I Was The Bride - Part 1

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I was about to marry my childhood sweetheart, Paula Rother. I loved her, and she loved me, but it hadn't been straightforward. After school, she went to Manchester University, while I went to work at a local accountant as a lowly paid-junior clerk. She said we were inseparable, but during the two years she was away, she met Graham.

I was heartbroken and knew I was beaten. He was incredibly bright, handsome, popular, and had wealthy parents. Apparently, everything he did was successful, and predictably, he left university with a 2.1 in law and a certain future.

On the other hand, I was unskilled, of a slight build, quite shy, and an orphan with an uncertain future. The only marked difference was that Graham was an arrogant, ruthless bastard, while I was not. Despite his charm and obvious assets, it hurts to think of Paula with him.

After university, they came back to our hometown and lived together with her parents, with the intention of marrying. Her mother was made up. Now her beautiful daughter had met a man worthy of her affection. I always knew she viewed me as unsuitable. Six months later, they had both secured good jobs in the city at the same prestigious law firm and announced they were to wed.

They organized a lavish engagement party, and he bought her a beautiful, sparkling diamond ring. I was incredibly jealous, yet I had a suspicion that Paula was not happy. On the surface, they seemed like an idyllic couple, loving and caring, but underneath, I could see cracks forming in the relationship. I knew her well and sensed all was not right.

I took my chance and homed in. She saw me secretly and told me about her mother's ambitious wedding plans, how she hated the idea of a church wedding, and that her mother intended to see her married in her old wedding dress, but I didn't care, as when we were together, it was as if we had never split.

She complained about Graham a lot. He apparently (surprise) was rude, arrogant, selfish, scruffy, and impolite. none of which I was, and she missed it, yet I couldn't seem to persuade her to change her mind.

I was still thrilled, and then one night, when Graham stayed in London on business, she slept with me in my tiny flat. It was like old times, and she was intensely happy. On the spur of the moment, I bent down on one knee and used an old Coke can ring pull as a ring.

I laid my heart on the line, confessed my true feelings, and told her and Graham of my fears. She was stunned into silence and remained speechless for what seemed like minutes. Eventually, she spoke, and what she said sent shivers down my spine.

'Yes,' she said.

I couldn't believe her at first, but she confessed to having doubts about Graham and how I was her first love. She told me of the pressure her mother put her under, and she felt railroaded into the relationship.

This was a fabulous development, but not everyone was pleased. When Paula broke the news to her mother, she was furious. I was back on the scene, and she was incredibly disappointed that I'd so-called ruined her daughters' lives. She tried to dissuade me, as expected and put Paula off.

She called me effeminate, a hopeless man, a born loser unable to father children, but I didn't care; Paula was going to be mine. Graham, as you can imagine, was equally pissed off. I even thought he might hit me, but after a few weeks of hurling abuse and a threatening letter, he moved out of Paula's and seemed to disappear off the scene, or so I thought.

It was a simple matter of simply changing his name to mine on the invites. Paula's mother was still furious, of course. And now I had a problem of the service and the dress. Paula's mom wanted her princess to have a fairytale wedding with all the trimmings, but as I knew, Paula didn't.

She wasn't the type; she was a tomboy and rarely wore a skirt, let alone a dress, and she just didn't appreciate the pomp and ceremony of a church wedding. The mere thought of wearing her mother's beautiful wedding dress filled her with horror. I couldn't see the fuss, and one day I walked into her room and saw her mother's famed dress hanging on a tailor's mannequin. To my surprise, I took a deep breath.

My legs were weak, and I felt giddy. It was breathtaking, but try as I might, I couldn't imagine Paula wearing it.

Alone I studied it closer. The dress was snow white, and the ornate bodice had little pearls, beads, and sequins sewn all over it. It had shoestring straps but looked as if it could be worn off the shoulder and had zips at the back.

It was amazing and must have cost a small fortune. In the corner of her room hung a hopped underskirt, a train, and an underskirt consisting of at least seven layers of tulle.

I imagined how they would really puff the dress right out for a true fairytale Cinderella-style gown, and I chuckled; it was so unlike Paula. I fingered the pretty dress fondly but knew with some disappointment that it would be unlikely to be worn again.

It really wasn't Paula's style. I'd never seen her in anything particularly feminine. I daydreamed for a moment and was rudely awoken by the bedroom door flying open.

Her mother, still angry with me, walked in and scowled. Paula was by her side, equally cross.

'We have to arrange a fitting. My friend Joyce will help.' Mrs. Rother cried, her voice at fever pitch.

'I'm not wearing your stupid dress,' Paula says sharply. 'I've told you before.'

I wince as Mrs. Rother looks fit to explode, so I try to help. 'It's lovely,' I say merrily. 'Paula, you'll look very pretty.'

Paula glared at me angrily.

'If you love her bloody dress so much, you wear it,' Paula screamed.

That was it. Those few words set her mother thinking, and in a desperate bid to stop the wedding, she suggested to Paula that we swap roles. Most normal brides would perish, but not Paula, who loved the idea. I'm not sure if it was a way of irritating her mother, but I couldn't believe my ears.

