Tranford Tales - Maisie

CHAPTER 1

I had been so unhappy.

I was getting ready to jump when strong hands grabbed me and pulled me back.

It was Bill, a bricklayer. I'm a painter. We were both working on a high-rise block when the sadness came over me, as it often did, and I walked to the edge. I was actually quite calm. There must have been something deliberate in the way I walked.

"Don't do that, mate," he said. "We're already behind, and it'll delay us even more. Besides, the police'll think I pushed you."

Gently he led me to the site lift and took me down and into one of the huts.

We scarcely knew each other: we just worked on the same site. But he turned out to be the kindest man I ever met.

He had just made me a cup of tea when I noticed the girlie calendar on the wall. They were politically incorrect, but still around. I stared at it, and burst into tears.

"Sorry," he said, quickly turning it to the wall, "didn't mean to cause offence."

And then it came out.

"No, I love tits. I just wish I had some."

All he said was "Oh." I guess it was not what anyone would expect.

I wasn't educated at all. No good at school, and a house painter because my Dad was.

Bill had done an apprenticeship, so was qualified, so we were neither of us intellectuals. But I don't think any psychologist could have done better.

"Then you should get some," he said. "Implants. Easy as pie these days."

There. That was the answer.

In my wild fantasies about being a woman, I had not really thought further than wanting a pair of tits. All the beautiful women I had looked at -- their tits and big smiles was all I saw. I had never really thought through having sex or anything else. Just immature, of course. But it was just a wish. I had never thought it could really happen.

Was it possible?

It turned out it was.

Bill didn't fancy me. I didn't fancy him. In fact, I wasn't attracted to men at all. Just obsessed with tits. If I had tits, I'd be a girl and everything would be all right.

He didn't know me. A sensible man would have kept clear.

He was sensible, but he was unbelievably kind.

He bought me a bra. Or rather he had got his girlfriend to buy one, having looked at the tag in my overalls to see my chest size. I was still living with my parents, so he invited me round to his flat, and presented me with the bra.

The girlfriend was there. She didn't live with him, but shared a house near the university, though they were going steady. She was an art student named Jessica and had made a mould of her own tits in some kind of wobbly stuff they used in art, and put them in the cups, so I could feel the weight. She adjusted the bra for me and I walked around.

"How do they feel?" she asked.

"Wonderful!" I said.

"There you are," she said with a smile. "Cheaper than implants. If we get you a dress, you'll be set!"

It was logical. I came round and spent evenings in the bra. Obviously, it was all I needed, especially when Jessica got me a nice floral dress from a second-hand shop at the university.

That's what I kept telling myself.

But the more I wore the bra, the more I wanted real ones. And was thinking about being a girl altogether.

I left home and moved in with Bill, as he had a two-bedroom place. Dad whispered that he had shared a flat with another lad and they had gone on the pull together, as girls often went around in pairs. He said he had a lot of fun before he met Mum.

I wasn't quite sure what that meant.

Jessica was the was the one who found out the people to talk to, and Bill actually booked a private consultation with a specialist instead of waiting to go through referrals from my doctor.

I still had to go through the NHS, of course, and had interviews in which it turned out I had something called gender dysphoria. It may have helped that Bill accompanied me and held my hand. It wasn't sexual, just a bit of comfort, though I think they may have interpreted it that way. When asked was he a relative or boyfriend he said "Just a friend."

The fact that we were living together helped. I was staying with him, but they may have thought it was something different.

I needed a new name, so called myself Maisie after a Scottish aunt (actually a great aunt) who had been really good to me. I later discovered it was a nickname for Margaret, but I was happy with it.

The NHS will do the down-below gender change, but does not do implants except with serious medical need. I did not qualify, but that was a common first step so I was referred to a private surgeon.

While waiting for the consultation, Bill and I looked through porn, or rather glamour pictures, discussing tits. He usually ended up having to go and have a wank half-way through. He loved tits as much as me, but in a different way.

I was having hormone treatment, so my erections had rather reduced which was very satisfying -- exciting in a way.

