As she entered the town hall foyer, Martha Blake heard the Chairwoman of the Seacombe Society, Fiona Fortescue, calling the meeting to order. She smiled. Fiona may not have had many admirers, but she knew how to chair a meeting, and her punctuality was something Martha relied upon to ensure the meeting of the Seacombe Society would be about to begin just as she arrived.

Martha was perhaps the only member of the Society who actually enjoyed the lectures more than chatting with other members. Indeed, she got exasperated at the string of small talk inevitable before the meetings, especially the standard opening questions one heard over and over again: How long have you been a member of the Society? Do you know today's speaker? What's the talk going to be about? Have you been on holiday yet? Have you seen what Fiona is wearing today? The haut couture style of the Chairwoman's clothes was a constant source of discussion at any meeting.

So, Martha entered the town hall as the meeting was about to start and avoided the small talk. It meant she could walk straight over to the deserted reception table, which a few seconds previously had been swarming with members. She signed in, glancing down the list of previous signatures. As the person responsible for arranging the speaker each month, she made a point of recording how many members attended each talk. This time there were fifteen couples and nineteen singles, making forty-nine in total.

As was usual with such meetings, there were no young people – probably no one younger than forty-five-year-old Martha, with the oldest members being in their nineties, and many others not far off. And as usual, the majority of the single members were female – some divorced, but mostly widowed. There were a couple of token male nerds, of the type that not even the most man-hungry female member would contemplate making a partner. But mostly, any male who came to the meeting who was even half-fancyable would be quickly snapped up by one of those hungry women, or so turned off that he would leave early and never return again.

As Martha sat down at the rear of the seating area, she noticed Oliver Smith, the new male member, sitting in the front row. He'd been the main topic of gossip at the previous week's committee meeting. He was only slightly older than Martha, and, according to the membership secretary, Mary Walker, very handsome indeed, although from Martha's position at the rear, she could see no more than his very shiny bald head.

As though it mattered to her. He'd been placed on the front row between the seat reserved for Fiona and that occupied by Sharon Brooks, whom some of the married male members referred to as the Society's bicycle, the meaning of which, Martha pretended ignorance. Either way, sandwiched as he was between posh and rough, Oliver would be dead meat as far as any other woman was concerned, particularly Martha, to whom most men did not give a second glance.

Fiona rounded off her preliminaries, introduced the speaker, an experienced lecturer at the nearby university, and the lecture commenced. It was every bit as good as Martha expected. It covered the development of Seacombe as a fishing village in the Middle Ages, and Martha was totally engrossed by it. All too quickly, it came to an end, questions were quickly disposed of, and people were rushing off, a few to get to the pub and continue socialising with their fellow members or, in the case of the majority, home to a cup of Horlicks. Martha usually stayed behind at the end, partly as a penance for arriving only just on time, but also to do her fair share as committee member. In any case, she had no need to dash off for either Horlicks or socialising, so she would spend a little time answering a few routine questions at the reception desk whilst the crowd cleared, and then finally check the lights were turned off and the building properly locked up.

Of course, being near the front of the hall, it took some time for Oliver, with his two escorts, to make it to the exit at the rear, and it was only then that Martha espied him. He was beautiful.

Mary Walker's comment that he was handsome was way off mark. Handsome meant tall, rugged with a square jawline, and very masculine. Oliver was short, and had a rounded face with shiny skin and lines that signified he smiled a lot.

Martha took one look and was in love. Her adrenaline shot up, the blood coursed through her veins, and she stared daggers at Sharon and Fiona. They were totally oblivious of Martha, as was Oliver, preoccupied by staring down Sharon's plunging neckline and being regaled by Fiona's tales of her meeting with the County Sherriff.

What could Martha do? Very little, she realised. She was outclassed in every respect, and she hopelessly followed the trio into the foyer.

"Oh, I must pop into the toilet," Oliver said, perhaps, Martha hoped, realising that was his only escape route. Except, of course, this was no escape route, only a blind alley. He would have to return to the foyer to exit the building.

Fiona and Sharon stared at each other. Martha realised their dilemma; they too urgently needed the toilet, but men were renowned for being very quick at such operations. Had either trusted the other, they could have taken it in turns to keep watch, making certain that Oliver didn't leave the town hall until both had completed their toilet and makeup. But both knew that given the chance, the other would happily leave with Oliver to themselves. There was no alternative; they both turned towards the female toilet, and almost fought each other to get through the door first.

