GENESIS By Dianna Reid

He slowly drove the silver Saab convertible into the underground parking lot beneath his apartment; it was the eve of his birthday, his last day as a 45 year old. He could not know what the future would hold for him, but he had his wish.

Once parked he set about unpacking his purchases and, removing a bulky black garment bag from the rear he soon realized that it would take several trips to move everything up to his apartment.

Twenty minutes later he stood in his living room the garment bag lay on the divan surrounded by several shopping bags from some of the best shops in the city. Three bunches of peach colored roses sat on the table next to a matching bouquet.

With much to be done this evening he moved into the master bedroom; opening the drapes allowing the orange and red light from the setting sun to bathe the room is its warm glow. Far below his 30^th floor penthouse the citizens of his city went about their business oblivious to his presence.

Kicking off his shoes revealed his black stockings, something which might have been hinted at to anyone closely examining those shoes with their feminine styling.

Removing his suit and shirt he exposed the delicate pink lingerie that he had worn for the day, the matching set of bra, camisole, panties and suspenders; one of his little extravagances.

Unhooking the sheer black lace topped stockings he rolled them off his legs, slipped his feet into a pair of low-heeled pink satin slides. Donning a pink silk robe from the closet he closed the garment with a large floppy bow.

Feeling more comfortable now he moved into the bathroom, where in the corner was a large sunken spa bath. Adjusting the water temperature to his satisfaction he allowed it to begin filling after adding his favorite bath oils.

While the bath filled he took himself off to the kitchen, selecting some Smoked Salmon and Brie along with a chilled Chardonnay.

He settled in a chair near the window.The sun had now set leaving only its glow on the clouds above. It was, he mused, going to be a beautiful evening, sipping thoughtfully one the wine.

His mind wandered back to his childhood, to the time he first wore a petticoat - a defining moment in his development. He had been so moved by the experience there could be no return from it. His memory of that day would never fade, the crisp layers of the skirts edged in lace, the soft white tricot bodice with its matching lace trim. He savored every movement and sound he had made as he danced and twirled his way around the room. From that time on he knew he was not like the other boys and that this must remain his secret.

Outside the lights were flicking on around the city as the purple evening advanced

Wine in hand he returned to the bathroom. Noting the bath was near to full, he turned off the water before slipping off his robe. He drew the camisole over his head, deftly unclipped his bra and suspender belt before stepping out of the panties.

Turning on the spa controls, he slid into the hot bubbling water feeling it caressing his body as it enveloped it. The scent of roses from the water remindinghim of the rose gardens at this childhood home. Flowers had always been attractive to him, he truly cherished their delicate structures and colors.

His first dress had been a floral pattern.  His sister, to whom the dress had been given, showed no interest in it, leaving it at the back of her closet. He took every opportunity to wear that dress.Left alone at home for any period he would quickly change into it. He knew he belonged in that dress

Sipping from his wine he ran his hands over his body.Over time he had eliminated most of his body hair, leaving only soft white skin. His breasts small but pert had been the result of a flirtation with hormones an experiment that had also sent him on an emotional roller coaster.

As his sister matured so did the range of her clothes and by default, his. He had entered the world of bra’s and stockings, and high-heeled shoes became a great attraction.

By that time he knew that he only wanted to dress as a girl, indeed he only wanted to be one.

A myriad of scenarios were generated as he schemed as to how he might achieved such a desire, of course none were practical nor came to fruition.

The slowly cooling waters reclaimed him from his journey. He stepped from the bath; pat drying himself before taking a large duster and gently powdering his body with a fragrant talcum powder.

Donning his silk robe again he collected his shopping from the living room and moved it into the bedroom. After carefully unpacking his purchases and laying them out on the bed, he began to dress.Tonight was his special night and he was determined that everything would be perfect.

The white corset came first; the lady at the bridal wear boutique had been so helpful when he chose it. As he fastened it the lace cups embraced his breasts pushing them up and enhancing his cleavage. He adjusted the shoulder straps, and then slowly tightened the ties drawing the corset in around him. Satisfied with his efforts so far he unwrapped the white lace embroidered stockings from their pack. With obvious practice and a degree of finesse, he first rolled, then drew each stocking up his naked legs. The stockings were seamed; he had chosen them as they reminded him of the very first pair he wore. Another memory burned deep in his mind, the bra that he had found one day that just didn’t work like a bra, then the revelation of its true purpose.

