The Blue Necklace Ch 02

This isn't so much a sex story as a love story with sexy bits. Some chapters, like this one, don't have any sex in them at all. Well, that is unless you find transgender stories sexy per se.

so, if you're looking for hot action look elsewhere. If you want a light, and I think sexy, TG story give it a go

Oh, and this is chapter 2. If you haven't read chapter 1 then it won't be as good.

Enjoy

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I think Andy needed the space as well because he could hardly get out of the flat quick enough. Rather aimlessly I toddled off back to my bedroom. Now I was alone I could have a really good look at myself. I stripped off the tracksuit and stood in front of the mirror on my dressing table. It wasn't full length or anything I had to move around a bit and step back to get me all in. I don't wish to sound vain but whatever magic was in play wasn't too bad. Oh, I was never going to be a top fashion model or anything stupid like that but I was kinda pretty in a sort of girl next door sort of way. I had long blonde hair which cascaded down to my shoulder blades, curves in all the right places and a pretty perky pair of breasts that again, were not the biggest ever but were nice and firm and suited me fine.

It wasn't just that my body looked different; it felt different. It wasn't just that I was eight inches shorter and forty pounds lighter; I was soft where I used to be firm and curvy where I used to be straight. Fundamental things like walking were simply not the same. My hips were wider and my breasts seemed to jiggle about and, as for my hair, my long flowing locks made even the slightest movement of my head completely different. All these paled into insignificance compared to the change between my legs; reaching down and finding nothing there was the strangest thing ever. I was so used to having a prick to grab and now... I wasn't completely innocent but I had much to learn about exactly what was 'down there'. My knowledge so far had been limited to school biology text books and fumbles in the dark. I felt in need of an owner's manual. However, all that would have to wait.

Because, if I were going to be buying clothes for real, then the first thing I would need to know was exactly what size I was. I mean, as a man I knew I was a thirty two inch waist, a thirty one inch inside leg and a fifteen inch collar for shirts. I hadn't got a clue what I was now beyond the fact that I had lost seven or eight inches in height. I fired up my tablet and did a quick google to find out what measurements I needed. Andy's steel tape measure from his tool kit was fine for measuring my height against the door frame but it was too inflexible for measuring around my waist, hips and breasts. I went to the kitchen and rummaged around in the dross draw where I was sure there was a dressmaker's tape measure that would do perfectly.

I went back to my room and found a bit of paper and started to jot things down. When I tried to match this up with the dress size charts on the internet it wasn't as straightforward as I had assumed it would be. Why, for example, are US sizes completely different from British sizes? Surely their women are basically the same shape. And then there are European sizes which are a whole different ball game. From what I could gather I was somewhere between a six and an eight in British dress sizes, two to four in US sizes and thirty four to thirty six European. As it was I had only just got my 34, 26, 34 measurements written down when I heard the front door opening. I threw my old track suit back on and went to see what Andy had got me.

"Here, this is the best I could do," he announced throwing some shopping bags down on the sofa.

I suppose it could have been worse. He'd bought me a sweatshirt top in bright pink with some sort of sparkly pattern which, while loose, was nowhere like as big as my male ones. For below the waist there was a tartan skirt which, when measured against me, came to just above the knees.

"What the fuck, Andy! A skirt! Have you forgotten I have no underwear."

"As if I could! There are some panties in there as well," he said archly. "You've got no idea how much of a pervert I felt buying those. Thank god for self-service checkouts. I had to get you a skirt. I looked at leggings or jeans but I've no idea how long your legs are."

"And by buying me a skirt I guess you get to find out."

"There is that," Andy admitted. "Go on. I went through the embarrassment of buying this stuff. The least you could do is try it on."

"OK, but if I'm not happy then I take off the necklace and this little game ends. Got that. Now, stay there."

I took the bags into my bedroom and closed the door. To tell the truth, given how much was done on guesswork, he hadn't done too badly. In the bag I found not one but three packs of panties, each plain white cotton and each in different sizes. I stripped off my tracksuit and opened the pack that matched my thirty four inch hips. When I pulled them on they felt strangely snug. After all, I was used to having a prick and balls to organise. These panties had no room for male bits and, for once, I had no male bits to need room for. I glanced in the mirror. Somehow wearing just panties is sexier than being completely naked and the sexy young woman in the mirror was me! Weird or what? I wouldn't admit it to Andy but I was actually beginning to enjoy this game of dressing up.

