Creating Donna

by Donna Dee

  

Part Three

  

It became very clear that all three women in my family knew about my little adventures in dressing up. Pam, now 17 ½ made fixing my hair her Sunday chore; it was still very curly of course, but I had needed no encouragement to let it grow longer. Over the next two years Pam gradually trained it into a totally feminine shape, a mass of curls that ended between my shoulder blades and that swished and bounced as I walked and it's obvious femininity didn't bother me one scrap, in fact I was delighted with it.

There was hardly a day I didn't fantasise about being in a dress and wearing make-up and, by the time I was 13, hardly a day when I didn't experiment with some of theirs. I made a list of some of the make up my mother used, from foundation to lipstick and, pretending to be shy, timidly bought a few items from local chemists for my "Mum's birthday." These were put to regular use if only for a few hours a week, but they certainly helped to satisfy my yearnings; a little lipstick perhaps to brighten my smile, a smear of eye shadow to emphasise my eyes, why I even managed to apply mascara correctly! And I loved it.

I was 13 ½ when I overheard Mum and Pam talking one day – or perhaps I should say I almost overheard, but I was sure they were talking about me. They didn't seem aggressive, there was nothing sinister but they both referred to me as 'she' and twice I heard Pam call me Donna! Did they know about my experiments? If so, how much did hey know? I decided to tackle my mother that evening when I could reasonably expect to get her alone, my now grown-up sisters would be sure to have gone out by seven. I had changed out of my school clothes before dinner, of course, but since Pam and Sylvia seemed to be taking forever to go wherever it was they were going, I went back to my room and carefully brushed my hair into what was, by any standards, a feminine style, with curls trained over my ears. No big deal because by now I was so used to it like that, that I thought nothing of it. Once they had all gone out I came back downstairs and sat on the settee by my mother's side and started by telling her that I had heard her talking to Pam and what I had heard them say.

"Oh dear," mother answered, "but I have told you before that secret listeners hear no good of themselves, haven't I? It was nothing important, Donnie, and using the female pronoun was just a slip of the tongue. You looked so wonderfully feminine when you were dressed up that weekend and I must admit that I wished then you had been born a girl, but that didn't mean I didn't love my little boy. It just didn't seem fair that you were the most beautiful of my three children and that you weren't a little girl; your complexion is flawless and although you are slim you are not skinny. A few added curves in the right places and no one would guess you were a male. Think of the lovely clothes I could have dressed you in. But never mind that, for a moment, just look at your lovely hair and tell me you aren't secretly trying to be a girl; that you, yourself haven't wished you were a girl many times over. Is it any wonder that I look at you sometimes and think of you as the girl I'd love you to be. And, what's more, you do like dressing up, don't you?"

Oh my God, did everybody know I'd put that dress on again a year or two ago? I nodded, miserably, ashamed of my desires.

"Don't worry about it, darling, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Donnie, do you know Mrs Carter who lives just down the road?" I shook my head and answered, "No, Mum, I don't think so."

"Hmmm. I have known her for years of course; I made some dresses for her once. She works in Boots the chemist and the other day she asked me how many birthdays I have each year. Does that ring any bells with you, my darling?"

I lowered my head and started to cry. I knew I'd been caught and one thing I am not is a liar, even so I didn't speak.

"It's all right Donnie – nobody minds if you dress up and wear make up, least of all me. I take it you bought this make up for your own use?"

Again I just nodded.

"How often do you use make up?"

"Not very often." It wasn't a lie because I'd have used it every day if I could have got away with it.

"And do you dress up at the same time?"

"Sometimes I wear a blouse of Pam's – that dress doesn't fit me any more."

"I'm not surprised, but I am sure I can find you one that will; why don't you go and dress up just for me now, I'd like that. Come on, let's go and do it," she continued enthusiastically.

I hesitated for a moment as mother leapt to her feet and made towards the door. "Come on, Donnie, you know you want to."

She was right, of course and so I followed her to her room. She quickly produced a dress and a full set of underclothes, and it was then, of course, that she found I was already wearing silk panties at which she merely smiled. She handed me a suspender belt that I put on and then passed me the dress she had found. It wasn't, perhaps, a dress I'd have chosen myself but I was content, (I think that's the right word for it) I was content to put it on. Then she watched as I made up my face – quite proficiently if I do say so myself. I put on stockings, fixed them to the suspender belt and then put on the high heeled shoes she offered me and stood there smiling at her.