This, Martha realised, was her chance to grab Oliver as soon as he came out of the Gents and seize him for herself. But how on earth could she do that? What could she say that would outclass the enemy? Even if she were to strip naked before him, it could hardly compete against either Fiona or Sharon. As the seconds ticked away, her mind refused to come up with any useful proposition which she could use.

In the event, she never got the opportunity, as Fiona, closely followed by Sharon, came tumbling out of the female toilet before Oliver had emerged. They both stared desperately around the foyer, empty except for Martha who appeared to be pinning something up on the noticeboard.

"Have you seen Oliver Smith?" Fiona demanded.

"Oliver S…" Martha appeared to be racking her memory. "Oh, is he the new member. I think I saw him leaving just a minute ago."

As one, Fiona and Sharon headed for the exit onto the car park, and the door banged loudly after their exit.

"Have they gone?" Oliver's shiny head emerged from the toilet, carefully looking around in case it was just a trap.

Martha grinned, stupidly. "Yes, but I think they'll be back quite quickly, once they realise you're not outside."

"Damn!" he said. "I'd offered them both a lift home before I realised how predatory they were. What should I do?"

"When they ask you to go in for coffee," Martha replied, "you don't have to go with either of them. Tell them you have to be up early in the morning."

I probably would be if I went home with Sharon, Oliver thought. But he said, "I never thought of that. We males are simply not used to fending off females. Thanks. I owe you one."

But what could Martha say next? She had just a few seconds to pull him, before Sharon and Fiona came bursting back through the door. Her next words surprised her almost as much as they did Oliver. "You're very pretty," she said.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll take that as a compliment, although handsome is a description I'd rather receive."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "I'd love to dress you," she said. "I have some divine clothes at home which are virtually unworn."

"Er…" Oliver was clearly wondering where the conversation was leading. "You mean your late husband's clothes? Well I…"

"No. I mean my clothes. We're much the same size. I'm sure they would fit you."

He blushed, deliciously, and Martha knew she had no need to worry. "You don't have to decide this instant. Incidentally, I'm Martha Blake, the Speaker Organiser. My number's in the membership guide. Give me a call tomorrow. And don't worry. Mum's the word."

"Oh! You're still here," Fiona almost shouted with relief as she and Sharon re-entered the building. "We thought you'd left."

"We're both really desperate," Sharon said. "For the lift," she added, which no one believed.

"No problem," Oliver said to them with a smile. "Perhaps I'll see you again, sometime, Martha."

"Hope so," she said. And she gave him a wink.

***

"Hello, Martha? It's Oliver here. You remember? We met last night at the Seacombe Society meeting."

"Of course I remember you, Oliver."

"Look, I think you must have got the wrong end of the stick. You see…"

"I said you were very pretty and I'd like to dress you in some of my clothes," Martha said. "I'm sure you'll look absolutely gorgeous in them."

"No. But look. I don't do that sort of thing."

"Well, it's never too late to start, Oliver."

"No, but…"

"It'll just be a dress-up game, Oliver. Harmless fun. The kind you used to have as a child, and probably haven't had since. And you have my word and I hope I have yours – mum is the word. No kiss and tell with our generation."

"No," he said.

"Let's make it this evening," she said. Even Martha couldn't believe how assertive she had suddenly become in the quest for love. "What time could you come over?" Much better, she knew, to give him the choice of time rather than the choice of whether he came at all.

"I leave work about five," he replied, taking the bait, "So I'll need to go home and change and…"

"Why not come over here as soon as you leave work?" she asked. "You'll be changing again, anyway, so no need to do it twice."

"Er, right," he said. "You'd better give me your address. And definitely, this is just between you and me? Right?"

"I give you my word, Oliver. See you just after five."

***
"Look," Oliver said as he stared at the very sexy dresses Martha had laid out for him, "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Well you're here now," Martha said. All day she'd been dreading he'd ring up with some excuse or simply not turn up. "As I said before, it's just harmless fun. It won't hurt to give it a go, will it?"

Actually it did. The hair remover she sprayed all over his body after making him change into her bikini bottoms, hurt like hell. But by that time, he was committed, as testified by the hard bulge in the bikini which Martha pretended not to notice.