We took advice from the surgeon. Yes, by that time it had become 'we' though I hadn't noticed. I wanted nice tits, and Bill was a connoisseur, so I wanted tits he would like. The surgeon said people in my condition usually wanted boobs that were too big and would cause problems. He advised a size he said would be good for my frame, which was very similar to Jessica's tits, which seemed good.

I had to tell my parents. They were devastated, of course, which came out as anger, which I didn't manage well, and things were cool between us -- icy, really.

CHAPTER 2

It took most of my savings.

It was an operation, which is never fun, and took a while to heal up. There was still some discomfort even after it seemed to have healed, but I was told that usually settled. If not, further work would be required.

But even when my chest was still sore, I was happy. Just seeing the bulge through the hospital gown had been so exciting. To actually sit in bed in a nightdress, with my new shape showing was great. It was a women's ward, and I was now one of them!

Going back to work was weird. I was expecting to get a lot of stick, but instead I was mainly left alone. Not rejected, just not part of the friendly banter. No one called me a stupid cunt or a big girl's blouse. They didn't tell me to fuck off, or say I was getting on their tits. Rude jokes petered out as I approached.

"Hi, Maisie," was about it.

I understood. I guess I wouldn't have known what to do in their situation. I certainly didn't know what to do in my situation. Except paint, of course. And I was a bit achy in the armpits when working above my shoulders, so a bit slower. No-one complained, though.

My hair was a bit longer, but I kept it well covered of course, and there were bumps under the front of my overalls. I felt daft about wearing lipstick with these clothes, so I didn't look particularly alluring or that much different.

I had a sandwich and a mug of tea with the others, but the conversations were unusually restrained.

I felt much better when I got back to Bill's and could change into a dress and makeup for the evening.

I guess once it had happened, Mum and Dad decided to accept it. They did love me after all, and I understand that they hadn't wanted the change, and were trying to stop me, but that was in the past.

Mum said it was a good size bust for me, and she was glad I had not gone too big. Dad said I would have to be careful not to spoil paintwork with them, which was quite good for him.

They started calling Bill my boyfriend instead of my friend. Which got me thinking.

I know I'm not that smart, so I had never thought about relationships. I had gone along with what the psychologists asked, because they seemed the right things to say (and I wouldn't have got my treatment otherwise).

Of course I needed a boyfriend -- someone to appreciate my beautiful tits. But other things? I wasn't really sure. It was a big operation getting a cunt. All I had really wanted was the clothes and the tits.

Actually, all the lips and everything had never been very attractive to me. What I liked on girls was a neat slit or trimmed bush. The wide-open beavers looked a bit gross, and I had never seen an actual one.

Really, I had not thought it through. The counselling had told me that many transwomen (which is what I now was) just let boyfriends fuck them up the arse. (Though not in those words.)

Could I imagine Bill fucking my arse?

No! Really gross!

Anyway, he could get tits and cunt any time from Jessica. What would he want with a man's arse?

Bill fucking my cunt?

Maybe. Yes, I could sort of imagine it, though I was afraid of the operation.

Not that it would be Bill, of course. But someone like him. A man to make me a real woman.

The support people said that transgender people dated without having the bottom surgery, and I should really start, or it would be harder for me to persuade the doctors to complete my transformation.

I told Bill what I wanted, and asked if he knew anyone. He said he would ask Jessica for suggestions.

CHAPTER 3

My date was a history student named Brett. Just a meal together and a couple of drinks. We were both a bit shy, but eventually he got talking and I felt so inferior. He had gone to a good school, could speak French and Latin, and had had a school trip to Switzerland. He was more educated of course, and knew things I didn't, and had done interesting things even though he was a couple of years younger. I had basically been painting. And didn't know how to be a girl.

It sort of petered out, and he kissed me on the cheek and said thanks.

Next evening Jessica came to the flat told me it had gone well!

"It's typical, when starting out," she said. "You're both frightened of seeming stupid to the other one. He said it was an interesting conversation, which usually means the guy talking about himself. You must have been quiet, and he liked the look of you."

I was amazed.

"He thought I was pretty?"

She took a while to answer.

"I'll be brutally honest -- I don't think so. But you're OK and he's not God's gift either. People generally pair up with someone about their own level, but looks shouldn't be the main thing. That's only the window dressing."