Carefully he attached each of the six tabs to the stockings, before standing and feeling that magic as each tugged on the stockings, how could women possibly prefer hose to stockings he wondered.

He picked up the white silk and lace panties.  They were full cut, the lace rose patterned and trimmed with white ribbon, no thongs for him. Stepping easily into them, he gracefully drew them up his stockinged legs.

From a box on his dresser he took a garter, it had been his mothers and when she had died he had appropriated it for himself. How fitting - she had worn it at her wedding he thought, as he secured it around the top of his stocking.

The white slip was full length. He drew it down over his head, his arms moving easily through the armholes - a legacy of years of practice. His hands caressed the fabric smoothing it down his legs until it encircled them in a delicious silken sleeve.

Gazing into the mirror he saw the reflected image of a teenage boy so many years ago, he was wearing his first formal gown, it was emerald green, perhaps Shantung, he did not know so much about fabrics then. No one ever took him anywhere in that gown but still he dreamed of walking into the ball, eyes turning to admire him.

He chose and put on a full-length robe from his closet, then sat down before his makeup mirror. Skillfully he first cleansed then moisturized his face then, not happy with his eyebrows he sought out his tweezers and quickly dispatched the offending hairs.

By now the first bottle of wine had vanished, so a quick trip was needed to the bar. The bottle of Moet & Chandon caught his eye, it had been kept for a special occasion.  Well this certainly qualified he assured himself as the cork flew from the magnum.

Returning to the makeup mirror he began working a base into his skin giving his face an almost featureless appearance. Years of practice in front of such mirrors had developed this talent.

How different from the first time, he had struggled with face powder, a crude attempt at eyeliner had left him looking somewhat like a zombie, apt when you considered the slash of vivid red lipstick across his face. At the time he had been so proud of his efforts, it had been the start of another phase.

A darker base was used to emphasize or hide features as appropriate and his face began to change and grow to reflect the chosen appearance.

Taking an eyebrow pencil he began to darken and shape his eyebrows, feminizing them with each stroke.

The false eyelashes were secured and taking up a mascara he began to brush them watching as they grew with each stroke.

Staring into the face in mirror watching it slowly transform into the image he so cherished, his true face, the face that he had only ever shared with one other so many years before. He found himself becoming quite emotional with these thoughts. Another sip of champagne helped to dispel the gloom.

She had told him that she loved and would always love him for who he was, that she could accept his needs and everything would be all right. Perhaps, he thought I was vulnerable then.

He had tried for a lifestyle change at 18, guilty beyond a level that he could accept. He became a warrior, eschewing all things feminine, burying the past so deeply that it could never be resurrected.

The haunting voices of the “Chorus of the Hebrew slaves” stole through the apartment as he took up a blusher his cheeks taking on the glow of a winter’s morning. The clock had edged up to nine pm.Three hours left, he thought.

He had flown in the face of danger, with a “Devil may care attitude” partied all night with the other squadron pilots, but in truth he was living a lie, the past so deeply buried was digging its way out and it would not be denied.

He had met her not long after he had returned from his tour of duty; he had been torn between two urges, finally opening his heart to her and feeling the great weight lift from his shoulders with her acceptance.

Blue was his favorite eye shadow.She had given him some as a present not long after they married, telling him how it brought out his deep blue eyes. She had been right about that: he smiled as he brushed his eyelids.

Sadly she had not been right about everything, they had begun to argue - of course it was always his fault, and the drifting apart began, each moving toward their own goals. He buried himself in his career; traveled extensively until returning home from one protracted overseas visit, found the house bare.

Taking up a lip pencil he began to outline his lips.Not too full he told himself, the shape must be right.He reached for the golden cylinder, and with a twist brought the rose pink lipstick to the top and began filling in his lips.

Rebuilding his life, he had sold off the house and bought the apartment in the city. The Interior Decorator has at first been confused with his plans for the apartment, but then taken on the task with zeal. Most of the décor was neutral with perhaps a touch of the feminine influence about it, except for the private area of his bedroom and bathroom, which perfectly reflected his inclinations. Each evening the caterpillar crawled into these rooms only to emerge a butterfly.

