Monday, November 24, 1997

Fiction: Secretary's Diary

OK, let's face it: that's not a very compelling story.  It's just not quite as interesting when I haven't been. . . converted yet.  The conversion is the best part.  There's little that's psychologically interesting about having already experienced it all, and just chronicling how I'm doing it again.  It's just that it gets so boring to tell the same old story over and over again.  I can pretty well reduce it to this: I am forced, duped, or otherwise compelled to wear women's underwear; I discover that I like it; I continue to wear it and get a sexual kick out of it, and long to become a girl.  The story ends when I decide at last that I want to be a girl.  The fun is all in the discovery and the forsaking of manhood.  So really the best thing I can do is come up with new fantasies telling that same story again and again.
              By the way, I had Anca petting on top of me, and I was feeling like our roles were inverted.  I felt like I was the girl, getting fucked by the strong body on top of me.  She was having her period, so we couldn't fuck; but I was in the right mental state to feel like a girl. 
              Anyway, another tedious fantasy:

Life is tough these days after graduating.  It's so hard to find a decent job.  So I ended up as an office temp.
              My boss was female.  She was a very aggressive woman.  She loved authority.  But she was also quite an attractive woman.

OK, let's try this again, as a diary:

My interview at the Butterfly Corp. went quite well.  Must say that the woman who interviewed me, who will be my boss if I get the job (knock wood) was quite a sexy woman.  She wasn't necessarily beautiful, but something about her was sexy.  The way she carries herself, the way she moves, I don't know what.  But I look forward to seeing her every day.  Imagine having her to look at every day!  Yow!

So I started my new job at the butterfly corp today.  The boss, Ms. A., is quite the knockout, alright.  My job sucks.  I have to be her gopher, in effect.  I do all the dirty grunge work around the office, but mostly menial tasks for her.  I get her coffee and take her clothes to the cleaners.  I type up letters for her.  I'm almost her secretary.  I wouldn't bother with this job if the money weren't so good, and if the boss wasn't so attractive.

Still adjusting to new job.  Boss gives me lots of funny looks, I think.  I always wonder when things like this start if they're all in my imagination, or what.  But I can't help ogling her as she moves around the office.  She always wears skirts, to show off her wonderfully lithe legs.  I don't think I could ever love her or anything, but damn it, she's sexy.  I just can't get over it.  I might even say that I think I'm developing a crush for her.  Yikes!  What kind of weird position does that put me in?  I do look forward to coming in to work every day, though, and what can I say?  It's good for a start, I suppose.  Who knows?  There might be some room for advancement in there.

The following Wednesday
Argh!  I don't know what to do anymore!  The boss propositioned me.  She asked me if I would like to meet her after work for some dinner.  I didn't know what to reply.  First of all, I have a horrible crush on her, which makes working for her almost intolerable.  Second, I don't know whether I should feel threatened if I don't do it.  She'll probably fire me.  What will I do then?  I desperately need the income.  But hell, she's attractive enough, and I do have a thing for her, so what do I care if I whore myself to her?  Who knows, I might get a raise or a promotion. . . The trouble is, how do I explain all this to L [my girlfriend]?  She sure as hell doesn't have to know.

Dinner was tasty.  So was Ms. A.  She brought me home with her tonight for a nightcap.  I couldn't refuse her advances.  Even if my morals or my code of ethics had tried to stop me, I don't think I could have resisted her.  She has me in the palm of her hand, and she knows it.  She barked out commands in bed, which I gladly followed.  It wasn't about me, it was all about pleasing her.  We both want nothing more than to please her.  She sure has a nice body for a woman her age.  Christ, she must be only 30.  Anyway, she kicked me out when she was done with me.  I wonder how I'll face her tomorrow.  And she warned me not to tell anyone about it, or else I'd lose my job.  She'd fire me for sexually harassing her by spreading rumours about things that went on between us.  And who would believe me over her, anyway?  Well, that's fine with me.  Who would I tell, anyway?  It would be pretty embarrassing, I think.

Ms. A brought me into her office for a closed-door meeting today.  She had me fuck her right there against a wall.  It was a real quickie.  Then she told me to get out and the day went on as if nothing had happened.  I'm never leaving this job.