"What sexy legs you have," she said, as she finally used the shower to spray off the foam.

"My God!" he said, staring down and twisting, so he could see the back of his legs. "They are, too."

Martha wished she hadn't pointed them out, as the top of his penis was starting to force its way out of the bikini. She hurriedly turned away and picked up one of the boxes she had brought into the bathroom.

"There's a shop in town who make these," she said, opening the box and revealing what looked like a woman's lower torso. "It's called a Hiplet. Pull it up your legs and then slide your man bits into the pocket in the gusset." She unclipped the gusset so he could see where to put everything. "Before you do so, spread this green gunge over your bum and thighs, everywhere the Hiplet will cover. It's to prevent you sweating."

Oliver took the garment from her, clearly fascinated by the vagina built into the gusset. "Is this really necessary?" he asked.

Martha quickly turned her head away to avoid looking at the evidence that he was further aroused by the Hiplet, only to find herself staring in the bathroom mirror at the same evidence.

"Oh my God! I'm sorry," Oliver said, having realised what Martha could see. He hurriedly adjusted his bikini bottom.

"That demonstrates my point exactly," Martha said. It's no good wearing a dress and feeling like a man in a dress. The Hiplet will make you feel like a woman, even more so than the Bustlet I'll show you in a minute, which will give you a superb bust. When a man looks at you, you'll know that he's thinking about putting his penis inside you. It makes all the difference."

"Hell! That's a scary thought," Oliver said. "But what do you mean, when a man looks at me? I'm not going out in a dress." His voice was turning to panic with his last words.

Martha smiled. "No one's going to force you," she said. "But when you are dressed, when you're looking really pretty and feeling very sexy, as I think you will, you may want to show yourself to others. To see how they react."

"No way," he said. "Look, I think it's better to end things now…"

"No one's going to force you, Oliver," Martha repeated, placing a hand on his arm. "And I can assure you that unless you're totally convincing as a woman, I certainly won't step outside with you. So let's see how convincing we can make you look. Firstly, step into the Hiplet and gain a vagina." She knew there was no way he could refuse.

"OK, leave me for a minute, will you?"

"Of course," and she grinned as she added, "and I'm told that cold water is very effective in getting rid of unwanted bulges.

"Otherwise," she added, "I have a pair of sharp scissors which I'm sure will be as effective."

"Ouch!" Oliver winced.

***

"Oh my God! These breasts are massive," Oliver said, staring transfixed at himself in the bathroom mirror.

Thank heavens, Martha thought, his penis was now firmly strapped in place behind his vagina.

"I have a confession," Martha said. "I actually bought that Bustlet for myself a while ago, as it's far cheaper and easier than a breast enhancement. Fortunately, it's also reversible. I soon got fed up with every man's tongue hanging out as soon as he saw me. I seemed to get offers from the very men I didn't want, whilst terrifying the ones I did." Like you, she could have added, but did not.

Oliver was nodding. "I can understand that," he said. "I'd be terrified to approach anyone with breasts like these."

"So how does it feel to have such superb breasts?" she asked.

"Fantastic," he instinctively replied. "They're just incredible.

"This Sensotouch thing is unbelievable," he added, giving his new breasts a trial squeeze. "How does it work?"

"The skin of the Bustlet and Hiplet are covered with a touch sensitive material like you get on smartphones and computer screens," she said. "That touch is transferred to tiny electrodes set against your own skin. I'm told the vagina is so sensitive that men prefer female sex in a Hiplet to normal male sex."

"Really?" Oliver was captivated. But then he came back to real life. "You mean sex with a man? Look, that's not on the agenda. OK?"

"Of course it isn't, Oliver," she said. "If we were to go out, we're definitely not going to get picked up by anyone."

This time, Martha noted, Oliver didn't object to the idea of going out.

Instead, he said, "These breasts are quite heavy. My shoulders are beginning to ache."

"Now you can feel the problems we women have to continually put up with," she said. "Let's go to the bedroom, and get you into a bra."

***

"Well, Olivia," Martha said, "do you look – and feel – like an incredibly pretty girl?"

"Olivia!" He looked surprised for an instant and then nodded. "Olivia it is.

"But yes," he added, staring at the reflection in the full-length mirror of the shapely women in the pretty dress. "I look like a sexy woman and I feel simply tremendous."

"How do you feel about going out, now, Olivia?"

