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Nov 201520

Samantha's First Dress

short story
I know someone else said this already, but, like many stories, mine starts at the beginning. Now it is probably a good idea to launch into a fine array of theories as to why people cross dress. I will do that in time but as this is essentially one person's account of female impersonation, I will keep the clinical stuff and the psycho-babble to a minimum. This story will be interspersed by random musings on the causes of this constellation of femininity - but it is beyond the scope of this writer to offer anything new, save for his/her own experiences. So on with the show...   My first dress (clearing my throat now, like any great storyteller) was one of the prettiest sights my young male eyes had ever seen. It was of a silk-like material and while predominately white, it had pretty little blue and yellow birds variegated throught its delicate cut. There was aplique on the hem and around the short sleeves and it seemed to whisper femininity when it was disturbed. Just looking at this fine garment set off fireworks in my head and butterflies in my stomach. I knew instantly that I wanted it, and more importantly, that I wanted to wear it. There was of course a small problem, I was six years old and it belonged to my eight year old sister. So with all the ingenuity that a six year old could muster I took the unprecedented step of getting actively involved in my older sisters' games and, once I had infiltrated their girlie society, I ventured a new game of my own devising. "Why don't we all play dress up?", I said with a conviction that belied my uncertainty. To my eternal surprise they acceeded instantly and without any conferring. I was soon to learn why. You see, 'dress up' for them was the perfect opportunity to humiliate their otherwise aloof little brother. They understood this tacitly and began, with great urgency, the transformation process. A smear of soot above their lips from the old chimney and the donning of some ties and they were complete. I would have protested at their hastily improvised male guises, but I was far too eager to move on to myself. They launched at me with obvious glee and held up a dress for me to climb into. "Wait!", I screamed. I didn't want just any dress, I wanted that dress. But how could I articulate that without betraying my cunning? Necessity is the mother of invention they say and a new twist to the game had just been neccessitated. "You lay all the dresses on the bed there, and I'll close my eyes and jump on one." Brilliant!! "That will be my dress", I insisted.   It mattered little to them which dress I wore, so they gave each other a cursory look and then nodded affirmatively in unison. Closing my eyes I made a mental note of where 'my' dress was and jumped headlong at it - a manouvere that pre-figured my dressing in later life. A considerable crash and bruised cheek later, I lay on the floor dazed. My eldest sister holding my prize above me - that dress. It had an incredible anodyne effect on my post-crash aches and my transformation began in earnest.   That first experience was the beginning of a life of dressing. I went through all the various stages: Plastering lipstick en masse; donning every fuax pas fashion could muster; wearing heels and walking like an ostrich. These days, I'm pleased to say, I have mcuh more fashion sense, have finally got to grips with liquid eyeliner and am generating a much stronger female aura - all good things come in time. Vive la femme!! Samantha