"You look wonderful, Donna, I can call you that again now, can't I? That dress isn't ideal but it will have do for tonight. I will get you some new ones tomorrow. Then we will get some new undies, but you will have to dress and come with me to get the shoes – they have to be just right."

We went back downstairs together where we hugged each other and she asked me how I felt.

"I feel wonderful, free, pretty. Can I dress as a girl all the time, mummy?"

"What, even for school?" she asked.

No, of course I couldn't do that. "I meant other than school, mummy."

"Yes, I realise that. Are you happy to out dressed in girls clothes, Donna, and have us all call you that from now on?"

Oh dear – the answer was no, not just yet, but this was going to be me, I was determined about that. Just then the door opened and my sister Pam walked in. "Donna!" she shouted gleefully, "Oh my darling sister you've come back to us. Welcome home." With that she embraced me, hugged and kissed me and pledged her support of my femininity for the rest of her life.

There was a long discussion on the future that I wont trouble you with, but it was agreed I would dress whenever possible – wear make up most of the time and try hard to go out with my sister as a girl, though I knew that wouldn't be easy, in spite of Pam's enthusiasm. We also agreed that I would dress full time on our summer holiday that we took every August at my Gran's house by the sea.

Recently a friend asked me if I believed my mother had forced me into femininity and I said she had not. Reading this you may take a different view but it was me that wanted to dress up, it was me that wanted to wear make up, it was me that did all this behind her back. OK, when she found out she gave me every encouragement to find my true self, but that isn't forcing me to be female, is it?

 

It might be as well to pause here for a few moments while I tell you, briefly, about the other members of my family. My eldest sister, Beryl, took after Mum in some ways except that she was a control freak. I called her a bossy bitch, even if that is a bit cruel. She had more boyfriends than Sunday dinners. But for all that, when Mum wasn't around she loved to show she was in charge and both Pam and I knew we had an honest, upright sister who would move heaven and earth to see that we were both looked after and that no one would ever harm us.

Pam, three years her junior was the prettier of the two and outwardly flirted with Beryl's boyfriends, though this was very much a teasing exercise in that she would run a mile before allowing any of them to so much as kiss her. Pam went to the local grammar school where she struck up a friendship with Sylvia Davies, a friendship that lasted a lifetime. They became inseparable, at school and at play, rather like the original terrible twins their respective mothers used to say. They were 13 when cousin Eva got married and naturally Sylvia accompanied Pam to the wedding, which was where she first saw me in my little blue velvet suit and told everybody that she thought I looked adorable. At the time she lived with her parents and brother Frank about a mile away, though the two friends spent many nights in each other's houses as well as several weekends together. Later on Pam told me she had always known she was attracted to other women more than boys and when Sylvia had kissed her for the first time it was immediately clear to her that this was going to be for keeps. Obviously they kept their affair secret.

 

The months leading up to that holiday were a whirl of activity – Mum bought me so many new dresses, blouses and skirts of every imaginable style and colour that I was spoiled for choice. We set off on the last weekend in July with Pam, Sylvia and I done up to the nines and loving every minute of it. You need to know here that my Gran was now terminally ill – the end was expected at any time, but this didn't spoil our holiday. Suitably padded I wore bikinis and one-piece costumes, tried a dozen different hairstyles when we went out at night and I wore three different full-length evening dresses, one of which was off the shoulder and very nearly topless. I wore my make up to suit each occasion – just a little lippy in the day when on the beach and a bucketful at night when we went clubbing – no one questioned my age. But I avoided flirting in spite of the opportunities and in this regard it is as well Pam had strong lesbian tendencies even though I didn't know it at the time.

It was inevitable that Pam told Sylvia most of our family secrets. I believe I told you that Sylvia had accompanied Pam to Eva's wedding where she had seen me as a pageboy and, much later I was there when Pam showed her the pictures of me in the bridesmaid's dress and in my punishment dress. She said I looked gorgeous, that I looked as if I was enjoying it tremendously. Sylvia joined us on holiday and took a shine to Pam's "sister," she was very supportive of my cross dressing and helped me in every way she could.

But when things seem perfect is often when they go wrong – isn't it? It was hell going back to school in boy's clothes after the holiday and with a naked face. I used lots of aftershave instead of the perfume I had come to adore and as soon as ever I got home just after four it was a case of rushing up to my room to change before I even greeted Mum. She didn't mind, she much preferred a kiss from her little girl.

