Magic Dress - Sanjit's Sister

Magic Dress - Sanjit's Sister

CHAPTER 1

For an academic there is one big no-no. Sexual relations with a student. If you can give them marks, or affect the outcome of their degree, then it creates a conflict. So don't do it.

Which in principle is fine.

But for a young male lecturer with so many young women at the peak of sexual attractiveness and often dressing to show it, it can sometimes be very hard, if you know what I mean.

On the other hand, their relatives are fair game, should you get the chance.

It was in the graduation party where we meet the parents of our students (and sometimes the husbands or wives of masters or PhDs.)

One of my personal tutees, Sanjit, had done very well, and I had already offered him a place as a PhD student. His parents thanked me for my teaching and support, and said how proud they were of him. They were a modern Indian family. The father in a business suit, the mother with her hair covered but in expensive traditional dress, as they do for such occasions. His older sister was there, in a knee-length sleeveless green dress, and uncovered long dark hair, a totally modern young woman.

I was smitten. She was gorgeous!

In my frequent need to get rid of some sperms before dealing with a load of 19-year-old females, it was Sanjit's sister who was now in my mind instead of the Jamaican second-year student. That dress had shown off her lovely brown limbs, which I imagined twined about me as I plunged deep into her yoni!

There was no way I would get to meet her and do what I really wanted. But then the same could be said for any pinup, and at least I had met and talked to this one.

Sanjit proved to be as good a PhD student as I had expected. There was more time for general discussion and he told me about his life. His grandparents were a bit traditional, but his parents were fine. Both he and his sister were completely westernized.

He loved and admired his sister, and was happy to talk about her. On the board above his desk he had a picture of his parents and a picture of his sister (looking very sexy, I might add.)

Sanjit's first year was fine. He produced a good dissertation, with the possibility of a paper, and passed the MPhil transfer, so was through for a PhD. I was confident he would finish in on time.

In his second year at Christmas we wished each other well and parted for the holidays.

But he never came back.

CHAPTER 2

After a couple of weeks where he had not come to my office and not responded to emails, I went round to his flat, in a shared house. His housemates said they had not seen him, nor heard from him. They had not been aware of any problem.

I looked in the records and found his address where he had lived with his parents.

I telephoned, and it was answered by his mother. I asked to speak to Sanjit, and she said he wasn't there and put the phone down.

I rang several times to ask if he was all right and could I get a message to him, and they were very unhelpful. Finally, the father told me not to ring again or he would notify the police.

There were various things on his desk and filing cabinet, plus of course the experimental equipment.

I got in touch with the landlord of his flat who confirmed he was not lying dead inside, but would not tell me anything else other than it was now to let again.

I asked our Security Office if we could report him missing, but they said, no, only the family could do that.

Though the Head of Department was outwardly sympathetic, it didn't go down well at my annual appraisal, particularly as another student had had to drop out with an MPhil for perfectly good reasons, and I had been unsuccessful in getting a research grant for some time. The people who had funded the research had been awkward as well.

I was distracted and genuinely concerned about Sanjit. Had he been sent away to a forced marriage? Had he had a mental breakdown and been put in an institution? Had he actually been murdered and it was being covered up? What had happened that he did not at least tell me he was dropping out?

After a couple of years, my Head of Department was friendly in a way that suggested trouble.

"Look, Michael," he said, "research isn't for everyone. Maybe you've been a bit unlucky with grant applications, but with the REF coming up [Research Excellence Framework - how departments are scored and ultimately funded for research] I can't really ignore it."

I started to speak, but he put up his hand.

"The thing is, you're a good teacher and there's a position going which I think you would suit."

He named another university, a former polytechnic, not as prestigious as ours, where he knew the head of department. It was clear: move out or be thrown out.

So I moved to an unfamiliar city.

I could still do research, but the facilities were much poorer, and the staff concentrated on teaching, with students who had much lower entry qualifications.