Nov 201520

Sportswear

short story
She leaps for the ball. As she leaps, the hem of her pleated skirt swings dramatically upwards. A fleeting glimpse of her knickers - almost too quick to catch. Then her feet are back on the grass, her hem line falls to her upper thighs. Sitting, watching her on television, I await the next knicker flash... I am writing this during Wimbledon. It's the women I like to watch - and the knicker flash is a considerable part of the enjoyment. There was a time when shorts were in vogue for women tennis players - as far as I was concerned (and I'm sure the same goes for a lot of other people) the shorts cut short much of the pleasure. I'm delighted to see that recent Wimbledons have been skirted events! Mixed with the pleasure, though, is a wistfulness, almost sadness. The fact is I'd like to be out there on the tennis court flashing my knickers (not Wimbledon of course - I couldn't aspire to that!). Seven sports which I associate with women come to mind - of course, women participate in many more sports, but this is a trannie article. I am not concerned with the likes of fencing, where women wear clothes indistinguishable from the men. The seven sports I have in mind all have distinctively feminine sportswear. Lets take them in turn. Swimming Swimming first - an activity for which women certainly wear some beguiling costumes. Unfortunately, for me at least, swimwear is more an object of desire than one of attainment. I have owned examples of both the bikini and the one piece swimsuit, and I've tried them on. Alas I have encountered what I might call top and tail problems... I wear quite good quality prosthetic breasts, but they are a lot less convincing if their edges can be seen. I have yet to try on a swimsuit which covers the top of the breasts properly. So much for the top of the swimsuit. The bottom is little, if any, better. Achieving a sufficiently good tuck-away to carry the thing off is a challenge to which I have yet to find an adequate solution. If you've worn a cache sex under a lycra skirt - achieving a convincingly feminine appearance - and wish to push it to its limits, then try a swimsuit. Keeping things in check once in the water is a prospect I would prefer not to contemplate. One may be able to swim in Dermablend make up - but I am not sure what a trannie is supposed to wear whilst doing so!  
  f484_699gnressportpage3.jpgGymnastics Gymnastics can be breath-takingly beautiful. The gymnastic leotard, however, is not much more forgiving than the swimsuit. It would be lovely, but who do I think I'm kidding? Girl gymnasts tend to be over the hill by the time they reach fourteen. Me? Well, it's no secret that I'm a lot older than that. Athletics Athletics involves much sexier costumes than they used to do. They look tempting, definitely tempting. Unfortunately, the knicker-like shorts of modern women's athletics carry all of the problems encountered at the lower end of the swimsuit. The problems at the top, however, may be a little easier to solve. I have a lycra sports top, suitable for athletics, which is a joy to wear. It amply covers the tell-tale edges of my breasts, while retaining a pleasing skimpiness (skimpiness is the essence of sportswear!). More - it is the only top I own which keeps the breasts really secure in place without requiring a bra. There may be hope for athletics as a trannie sport. Hockey Hockey, to be honest, is not really my cup of tea. It seems to me a rough game, something expressed by Sir Owen Seaman in his poem, The Yellow Shin Pads: Your hands had tied them on for me Fair lord and righteous referee Above my crushers, daintily Am I cross dressing to wear crushers? I think not. All the same, I grew up in the 1950s thinking of hockey as an exclusively female sport (none of the boys' schools in the borough played it) and there was an element of attraction in the game. Part of the attraction almost certainly lay in hockey players wearing what seemed very short skirts. These were pre-mini skirt days! Actually, to judge from my oldest sister's example - the only hockey enthusiast in the family - they were actually 'culottes'. I have always liked skirts, and in my early years something which seemed to be a skirt - but wasn't - exercised a powerful fascination. It seemed to form some kind of link between the kind of clothes I was allowed to wear and those my sisters wore. My present, rather negative, feelings about hockey may stem from my time at university. As I've said, I grew up thinking of hockey as an exclusively female sport. I was intrigued, therefore, to discover that there was a university men's hockey team. I pictured a group of men charging about the playing field in culottes (if not skirts), so I made discreet enquiries. The enquiries had to be very discreet, because my cross dressing was still firmly in the closet. What I discovered was about as disappointing as it could have been. The men's hockey team was the most horrible, ugly and macho sports team on campus. Their sportswear was, at least to my eye, indistinguishable from that of the rugby team. Since making this discovery, I don't think that I have had any positive feelings on hockey.  
  f484_164gnrssportpage2.jpgNetball Netball is, perhaps, the quintessential women's sport, and is a great deal less rough than hockey. Hurrah for that! It is not a contact sport. After specifically stating that a player may not push, bump, trip, knock, charge or hold another, Rule 17 adds the catch-all: "A player shall not contact another on any other occasion or in any other way in such a manner as to interfere with the opponent's play". Netball is a good game, emphasising skill and outlawing any hint of brutality. It is also certainly played in skirts and, with seven to a team, provides more opportunity for knicker-flash than does tennis! It seems to me almost criminal that netball is so ignored by television - I would certainly watch it. The game obviously appeals to at least some trannies, apart from me. I have read more than one transvestite story which revolves around gaining access to a netball team (and scoring the winning goal of course). Having read a fair number of transvestite stories over the years, most of them have faded to a blur in my memory, but Sandra stands out quite clearly. Perhaps that reveals me as the sort of netball fan who is bound to have a netball skirt or two in the wardrobe. Well yes, I do! My favourite Transformation novelette, She Male Slavery demonstrates not only a liking for sportswear, but some knowledge of netball. As in this passage: "Our games kit consisted of T-shirt, short pleated skirt, very frilly white knickers, white ankle socks and training shoes. We occasionally played rounders or volleyball, but netball was the usual game. Brought up, as I had been, on masculine contact sports, I found it hard to adapt to netball, with its rules against touching, obstructing or intimidating other players. In the heat of play, it was hard to remember to observe the rules limiting the areas of the court that each player might enter." In spite of the title and downright misleading cover picture, this novelette has a rather lovely Cinderella-like plot, as well as some sportswear interest. I recommend it. Both hockey and netball, as team sports, involve wearing the same strip as one's team-mates. I don't have the rules of hockey, but netball rule 1.4 describes this as a uniform. The word uniform raises a whole swamp of trannie desires. This isn't Objects of Desire: Uniforms but I like