I was just 14 and a month and Pam was 20 when Mum got killed in a huge motorway pile up in foggy conditions whilst on the way to see Gran. Terrible as this was, it couldn't have happened at a more inconvenient time because Beryl was about to leave home to live with her boyfriend and she certainly didn't think Pam and I could be left alone, especially as I was as close to being a girl as it was possible to get without actually being one. What made things worse from Pam's point of view was that Sylvia's parents were contemplating a move to the Channel Islands to open a restaurant. Sylvia had just succeeded in persuading her parents to let her stay in England, to lodge at our house, (to which my mother had willingly agreed). Parting was unthinkable to the two girls, but with Mum's death things suddenly looked hopeless. The tragedy delayed everybody's plans by around four months; Beryl agreed to postpone her move for a while, at least until Pam convinced her that she was quite capable of looking after her little brother/sister. Agreement was eventually reached that the three of us could stay together on the understanding that Beryl was still in charge and would pop in daily since she wouldn't be living all that far away.

Pam admitted to me that Beryl had her sweating then; it was vital to her that Beryl left them alone to pursue their mutual interests undisturbed, though I admit that what those interests were continued to evade me at the time. Pam had told Beryl she would be glad of Sylvia's help. Her parents eventually agreed to let her stay with us, but like myself at the time, they knew nothing of how they felt for each other. She was thus able to move in with us with almost no fuss. They had separate rooms of course though I now know they joined up as soon as they thought I was asleep. After a while they told me they were going to share a room to cut down on the housework. Thinking about it later I should have smelled a rat because what had been Sylvia's room was kept ready at all times for her to slip back into in case of a surprise visit.

Sylvia's brother, who was one year younger than his sister, went to the Channel Islands with his parents but he started his own electronics business and moved back to England a couple of years later. It came as a complete shock to both Pam and myself when Sylvia said that her brother got dressed up sometimes – that he could look very feminine when he tried.

 

Part Four

 

I had two school years to get through before I could become really female. At that time we hadn't so much as discussed hormones – Do remember this was a long time ago, and I truly don't think I knew what they did at the time. My social life was largely with the terrible twins; Pam encouraged me to go dancing with them and to join them when they went to the cinema. They taught me ballroom dancing, (backwards and in high heels as Ginger Rogers once said), and whilst I was having the time of my life I began to get the feeling that they wanted some time on their own – (I still didn't know they were lesbians). The dances were great fun because IU was pretty enough and young enough to get plenty of partners, besiding which I was a good dancer who could follow the lead of most of the boys. I had no interest in boys as such and whilst I accepted a kiss on the cheek from time to time, I invariably drew back if they tried to kiss my lips. Sylvia noticed this and said I should go for it – I had such lovely lips she sometimes fancied me herself. When I think of the row that might have started I realise how wise I was to ignore it.

 

Eventually schooldays were over, no more boys clothes ever, (I vowed) and since Pam said I needn't go to work if I would look after the house while they did, I started to lead the life of Reilly. I was, of course, short on alternative company until Sylvia reminded us that her brother Frank wondered if I'd like to spend an evening with him from time to time. It had been years since I'd seen him and when he came to call dressed up in all his finery, I was surprised at how good he looked. We started to meet once or twice a week. The occasional meal – the cinema – a dance – it was all good fun and started to bring me out of myself. We both flirted a little with boys at the dances we attended, and I had an occasional little kiss, but that was as far as it went. At that time I can truly say that I still wasn't seriously interested in boys or girls.

One day Frankie rang me from his office and asked me if I'd like to visit a private tranny club that met in one of the members houses, where, of course, everyone always went dressed. I thought that was a great idea and accepted with alacrity. Some of the "women" were grotesque but even so it was good fun. Each member took turns at telling their story and helping others with any cross-dressing problems they might have. It was most informative and I for one learned a lot about how to look really special when necessary. There seemed to be several ways to hide ones tackle – new bust ideas – exciting clothing and we watched demonstrations galore.

These meetings between us went on for several years – yes truly – and I had always regarded him as another female. Just after I was 21 I had a 'date' to meet Frankie outside the local cinema one evening – I assumed that was where we'd go and I wasn't best pleased when he was a little late. I was shocked when he arrived dressed in his office clothes, a suit, shirt, collar and tie and, of course, flat men's shoes, for this was the first time for years that I'd seen him in male clothing! He apologised, said he'd had no time to change and didn't want to let me down. Then he suggested we went for a meal as he hadn't eaten at all today. He crooked his elbow and offered it to me – I thought he was mad and we laughed together as I slipped my arm through his and hugged it tightly as we strode along towards the restaurant, smiling happily into each other's eyes, pretending he was my boyfriend.