She looked around, then looked sad.

"It's a shame, but as a typical woman you're going to spend the rest of your life worrying about your appearance, and rarely being satisfied. I just hope you don't end up obsessed with plastic surgery."

"Show us your tits, then!" she added with a smile.

Rather shyly I got them out.

"Now they are pretty!" she said. "In fact, just a mo; I want to do something."

She went to her enormous handbag and pulled out a sketch pad.

She sat me down and posed me.

"You don't mind, do you?" she said (to Bill, not me).

"Fine by me," he said, sitting down to watch.

I had never really seen a proper artist at work. Her eyes were constantly going between me and the paper, not drawing all the time.

"They really are nice breasts," she said. "I'm sure Bill appreciates them. Definitely something to be proud of."

I could feel myself smiling as she drew very quickly.

A couple of minutes later she stopped, held it forward, then got a rubber and just did something.

"What do you think?" she said to Bill.

"Very nice," he said. "Just like her. A bird with a good pair of knockers, what knows it."

I covered myself up, blushing.

Then she showed me. A portrait. Head, shoulders and tits. A bit like page 3 of The Sun.

Was it me? It looked like me, but better. It was a good drawing.

"Do I really look like that?" I asked.

"You do to me," she said. "And to Bill."

She patted the bulge on the front of his jeans affectionately.

"I'd better go now, so you can see to him," she added with a smile. "Give him a tug from me, won't you?"

"Oh, we don't," I said.

"You don't fancy him? Oh, that's why you asked for a date! Bit of a shame, but there you are."

She frowned.

"He doesn't fancy me," I said.

"I do," he said. "I didn't when you were a man, but I do now."

Jessica gathered her stuff together.

"I'll leave you two to sort it out, but if you don't want him, I'll have him back."

She turned back, and looked serious.

"Maisie -- you've got nice boobs and a hand. That's good enough for most men. And Bill deserves it more than most."

When she'd gone, I said it

"Do you want a wank?"

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, undoing his zip.

I wanked him slowly while he held onto my tits. It was the most wonderful feeling to see this man entranced by my tits and to feel his cock so stiff. I was having sex as a woman at last!

He loved my tits, and I loved him loving them.

I loved his cock and he loved me loving it.

I sometimes finished him off between my tits. I sometimes swallowed his sperms.

There was a lot of sperming going on.

Jessica was still a friend. But I felt guilty that I had come between them. She said it was fine.

She did some more studies of me, including one where I was nude, but my man bits had been edited out. Artistic licence, she said. There was a version for her, and one for us, in a sort of mixture of drawing and painting. It looked good on the wall.

She also did a number of nude drawings of Bill. She said the trouble with life classes at college was it always had to be a limp cock, and they used to have a discreet break if it started to rise.

Instead it was my job to get it up again if it started to droop.

She made quite a few (what she called) "manhood in full glory". She was going to do a final year project on it. Later on, she brought some drawings of other cocks she had persuaded to pose for her.

She said she quite liked giving handjobs, but now she was getting something else from them.

She also made a suggestion to us.

With some cooking oil, Bill fucked between my thighs or my arse cheeks! He said it was good, and I was very happy.

And I knew I wanted a cunt to make him happier still.

But for now?

When I went to the next meeting of the support group, they gave me a leaflet on anal sex. Bill read it like he would some instructions for assembling items on a building site. He was now a foreman rather than a brickie, so his hands were not so rough, which was nice. I liked it when he rubbed the cooking oil around.

Slowly and carefully we learned to do it. The important thing was the correct grade of lubricant (like on a compressor, he said), and starting slowly.

I was sore at first, but not as bad as from my operation, and I adjusted somehow until it was quite comfortable. Obviously, it was sometimes messy, but he wore a johnny.

It wasn't gross at all. Well, maybe a bit. Dirty sex perhaps.