I thought about Ms. A all weekend.  She obviously hasn't.  She tells me now when we small talk before I bring her her coffee about what she does on the weekend.  She went out with some other man, she tells me.  Had a great time.  A wonderful man, possible husband, she says.  Is she saying that just to needle me?  She knows that I wouldn't dare mention what went on between us.  That would be taboo.  So I worked all jealous and pissed off all day long.  She must be playing mind games with me.

Ms. A didn't call me into her office today again.  I'm wondering if I'll ever have that privilege again.  Life sucks.

Finally, after a whole week without tasting of my boss's flesh, she called me into her office again.  "Rob," she told me, "You're doing such a wonderful job around here, but I'm feeling the pressure from upstairs.  I'm afraid that I'll have to reconsider your position with this company if I want to keep you."  I was scared stiff.  Was she letting me go?  "The department doesn't have it in its budget to keep a gopher around for me.  But there is a possibility of me getting a secretary."  "Secretary?!?" I ejaculated.  I don't want to be a secretary.  No way.  I'm a writer, not a damned typist.  "Yes, a secretary.  Now, since you're so good," she said, getting up from behind the desk, and sitting on the corner right in front of me, showing me plenty of leg, and fondling my shoulder, "I don't want to let you go.  You'd be doing pretty well the same work, but it would be more formal." 
              I can't repeat exactly what she said.  But she expects me, in short, to be her secretary, but not in the modern, gender-inclusive sense: she wants me to fill the role of a female secretary.  All the other execs have one, she whined, and she wants one, too.  But it wouldn't look right if her secretary were male.  For one thing, people would think she was doing it for sexist reasons.  For another, they wouldn't appreciate putting someone of my talents in such a tedious position.  I asked her what she meant by having me become her female secretary.  She told me that she would fill me in later as she gathered more information on the subject.  So she left me out in the cold on that one.  But then she made me give her head after, and then I resumed my workday.  I expect a more detailed answer by the end of the week.

This is getting pretty weird.  I don't know who I am anymore.  I did things today that I don't think I'll ever admit to doing to anyone.  I can't believe what that woman made me do! 
              I don't know quite how to say this.  Suffice it to say that I did something very perverse, and very nasty.  Something that no man would ever admit to.  But what's a diary for?  I have to intellectualize this, I have to look back and figure out what the Hell I was thinking.
              Today, Ms. A surprised me in her office.  She had given me some lingerie outfit to take to the cleaners.  Or so I assumed.  She had me close the door when she called me in to get her laundry.  But that's when she started kissing me passionately, trying to seduce me.  Of course, it worked quite well.  This time, however, she had me take my pants off entirely.  I was wearing nothing below the waste.  We sometimes do this to enjoy some exotic positions on her desk.  But she took away my boxers, and handed me her lingerie.  "I'm afraid," she said "that you're going to have to change a couple of things in your lifestyle."  She commanded me to put on her panties.  I stood there dumb with her underwear in my hand, incredulous.  "Put them on," she growled, "or get out of my office and go home."  Intimidated by her threat, I stepped into her panties.  Yes, I wore her underwear.  But that's not even the worst part.
              We hadn't had sex yet.  She was still horny.  I had been, but I felt a little silly and very embarrassed to be wearing her underwear.  Nonetheless, she threw me on her desk and rubbed her crotch on mine.  "Get used to it," she said, "or else you're fired."  This time she made me come, and she made me clean it up myself.  She made me lick up my semen. 
              I came out of that office frightened out of my wits.  Underneath my dress pants I wore frilly panties.  I had no choice but to wear them all day long.  But it's worse.  Much worse.
              I think that that was by far the most intense sexual experience I've ever had. 
              She made me take home another lingerie outfit in a cleaner's bag.  She told me that I'd better be wearing it tomorrow, or else she would fire me. 
              This would normally be the place to ask: what should I do?  But I think my choice is pretty clear.  I don't even have trouble making it.  I'm going to wear that lingerie under my clothes tomorrow.  I need the job, for one thing.  For another, who has to know except for her and me?  And besides, it's really not so bad to wear.  I barely notice it.

