Heidi was my goddess. I worshipped the ground she walked on. I collected and catalogued every one of the 594,391 photos of her I could find. I humbly deferred to her every whim. She was sometimes difficult to please, but I did everything in my meager power to satisfy her in every way possible.
I stumbled upon her when she had a photo shoot in the desert hills in Southern California. I knew instantly who she was, from all the swimsuit issues and lingerie catalogues and calendars and so on. Somehow, I caught her eye, and she had me getting her water. Her photographic entourage waited on her hand and foot, and I got caught up in it, too.
We became very close. She was so vulnerable. She wouldn’t let me touch her much at first. She was afraid I would just fuck her and leave her, bragging about it to my friends for the rest of my life. I assured her that wasn’t so. Still, she resisted. Who was I to argue? If I had to be patient for this one, the woman of every man’s dreams, I would wait forever.
Nonetheless I struggled to get her to become intimate. She always questioned my dedication, even after a few months. I had only kissed her a few times, and gotten to rub lotion all over her body for some photo shoots. I had seen her naked many, many times, as she was perfectly comfortable changing in front of me. I even got to gather her discarded bikinis whenever she needed to change into a different one for the next series of shots.
She got to trust me quite a bit. We started spending some intimate time together. She made me do all sorts of things to prove to her that I truly did love her. But she never fully bought into them. They usually involved me making a fool of myself publicly. Every time, I acquiesced without hesitation. If I could convince her without a doubt that I worship her, she would surely relent. When I thought of my ultimate goal of winning her heart, it was easy to agree to do anything.
At first, I simply waited on her. I got her absolutely anything she wanted. But that was easy. She then made me kneel and bow my head when I brought things to her, and I did. Happily. I so desperately wanted to be worthy of her! She had me singing love ballads to her at the top of my lungs on the spur of a moment. She only had to look at me a certain way, and I would stand on my head for her amusement. The more she got me to humiliate myself, the more readily I would do it, just to prove my deep, passionate lasting affection for her.
She must have thought I would have been horribly humiliated about wearing her bikini at one of her beach shoots, with hundreds of bystanders gawking at her. It was one of the biggest crowds I had ever seen. Usually, they keep these shoots private, because it makes everyone involved more comfortable, and more open. This time the photographer wanted to capture the crowded beach as a counterpoint to his shockingly beautiful subject. Even in a sea of people, she would stand out. And so, feeling shy about the mob around her, she asked me, very publicly, if I would try on her swimsuits first, not only so she could see what they looked like on others, but to deflect some of the spotlight from her so she could concentrate on looking beautiful.
I had some difficulty putting them on at first, but she had some of her aides help me. By the end of the shoot, I had no trouble putting on a brassiere. It felt funny at first, wearing her sexy bikinis. I always thought of women’s underwear as being innately sexy. She said I blushed when she told me how cute I looked. I liked the snugness of the panties on my crotch, and the delicate way they caressed my butt and my hips. I knew I looked ridiculous, and that the entire crowd was laughing at me, but I didn’t care. I was pleasing Heidi Klum! I was the focus of her attention, after the photographer. I was publicly humiliated, just for her, and I didn’t care. I even made several of the local papers, and some worldwide news wires. The world would henceforth forever question my virility, but I honestly did not care. It was a worthwhile sacrifice for my Heidi.
Still, she questioned my commitment. She was convinced that I would want to get back into my clothes the instant the shoot was over, so I could reclaim some of my dignity. I proved her wrong. I dared to beg her to allow me to continue wearing her bikini if it pleased her, and pledged my continued subservience, not in spite of, but because of her grace in allowing me to wear her sexiest clothes. She frowned and thought about it for a while, then commanded me to wear my regular clothes.
Unfortunately, my readiness to humiliate myself at her every whim enticed a suspicion in her that I was only trying to get her to relent. She began openly flirting with other men to test my resolve in the face of jealousy. I steadfastly stayed by her side. She rewarded me by continuing to allow me into her most intimate circles. She had me bring her men, whom she would fuck right before my eyes; but when she kicked them out of her bed, she snuggled up to me and slept. She told only me what was on her mind. But she still didn't believe that I loved her enough. She made it quite clear that if I objected to her sleeping with other men who she barely knew, it was proof that I only wanted her for sex.
It was one thing when she made me wear her bikinis in public. It was quite another when I wore her lingerie in private with her. To wear it in public is a public gesture, and can be seen as jest. In private, alone with her, it has an entirely different connotation. In her inner sanctum, I wear her panties and bras and corsets and stockings not as an easily dismissible joke, but as a sincere, intimate preference. She could tell that I honestly adored wearing her clothes. It felt like such a privilege to me to even touch garments that she wore, much less her skin-tight undies, least of all wear them! To wear them was almost bliss. I felt so much closer to her when I wore them. I even felt sexy, in a dirty, feminine way that I kept secret from her. Eventually, I thought it wise to throw away my own underwear and wore only her hand-me-downs, to show my devotion.
Still, Heidi, my precious Goddess, was not satisfied with me. She wanted nothing less than complete uninhibited surrender. I was more than happy to comply. The hormones I had started to take to better shape my body into her lingerie were beginning to kick in around this time. My brassieres began to become fuller, and I became quite adept at arousing her boyfriends with my skill at fellatio. It had become quite clear that I could only do one thing to prove to her that I am not doing this just for sex. They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery; I naturally began abandoning my inhibitions and devoting myself to her worship. I proudly began to eradicate any vestige of myself, and dedicated myself to becoming her. I changed all my makeup and began to style my hair like hers.
The plastic surgery molded my face into hers. I walked and talked and moved just like her. If not for the little nub of my pathetic little dick, which she wouldn’t allow me to remove, we are practically twins now. She has sent me to stand in for her in some of her shoots, and nobody knew the difference.
Only after they replaced my genitals did she trust me enough to fuck me.
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