"I'm not certain about going out," he said. "On the one hand, I want to, on the other, I'm terrified.

"And what about my voice!" he added, this time panic stricken that his voice would give him away when he went out.

"Take one of these pills," Martha told him. "Hold it on the back of the tongue until it melts, and it will transform your voice so that you'll sing like a nightingale."

He choked a little as the pill felt like it was burning out his throat, but afterwards, his voice had gone up in tone, although singing like a nightingale was an exaggeration. The important thing was that he certainly didn't sound like a man.

He had a sudden thought. "Suppose some bloke tries to hit on us?"

Martha nodded. "With you looking so lovely it's probably quite likely. How about if I pretended to be your boyfriend? I could wear some of Martin's, my late husband's clothes? They're not going to hit on you then."

"You mean, we go out as a couple?" he said. "Martin and Olivia? That's a brilliant idea. But could you make yourself look masculine enough to pass?"

Martha could have hugged him. "I'll give it a try," she said.

***

As they walked down the road, arm in arm, Martin felt it quite natural to beam like a man would, out with such a pretty girl. After all, hadn't Martha created this beautiful woman out of a man?

Fortunately, Oliver was quite short for a man and, although Martha had really wanted to put Olivia in high heels, she'd resisted the temptation. As it was, they were pretty well matched in height.

Martha had also resisted the temptation to use more than a little makeup on Olivia. A little work on her eyes, and she'd have had fashion model beauty, something Martha thought they could do without on their first trip out.

It was the end of the summer season in Seacombe, so the harbour wine bar had relatively few diners. It had the advantage of having a huge picture window running through its two stories, so they could sit in the upstairs window and flaunt Olivia's beauty as they ate, for all the world to see.

And every male did look, as did most of the females.

"They're looking up my legs," Olivia gasped, suddenly realising the elevated position she was in gave everyone a worm's eye view up her dress.

"Next time, you could wear stockings and a suspender belt," Martin teased. "That would really turn the men on."

"But I don't want to turn them on," he protested.

"Is that why you're grinning like a Cheshire Cat?" Martin teased.

Again, Olivia flushed beautifully, and Martin felt quite overcome at just how lovely she was.

"Well, I'm not the only one," Oliver said. "You were a dark horse, buying that thing to give you a willy."

This time it was Martin's turn to blush. "They were doing a special offer," he said. "Half price if you purchase a Hiplet, and the male version which is called a..." He lowered his voice to say the word, "...Cocklet."

"It's very good," Olivia said. "I can see your reflection in the window." She nodded at the adjacent window and Martin realised that his own bulge was very obvious. "You can see why I was embarrassed earlier, when I was wearing those bikini bottoms."

It was true that Martin was experiencing all the discomfort experienced by Oliver earlier, having a penis trying to make itself obvious, when modern etiquette demanded this was not done in public. How much easier it was for a woman, Martin thought, where sexual excitement was so much better concealed.

"The thing seems to have a mind of its own," Martin said, wriggling again to make it more comfortable.

"Now you know the problem we men continually have," Olivia said. "That's what they do all the time. Does your Cocklet have Sensotouch, as well?"

"Yes it does," Martin admitted. "I'm told that sex as a man is pretty good, as well." He put his hand over Olivia's. "You know what, Olivia? Why don't we skip deserts and go back to my place and try out our new assets?"

"You mean you want to have sex with me," she demurely asked. Martin could see the sexual excitement running through her.

"I want to shag you silly," Martin said.

***

"How was it for you?" Martin asked, some time later.

"It was the most beautiful sex I've ever had," Olivia said. "It's so different, feeling a man on top of me, pleasuring me, making me come, over and over, and then spurting all that lovely semen inside me. What was the semen, by the way?"

"Greek yoghurt," Martin said, quickly thinking up the answer. "It's stored in the false testicles, just like semen."

"Well, I'm ready for some more of your Cocklet," Olivia said, opening her legs wide and slowly moving her sexy hand down his tummy.

If only it really had been a Cocklet, Martin thought, it would have been rock hard and he'd have been very happy to oblige. As it was, his penis was as limp as it always was after sex. So he said, "I think the battery must have died. But I think you'll find my tongue is almost as good as my penis.

Olivia squealed as Martin pushed his face between her thighs. Actually, as she'd discovered earlier, his tongue was much better than his penis.