To my pleasant surprise, the teaching was much better supported and appreciated. It was seen as a prime duty, not a chore that interfered with research which had been a common attitude at my previous place.

I wrote a couple of good papers in collaboration with two of my former PhD students now doing post-doctoral work elsewhere, and found a couple of promising students doing projects who had obviously underperformed at A levels.

I had almost forgotten about Sanjit when I saw his sister. It was the dress I saw first of all, and the long black hair, so I hurried to catch her.

"Excuse me," I said. She turned to look at me and her face changed rapidly. I wasn't sure what emotions she was showing. There was something not quite right.

"Aren't you Sanjit's sister?" I asked, a bit uncertainly. She was older, of course, not quite the image I had in my mind.

She didn't answer. Perhaps it wasn't her. She looked similar but not quite the same. Well, it had been a few years, and the makeup and situation were both different. Maybe it was just a similar dress, and my wishful imagination

No, it wasn't her.

"Dr Foster?" she said hesitantly. I had probably changed too. It was her, after all.

"What are you doing here?" she said in a shaky voice.

"I work at this university now," I answered.

"Could you tell me what happened to Sanjit? Is he OK? I was just so worried."

She began to cry.

Oh God! Something had happened. Something terrible.

She hurried away, and I started to follow, but thought better of it. I couldn't intrude.

Next day I got a phone call at work. Our extensions are all on the website.

"Dr Foster, it's me, Sanjit."

I heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank God you're all right! I've been so worried. Did your sister tell you?"

"Yes, and I need to explain. Could you come and see me?"

He gave me the address, and I agreed to visit after my last lecture.

It took a while to find the flat.

The door was opened by his sister.

"Hello again, is Sanjit in?"

"Dr Foster," she said, and I realised it wasn't his sister.

"I'm Navi now. Won't you come in?"

The story was pretty simple, but the emotions were not.

Sanjit wanted to be female; his family had disowned him, his community had ostracized him and he was too ashamed to tell me, so he ran away.

Only his sister had supported him (though secretly). She had given him clothes, money, advice and most importantly, love.

"I would have committed suicide if it wasn't for her," Navi told me.

"I'm really sorry. I know it must have made things awkward for you, but I just had to get away."

The NHS had provided psychological support and she had now been taking hormones for nearly two years.

"They've made me feel so much better. I can't tell you what a difference it's made. My body's changed a bit, as well. I've even got a bit of breast growth, and they're planning to do gender confirmation surgery eventually."

In view of what happened later, I want to say that my only feelings were relief and concern, as I learned about her life. She had had some pretty crappy jobs, and quite a lot of bad experiences trying to live as a woman.

She asked what I was doing now, and then felt guilty she had spoiled my career.

"I'm so sorry!" she sobbed.

"You were the best personal tutor, and you were more than a research supervisor, you were a friend. I hated myself for doing it to you. I just couldn't find the courage to tell you what I was feeling, then things blew up with my family and I ran away. I..."

And she just burst into tears and turned away.

Still crying, she went to a drawer and pulled out a large envelope.

"This is for you," she snivelled.

"Please leave now. I've got to get ready for work. I'll ring you soon!"

"Please!" she gasped, waving to the door, so I left.

Bemused, I went home, had a drink to steady my nerves, then opened the envelope.

I wasn't sure what I was going to find.

It was a paper. By which I mean a research publication. Hand-written, with some faults, but still a paper. A paper I would have been proud to have written, and which would have pleased my previous head of department. There was a real insight into the work he/she had started, with a mathematical model which solved the main puzzles of previous observations.

She was not aware of some more recent work, but I was sure if I looked at the data, they would fit as well.

At 9 p. m., I had to know so went back to work. Security let me in, and I went to my office, got the papers and made some graphs, which confirmed my belief.

It was 3 a. m. when Security wished me good night. My nine o'clock lecture was a struggle for me, and probably the students.

