As I woke up the next morning I was confused for a moment about where, who and what I was. I found myself under a rose coloured duvet in a rather femininely decorated room and the lace of the night dress was caressing my nipples. I was confused about the earrings I had not had the day before and when I discovered the red nails on my toes I really thought for a moment I was a woman, but then the memory came back. I heard Sandra already in the bathroom and got up to look at myself again in the mirror. How my hair should become such a blonde bob I could not figure out. The length was almost there, but neither colour nor texture seemed right. A little disappointed I crept to the bathroom to get shaved at least.

Sandra greeted me with a happy “Hello Monique!” and handed me a bottle with a lightly scented shower gel and a lady shave with the remark, that she already had removed all my male clothing and taken them to the attic in a box.

“From now on there will only be lacy lingerie, dresses, lady shave and epilator, make-up and high heels for you.” she said “We will quickly turn you fully into Monique.”

“Do you really think so?” I asked ashamed of my appearance “When I saw myself without the wig ...”

“Nonsense, Monique!” Sandra interrupted me “The hair stylist is a real wizard and knows tricks you could not even dream about. And with your new hair, long nails and feminine behaviour nobody will ever suspect anything but a woman in you any more.”

“You’re having the time of your life, Sandra, don’t you?

“Yes, Monique, Honey, I love getting you to be my girl friend. Apart from you and May I have never really been able to talk properly about my feelings with anyone. I have always asked myself how a man could be able to understand me so well. When I saw you yesterday in your skirt and make-up things fell into place.”

“You mean …? Oh, no, Sandra!”

“But YES, Honey. You should have been a girl from the start!”

“But ...”

“Don’t you want to experience being a woman yourself? If not, why would you have offered it?

“That is exactly what scares me, Sandra. What if I do not want to turn back afterwards?”

“Then, Monique, you simply stay a woman for life.”

“How should that work?”

„Darling, there are thousands of women who were just like you now but meanwhile they are proper women, with real breasts, a narrow waist, a sexy bottom and a vagina. The beard can be easily removed by a trained beautician.“

“And who is going to pay for all that?”

“Oh come on, Honey, stop it. With your salary you should still have money to spare!”

That – of course – was true! I could not believe, though, that I now was earnestly discussing the possibility of a sex change with Sandra.

“And anyway, Monique, there are no coincidences. What do you think why they made that mistake and you called yourself Monique Madelaine? This is your one and exceptional chance!” She made her point abundantly clear.

But that was utterly crazy, wasn’t it? But … wasn’t there a small voice in the back of my mind that agreed? Could I well and truly become a woman? Possibly. But did I really want that? My logical mind protested vehemently, but some part of me said: yes, yes, yes, please?

“I bet,” Sandra stooped my thoughts “that at the latest three months after you got the job you’ll start HRT. And in a year or so you’ll have had your operation. Then you’ll be completely and irrevocably Monique Madelaine.”

So now it was out. Sandra was certain that I should become a woman. Should have been one from the start. But what about me? Was I really so far from it as my mind tried to tell me? At the thought of the operation I got hot and then cold.

“Do you think I will want to have sex with men then?” I heard myself ask.

“Why not? Who knows, women do that, you know?” Sandra giggled “But lesbians have sex with other women, as you can see with myself, but believe me, with a nice man it isn’t bad either.”

“I think I could never ...”

“Never say never, Monique.”

“Oh please, Sandra don’t do that to me. Don’t tell me that one day I might ...”

“But Honey, why not? You’d just be a normal heterosexual woman, for Christ’s sake. And believe me, they make a really good job of it these days with a properly feeling clit, and the sexuality changes to female orgasms automatically with the right hormones.”

And thus, for the first time a possibility opened to me to really start a new, different life, a life as a woman. I could become Sandra’s and possibly even May’s best female friend. Had not Florence already pointed out the possibility to fully become a woman? Had she, just like Sandra, seen a completely different me than what I believed to have? I decided to ask Florence the next time I saw her. Sandra had meanwhile finished her Make-up and would make breakfast now. That way she could do my make-up afterwards and avoid the inexperienced me smearing everything with the greasy bacon.

So while Sandra pottered about in the kitchen I shaved very thoroughly and went in the shower, from which I emerged smelling softly feminine. I wound a large soft towel around my body as I had seen so often in movies and on telly. In my bedroom I put the clothes and wig from the day before back on. Almost immediately I was back to being Monique and started to really like it. I joined Sandra In the kitchen.

“Honey, even without make-up you already look good.” she said “Once the hair is practically your own and the beard is gone ...”

“That’s enough, Sandra. Let’s eat something.”

After breakfast Sandra did my make-up and we made our way to the hairdresser. Since his shop was quite central we left the car at Muswell Hill and took the bus. Nobody seemed to find me unusual in any way. Sandra bought two tickets, so that I did not have to speak. My only problem were the heels on the steep stairs in the double decker bus, but I mastered even that. And then we stood in front of the shop. Now everything became serious. May was there and opened the door for us. I was greeted enthusiastically and in a very friendly manner by a very obviously camp gentleman, who evidently was clued up by May already.

“Good morning, Monique. As I have heard you want exactly the style you are already wearing, only with your own hair?”

“Yes, please,” I replied somewhat shyly “as real as possible.”

“Certainly! Please follow me to the more private rooms.”