'You're kidding me,' I gasp. But she wasn't.

'Nonsense, it's a great idea. The dress will suit you so well. The bodice will accentuate your shapely figure, and the delicate sleeves will make you look so young and slender,' Mrs. Rother smirks, and I shuffle awkwardly.

'I can see you now,' she continues mockingly, 'with your long glossy hair tied back, your face beautifully made-up, a colorful floral bouquet in your tiny manicured hands, and your idyllic bridesmaids holding your pretty train as you step majestically down the aisle in heels.'

She sighed and patted her dress lovingly. 'This dress brings so many happy memories back of my wonderful day with your father, Paula. I'm so glad you suggested it. I would have preferred you to be wearing it, but alternatively, I couldn't think of a better person. You'll make me so happy.' She smiles and screws her eyes like a witch.

'I can't wear your dress,' I cry. 'I'd be a laughing stock.'

'That's a shame then,' Mrs. Rother says menacingly. 'I had my heart on my dress being worn again. If it's not Paula, it will have to be you; otherwise, the wedding is off. You won't get our blessing; Paula's father wouldn't give you away, and you can pay for it yourself.'

Put that way, I didn't have a great deal of choice. I wanted to marry Paula so much, but with no money to pay for the wedding myself and desperately wanting her mother's approval, I saw no other alternative. Paula was adamant she wasn't going to back down, and the more she thought about me wearing the exquisite wedding dress (and how it upset her mother), the more excited she became.

'Deal,' I said reluctantly, in the misguided belief that at the last minute, they'd both change their minds.

'Excellent,' Mrs. Rother grinned like a suitcase, unzipping on three sides. 'I have to say, despite your obvious inadequateness when the chips are down, you always do the right thing. It hasn't done you much good, of course, but I'm proud of you anyway. Now then strip and lead the way.'

'Not so fast,' I folded my arms in a manly gesture of steely resolution, but I had a nasty feeling that it just made me look as if I had an upset stomach.

'What guarantee have I got that you're serious and this isn't a twisted, bitter plot to ridicule me?'

Mrs. Rother laughs mockingly. 'Absolutely nothing, my dear,' she grins again. 'You'll just have to trust me.'

Paula touches me gently on the arm and nuzzles her mouth against my neck. 'Don't worry, my darling,' she whispers, 'if this wins her over it will be a small price to pay.'

As the two of them sized me and the dress up, I made some feeble excuse, saying it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress, and after howls of laughter, Mrs. Rother agreed. With some relief, I then hoped that she would forget the notion.

I was very wrong, and as preparations got underway, they both got increasingly enthusiastic about me as the new bride. Invitations were hastily changed again, guests were informed, the vicar was notified, and I was literally frog-marched to the hire shop to return my groom's suit.

I had a forlorn hope that the vicar would come to my rescue and refuse, but to my surprise, he was in fact a she and of the young modern breed. She saw no problem with the role switch as long as we loved each other. In fact, according to the gleeful Mrs. Rother, the vicar seemed positively delighted with the idea. 'More couples should try it,' she said,'men in skirts—that would bring them down to size, reduce their overinflated egos, and give the relationship some hope of survival.'

Needless to say, I didn't share her enthusiasm.

The inevitable day came when her mother invited me begrudgingly to her house for a fitting. Paula was at work, and I got the day off. It was surreal being stripped by her mother, my future mother-in-law, and being dressed as her bride-to-be daughter.

'Come on, don't just sit there. Move!'

My legs were wobbly and defective. It took me three goes to get out of the sofa, and Mrs. Rother and her friend Joyce were laughing at me.

'Please, Mrs. Rother,' I pleaded. 'I'll be a laughing stock' but my cries went unnoticed as, without the support of Paula, Mrs. Rother showed her true feelings and didn't hold back.

'Don't be so pathetic; many men would be overjoyed to be dressing as brides.'

'But I'm not many men,' I cry.

'Maybe not now, but you will.' The two of them then grin like hyenas, and I feel like a ten-year-old girl.

Joyce, an old school friend, could remember coming to Mrs. Rother's wedding, so seeing the dress again was a delight, yet when Mrs. Rother explained who was to be the bride, she roared with laughter, and Mrs. Rother looked at me with a cocktail of anger and contempt.

'You, my lady,' she said, 'are going to the church as the beautiful feminine bride, whether you like it or not, or this weddings off.'

Mrs. Rother went to town with no half-measures. To start, she majestically selected a tiny pair of lace pants, a matching bra, silk stockings, and pretty suspenders.

'Is this necessary?' I said it mildly, without looking up from the pile of expensive-looking lingerie. 'All that you require is that I wear the wedding dress for a few hours, not become a complete woman.'

'Wrong, smartarse,' Mrs. Rother snapped back. 'Got to wear the complete pretty outfit, or you won't do the dress justice, see? All right,' she went on. 'If you are to wear my bridal gown, I don't want you looking like some cheap drag queen. You're going to look 100% convincing. I don't want the guests to recognize you, and that means wearing these lace pants, stockings, bra, and corset. It's not just about a look. Don't you know anything? I want you to embrace the whole fairytale experience and become part of the dress as if it were perfectly natural.'