"Good night, last night?" one of them asked on the way out.

I smiled apologetically, and they laughed.

Actually, I think I got on better with the class after that, having shown I was like them (I suppose.)

As soon as I could, I typed the draft into the computer and saved it as version one. The mathematics took the longest. I then checked on the literature, and thought what referees might need, and which journal would take it, to make version two.

And waited for the phone call. Which didn't come.

Then there was phone call while I was out, but no message.

I cursed myself for not giving my home phone number. Mobile phones were about, but not yet common, so I didn't have one and I supposed nor did she. I looked in the phone book, but there was no-one with her surname anywhere near. Maybe she had changed it. Maybe she didn't have a phone. It was a pretty crappy flat, but cheap, of course.

I took to hanging around in my office more than I would usually.

Finally the call came through. I dropped the marking I was doing, and had the presence of mind to give my home number. As I suspected, she had had to ring from a call box.

"I've read your paper," I told her.

"It's very good, and I want to talk about getting it published. Can we talk about it over dinner?"

Eventually she agreed, and we fixed a time when we were both free.

She looked very nice, if a bit nervous, and I felt the same.

It was pleasant, but a bit odd. It wasn't a date, of course, but anyone seeing us would have thought so. I was having a dinner with a favourite former student, and discussing some academic matters. She was obviously pleased and a bit embarrassed with my praise of the paper, and promised to look through my revision carefully. It wasn't difficult to persuade her to have another session to discuss it. Afterwards I took her back to her flat and we both hesitated, before shaking hands and saying good night.

CHAPTER 3

A week later we met again, and she asked me for copies of the papers I had cited in version two. I kicked myself for not having thought of that. She learned more about my work and me, I learned next to nothing about her, as I realised afterwards.

After class a couple of days later, one of the students came up to me and said "I saw you with your girlfriend the other evening. She looks nice."

"She's not my girlfriend," I said, feeling the colour rise to my cheeks.

"She's just a former student. We're working on a paper together."

"Pity," he said, "she's not bad."

"You know, it's OK. You can shag former students all you want. It's only us you have to leave alone."

I mumbled something about the next class, and moved off, leaving him with a big grin.

The next week there was a surprise. The sister was there with her.

It was a bit of a shock. It had been - what? - six or seven years, maybe eight since I had seen her, and she was no longer the image I had in my head. She was a little plumper, still nice, but no longer dressed as the smart young Western girl. Instead, she looked what she was, an Indian mother of two, in moderate but traditional dress and makeup. She lived with her children, husband and the husband's mother, who spoke hardly any English, which she told me was good as the children are bilingual - fully British, but aware of their heritage. Her name was Manushi, which I had forgotten.

When I got home, I had to have an immediate wank, though I wasn't sure who it was directed at. Was it Sanjit's sister as she was in my mind? Or Navi's sister, still good looking, but not as devastatingly attractive as she had once been? Or Navi herself, who now looked closest to my fantasy?

Oh my God! Did I fancy a man?

It was the dress. The same green dress that the sister had worn at Sanjit's graduation. Western, but not immodest. No cleavage, but a nice shaped top and sleeveless. (I know that women have to cover their arms in some cultures.) Above the knee, but not very mini. Only a small bust with a slender figure.

For years I had only ever thought of Sanjit's sister in that dress. Now Navi was wearing it, it triggered the response. Navi had a similar face, and of course the lovely light brown colour of her legs, arms and face plus long black hair. It was what I recognised on the street, and now she had worn it for dinner.

To add to my confusion, there was what Manushi had told me, while Navi went to the toilet.

I had told them both to call me Mike, as the students did, but she began pleading, so I didn't correct her.

"Please, Dr Foster, be careful. Navi is so happy to have found you, and absolutely adores you. Don't get her hopes up too high with this paper and anything else. You have your own life and career. I hope she can find the right man eventually, but for now you're the only one in her life. You don't have to be more than a friend, but just be kind and try not to break her heart."