He led us further back into the shop, where there were several single treatment rooms. When I had sat in front of the mirror with the obligatory basin he gently removed the wig and started examining my scalp and hair.

“That all looks pretty good still.” he said “Once you start on the oestrogen everything will quickly take on a feminine form and texture. Until then I’ll help with some tricks.”

So again someone started to talk to me about female hormones! That could not really be coincidence any more, could it? Sandra nodded with a grin and May, amazed, looked backwards and forwards between her and the hairdresser. So she was not in on it, I thought. But then to my knowledge Sandra had not spoken to him before either, had she? Did I actually really give off such a transgender or even feminine vibe?

Barry, he had meanwhile introduced himself, started filling in my hair, by glueing new real hair strands into my own. Then my hair was washed and I was dyed a lighter blonde, contrary to my previous street dog colour. Then he did the cut and at last my eye brows were dyed to match. Finally, after having removed my mascara, he dyed my lashes a deep blue-black and Sandra repaired the rest of my make-up. The result was incredible!

My hair style looked so real! Barry told me to treat it as if it was my natural hair and asked, what products I was using. He shook his head disgustedly upon my reply and from his stock supplied me with a new shampoo and conditioner, then we made a new appointment for in four weeks time for the maintenance.

Only as I paid I realised, that I could not even be sure about the job yet, but I still had made another appointment for in four weeks time. Did I in my subconscious want to remain a woman? I had not hesitated a single moment. Nevertheless I had no chance to think about it as we were on the way to the nail place. Again it was May who organised everything and an hour later I had long red fingernails on top of the blonde bob and had bought the varnish and a fast drying and hardening top coat. Now I had already spent a substantial part of my “travel expenses”.

The nails – more than the hair – needed practice. I had to grab everything differently, as I had to realise when we took a break for a tea. We sat together like three normal female friends and discussed Barry’s fantastic technique and the advantages of acrylic nails (that May and Sandra had, too), while we had tea at Neal’s Yard Café and munched our scones. Then, as we had some time still until the appointment with the hypnotist, Sandra proposed a bit of shopping for underwear for me. That made me afraid again to be discovered as a man in a dress and be thrown out of the shop.

“Nonsense!” Sandra was not suffering any protest “we go to a good department store and May and I cover you in front of the dressing rooms.”

The choice turned out to be Selfridge’s in Oxford Street. We went up the escalator to the first floor and the ladies underwear and I had to choose new, feminine underwear for myself. My choice were lace body stockings without cups, but Sandra allowed only two of them, then I had to find one I liked with under wired cups in which she put two new, larger silicone cushions, that were quite a bit bigger as those from May’s of the day before. With them I was rather busty and felt completely off.

So I got the same grey body stocking with black lace cups, but for a smaller bust and returned to May’s choice of fakes. The body was grey silk with black lace around the legs as straps for the bra and the cups. That looked a lot more like myself again in the mirror and I had an idea, how I might look after HRT. Now it was time to get to my next appointment in Holland park, to be precise, just off Holland Park Avenue next to Holland Park station on the central line, that we took from Oxford Street. Soon we were there.

On the way from the tube to the hypnotist I realised for the first time, how much my appearance had already changed and how much of it would be quite hard to reverse. And now I was going to anchor feminine mannerisms and behaviour! Monique Madelaine was becoming more and more real and Dhyan Magna? Would he soon be only a memory? On one hand that scared me … but - and that scared me even more – on the other it excited me, just as well that my penis was tucked in and restrained, so that an erection was impossible. I stopped and looked at May for help.

“May ...” I started hesitantly and then spoke out “All that turns me on. The thought I could become woman makes me horny. Am I a pervert?”

“Honey, most of my clients come to me because that is exactly what they want. But in your case I feel it goes way deeper than that. I think you are much more than just a transvestite. But the hypnosis will shed light on that.”

So May as well had joined the chorus of temptation? Or was it redemption? My, Monique’s redemption? Were they helping me to overcome my fear and discover my new, true self? Acknowledging that possibility almost made me the shit my panties. But I also had to admit, that this “adventure” turned me on. Had I ever felt so alive? Not since a long time! Would I really end as Monique, with feminine hips, boobs, a sexy bottom and a pussy? And – worst of all – a man? Oh man, what was I doing?

May’s voice ripped me out of my minds growing panic.

“We’re here. Soon you’ll know.”

And then, two hours later I still did not know. After the hypnosis session all three, Sandra, May and Sylvia had stubbornly denied me any information on it. Sylvia had let me go saying:

“I did what your subconscious allowed me to or asked me to do. Experiment with it, find yourself, Monique. Lots of luck with your job!”

As I observed myself on the way back I realised, that I was walking differently, stood and held my hands differently, and – for fuck’s sake – blushed, when a guy looked at me. Bloody hell, I thought, I behave like a pubescent girl. Sandra grinned from ear to ear.

“Monique, Honey, you are enchanting! Feminine innocence incarnate!”

“Yes,” said May “that pretty well describes it.”

I started crying. That day not one more coherent sentence should come from me. While Sandra behaved in the tube as if my crying was the most normal in the world, May, that was all too clearly visible, was terribly embarrassed. The day was lost. The two took me home, gave me a hot chocolate and told me to go to bed. I removed the running make-up, put on my night dress and went to bed to cry myself to sleep.