The skirt had an adjustable and elasticated waist so there was no problem getting it to fit. The problem was how it left me feeling. When I had measured it against me I had misjudged where the waistline was and, now that it was on, it came to mid-thigh and barely covered anything. Whilst the rational me knew that the skirt was perfectly normal and really not that daring I felt open and exposed, as if the slightest movement would have me flashing my panties. My panties! A quick wave of panic flushed through me as I came to appreciate what I had just said. Maybe it would be better once I had put a top on. I reached for the sweatshirt. Why had he chosen such a vivid shade of pink? I slipped it over my head and, after undergoing the novel experience of having to extract my hair from the neck hole, once again, looked in the mirror.

The sparkly pattern, now that I could see it, read 'Girly' in big swirly letters. Gee, thanks Andy, just what I wanted. In fact it, along with the skirt, made a rather sweet and girly outfit even if the pink did clash awfully with the red of the tartan. It wasn't what I would have chosen and it was a bit too much like being thrown in the deep end, but, as I swung my hips and watched the skirt flounce around, I had to admit it was rather pretty. I had two choices. I could cop out, take off the necklace and wait for another time or I could bite the bullet and get on with it.

"Come on, Tom. Time's getting on," Andy shouted through the door.

I reached for my sweatshirt and was just about to remove it before my curiosity overcame my fear. I pulled it back down, pulled my skirt down as far as it would go, and headed for the door.

"Wow! You look...."

"I look what?"

"Well, kind of sexy, actually. Has anybody told you you've got great legs?"

"Never you mind about my legs, great or otherwise. Come on, let's do this before I change my mind and bottle out."

I slipped on the flip-flops and, together, we went down stairs and out to where Andy's car was waiting.

If the skirt had felt short in the flat that was nothing to how it felt out on the street. There was a slight breeze blowing and, although the reality was probably very different, it felt as if my skirt were flying up around my waist, showing everything I had. Even walking made it fly around alarmingly.

But that was nothing compared to getting into Andy's car, a manoeuvre that seemed custom designed to expose as much leg as possible. Andy, of course, was loving every minute but I was blushing beetroot. There must be an elegant and dignified way to get in and out of a car wearing a short skirt but I couldn't find it. When I finally got in I sat in the seat with my knees welded together and my hands either side of my thighs holding the skirt down flat. I had never felt so exposed.

"Seatbelt," Andy reminded me. "Here, let me do it for you." He started to reach across.

"No thanks. You just keep your hands to yourself, thank you very much." I reached for the belt which, when fastened ran diagonally across my chest bisecting my breasts. Yet another reminder that I was a very different shape.

When we got to the mall I told Andy that I wasn't getting out of the car until he had found a quiet corner in the multi-story car park and, even then, he had to get out and turn his back before I would make a move. As I had rightly anticipated, getting out was even less dignified than getting in and the last thing I wanted was an audience. When I had finally extracted myself from the car I told Andy he could turn around and, together, we made our way into the heart of the mall accompanied by the sound of my flip-flops slapping on the floor. First stop was a pair of shoes and to hell with Andy's pervy fantasies of six inch heels. A plain pair of white trainers would do nicely.

As we made our way through the mall I felt as if everyone was staring at me. It was a warm and sunny day and there were plenty of other girls in similarly short and revealing skirts but, as far as I was concerned, none seemed quite as short as the one I was wearing. What's more, I was becoming convinced that all and sundry could tell I wasn't wearing a bra. I could almost hear them whispering 'slut' behind my back. Nervously I followed Andy as he headed towards Shoemart, our first port of call.

Shoemart was relatively easy. It's one of those budget shoe shops where the shoes are all out there and you basically help yourself. Shoesize was not one of the measurements I had taken so we simply measured the shoes against my feet until we found one close enough and then tried a couple more until we got an exact fit. I also bought a couple of pairs of trainer socks and, doing the old 'don't wrap them, I'll wear them' routine, I was properly shod as we walked out of Shoemart and into the body of the mall.