Now I had always thought of Frank as Frankie – a girl friend, but by now I was feeling so totally feminine myself that as soon as I slipped my hand through his arm and saw my bright red nails glistening against his dark suit, I immediately thought of him as my boyfriend and I felt completely comfortable. When he took me home later he just kissed my cheek as was our custom and I thought no more of it. From that day on he never wore a dress again, not in my company at any rate – and even Pam and Sylvia started calling him my boyfriend. Pam asked me if we'd kissed – I was shocked she should think that, but then I started to wonder why he never had kissed me. Suddenly I wanted him to kiss me properly and I wondered why he hadn't. It no longer mattered to me that we were of the same sex. Any inhibitions I may have had about kissing another man simply evaporated, I was a woman now, wasn't I? Didn't he love me? I knew I loved him. The next time he saw me home I took the initiative and, taking his face between my hands I kissed him on the mouth – hard. It was wonderful.

Suddenly we were inseparable, outings at every opportunity, evenings cuddling on the settee, lots of kisses and lots of touching – especially in places where perhaps we shouldn't have, and although some of it was close to intimacy, we didn't go that extra yard.

He was a competent artist and sketched my portrait with coloured pencils; he got my hair right, Pam and Sylvia said it was an excellent likeness, but I believed then, and I still do that it was a very flattering picture. Everyone who saw it said it was me to a tee, but why did the silly bugger leave in my Adams apple?

You will see that, in the portrait, my eyes are closed as if in ecstasy and I asked him why. He said it was the look I had on my face the previous evening when we'd been alone together. I remembered the occasion well – we had spent it in his flat and it had been so exciting because we had just masturbated each other and he had succeeded in pushing his finger into my bum, something he admitted that he'd been trying to do for ages. I admit that I enjoyed it, well I did after a few seconds and this became something he did quite regularly thereafter. When he told me he wanted to push his dick up there I was apprehensive and a bit excited, he told me I'd love it but I wasn't sure. He started trying to convince me to give it a try and I wanted to please him so much that I was about to say yes when all hell broke loose.

When Beryl saw the portrait she flipped. She asked about the klook on my face and reminded me of something she had said a few years ago when we'd sat near the bandstand in the park near to where we lived. I remembered that she had told me then that there were physical differences too, differences that went far deeper than a change of clothing and a bit of make up. Then she added that boys simply were not supposed to make love to other boys – those who did were considered queer, (they didn't use the word Gay in those days).

She was furious that Pam and Sylvia had encouraged me, threatened to tell everyone that they were lesbians, (they didn't realise Beryl knew that) and had a flaming row with the pair of them. "It is one thing to let Donnie wear women's clothes, I've never liked him doing that on a regular basis, but when it comes to letting him have a boy friend and make love to each other, then enough is enough. Tell your brother he is no longer welcome here, Sylvia, and that he is not to see Donnie ever again. I MEAN IT," she stormed,

Beryl was like mother in one respect – when she gave an order she meant it, and since she controlled our income from mother's estate, we all had to respect her wishes. But then she did something I never forgave her for. She got some scissors and cut off almost all my lovely hair, finishing it off next day with the clippers to give me my first ever short back and sides. Then she went to my room and slashed every dress I owned, packed all my undies into a case and removed the lot. My make up was flushed down the toilet and my lovely fingernails were crudely hacked off. In the space of an hour there was nothing left of Donna – except a host of memories.

She rented me a flat, got me a new male wardrobe and forbade me to associate with Pam for at least six months. I don't know what she threatened Frank with – exposure of his homosexual tendencies to his firm perhaps – but he vanished from the scene and from my life for a very long time.

I got used to being a boy again – I didn't like it but I knew which side my bread was buttered and did my best to obey. After a few more weeks, Beryl produced her masterstroke, she found me a girlfriend. Euk! Marlene was my age and she was attractive, but she had been told of my love of dressing up and using make up and was as determined to stop me as my sister.

Strangely enough we got on very well together, well we did at first, though I can hardly believe we lived together for almost 26 years.. There was no love on either side, just an acceptance of a situation I couldn't control – I must have been very weak willed then, perhaps I still am. Thinking back, those 26 years were not far removed from my idea of hell. I called her the dragon – it made no difference, I couldn't get her to walk out on me, it seems she knew on which side her bread was buttered. She followed Beryl's orders to the letter, checking my drawers and cupboards for anything feminine and I have no doubt whatsoever that she would have shopped me for any breach of the rules.

  

  

  

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