Perchance to Dream part 3 :: BigCloset Classic :: BigCloset TG Stories <br /> June 2001 to November 2004

Sometimes you have to deal with a nightmare to make room for a dream

Perchance to Dream
-3-

by D.D. Weldons

I woke up the next morning and didn't remember dreaming. Fudge bunnies. I'd had some real inspirations for what I wanted to try this time, too. And now my first day off was over and today would be church. For some reason, I had popped into conciousness a bit before 7AM. Oh well, I had time to make sure all my clothes were clean before church so I gathered up all my new clothes, even the ones I hadn't worn yet, as well as some black undies and black socks. I set the water for cold, small load, added the detergent and patted down all the pockets as I added in the clothes to be washed. Once I had all that started, I wandered into the bathroom and started the hot and begin stripping. Clean clothes, clean me.

I took a long leisurely shower and enjoyed the total blarg out of not having to shave _anything_ _anywhere_! I got out smelling nicely, my hair conditioned and softer than silk. I toweled my body and slipped into a bathrobe. I hung up that towel to dry and got a fresh one to dry my hair. I toweled it dry and then lowered my head and dryed my hair upside down to give it as much lift and body as I could, considering it wa waist length and straight. I flipped it back over and played with it briefly. I couldn't decide if I wanted it to fall neatly down my back and put up with it blowing in my face while I was outside or if I wanted to do some kind of upswept 'do for a more formal look. I finally twisted it gently into a single rope of hair doubled it up and pinned it in place with the ends fanning out over the roll I'd just made. It actually looked very nice. Who'd a thunk it?

Now to deal with the aspersions from the spousal abuser. I wondered back to the laundry room and thankfully the spousal abuser was still asleep so I was reprieved for another while. The washer finished spinning as I walked in and I tossed the wet laundry into the dryer with a couple of dryer sheets, cleaned the lint trap, and set the autodry for just a bit more time than normal to make sure my jeans got nice and dry.

I was guessing the laundry would take about 30 minutes or so to dry so next stop was the kitchen. I set the oven to preheat and then ground some coffee. I washed out the carafe and the coffee basket, put in a grounds filter, added the water and started a large pot to making then got out a can of biscuits. I got the biscuits on the cookie before the oven was preheated and got out the skillet to make sausage and eggs. I'd just sprayed in the non-stick skillet when the oven light snapped off, showing it was pre-heated. I put the skillet down and slid in the biscuits, starting my 15 minute timer as I did. I put some reduced fat sausage in the skillet and browned it well and set it aside over the burner that had the oven vent in it and then scrambled several eggs with shredded cheddar.

As the eggs congealed, I poured myself a cup of coffee, adding a very large splash of Hershey's syrup for... umm.. well, it had to be holiday somewhere for something, and stirred it in well. I sipped the coffee and tried to cook the eggs as slowly as I could so that the biscuits wouldn't be too far behind. They still lacked about 6 minutes so I streeeeetche the time as best I could. I got out some plates while waited. Five minutes. I checked the silverware for spots. Three minutes, thirty seconds. I gave up and scooped eggs onto two of the plates. I added some sausage patties to all three plates. I decided to put soem extra flavor in my eggs so I added yellow mustard and chili powderand mixed it well.

Finally!! The biscuits were golden brown so I divided them between the 3 plates. I put the plate with no eggs on the table for Don and poured another cup of coffee. I stacked both the other plates on my left arm and picked up the two coffee cups in my right hand, doing a nifty immitation of a waitress. I summoned up all the grace I could muster and walked into the bedroom to wake up the spousal abuser. I was hoping the fresh hot breakfast and coffee would wake her in a civil fashion. In fact, the aroma had her eyes open before I said anything. She sat up in bed and realized why I was there and started getting out of bed. She noticed my hair but I handed her the coffee I'd poured and fixed for her and she scowled but sipped quietly as I lead her back into the living room. I sat my cup down by my chair and handed her her plate and silver, made sure Don knew his plate was on the table and then sat down myself.

It wasn't wonderful eating while being glared with the strength of a weapons grade laser, but I had managed to get my eggs just as I liked them so I tuned her out and focused on eating. I checked my various email accounts as I ate and also looked to see if BigCloset had any new stories. I noticed that two more were posted overnight and one of them looked pretty good. I minimized BigCloset and cleaned the spam from my accounts. I answered a couple of MSN group messages and turned up my internet radio station while I read the new stories. One of them I just gave up and closed because it was too much into pain and humiliation. I dealt enough with that in real life I didn't want to read about it. The other one was a good read and I finished it quickly.