uniforms as much as the next transvestite, and the uniform aspect adds an extra element of pleasure to the joy of sportswear. Ice Skating Skating is my absolute favourite when it comes to watching sport on television. Beautiful and graceful are amongst the words which come to mind, the kind of words I would most like to apply to my feminine self. The words apply to the skaters themselves, to their movements on the ice and, not least, to their dresses. The movements and the lovely fabrics seem to raise knicker-flash to the status of an art form. Taking such a dress out on to the ice is certainly one of my fantasies, but I doubt whether it will ever be more than just a fantasy. To begin with, I do not believe that my sense of balance is good enough for the ice. Nor have I been encouraged to try the experiment since my partner of a few years ago broke every bone in her ankle in a horrible skating accident! I would certainly like one of the dresses to wear on solid ground, but do not believe that ones like those seen on television are available off the peg. Perhaps I need to improve my dress making skills to bring this fantasy a little closer to realisation. Like the swimwear, although for different reasons, the skating outfit remains an object of desire but not of attainment - for the present at least.  
  f484_700genrssportpage4.jpgTennis Tennis is where we came in, and I do have the outfit for it. I'm sure that I've written enough about the desire to flash my knickers on court, but off-court activities may be even more interesting. Tennis lesbianism has become enough of a cliche to be used by the advertising industry - eg the strawberry passed between one female and another in the Coca Cola tennis-based advert. I don't know about other trannies, but more often than not my sexual fantasies are without male figures. In my fantasies, I usually see both myself and any sexual partner(s) as women. The union of sweaty bodies in short skirts off-court is the sort of idea that appeals to me most. It is, of course, the kind of thing in which I could never really be involved, but it's a tremendously potent fantasy. Fastening my tennis skirt about my waist seems to bring the fantasy a tad closer to reality. The way clothes feel and look is certainly part of the tennis experience. There are, clearly, some very potent fantasies to be triggered by sportswear. That would be enough to place it as an object of desire, but there is more. It is also comfortable. I suspect that, at least occasionally, most of us can sympathise with Cassie of Spain who wrote in TV Scene 25: "Bras, suspender belts, and especially corsets, have no appeal to me at all and never have had. I dress to be comfortable, not to feel restricted." With sportswear the phrase "not to feel restricted" is of the essence. Playing any kind of sport calls for freedom of movement. Uncomfortable or restrictive clothing ruins athletic performance. To quote rule 1.4 of netball: "A team's uniform can be fun, even fashionable, but needs to retain the essentials of ease of movement." This quotation is especially revealing about women's sportswear. Can you imagine a male game with rules allowing that a team's uniform can be fun, even fashionable? I think not. No wonder we turn to women's clothing, not least the sportswear, for fun! Returning to Cassie from sunny Spain, she says of bras: "Well, to be honest I did try one once and found it so uncomfortable that I never bothered again." Crumbs! I'll bet it wasn't a sports bra. Some bras are a great deal more comfortable than others. It helps a lot if the bra is the right size. If it fits properly, a sports bra is surely the most comfortable of all. It is designed to hold breasts reasonably securely, and is thus quite well adapted to securing prosthetic breasts. Skimpier types of bra, especially, are apt to give rise to fall-out problems. Another property of sportswear is that although the women's and men's garments are sometimes so different (men don't flash their knickers on the tennis court!), they are sometimes intriguingly similar. I have mentioned the way in which hockey culottes reminded my youthful self of boy's clothes. I think that such different-in-some-ways, similar-in-others clothing has always been very potent for me. It marks some kind of exploration of sexual difference. The realm of sportswear is especially rich in clothes of this sort.  
  f484_701genrssportpage5.jpgI own two pairs of women's white shorts suitable for tennis. I wouldn't wear either of them in public because neither of them is designed for someone of my shape. It is, essentially, the bottom problem I noted in respect of swimsuits. However, I enjoy trying each pair of shorts on from time to time: so similar to men's shorts in some ways, but in other ways quite different. The two pairs are also quite different from each other. One is made from a stretchy fabric, the other much less so. They feel very different when I wear them, each intriguing and enjoyable in it's own way. There are some items of women's sportswear which it would be easy for a man to carry off. Jogging bottoms are an easy example for those of us (and there are many) who would like to step out in an item of women's clothing, but do not dare - this could be a solution. An example of how unobjectionable a man in a woman's jogging bottoms may seem comes instantly to mind: On a boating expedition, an ill calculated step from boat to bank ripped my only pair of dry jeans beyond repair. As the person on board nearest my size (14, to be precise) a friend's wife had no hesitation in loaning me a pair of her jogging bottoms. It was the only time I ever wore one of her garments, and it hardly counted as transvestism. Another form of sportswear gender crossover is that some garments can serve for either sex. The games kit I quoted from She Male Slavery includes a T-shirt, a garment equally at home in a male or female sports bag, but the same T-shirt teamed with a tennis skirt instantly takes on femininity... I am not especially interested in unisex clothing. The pleasure in gender-crossing garments, such as T-shirts, owes everything to being set in the context of gender-specific garments. Transvestism relies on the delight of difference. It is, for example, delightful to find fastenings which are never employed in mens wear. That is surely part of the attraction of stockings and suspenders. This being so, it is good to find that many - most? - sports skirts have a kind of fastening which I have yet to see in a male garment. As I write, I have a royal blue netball skirt before me, the better to describe this fastening. If we think of a zip fastener as a conventional railway, this fastening is more like a monorail. A metal tag runs along a nylon strip with serrated edges. The tag has a lever which, when depressed, locks it to the nylon strip. Lift the lever and it slides freely. With this device, the waist band can be adjusted exactly to any size within a range of a couple of inches. The sliding fastener holds the waist band firmly but comfortably in place, retaining the essentials of ease of movement. Not only my body moves easily, but also my hem line. As I leap, it flips up to provide the essential knicker-flash. It can be fashionable, and is certainly fun. So girls, play up, play up, and play the game. If the game is transvestism, so much the better! It's a jolly good game; I can't think of one I'd rather play - isn't it your favourite sport? Hurrah for the team! Well played girls! Well flashed those knickers!