What an embarrassing mistake!
              I had it all planned: I would keep the lingerie hidden in the trunk of my car so that L wouldn't see it.  Of course, it would be disastrous if she ever found another woman's underwear on my person.  So I would drive to work, and change into the lingerie in the washroom.  Simple.
              So that's what I did.  My heart pounded all the way.  I could barely eat this morning.  But I got to the washroom safe and sound, with the lingerie concealed in my tote bag.  I didn't realize how difficult it would be.
              I forgot how busy that washroom can be.  And, like every other washroom, there's a good foot-high opening between the floor and the bottom of the door.  How was I going to manage this without being seen?  I took my pants down, as if I were taking a shit.  I put the panties where my boxers were.  I quickly lifted my leg and put it back in, deftly removing my loafers as I did so.  I don't think anyone noticed me doing it.  It could have been quite noticeable: I had to put on these silky burgundy panties, very frilly and high-cut, and make sure that no one would see my legs.  But that was the easy part.  That and the bra.
              There were also some stockings in the package.  I hadn't anticipated that.  But somehow I managed.  It was very hard: I had to take off my sock somehow, and put it back on, without anyone noticing.  Then I had to do it again.  I must have spent 10 minutes in there trying to figure out what to do with the garter belt.  Fortunately, I gave myself plenty of time.  So off I went to the office with sexy women's lingerie under my clothes.  I was mindful to take a dark solid coloured shirt to make sure that the bra wouldn't be noticeable underneath.  Still, I feared that the strap would show under the material.
              With all this rigamarole, however, she didn't even call me into her office.  I prayed all day that my ordeal would have some kind of benefit, but she never asked to see me.  Only at the very end of the day did she come to my desk and tell me, "don't worry, I didn't forget what I told you yesterday.  Consider yourself lucky that I didn't have time to check.  You'd better wear it tomorrow, though, or else, you know the consequences.
              So, just like that, I was duped.  She made me wear her lingerie all day, and she didn't even bother to make sure.  So now I have to worry: will she check tomorrow?  And if so, I'd better be wearing it.  I cannot risk that she calls me into the office, and I'm not wearing it.

Finally, she checked me out today.  She was quite pleased.  She was glad to see that I had heeded her warning.  It was a test.  She had been playing with me all along.  She complimented me on it, too.  I was red-faced.  The things I do to keep a job!  It all paid off, though, because she mounted me like she did last time.  I'm not ashamed to say that it surpassed even that moment as the greatest sexual thrill ever.  And I did it all in women's underwear!  She told me to take it to the cleaners to get rid of my come stains, and she handed me back my boxers, which she had kept in her desk.  She told me that I could wear those again if I wanted to, that my job wouldn't hang in the balance.  That's when I asked her about my job.  "Oh, I still haven't found out yet.  I'll let you know as soon as I can."
              So what do I make of this?  I wore her lingerie for five days, and what for?  More importantly, she made me feel things that I'm not sure I can admit to myself.  What was it about that experience that made it so good?  I'll tell you: it was the lingerie.  She made me totally aware of what I was wearing when she humped me in her office.  She snapped my garter belt, my panty elastic, my bra.  She fondled my nipples.  I swear that I felt like what I imagine a woman feels when she's getting laid.  I don't know what this means, I don't know what this makes me.  But I wore women's lingerie, and I liked it.  Even so, I hope that I never have to do it again.  I can't handle it.

She has me like putty in her hand.  She has me begging to wear her underwear in her office.  She told me that she won't let me, unless I shave my body hair, and get my own.  So that's what I've done.  L is baffled.  She doesn't understand.  She caught me wearing her bathing suit today.  I wanted to see if it was anything like lingerie.  It was almost as good, I must say.  She is packing her things up and leaving me.  She hates me now.  But I couldn't care less.  Ms. A will certainly keep me satisfied.
              As by her suggestion, I bought some lingerie after work.  It's going to take me a while to build up a wardrobe.  But I'll go to work from now on all sleek and sexy under my business clothes.  All feminine.  As long as L doesn't tell anybody about this. . .