I locked my screen for privacy and gathered up my dishes and grabbed the spousal abusers on the way by and took them all in the kitchen while she muttered an entire dictionary of invectives about my manhood, my emotional state, my sanity, my parentage and ancestory, and other things I bother sticking around to hear. I put the dishes in the sink as Don was also bringing in his. He'd heard the edges of the muttering and gave me a sympathetic look. I left him to do the dishes and went to check my laundry. The spousal abuser threw a shoe at my head as I went by but I ducked to let it sail by and caught it as it bounced off the wall. I frowned but put the shoe under the edge of our bed and went on to the laundry room. I checked and all the clothes were nicely dry so I went back to the bedroom to dress.

When I put on the undies I realized that I should have bought more while I was buying jeans. I checked my watch and realized I had more than enough time to run to Wal-mart before church, and even Sunday School (but I don't do Sunday School - an old thing from my childhood) so I made do as best I could with what I had and gathered up some money, ID, and my mobile phone. I actually got a parking place near the front of the store because it was still so early. I sailed in and was going to get my normal size 8 undies when I realized I'd be duplicating my current wardrobe and realized I had no real idea what I wore anymore. Oh my. I found one of the women working near the fitting room and explained that I'd lost 96 lbs and that I needed new undergarments and had no idea what size I wore anymore.

I guess my hair and my smooth hairless face combined with the fact that I'd come from the womens lingerie section completely fooled her. She asked what size jeans I was wearing and gave me a considering eye and then decided I'd be a size 5. She helped me select some little thongs and some dip front bikins for when I didn't have to worry about panty lines or just wanted more comfort. They were stretch knit cotton so I wasn't worried too much. If they were close, I'd proably be happy enough and I could get nicer later. I was about to walk off to pay when she said "I notice that you're not wearing a bra, and even though you're small breasted, you might enjoy your new slim shape with more support."

I froze. My eyes blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Then I remembered to breathe. "Umm.. sure... but again, I have no idea what size." She asked me if I wanted plain or pretty and if I had a color preference as she found a tape measure and pulled me behind a couple of large racks. I told her that I wanted something not white, but close to white and something that would encourage cleavage somehow someway. She produced an ivory full cup bra with formed cups and handed it to me grinning. Wow. It was heavy. "It's a gel bra. It's heavy, but it really makes cleavage and it does it more comfortably than you might think."

This nice lady was helping me find a bra. It was her suggestion. I'd always wanted to wear a bra as long as I could remember. Now I looked like a woman. Evidently I also was presentable as one, even though I had to really work to keep my voice acceptable. And now I was going to go to a ladies dressing room and try on a bra. A gel bra designed to maximize my cleavage. MY cleavage. I could almost hear birds singing. As it turned out, the bra fit perfectly. I was a 36A. Not huge, but it was a start. And with the "push up" effect of the gel pockets, I looked like a large B or a small C cup. I briefly wondered how many shoes I'd have to dodge.

Shoes. I was wearing trainers. Mens trainers. They'd always been too wide but they were so comfortably padded that I'd worn them anyway. I was wearing all black. I decided I need some basic black flats. I went back to the back of the store and picked through the selection. I was still a womens size 11 or 12, depending on style and cut. I'd have to fix that in the next lucid dream. I finally found something fairly plain and flat in a charcoal. They were size 11, but they fit well enough so I added them to my growing pile of purchases. I decided to go ahead and just wear the womens trouser socks that I'd worn in, rather than messing with some kind of hose. Again, being early was a blessing and I was able to pay for my selections without having to wait in line. I took my sacked purchases and drove home.

When I got home, the spousal abuser was in the shower. I set my purchases down on my side of the bed, out of casual sight. I went back into the living room and pulled up winamp and yahoo messenger and MSN messenger and AIM and checked on a few friends. I had a sudden inspiration and wrote a new poem and that inspired a new set of lyrics. I looked over them critically and then showed the poem to my friend, one of my adopted net sisters for whom I'd written it. She loved it and so I named it for her and dedicated it to her:

Sarah's Song
Dedicated my sister Sarah. I love you.

Sadness has its place
To climb way up
You gotta start low
Then go go go

Happiness is good
But, just sometimes
You need to be sad
To know good from bad

I've had much pain
I've been beated down
I've had regrets
But I'm not dead yet

I can't forget hope
I have to keep going
Every day is new
A chance for me and you

I could pick pain
I could pick loss
But that's no deal
I choose to heal

I then showed her, and a few more friends, the lyrics I'd written. I sighed because I could write lyrics like falling off a log but I was pretty helpless to write melodies for them. I posted the lyrics to my friends in hopes that I would inspire a melody in someone's head, even maybe mine!

