemima – if only for a few days. Yes today was Jemima day, just make up and clothes to finish the illusion. He donned a robe before laying out the days attire then started with the powders and paints.
The plan was to just dress today, get used to everything at home, tomorrow would be the big day, a drive up to the Goth festival in Whitby. He wasn’t sure about the chastity belt, it had been a whim after spotting one on the web but it seemed fitting so he’d made the purchase. Of course it came with both front and rear plugs, which he hadn’t thought to remove.
Click! The locks front plate slotted into place and he inserted the key pin to lock the steel underwear in place. It felt a bit weird with the invaders inside him, slightly uncomfortable but not painful – he could always take it off later. The key was placed safely in the medicine cabinet – wouldn’t do to lose it now.
The steam punk dress didn’t exactly go with his red and pink striped hair but the corset emphasised both his waist and breasts, stockings and heels and he – no she, Jemima was ready to go. Well not go but be.
Although the trip north was just for the day, Jemima, Jem, packed her small wardrobe into a case before slipping out to put it in the car – who knows what will happen after Whitby? She undressed and after setting the alarm hit the sack.
She’d been up and away before any of the other residents were even awake. Today’s outfit went with her hair better, white with pink stripes, the belt was back on and in, corset tightened and make up applied. The sky was clear, the forecast good, the road open.
What Jemima got up to in Whitby is deserving of its own tale, rather than go on somewhere else though Jemima decided to return home for the night. She arrived back in Bardney a little after midnight but she’d seen the glow in the sky some time before. As she got closer blue lights joined the mix and it resolved into a fire, flames leaping high above the town.
“Sorry miss, you can’t go down there.” the policeman advised when she reached the roadblock after parking the car.
“But I live there, Bardney Gardens.”
“I’m sorry miss but I think that’s past tense, there was a gas explosion, most of the block is rubble, the fire service are struggling to get it under control. Have you got somewhere to go?”
“I, I can find somewhere,” she allowed staring at the conflagration, “I’ll find somewhere.”
The policeman left her to go talk to other watchers.
Shit, all her clothes, his clothes were gone, then it dawned on her, the key to the chastity belt was in there too! James was stuck, stuck as Jemima. She returned to the car, turned it round and headed away from Bardney perhaps for the last time.
Copyright Maddy Bell 15.07.2016
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