I said something along the lines of how I had always liked Sanjit personally, as well as being a good student, and now I liked Navi as I was getting to know her.

She smiled, and patted my arm. For a moment her face radiated so much kindness she was like a goddess.

I was a bit distracted at work next day. I made a fool of myself in a lecture, telling the students I was going to show them an easy mathematical derivation, but going blank in the middle of it, and having to sort through my notes, until someone actually suggested the next step.

I had two things going on in my head. The practical one of how to move forward with Navi to try to get her back into academic work, and preferably a better job, and the emotional side of how I felt about her.

I was excited to have my best student back again, but worried that she was perhaps expecting too much of me. In addition, my own feelings about her were very confused, and I tried to avoid thinking about some of them.

Somehow our head of department found out that something was going on with me and asked me to come and have a chat. She is a seriously smart cookie. The truth is (or was at that time) that women didn't get promoted as much as they should. There was no overt prejudice, but a female head of department was a rarity, particularly in my subject. Her name was Joyce.

"Mike, I just wondered what you were up to these days. I gather you've got a very promising paper. Why don't you tell me about it?"

I told her how my PhD student had vanished and turned up again. I didn't mention the sex change, just that there had been some family problems and she was estranged, but I'd really like to continue the project.

"If you can get the money," she added quickly.

My previous university had abandoned my research area and got someone in to strengthen another, and in any case Sanjit's time had run out for the PhD.

Joyce astutely pointed out that Navi was actually entitled to an MPhil (having passed that stage of the PhD), which would be a good starting point for applying for another. She promised to contact my last head of department to sort it out.

A few days later, she called me in again.

"I spoke to Greg, and the deal's on. Why didn't you tell me Navi used to be Sanjit? There'll have to be some official confirmation that they are the same person."

At the next dinner I passed on the good news as we were being shown to our table. She was so pleased she kissed me, then stood back, looking concerned.

"Sorry, I didn't mean..." she tailed off.

"It's all right," I said, and kissed her back.

The waiter was looking amused, and we both blushed. We were quite diffident during the meal, but when we got to her home, she invited me in. I think we were both wondering if something would happen, but nothing did. We talked a bit about the work and I had to say there was nothing promised as I would have to get the money, but I would be really glad to see her get the MPhil. The conversation petered out, and I said "I'd better be going."

As I left, she kissed me on the cheek and said "Thank you again."

I put my arm out to hug, but hesitated and she stepped back. I said "See you," and left.

Looking back, there were several things going through my mind.

Firstly, I was so glad to see my favourite student alive, and excited about the work she had done. It should help my academic career - was it selfish to think of this?

At the same time, I was attracted to this person, who was at the same time the Sanjit I had known and liked for a decade, and the Navi I had only just met. Was it just the novelty, or confusion with her sister?

But she wasn't a real woman, so how would that go? I couldn't imagine going to bed with a man.

Suppose she was in love with me, but I wouldn't make love to her? How cruel and possibly dangerous would that be?

And looming over all of this was the possibility of a PhD. Yes, I wanted the most promising student I had ever known, but if there was something between us, how would that affect the academic rule?

CHAPTER 4

Things happened quite quickly - all down to Joyce.

We were just in time to get a place in the next graduation ceremony for my old university, with two audience tickets for me and Manushi. We sent off the paper to a fairly prestigious journal (suggested by Joyce). All worthwhile journals have a sort of rating, which is used as an assessment of value when the dreaded REF exercise comes round every three years. Naturally those with the highest number are in demand, and it takes months to get a response.

Joyce also made a bid for money to improve the teaching labs, with me being in charge. If successful, this would pay half a technician salary, and she would put up departmental funds for the other half as a research technician for the year to give me time to try for PhD funding.

She had read Sanjit's MPhil thesis, and noted the practical elements, so thought Navi would be capable.

"We could use a female technician," she told me.