Finally, Ms. A has told me what I have to do to keep working for her.  She explained what she means by becoming her female secretary.  I have to become a woman, at least on the surface.  She's going to pretend to fire me, and I will come in for an interview as a woman, applying for the secretary's job.  So I'll be coming in to work from now on in skirts and blouses and dresses.  And I'll still be Ms. A's gopher.  Only, I'll be a girl now.

This could be more interesting if I have my narrator decide to wear women's underwear only after finding out what the new job entails.  But that could be tedious, too.

Sunday, November 23, 1997

Fiction: A Willing Partner

Right now, I feel like fantasizing.  But maybe that's counterproductive.  I just love that thought that I'm willingly doing something not only naughty, but damaging to my masculinity.  That's what I love: I'm being offered a chance to destroy my manhood, and I take it, because I cannot resist the pleasure of being feminine.  I love the confrontational aspect of it: I am in complete control of the situation, and I choose the dark side because I love it so much.
              What would I do now in such a situation?  Let's say that one of my fantasies comes true, and I am captured by women who are taking over the world.  I stand naked in front of them.  I have seen them dress other men up in women's clothes, if only to mock the conventional gender roles, to question why it is that only women wear frilly silky lacy underwear.  They would have me there in front of them, and present me with a choice: wear this lingerie, or we'll make you wear it.  How would I react?  Would I pretend that it's repugnant to me?  Would I feign indifference, and hope to heaven that I could wear it?  Would I try to act hesitant as I slip into it clumsily and nervously?  Or would I eagerly accept their invitation and prance around effeminately to our mutual delight?  Would I admit to having worn it of my own will before, once I'm dressed up?  Or would I vehemently deny it, and try to conceal my pleasure?  How about like this:

              A beam of sunlight, harshly bright, shook me out of my deep slumber.  I had absolutely no idea where on earth I was.  I was completely disoriented.  My surroundings were totally unfamiliar.  Have you ever awakened with that distressing feeling, only to realize a second later that you have been sleeping so deeply, in a somewhat unfamiliar place?  Well, I actually was in an unfamiliar place.  The walls were bright red, the carpet plush, and there was plenty of bedroom furniture other than the bed I lay in. 
              I shook myself awake, trying to piece together the events that led me into this unknown location.  But I couldn't move my arms: each arm was shackled to the bed.  My clothes felt strange.  It felt as though there was a strap on my chest, but I didn't think it was connected to the bed.  My underwear felt light but tight.  I had enough movement in my arms to be able to lift the bedsheets.  To my astonishment, I found myself wearing women's underwear.
              I must have lain in bed for hours before anything happened.  I wanted desperately to escape, but I didn't want to alert anyone.  I figured that if I called for help, I would simply be restrained by my captor(s).  Why the Hell was I wearing women's underwear, and why was I chained to the bed?
              What had I done the night before?  I couldn't remember for the life of me.  But somehow, I ended up here, dressed like a girl, and trapped in a stranger's bed. 
              [Here's where the story can diverge according to how experienced I am]
              I tried hard to piece it together.  Someone evidently knew about my little secret now.  I must have gotten extremely drunk or stoned somehow, and gotten involved with someone, and shared my most secret, most embarrassing fantasy.  I had never intended for anyone to ever find out that I wear women's clothes.  Obviously, someone knows now: someone other than me must have chained me into this bed.  But whom?  And what for?  Nonetheless, my shame and desire to escape far exceeded my curiosity.  I could not abide by anyone knowing about this.  Unfortunately, I was stuck, and could not escape, as much as I tried.
              The noise of my struggling must have awakened my captor.  The door opened, and in stepped a voluptuous young woman of immeasurable beauty.  "Ah, so you're awake at last!" she bubbled.
              "Who are you?  Where am I?  What am I doing here?"
              "Don't you remember, sweetie?  Have you already forgotten our little tryst?  You told me that you'd remember my name in the morning.  You haven't lied to me, have you?"
              I was speechless.
              "Well in that case, I'll try to jog your memory."  She jumped into the bed and started playing with my bra and panty straps.  She was teasing me.  "Don't you remember how you got into these?  I thought it would be something that you'd never forget."
              She started rubbing my dick through the silk panties.  Just as I had always fantasized.  I came all over her hand, feeling so incredibly feminine.  Then it started coming back to me.