Many weekends only the butterfly could be found fluttering around and a sense of inner peace filled him at these times.

From far below arose the sound of sirens as a emergency vehicle speed to another crisis.

From the lacquered box on the dresser he took the two gold and pearl drop earrings.He had purchased them on the day he had his ear lobes pierced as a prelude to this evening. If anyone had noticed they had been either uninterested or to embarrassed to mention the studs to him.

 Leaving work earlier than usual this evening he had kept an appointment with a manicurist, saying that he was going to a fancy dress party that night. Whether or not she had believed him made no difference and he now slide the white gold and diamond ring past the sculptured pink tip and onto his finger.

The years sped past, barely noticed until one day he felt something was not right, though he could not yet put his finger on it.

The doctors had been blunt in the end, there was nothing they could do for him, six months maybe twelve, these things, they had explained, cannot be gauged accurately.

His research into his condition set him upon the course that had led to this evening.

Unzipping the garment bag he withdrew the white garments, the voluminous white petticoats, the full skirt and tailored bodice.  This was one bride that would not make it down the isle he mused.

Moments later the petticoats were cascading down from his waist, spreading outwards as they descended til gently brushing the carpet.

He chose to lower the skirt over the petticoats; its satin panels were raised at the front in what he believed to have been a Victorian style exposing his petticoats. He drew up the zip, then finally fastened several buttons around the broad waist band, spreading out the large bow at the rear.

As he struggled to fasten the rear button on the bodice he understood the practicality of having bridesmaids. He fastened the buttons at the cuff of each sleeve then turned back to the mirror, the effect was of a single piece dress and the result pleased him immensely.

Bizet’s “Au fond du temple saint” was softly playing in the background as he pirouetted admiring the image before him.

From one of the few remaining boxes he took the white satin shoes drawing up his petticoats he eased them on to his stocking feet.

From the penultimate bag he took the wig.  He had left it with a salon several days before, along with the headpiece and veil.As before no one had questioned his request even if they thought it highly unusual, or did things like that happen more often than he thought, he wondered for a moment.

Drawing the wig over the wig cap he adjusted it slightly til he was satisfied with its positioning.

He flipped the veil from the back over his face and peered out through the spotted tulle noting the diffused image of the mirrored face.

He left the peach rose bouquet on the bed.

With studied ease he moved back into the living room noting the hand of the clock had slid past eleven pm.

At his desk he carefully checked the letters he had written.  Satisfied with their contents he folded each before sealing them in their envelopes and addressing them to their intended recipients.

He was now slightly ahead of his schedule, so taking his glass he moved gracefully to the balcony door, sliding it open he stepped out onto the balcony. A gentle zephyr ripple around his gown causing it to sway gently, the veil fluttering gently. The full moon bathed the quieting city in its soft silver light.Below in the streets traffic had slowed to a trickle.

Returning to the bedroom he took the last bunches of flowers now in vases, placed them around the room, then lit several large candles. He switched off the last lights in the apartment leaving it lit only by the candles and moonlight.

Opening the small pill box, he removed all of the contents, then quickly swallowed all of them washing them down with the remains of the champagne.

He felt very calm now, sitting on the edge of the bed he lay back bringing his legs up and around until he was lying in the middle of the bed.

Carefully he arranged his dress, spreading it out evenly, drew the veil overhis face and clutched the bouquet in the traditional pose.

The music of Pucciniin his ears he gently closed his eyes.

He felt himself slowly slipping away: no pain; no more problems; so calm and peaceful now.

The final moments of “One fine day” echoed through the room as he sighed softly and then became very still, one candle flickered for a moment then died. Unseen, the clock flicked over to the new day.

He felt his body moving, it was warm and dark. He felt like he was floating, then the pressure started squeezing him, it came in waves with moments of tranquility in-between.

In the distance a bright light, he felt himself being drawn relentlessly towards it, the pressure at times crushing.

Suddenly the pressure was gone from his head replaced by a blinding light, he felt something take hold of him, felt the pressure move down his body until it was totally gone.

He was being held upside down.

Then he heard the voice:

“Well done Mrs. Williams, you have a fine healthy daughter”

The Beginning