"The labs do need updating, and you're popular with the students, so don't think I'm doing you a favour. This is for the sake of the Department."

The day of the graduation, it was odd sitting in the audience like a parent instead of on the stage. Manushi took my hand when Navi got onto the stage, waiting for her turn to shake the Chancellor's hand. She was wearing her sister's green dress, of course, and looked radiant, as she walked across in high heels and academic gown.

I felt a surge of emotion, and my eyes were wet. Manushi squeezed my hand as Navi received her certificate. Afterwards there were photographs of Navi by herself, with me, with Manushi, and all three of us. Then to the department, where former colleagues wished me well, and those that remembered Sanjit congratulated Navi. She was having a hard time not crying.

While she was talking with a couple of researchers she had known as students, Greg, the head of department, took me aside.

"Well done, Mike. Looks like you're doing OK in your new place. Joyce had a word with me. A lot of your stuff was put into store, and she's persuaded me to pass it over for your teaching lab. I gather the funding's come through, so you'll have somewhere to put it."

I realised in the academic world it's not just what you know, but who you know.

Within a week there was a response from the journal. The referees liked the paper, but made some good suggestions for improvement. We returned it a few days later, and this version was published.

When I told Navi, she was so pleased she looked as if she was going to kiss me, but stopped herself. I made half a step as if to kiss her, then we stopped and smiled apologetically at each other.

I felt my cock stiffening, so said I had to go, and left quickly.

Meanwhile the funding for a technician had come through, she had had sailed through the interview and was due to start on the first of September.

CHAPTER 5

Joyce called me in for my annual appraisal. The students really liked my teaching. The lab had been finished and she praised what Navi and I had done with it. She was also pleased with how we had begun to get back into our research.

Finally she said, "This is not part of the appraisal, but I just want to ask, as a friend, about your relationship with Navi. Is there anything more than work?"

"Oh, no," I said quickly.

"Purely professional. Nothing else between us. I mean I like her, but there's nothing more."

I expected her to look relieved, but instead she frowned.

"You don't actually date, like the students think you do?"

I laughed.

"No. Obviously they like to think that, and it makes me seem more human."

"I see. Yes, they do like you being human. But can I ask - again not part of the appraisal, just a friend's enquiry - are you seeing anyone else?"

"Er no. I've been a bit too busy with getting myself established here, and of course working with Navi."

She didn't say anything for a while.

"You know she's having gender confirmation surgery during the summer vac?"

I was thunderstruck. Why had she not told me?

"No, she hasn't said anything."

She paused, I guess thinking, for a while.

"That's a shame. Do you know why she's doing it?"

"Well, I suppose it's to complete her transformation as a woman."

"In a sense, yes. But we've had a bit of a woman-to-woman chat. Can you guess what she told me?"

I was flummoxed, and shook my head.

"It's for you. Anyone can see she's in love with you, and you seem to find her attractive, but you don't show her any affection. She thinks if she does this, you'll finally want her. I'm rather doubtful, myself. If you don't want her now, I'm not sure you will. Or if you do, it'll just be sex, and she's been hoping for a lot more."

She stood up and motioned towards the door.

"Well, that's it. Do what you want, but just be careful of the damage you might do to a vulnerable young woman. Perhaps it would be kinder to tell her now before she goes ahead. It's a serious operation, you know."

Automatically I stood up, and took a step, then the emotion came out.

"But I can't! I mean I want her, but not if she starts a PhD! What would we do then?"

"Sit down," she said, motioning towards the chair, and I did.

"She's not a student, she's a fellow member of staff. If she starts a PhD, then all that is required is that I am aware, so there is no special treatment. Anyway, it happens all the time. Greg was my PhD supervisor - have you wondered why he's so cooperative with me?"

"I didn't, no," I stammered.

She sat down and looked at me hard.