Nov 201520

Cross Dressing, My Discovery

short story
Cross dressing is not like a common cold which has a beginning and an end, and only lasts a short time. Cross dressing is much more permanent than that because the need to cross dress is deeply rooted in the individual's own identity. One is not told by anyone that he or she is a transvestite - more likely the individual found out for himself that he had a desire for cross dressing, and through his own efforts found out that this was called transvestism. Having found out that one is a TV there follows a long period of self-discovery. It is my opinion that transvestism is not a static situation but something that develops and matures along with the individual. The following is a record of how I discovered cross dressing and how I have learned to accept it as part of me. At the age of fourteen I was in love with a pretty girl who lived a few houses down the road. It was the usual experience of a young adolescent male discovering the delights of the female sex. We kissed and cuddled whenever we could. Such was my infatuation that I soon began to have fantasies about wearing her dresses. Soon I was imagining that she forced me to wear them and, to cap it all, I started to imagine what it was like to be her as a girl. Looking back this may seem incredibly confusing, but at fourteen there is a lot less self-analysis, and rather more doing and experimenting. Adult standards are not so deeply entrenched at this stage. It seems that I had at least discovered the idea of cross dressing and that the next step was clearly to try it out. Periodically I started to wear knickers and tights under my jeans. Eventually I was able to borrow a bra and obtain a skirt from a jumble collection. However, the opportunity to cross dress was very limited in our small house, especially as I had four brothers from whom to keep my secret. At about this time it was necessary to reconsider what I was doing. I lived in a small village in rural Norfolk where I suspect no one had experienced of transvestism or even knew what the word meant. I had discovered cross dressing before I knew what it was called. The next step was to find out if cross dressing was harmful, was there a cure, were there other people like me, and if so how did they cope? The sources of information at hand were limited and I was certainly not going to ask the doctor or my parents. It was already clear to me that society did not approve of this behaviour. No, I would have to find out by myself, but where could I get the information I needed? The newspapers, especially the trashy Sunday ones, often carried stories of men being caught wearing women's clothes. These articles were reported in the most sensational and scandalous way possible. There were also a few reports of men having operations to become women. I soon made a collection of these reports and from them discovered the word 'transvestite'. The handy home dicitonaries I had did not even mention the word (nor cross dressing) so I went to a local library and consulted an encyclopedia, but even this was limited to a definition.  
  While I was at University I had my own room where I was able to indulge in cross dressing and even make-up. It was also at this time that I was able to find out more about transvestism from the college library. Most of the books on this subject were medical books, were clinically descriptive, and treated transvestism as a disease. Several authors suggested causes but none seemed particularly convincing. None dealt with the problem of how to cope with being a transvestite. All was not lost, however, when I discovered a copy of the biography of the Chevalier d'Eon de Beaumont in the history section. This at least set out how he had lived his life as a transvestite. At this time I bought a copy of 'Sexual Anomalies and Perversions' by Magnus Hirschfield from a small bookshop. Despite its title, the approach of this book was sympathetic and it told me that cross dressing was not that uncommon. Nonetheless, it was good to find a book that did not make 'good' or 'bad' value judgements; quite surprising for a book written in the 1920s. My own coming to terms with cross dressing was not easy. I had discarded my female clothes and make-up several times. Unfortunately, the desire to cross dress was not so easily removed. So, rather than persist in this cycle of dressing and not dressing, I decided to keep my female clothes and accept that I had a need to cross dress that must be satisfied. I no longer have a mental conflict. I am who I am and would not give up cross dressing for anything. Indeed, the process of self-discovery continues. My wife and I have what we call 'nights in' when I totally cross dress. When making love still cross dressed, I even assume the traditional female position. I have not, as yet, ventured out while dressed as a female; not because I fear detection as I am very convincing as a woman, but because I think that the smart lady in a black dress, court shoes and medium length wavy hair might attract the attention of a man. And then, readers what would I do if he chatted me up? Is there more to discover? For those who discover transvestism today there are many more sources of information (not least this website!). Even the press is changing. The 'agony aunts' are generally sympathetic, despite the fact that the same papers still carry the same old scandal stories. Things to seem to improving faster and faster though, and cross dressing is positively 'trendy' in certain sections of youth culture. Perhaps future generations of men will grow up with the knowledge that cross dressing is neither strange nor uncommon?

