This work is copyrighted November 2017 by the author as a contribution to NaNoWriMo and any publication or distribution without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended.
Cover art copyrighted November 2018 by Monique S
It had seemed like a miracle to me, when I got the letter from London that asked me to come for an interview for the technical director and lighting designer for a musical. They actually even left me the choice of what date would suit me!
I had had, after a terrible dispute with my partners, to give up my job as managing director of one of the best companies of the music industry in Germany. I had for better or worse tried to cope and now the debt, that resulted from the legal procedures, had a firm grip on me. This offer was the singular chance to consolidate my financial situation and at the same time my professional future.
I replied therefore, that I was happy to come for an interview and rang my friend Sandra asking, if she would house me for a couple of days in her flat in Muswell Hill. Sandra was the daughter of Mrs. Anderton, the lady who had been my host, when as a thirteen year old I had been in a student exchange to Britain. She was divorced, meanwhile, and now lived in London. Sandra was six years my senior, but we always got on with one another well, right from the start. Now I was in my early and she in her late thirties. She was more than happy to accommodate me for a while and talk, like we had always done, ever since that first time, when, even as a thirteen year old boy, she talked to me about boyfriends and things, that I had thought females only talked to other women about.
So everything was quickly arranged and I could buy my ticket with what rested of my meagre savings. I communicated the time I would come to London to What Else Productions, gave them the address and phone number of Sandra’s flat and packed a small board case for a week’s visit. The next afternoon I was already ringing the bell at Sandra’s door. She hugged me hard and said:
“Hi Darling, so nice to see you again. Come on in, I have a visit from a friend of mine.”
“Hi Sandra!” I replied “I am happy to see you, too. There is so much to tell!”
“Later, Darling, later. Now you have to get to know May, she is my best female friend.”
I put my case down, hung my belt pouch and my tour jacket from Amptown Cases on the hook provided near the door, took off my boots and followed her to her lounge. Her flat was on the second floor above the small shop of No.10 Fortis Green Road. It had the lounge towards the street side and there also was a bathroom, three bedrooms the other side of a corridor and a large kitchen out towards the back. I found her lounge to have a typically feminine décor, a sofa and two comfy arm chairs in rose colour to match the flowery wallpaper and the Bordeaux coloured curtains of the two windows. A honey coloured pine floor and a fake fireplace with a gas fire in rose coloured marble imitation completed the look. On the small side tables as well as most other free surfaces were piles of women’s and fashion magazines and on the floor in front of the sofa were an open bottle of Australian Chardonnay and two glasses.
May was sitting on the sofa, her high heels in front of her on the floor and her legs tucked under. Her short black skirt and long beige sweater not quite covered the wide lace tops of her black stockings. She was a redhead and attractive, even if not a beauty in the classical sense, and hardly wore any make-up.
“May, this is my oldest and best friend Magna. Magna – May, my other best friend.” Sandra introduced us.
“Hello May, nice to meet you.” I said politely.
“Hello Magna,” she said “what an unusual name, sounds more like for a woman.”
“It’s his spiritual name.” Sandra explained on my behalf “He got that from an Indian guru.”
“You’ve been to India?”
“No, the guru was Indian, but in Oregon.”
“Oooh, the Bhagwan! How did that happen?”
So I went into the story, after I also had been given a glass of wine and had settled in one of the arm chairs, told them about my dispute with my partners and how I, while the legal procedures went ahead in court, had worked five months for only a symbolic salary for a festival for free theatre groups in the Kampnagelfabrik, Hamburg. How I had asked my former clients for obsolete equipment and had, with the stuff I got given and a small rented PA, much improvisation and a lot of work created three differently sized theatres and run them with up to four performance a day for three months.
As a result the Alte Oper in Frankfurt had hired me the following year to take charge of a tent in Grüneburgpark, that was to house some of the larger performances during the “Theatre of the world” festival in Frankfurt and specially an opening act for the festival, that the Alte Oper had sponsored. The woman, who had catered for the teams in Hamburg and Frankfurt had been a sanyasin and had invited me to come to Oregon with her, where I had got the name.
“The full name is Dhyan Magna and is supposed to mean delighted meditation.” I finished my story “And what do you do, May?”
“I am a wardrobe mistress.”
“And what is that?” I asked aghast.
“Well, I have a room full of wigs, dresses, underwear and high heels in men’s sizes and a second room, in which I entertain those gentlemen, who come to me to have themselves made over as women.” May said with a grin.
“You are telling me that there are enough men who want that so that you can make a living off that?”
I was more than just surprised.
“Oh yes, Magna, there are plenty of them. I’d say that about ten percent of men find the idea at least erotic and another five would prefer to actually BE women.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. You know, education still raises boys to hide their soft, possibly more feminine side, so that a lot of them have great difficulties to live that part of themselves. I give them the room to do it safely.”
“Perhaps May can make you into a girl one night and the three of us have a girls night on the town.” Sandra said with a giggle.
“Not a bad idea,” May agreed “you’d make a rather pretty woman.”
“Oh, I don’t know. In any case I have to get that interview done first. But now I’d like to know where you two met.”
I knew that Sandra had, shortly after Jim and her had visited me at Hamburg three and a half years ago, met another man and had followed him to London and got divorced in a friendly manner. We had kept each other up to date with letters.
“Oh,” Sandra said with a giggle “the bloke with whom I had run off one day wanted to go to a wardrobe mistress and me to share the experience. Well, I found May much more attractive than him in a dress, shot him to the moon and became May’s lover.”
She grinned from ear to ear while May – to my utter surprise – blushed deeply. I had always admired Sandra’s wild side, that she was apparently bi didn’t surprise me. That May in spite of her “profession” blushed at the revelation of her being either bi or lesbian astonished me, though. I had no problem with that at all, for me that was no reason to be ashamed and I said so.
“Much rather a reason to be proud.” I added on top.
“You are really kind.” May thanked me “If one day you feel like spending a day as a woman, I’ll make a beautiful girl out of you for free and teach you all that is necessary.”
“Thanks, May, perhaps next time round,” I said trying to escape the topic.
“Right” Sandra changed the subject “I think it is time to see about food.”
I realised suddenly that I was ravenously hungry. May excused herself, because she still had a client later, so Sandra and I went out to the Indian take away, as neither of us really felt like cooking. A Chicken Tikka, a Lamb Biryani several nan and two bottles of Shiraz later we had talked ourself tired and went to bed.