"I don't want an answer - I'll only give you this to think about. Is Navi an attractive woman for you now? Could you come to love her without the operation? Because if you need her modified, it's not love. I suggest you either start again, or find some way to break it that her dream is hopeless."

"Now perhaps you should go. Have a drink if it helps."

She waved me away and I left. I did have a drink. It didn't help, but I had another, which didn't help either, but I had the presence of mind not to get drunk.

Next day I took the opportunity to get Navi alone, and made my first hesitant move.

"Navi, could we meet sometimes and not talk about work? A meal, or go to the cinema?"

She looked surprised, then smiled and looked so lovely just in her lab coat.

"I'd love to, er, Mike."

It was actually difficult. We eventually learned to accept that sometimes we would slip and mention ideas about the teaching lab or the research. We held hands sometimes.

But on the third time I asked if I could kiss her. By chance she was wearing the green dress.

And I knew what I was holding in my arms was a woman. A woman I liked and fancied. Liked a lot. Fancied a lot. Not Sanjit's sister.

Navi.

"Take me home," she said.

"Your home, not my flat."

When we got there, she put her hand on my crotch. I was already hard.

"Let me show you I love you," she said.

"I'll go to the toilet, first," I said, went off had a piss, and a quick wash.

"Don't get dressed," she said through the bathroom door, so I didn't.

She guided me to the bed and began what I can only describe as loving my cock. It was wonderful, but didn't take too long.

"I wish I could do this every day," she said.

I can't remember all the details of that evening, but eventually I persuaded her to undress as well.

She was reluctant, and I'd given up, when I thought of how the green dress had led to this moment and stroked it almost absentmindedly.

"Nice dress," I said.

Suddenly she took it off and then her underwear.

She had nice little Indian breasts, and lovely brown limbs.

And a little cock and balls, but I didn't mind.

I told her she was beautiful (and meant it) and kissed her nipples as we cuddled together in bed.

When I moved my hand to her genitals, she said "Please don't. They'll be gone soon enough."

I kissed her.

"Navi, I love you. You're a woman to me. You don't have to have the operation for my sake."

She kissed me back.

"Thank you. That means a lot to me. But unless you really don't want me to change, I'm going through with it. I hope you'll think the same of me afterwards."

"I don't like my genitals. But I do like yours. Shall we try again?"

That weekend we moved her things to my place.

I wanted to get married before the operation. Both to show her that I didn't need it, and because of the fear in the back of my mind that something could go wrong - she might even die! However, she insisted we should wait until the surgeon said she was ready, so that she could be a complete woman on her wedding night.

Despite the assurances of the surgeon, the operation seemed pretty terrible to me, but apparently went well. Just over three months later she became Mrs Foster. It was an English wedding in a hotel, with Navi in a white dress - important to her as a virgin woman. Manusha had persuaded their mum to attend, both in saris, and we see her every so often afterwards, but her dad still doesn't want to know. She had also brought a couple of Sanjit's schoolfriends, which was a pleasant surprise, but the other guests were all from the two universities. My first wife didn't come, but sent best wishes and asked for a photograph. She said Navi had nice legs.

Our honeymoon was in Florence: a week before and a week after a conference, where Navi presented a paper, looking good in the green dress. It does seem to fit occasions. Not only was I proud, I was thinking how much I fancied her, and proved it in the hotel bedroom not long after.

It was a learning experience for both of us. I think it was a little uncomfortable for her the first time, but she wrapped those lovely legs around me and said she was a woman at last! Soon she gloried in being penetrated, which turned me on even more. I fucked her harder, longer and more often than I had ever done with any woman before. She was hesitant at first, but allowed me to try cunnilingus on her, and eventually I got it right, giving her beautiful orgasms.

Three years later she was Dr Foster, and we had published several papers together and obtained two research grants.

I now regard my undergraduate students with paternal affection rather than lust, and think of Manusha as friend and an uncle to her children.

But with Navi I have everything.

Real love, real lust and publications! It's the perfect academic marriage.