Next we tried Primark. OK, still not exactly top of the range but our budget wasn't that big and we were simply trying to get me started. However, Primark is where it all started to go wrong. If I had been shopping for boy Tom then it would have been easy. A pair of jeans, a tee shirt with a suitably ironic slogan, maybe something a little smarter for the office and job's a good'un. Shopping for girl Tom was a whole different kettle of fish. I'd never really looked round the women's departments before and now that I was forced to I was bewildered by the range of options. I simply didn't know where to start. OK, so a bra was top of the shopping list and I'd worked out the correct size but, even then, there were so many different shapes and materials. Andy kept pushing me towards black lacy confections but I thought they looked tarty. I kept looking at plain white cotton while Andy moaned about them being boring.

Meanwhile the place was heaving and you couldn't hear yourself think. I was getting more and more flustered until I finally turned to Andy.

"I've got to get out of here."

"But we haven't bought anything."

"And we're not going to. Not today. Please, Andy, let's go and find a coffee."

I think he must have picked up on how uncomfortable I felt as he didn't demur and, together, we went and found a Starbucks. We ordered a couple or lattes, found a sofa to sit on and took stock.

"Look, Andy, this is all very well but I can't do this. I don't know what I'm after. I never knew clothes shopping was so complicated."

"So what? We go back home and forget this ever happened? Come on Tom, this is too big to walk away from."

"I'm not walking away. It's just.... Look, I need help. Real girls have had a lifetime to get used to this. I've had five minutes. I don't know what to buy. I don't even know where to start looking. And then there's the whole make-up thing. I don't suppose you noticed but I must have been the only girl there without some sort of make-up. If I'm going to do this I want to do it right. I'm scared I'll become some sort of freak show."

"I'll help."

"But you can't. You don't know anything more about being a girl than I do. I need a girl friend."

"I've been saying that for years."

"For Pete's sake, Andy, be serious for a moment. I need a friend who's a girl, not a girlfriend. Someone I can trust. Someone who can show me the ropes, sort of thing."

"A woman you can trust; that's a tall order."

"Don't be so sexist. Anyway, I was thinking of asking Jenny Eccles."

"Jenny Eccles! That ball breaker."

"Just because she turned you down flat."

"The only reason she didn't turn you down as well is that you never asked."

"She's all right, Jenny. She was a good friend when Gran died."

"She still didn't let you shag her."

"There's more to life than shagging. Anyway, I'm going to give her a call."

"Do you still have her number?"

"Well, I've got the number she had when we were at college and, if not, I've kept in touch via Facebook. But I can't phone her like this. I'll have to change back again. I'll call her when we get home."

"So, home time?"

"I guess so."

We finished our lattes and, after discovering that sofas are almost as bad as car seats when wearing a short skirt, we headed back to the car.

As we drove home I felt a bit of a failure. What had I managed? Five minutes in the mall before my nerve broke. Oh, sure, there was the whole clothes thing but it seemed such a waste. For all my nerves, for all my anxiety, I didn't want it to end so soon.

"Andy.... Can we go to the park?"

"The park?"

"Yeah. Let's go and feed the ducks."

"You're mad, you know that."

But, even so, we drove to the park and, after repeating the indignities of getting out of a car in a short skirt, we set off to stroll around the boating lake.

Whereas the shopping mall had been mayhem and I had felt awkward and embarrassed, out in the park was... fun. There was no other word for it. Suddenly the short skirt was liberating. I could feel the air circulating and, as the sun beat down, it felt good to be out. We didn't feed the ducks but we did stop for an ice cream and, as we strolled along together, licking our cones, I felt a contentment that had been otherwise missing. Boy Tom would never have done this but girl Tom, she was loving every minute. It was almost as if we were a proper couple and I had a strange desire to reach out and hold his hand but I was scared Andy would misinterpret. Even so, by the time we had returned to the car I felt better than I had done in ages.

"Thanks, Andy, that was lovely," I said as I got back in the car.

"No problem," Andy replied and he looked a little bashful. Had he enjoyed walking in the park as much as I had?