              I was in her bedroom.  Not this room, but in a different room.  We were making out.  She was down to her panties, and I was buck naked.  I was playing with her undies, because I just love women's underwear.  That's when she caught me totally off guard.
              "You like my underwear, do you?"
              "I sure do!"
              "The way you're touching me, it's almost as if you like them more than me."
              "Well," I said, trying to be witty, but probably blushing, "they are pretty sexy."
              "How would you like to wear them," she purred, somewhat shyly.
              "Trust me!  I'll make sure that you'll enjoy it."
              "You're serious."
              "I sure am!"
              I hesitated a bit, unsure of what to say.  I never really thought about wearing women's underwear in front of a girl before.  But I knew how much fun it could be.  I just wasn't sure if it would be wise to let on that I was into that kind of thing.  I take my transvestism very privately.  "Why do you want me to wear your underwear?"
              "Just trust me!  You'll love it!"
              "What makes you think I'll love it?"
              "Well, you're thinking about it, aren't you?  That tells me that you're probably not repulsed by the idea."
              I'm sure I must have blushed.  "Yeah, so?" was all I could say.
              "Will you do it?" she cajoled, rubbing against me.  "I'll make sure that you won't regret it."  She whispered that in my ear erotically.
              "Okay," I said, "if that's what turns you on."
              With that she giggled and led me to her dresser.  In it was a huge variety of ladies' undergarments.  "Pick out anything you like out of there.  Anything!"  She must have sensed my giddiness.  I shook like a leaf.  Here I was doing with another person what I did only in the utmost secrecy.  I looked at her undies, and picked a nice frilly panty and bra set.  I would have picked it out for myself anyway, I think.  I was about to put it on, as I have so many times with similar garments, when she offered to strap me in.  She must have supposed that I didn't know what I was doing.  I felt so girlish when she snapped my bra.  No one had ever done that to me before.  I was feeling very sexy.
              By now we were both in her undies.  She had me prance around for her.  I was nervous, I was clumsy.  She giggled.
              She fucked me with a two-headed dildo.  Right up the ass.  She was on top, taking me like a girl, my legs spread wide to accept her.  I swear that the whole time I felt like I was a girl, with her caressing my effeminate bra strap, and teasing my hair.  Something in the way she handled me made me feel that way.

Friday, November 21, 1997

Diary: A Writing Project

Alright, now I've decided to start an ambitious project: I will start writing a piece of fiction, in secret, about transvestitism.  I'll tell it like one of my postmodern tales.  It will be narrated by both the shrink and the patient.  The patient will be the trannie, and the shrink will present his case, not quite as a case study, but as a long anecdote, an interesting tidbit of information.  Much of the story will be the patient's diary.  It will be edited by the shrink.  And perhaps another person.  It will be my original idea for my story of two narrators.  The trouble is that I can never reveal what I am doing, and I must (if at all) publish this under a pen name, for fear of having my name forever associated with transvestism.

Anyway, here's the basic plan:

Foreword by the shrink.  Introduction to the subject from a pseudo-scientific perspective.  Then a disclaimer: this is not science.  This is an interesting story for the world to hear and enjoy.  The shrink, however, must treat his subject with a bit of detachment, a bit of disdain, and even a bit of admiration.  He must not, however, edit the diaries too extensively.  He treats his subject seriously.  I, on the other hand, will treat him comically.  The trick here is to figure out exactly what a shrink would do in such a situation, having heard such a disquieting tale of sexual perversion, and who will not admit to finding it incredibly arousing (although there should be hints).  I'm not even sure that this shrink should be male.  How about a female shrink wondering about the effect of these revelations on her own views of gender roles and whatnot.  Yes, I think that that's the way to go.  Anyway, the foreword will be straightforward on the surface, but actually quite satirical and comical under the surface.  My hero (the patient) will be a trickster figure, running around trying things, being foolish, straddling definitions.

Then, a similar structure as that of Gone Indian.  The shrink will talk a bit, then the diaries, alternating until near the end.  An important difference: the story will not follow a linear chronology as Kroetsch tends to.  It will have to be completely logical in its leaps and bounds, but, as the shrink takes it from scattered literary remains, she must piece it together somehow, not necessarily systematically, but narratively.  She will use her bits to comment on the diaries, and to make her points about gender roles in today's society, (subtly) about how our generation is so obsessed with the right to be individual that it accepts such behaviour blindly as an expression of the "true" self.