'Corset,' I groaned.

'Yes, boned corset,' Mrs. Rother confirmed. 'I didn't say it wasn't going to be plain sailing, did I?'

'But... But'I whimper.

'Don't be so pathetic; what's the problem? Are you getting second thoughts?'

'No,' I sniff.'

'Well then, don't just stand there like a prune. Get these lace pants on.'

The pants were easy. They slipped on like cool silk, and despite their small size, they concealed my shriveled cock beautifully and gave me an unmistakable feminine-looking crutch.

The corset, on the other hand, knocked the breath from me, pulled my waist in, and after she had stuffed my bra cups with what she referred to as chicken fillets, I had an enviable figure. Mrs. Rother then gave me a look of sheer cold hatred I'd never seen before; it glowed through her eyes like candlelight through a Halloween pumpkin.

I shivered as I stood before them dressed in romantic lingerie and felt like a complete fool. I guessed this was her intention, yet strangely, I felt more determined than ever to carry it off, just to prove to my evil mother-in-law that I'd do anything to marry her daughter.

'How do I look?' I said in a high-pitched, girlish voice as I rubbed my nylon-covered legs together, pouted, and pranced about the room, swinging my hips. The two women gasped with my sudden role acceptance and clapped excitedly like little children, and to top it all, Mrs. Rother began to sing, 'Here comes the bride.' Then, to my surprise, she pulled a digital camera out of nowhere and snapped away like a professional photographer immortalizing a catwalk model.

I tried to hide, but there was no escape, and she made me pose, standing and bending in the most coy and sexy way, showing the lace on my pants and bra and how the stockings accentuated my long, slender legs.

I was soon exhausted with all the prancing about, and as I calmed down, Joyce dropped a sumptuous silk slip over my head. As it cascaded down my shoulders as if in slow motion, my cock began to twitch excitedly. Joyce, oblivious to my arousal, then held the dress out invitingly, and as I stepped into its many folds of silk and lace, I came over dizzy with excitement.

'Very good,' Mrs. Rother said, her voice full of savage delight. 'You're looking beautiful already.' I grinned as they hauled it up over my shoulders like a curtain and buttoned me in securely behind me. It was heavy and fitted incredibly well. The skirts were full and hung from my hips in massive silken folds.

The bodice nipped me in at the waist, and the lacy bust cupped my large breasts like a well-fitting glove. The sleeves were perfect.

'What's it to be straps or off the shoulder?' she asked.

I had no idea. 'Straps,' I say, then a moment later, 'off the shoulder,'

Joyce laughed. 'You change your mind more often than a tart changes her knickers.'

As required, they adjusted the dress so it hung off the shoulder, and to my surprise, it showed off my tan and made my shoulders look slim and feminine. In fact, my skin changed, or so I thought. It felt soft, supple, and incredibly sensitive. I felt all the new materials were new for the first time, and I became very aroused.

I wanted more and was delighted when they made me step into a hoped-for underskirt that they pulled up under my skirts. I hoped they couldn't see my mounting excitement, but on recollection, I doubt nothing passed the eagle eyes of Mrs. Rother.

The transformation was spectacular; my waist transformed into an hourglass as the skirts filled and hung outward like a huge bell that swung demurely with every step.

The two women even gasped, and Mrs. Rother studied me carefully, practically quivering with excitement, like a dog about to be walked. 'So this is the bride? Mrs. Rother said, 'Isn't he gorgeous? He's far better looking than I expected. He's so sexy and feminine, no one will ever know.'

Joyce nods excitedly. 'He reminds me of you on your wedding day,' she says fondly to Mrs. Rother, brushing down my skirts, and for the first time I see her smile sensitively. I feel strangely captivated, twirling gently in a trance, and the dress swings uncontrollably from side to side, but after a few attempts, I've grasped the general idea, and I'm soon shaking my hips like a fairytale princess.

I feel magical, I'm not repulsed at all, and I savor every sensation and begin to realize, in a warped way, how lucky I was to get the opportunity to experience the bride's role.

They both saw the change in my sparkling eyes and laughed as I bent to the loud rustle of the tulle skirts and slipped on the white court shoes. My stocking-covered feet slipped into them like oiled silk, and they accentuated my shapely ankles in a way I could never imagine.

'Oh! I knew he would,' Mrs. Rother chuckles with pride'.'He loves my dress; just atch,  he won't want to take it off.'

I frown somewhat, alarmed at my appearance. 'You have no idea what it's like,' I say, 'wearing a dress of such feminine importance when I feel like an impostor.'

They nodded knowingly, and I felt trapped, as if sinking in quicksand.

I'm sure they expected me to stamp my feet in frustration and stick my tongue out childlike, but instead, I stood on the low stool so they could admire my transformation and adjust the hem. As I perched on the stool like a proud peacock, I felt every bit like a young woman. As they fussed around me, taking in bits here with pins and marking bits there, I felt like the bride on a wedding cake, and a warm, pleasant glow flowed through my body. I closed my eyes, and a warm, dreamy wash cascaded through me. I was the bride, all dressed in white, and I was looking forward to my big day.