I'm told I'm nice,
I'm told I'm smart
I'm told I'm sweet,
and have a good heart

I just want to live
and not be a pain
I gave up on love
I won't try again

Sometimes I feel lost
Sometimes everything hurts
Sometimes I can't think
Sometimes my heart sinks

I try to be nice,
I wanna be cool
I can be a drama queen
I can be kinda mean

Scared doesn't mean dead
and helpless doesn't mean hopeless
Being unsure in my head
Doesn't mean I have to give up

I try not to take,
or hold out my hand,
I try to hold on,
and give all I can

I work till I drop
I work till I'm blind
It doesn't really matter,
It still hits my behind

But I won't give up
That's not my plan
I'll just keep on going
The best way I can

I'm not the best there is
But that's not the deal
I'll keep on going
Till I'm all healed

Scared doesn't mean dead
and helpless doesn't mean hopeless
Being unsure in my head
Doesn't mean I have to give up

Maybe someday I'd hear my song on the radio. Stranger things have happened!

By the time I had them posted to my web site and cleaned and properly linked the spousal abuser was bathed, dressed, and made up. She dropped into her chair across the room from me. Now understand, I was in a plain black polo, plain black jeans, and my mens trainers. The only overtly feminine thing I was displaying was my hair. The rest was all in my sack hiding by the bed. This didn't keep her from berating me about what an embarrasment I was to her. I very pointedly took my eyes off my monitor, looked her full in the face, and then I took off my headphones and stood up.

"Let's see what you think in a few minutes." I went to the bed room and changed into a slinky black thong, my new bra, and my new flats. I pulled a whispy tendril of hair down on either side of my face and let it trail down over my newly enhanced bust and blew a kiss at myself in the mirror and walked back into the living room and sat back down in my recliner. And I immedicately dived back out of it into a shoulder roll and bounced back up to my feet to stare at my spousal abuser where she'd tried to pounce on me. "That impressed, huh?" She screamed like a feral animal and jumped at me again. I hopped backwards, then took off for the back door. She'd landed on all fours so I had plenty of time.

She broke into sobs as I reached for the door knob. I made the mistake of pausing. "You hate me! You can't go out in public like that if you love me!" Where the blarg does she come up with this? I made the mistake of responding to her. "Umm, yanno, I woke up like this after spending the night in bed with you. You need to wake up and smell the toxic waste. What I'm wearing I'm wearing because it's appropriate for the body I have, now. If you loved me, you'd stop the violence. In fact, if you loved me, you'd have never _started_ the violence years and years ago." Ewps. Wrong thing to say. She growled horribly and got up to run at me. "Go ahead. Hit me again. Give me an excuse to press charges on you. I'm 20 pounds lighter than you are, now. I might could even get aggravate assault charges on you out of it."

She didn't hear much of what I said because of her growling. But me facing her down without moving put her off. "What??!!??" I repeated myself. She kicked at me but I just turned and she missed me. Then something happened that had never happened before. Don came out of his room. "Mom. You can't hit Dad anymore. It's not right." He'd never defended me a single time in all his 12 years. Her mouth fell open. "You just don't know what's going on. Look at this freak and how...." "MOM!!! It doesnt' matter! It's not right to hit. He's not hitting you. You can't hit him."

At this point, her manical fury focused on her new obstacle and she drew back to slap him. When she tried, she found her wrist captured, twisted behind her back, and her feet kicked from under her. "Touch him and I can defend him and no court anywhere will do anything about it. You've gotten away with it with me for 15 years but you're not touching him." She struggled but I had her in a compliance hold she wasn't going to break with just struggling. "Don, did you see her kick at me?" He turned his big green eyes up at me. "Yes, dad." I hated to do this but I could see that the cycle had to be broken. I couldn't wait on the dreams. "Don, if I call the police, will you tell them she was trying to hit and kick me?" My heart was breaking because I knew his heart was breaking, too. But we both knew the spousal abuser had reached a dangerous stage. "Yes, dod, but do I have to?"

The spousal abuser couldn't stand it any longer. She couldn't break my hold on her, but she screamed like a mad woman. "Noooooooooo! You can't DO that! He's my son, not yours!! You're a god damned FREEEAK and you're going to HELL!! Don!! You have to tell the police that he was beating me and holding me down! You can't let him do this, I'll go to jail!" To my complete amazement, her ordering him to lie gave him strength to face her. "No mom. I told you, this is wrong. I know you've been hitting and kicking dad a long time. Now you're trying to hit me, too. You always told me if anyone tried to do that to me, to tell you or dad or someone who could help me. That's what I'm going to do."

My heart swelled with pride. I wanted to hug and kiss him for 3 or days. I directed him to get the phone and dial 911. It looked like a 2nd graders' sunday school class wouldn't have the normal teacher this morning.

Note: TG transformation fantasy rated-M
Read Chapter 1.2.3.4.