It will end somehow.  I'm not sure how.  But it must end.

I just did a quick search on [the college library database].  I came up with at least 9 promising titles.  This could be quite daunting.  I don't even know when I'll have time to do all this.  Oh, well.  I'll find time somewhere.

Anyway, all this is for another file, I think.  I'll copy this stuff over.

Monday, November 17, 1997

Diary: Fantasy Creeps into Mind at Awkward Moment

I had a little accident during foreplay with A__ soon after that last installment.  We were petting naked, when the thought struck me that I could be wearing her panties right then.  I had been reading a Cosmopolitain that she had brought home, and was inspired by one little blurb: something about whether you prefer such and such a sexual fantasy, or "a pillow fight with both of you dressed as your favourite Spice Girl," or words to that effect.  There was also a panicked woman writing to a help columnist that she had caught her man wearing her undies, and that he couldn't get hard anymore, he was so ashamed; the columnist suggested that the woman include that little quirk in their lovemaking; she also mentioned that it's very common.  Anyway, I imagined myself, not for the first time, wearing women's underwear with her and frolicking girlishly in silk with her.  But for the first time, I imagined it as more than just a fantasy.  This time, I imagined the implications of her first time with me in women's underwear.  I imagined how demeaning it would be for me to compare lingerie with her, how much shame I would feel at being dressed like a woman beside her.  Her reaction hardly mattered.  I would have felt totally naked, totally undressed before her.  I would be bare in my deepest secret, and completely at her mercy.  She could rage at me, or make fun of me, or feel sorry for me, or mope.  She might or might not accept me; but she would acknowledge me as wearing women's clothes.  God, would I love to dress up like a Spice Girl and do girlish things with A__.  Anyway, the emotion that I imagined I would feel if she could have seen me right then wearing her underwear made me come so fast that I felt completely embarrassed.  

Tonight, I almost dared to venture out dressed up as a girl.  I wanted to.  I really did.  It's snowing.  I chickened out.  I figure that I can probably get away with a little masquerade up and down [my street] late at night, with no one around.  I want to feel the wind blowing on my stocking-clad legs, and onto my naked thighs.  I want to prance around like a girl.  I did, however, tonight, wear my lingerie to go shopping.  Of course, nobody knew.  It was pretty fun anyway.  I wanted to look for more fun stuff, but I have to remember to shop for A__'s Xmas gift.

Saturday, November 15, 1997

Fiction: Caught and Kicked Out

(I'm having trouble latlely about whether my hero(ine) should start off completely innocent, or if I should start him off as a closet girlie like me.)

I've long had this strange habit.  I like to wear women's clothes, and particularly their underwear.  But I've been careful to never let anyone know about it.  Not anyone.  It's a disgusting little habit, but I just can't help myself.  It just makes me feel so wonderfully sexy.  I mean, what man can seriously look at a pair of panties, or a garter belt, or nylons, and not feel aroused?  I've taken the next logical step: I put those things on.  I think they look irresistibly sexy, and I want to be in them.  I want to be like the girls who would wear such things: beautiful, sexy, bouncy, juicy.  When I slip into some lingerie, I want to be a girl.  I want to be as lucky as them, to have all those sexy little panties and bikinis and leotards to wear all the time.  Girls don't know how good they have it.

It just so happens that one night, A__ was away at her parents'.  Or at least, that's what the plan was.  I took advantage of the opportunity to pull out my lingerie and parade around in her clothes.  As I said, that was the plan.

We live in the middle of the city.  Our front door leads to one of the busiest streets anywhere.  Even at night, there are people milling about.  It's a very busy area.  

I didn't hear her when she came home.  She was trying to sneak up on me, as I so often do to her.  I didn't hear her unlock the door.  Imagine her surprise when she saw me right away, prancing around in her mini-skirt, her silky underthings clinging to me underneath.  I know that I probably almost fainted: her waist is much slimmer than mine, not only because of our gender difference, but because she is so much smaller than me.
Anyway, she went ballistic.  She ran at me and started hitting me.  She beat me on the head a few times, and then she threw me out the door.  All the way out the front door, as a matter of fact.