CHAPTER 5

I had grown more confident. I think it was the confidence as well as the tits that meant I could go around as a woman. Not a looker, but OK. Perhaps it was good I wasn't pretty, so no-one looked closer. In high heels and makeup, in a skirt or dress, I was happy to be out in the world, and no-one said anything. In the evenings with Bill, of course, but sometimes by myself in the day. I had to be careful with clothes, of course so as to disguise my bulge, so I was looking forward to losing it.

At work, I even got friendly sexist remarks and sometimes wobbled my tits at the lads (but never got them out). No-one bothered to change the conversation when I was around. I mainly got on with painting, of course.

It was when I was out in town alone that I was stopped by Brett, who begged me to stop for a few minutes and have a coffee with him. He said I looked great, and I said (honestly) he was looking good, so went with him to a café. He seemed to be more mature -- or maybe it was me who had changed.

"I'm graduating this year," he said, "and I just wanted to tell you something. I may not have done very well on our date, but I really, really liked you. I was really sad when Jessica told me that was it."

"Even without your, er... modifications..."

"Boob job," I said.

"Yes, boob job. And it suits you...er."

He was blushing, as he held out his hand, and I put mine in it. He smiled gratefully.

"I just want to say, I wish you and your boyfriend all the best. But if there's ever anything, you know... well, Jessica will know how to reach me..."

He got up, looking very embarrassed.

Instinctively I turned my cheek to him.

"Go on," I said, and he kissed it.

"Goodbye," he said as he left, and I just had time to say the same.

I told Bill about, and thought he'd laugh, but he didn't.

"Poor lad," he said. "It's such a shame for both of you. I mean, you and me never actually dated, just got together. It's a pity you never got the experience."

He was obviously thinking. He opened his mouth then hesitated.

"You could, you know," he said.

"Could what?" I asked.

"Have a couple more dates. Before he goes off. Then you'd both know."

It was rare for him to be embarrassed, but this was one of those times.

"You know. The second time you have a real good snog and let him feel your tits. The third one, if you like, you toss him off."

He was blushing!

"Then you'd know what it feels like for a bird to have a bloke coming onto her like that. Jessica said she likes it."

I was amused, and a bit angry and a bit excited.

"You're saying I should let another bloke feel my tits and give him a wank?"

He was shifting uncertainly on the sofa.

"Well, you know. If you like. I wouldn't mind."

I decided to go into a huff and went off to make our tea. Sausages again. I'm not really a cook.

The trouble was, I would like. It had essentially been my plan with Brett when I thought Bill wasn't interested in me. And that might have been it. Three dates and a feel of each of us. It's what people do.

Should I do it once?

But why would he suggest it? Was he going off me? Was he seeing Jessica?

In bed later we were just lying there, not knowing what to say or do.

"I love you," he said.

It was the first time.

"I love you too," I said, and we started kissing, then he got behind, and held my boobs, and put his cock between my bum cheeks.

"Go on," I said, so he got the lubricant and rubber and fucked me really hard.

I know there was a thing called a prostrate in my arse which was supposed to be nice, but we never found it. I was just happy with a proper man fucking me.

Bill is such a proper man. Not politically correct or a 'new man', but he's kind and he suits me.

Afterwards, once I had cleaned up (which was very little -- it mostly wasn't that messy) I lay there thinking.

"So you love me, but you'd let me wank another man? In fact, you'd like it?"

"Maybe," he said.

I kissed him.

"OK -- just for you!"

It was definitely exciting to me, and if it was exciting to him, that would be even better for me!

"Just this once!"

I texted Jessica to say I wanted to get a message to Brett, and could I have his number.

Brett was definitely surprised! I said just the two dates and then we were finished. He hesitated but accepted.

We were both nervous, but in a different way, I think.

He was not talking about himself so much, but wanted to know about me. There wasn't much to say, apart from the bits I didn't want to talk about. I didn't really have any interests. There were some TV programmes I watched, but he didn't really know them, because he watched or did other things. I supported our local football team, but he wasn't really into sport. I didn't have any brothers or sisters and my Dad was a painter.

He told me a bit about his final year project which was OK for a few minutes, then he realised he had lost me, so stopped. He had a job interview with a local authority for a civil service post.

Then he said the right things.

"Nice dress," he said, and I said thank you.

"You've had your hair done different."

I nodded and smiled.