So there I was, all sprawled out on probably the busiest sidewalk ever made, wearing nothing but women's clothes.  I even had a pair of women's shoes strapped onto my feet.  They made it difficult to run, but they sure felt sexy against the nylons wrapped around my feet.  

I sort of picked myself up off the floor knowing full well how ridiculous I must look in women's clothes.  People were staring at me.  I felt so naked.  And there was nowhere to hide.  Not even an alley, or a bush, or a doorway.  I was standing there, looking like a complete freak, in the most public place in town.  I might as well have been on a stage.  

I self-consciously sashayed to the front door, which was locked, and pounded.  "A__!  Please let me in!  A__!"  I looked over my shoulder, and noticed that a small crowd had begun to gather at the spectacle.  I could feel the little summer breeze blow up my skirt and tickle the naked skin of my thighs, left exposed by my garter belt and stockings.  I was quite sure that people could see the little straps on my butt leading to the stockings as I stood there, whaling at the door.  I was so ashamed.  Most girls don't even dress that revealingly!

I had no choice.  I couldn't get in.  I couldn't just stand there with all those people staring at me.  So I did the only thing that I could: I ran away.  

I ran away in my high-heeled shoes, my skirt too short to flap in the wind.  I tried to slink around walls, and sort of hide myself wherever I ran.  But everywhere I went, people saw me.  I was irrevocably exposed!

At length, I found my way to a dark alley, where I hid behind a dumpster.  But I was still trapped.  What could I do?  Take off my (or, more accurately, A__'s) clothes?  Was running around naked any better than running around in women's clothes?  No, I had to keep my clothes on, despite the fact that they weren't really mine.  I had to stay like this until I could somehow get back into my house.  I had to walk back there, too, and create another scene.  I had no money, no keys, nothing.  Just me and my clothes.

As I stood around pondering my situation, I marvelled at how different it feels to be dressed like a girl outdoors.  I still felt very sexy.  My shoes made me so conscious of my effeminate situation every time I took a step that I couldn't forget what I was wearing.

What was I to do?  I had to get home somehow.  I was totally helpless out here.  And I was dressed like a girl to boot.  I slinked to a pay phone on a dark street corner and called A__ collect.


"Hi, sweetie."

She paused.  "Hi."

"Sweetie, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?!?  What the Hell was that in my apartment?!??  It sure as Hell wasn't my R__!"

"I'm sorry dear.  But it's getting cold out here.  Please, let me in."

"Why should I?"

"A__, please.  You can't just let me sleep outside dressed like. . . this."

"I shouldn't let you do anything dressed like that!"

"A__, I'm sorry.  Please, just please let me come home.  It's not the way it looks.  I'll explain everything."

Another pause.  "Alright.  Come home.  We'll talk about it."  And she abruptly hung up the phone.

I slinked back to my apartment, trying hard not to let anyone look at my face too closely.  Luckily, my long, luxurious hair covered most of my face.  

I finally managed to make it back home.  And A__ waited for me at the front door.  "Let's go for a walk," she said as I scurried to the entrance, desperate to get out of public sight.

"Please, A__," I whispered coarsely.  "Let me in!  Let me get out of these clothes!"


I stopped in my tracks.  "Why do you want me to walk around like this?"

"Because you need to be taught a lesson.  You want to wear my clothes, then you'll just have to wear them for the time being."

I stood there sheepishly.  "I'm going for a walk," she said.  "And I'm not opening that door.  You're either coming with me, or I'm not ever letting you in there again."

Again, I had no choice.  I went with A__.  

She led me through the crowded streets, she wearing pants, I wearing a mini-skirt.  I could sense her anger.  

"So?" she demanded.  I didn't know where to begin.  "Well, spit it out!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," I answered sheepishly. 

"That's just not good enough.  What the Hell are you doing in my mini-skirt?  Why don't you start there?"

"I just wanted to wear it, that's all."

"Why?  Why?  What are you, some kinda drag queen?  Is that it?"


"Then what the Hell are you wearing my clothes for?  You're even wearing my undies, aren't you?  Aren't you?"


"So what gives?"

"A__, can we please not do this in public?"


"Please, let's go home.  You've taught me my lesson."

"I don't think I have."

"You have!  Can you imagine what it must be like to be dressed like this in public?"

"I sure can.  I do it all the time.  But the difference is that I'm a girl, and you're not."  She sure had me there.  "You're not supposed to wear things like that.  But hey, you're wearing it."

"A__, I never meant for anyone to see me like this.  Now the whole town knows.  And people are staring at me!  Please, let me go home!"

"NO.  I want you to understand what it is that you're doing.  You're dressing up like a girl, but you're not letting anyone see you.  I, on the other hand, have to look pretty all the time, and I'm supposed to have people stare at me all the time.  I think that it's time you started to understand exactly what it is to be a girl."

"But I don't want to be a girl!"

"Then why are you wearing my clothes?"

I couldn't answer.  Why was I wearing her clothes if I didn't want to be a girl.  Even though we were discussing it, I wasn't feeling so odd anymore.  What else could I say?  "Because I like them."

"So.  There it is.  You like wearing my clothes because you like them.  Why don't you just admit it?  You like wearing my clothes because you want to be a girl."


"Oh, yes.  And you'd better admit it.  Not just to me, but to everyone.  You want to be a girl.  And you might as well start coming out of my closet now."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you're going to wear my clothes in public if you want me to even let you step through my door again."

"But I am!"

"I mean voluntarily."

I was stuck.  "You can't do this to me."

"You did it to yourself.  Now you have to live with the consequences."

"So what exactly do you want me to do?  I'm already dressed like a girl in public."

"I want you to throw out all of your clothes, and wear only mine.  We've already started."

I grumbled.  "What if I refuse?"

"What choice do you have?  Everyone knows your little secret already."

"Alright.  Let's just go home."

"What's that?"

"I said, alright.  Now let's go."

"I want you to shout it out to everybody."

"Shout what out?"

"Tell them that you're wearing women's clothes, and that you love it."

"You want me to shout that?"

"Yeah," she retorted, "Who'll ever believe it."  She lifted my skirt as she said it.

Angrily, I stepped up a tree planter, and shouted: "I'm dressed like a girl, and I LOVE IT!"  I looked down at her, and she still looked angry.  "I LOVE IT!"  I repeated, just to spite her, just to make sure she heard me, just to make sure that she couldn't go back on me and tell me that I never did it.  "I FUCKING LOVE TO DRESS LIKE A GIRL!  AND I WANT THE WHOLE GODDAMNED WORLD TO KNOW IT!  DO YOU HEAR ME?" Each shout made me feel more and more liberated.  "I LOVE TO WEAR WOMEN'S CLOTHING!  I LOVE TO DRESS LIKE A GIRL!"

I looked down at last, after a crowd had begun to assemble, and saw a look of satisfaction on A__'s face.  I jumped down, and strutted away from her in a huff.  Every step made me feel more and more effeminate.  And I strutted right down the middle of the sidewalk, shaking my girlish little tush.  A__ followed behind me, but I didn't even look back.  I had said it, and I suddenly realized, blushing proudly, I had meant it.  And everybody knew it.

(It seems pointless to me to continue the story.  I would like to say that the hero went on to wear A__'s underwear forever, and that he got to dress up in her nightgown that night.  But that would be anti-climactic.)

Anyway, I would like to add that I'm experiencing the most amazing sexual rush ever by wearing all this stuff tonight.  I feel incredible.  I feel like such a little bitch.  I even went out on the deck like this.  Tonnes of people at the bus station can certainly see me.  I didn't go out in public, but I sure loved the feel of cool air on my legs and naked thighs.  This is just fantastic.  

That wonderful part about this fantasy that keeps me going is this: no matter how far I go, I can always go further.  I have gone further than ever tonight, and it only gets better and better.  Right now, I want to be a transvestite full-time.  Fuck men's clothes.  I want skirts, dresses, lingerie, bikinis.  This is just unbelievable.  I can't wait till I can go all the way.  Maybe I should even tell A__ about this, and involve her in it, too.  It would be even better if I could do it even when she's around.  But that would be crazy.