Nov 201520

Dream Date

short story

 Dream Date

As soon as I left the bar last night, I knew that I was in trouble. Big trouble. As many times as I have worn a bra under my shirt, that was the first time that anyone had detected it, and I mean, ANYONE. It didn't seem as though I had any choice but to accept your invitation for a date. I would have risked immediate exposure if I hadn't. I knew that you wouldn't keep your mouth shut if I say no' to your invitation.' So, the first thing this morning, I call Sammy, the guy that runs the beauty shop two doors down from my apartment, and ask him if he could do me' late this afternoon. He knew what do me' meant. He had done me' just last Halloween before I went to a costume party, and he got such a thrill out of it, I was sure that he would do it again. (You see, one way Sammy gets his kicks is making beautiful females out of males. He really gets off on that. In fact, last Halloween, just as he was finishing, he DID get off, right there in front of me!) Sammy looked at his calendar and said his last appointment was at 3:00 this afternoon. He said he would close his shop, and for me to be there just after 3:00. I told him I would. He said, "Come in drag. I want you to run the risk of getting caught!" I told him no', I couldn't come out like that, but when he said he would not do me' if I didn't, I had to give in to him. I've spent almost this entire day getting ready for you. After I hung up the phone from talking with Sammy, the first thing I did was shave my entire body, except for my shoulder-length hair. When I finished shaving, I put Nair all over me to get rid of any stubble that might be left. I didn't think you would want your date to have any body hair showing any place. After I waited about 20 minutes for the Nair to work, I took a big, long bubble bath to make my hairless skin real soft for you. On completing my bath, I applied a real feminine-smelling body lotion to soften my skin even more. Then I polished my toenails and fingernails in a bright red, which would match my lipstick. Then, after much thought, I went and got the artificial breast forms. I didn't really want to wear them because of the pain that was caused when they were removed. I had only worn them once before, and I promised myself at that time that I would never put them on again. But, here I was, doing it anyway.
    bigchanges-p3.jpgThe breast forms were very special. About two years ago, I worked in a lab for a local hospital where there were experimenting on artificial skin, to be used for patients who had been scarred by burns. They had developed it to where you could not tell but what it was the patient's real skin. It was extremely thin, thinner that a piece of aluminum foil, and was as flexible as it could be. It had pores, so the real skin could still breathe and sweat in a normal manner. The only bad thing about it was that it was applied with a special cement which did not break down for about six months. Otherwise, you had to pull it off, which pulled on your own skin. After they developed the artificial skin, it was only a small step to combine that with breasts for patients who had undergone radical mastectomies. The one unit of skin and breasts ran all the way from the waist to the top of the shoulders, and all the way around the front half of the body. I had been given one of the prototypes by my boss as a souvenir of the project. Without him knowing it, I had taken some of the body cement so that I could actually use them. So I got the cement and the breasts and skin and laid down on the bed. I took the cement and painted my upper body from my waist to my shoulders, and then positioned the breasts over my nipples and smoothed out all of the skin, both below the breasts and up to my neck and shoulders. The breasts were really beautiful, a perfectly formed C' cup, with nipples that were constantly hard. It almost made me hard just to lie there and look at them while the cement was drying, which didn't take long. As I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror, I had the upper body of a beautiful female. Only my male organ, now sticking straight out, gave away my true sex. I tried to forget about it so it would go down. I went and got my black satin corset with the red piping around the top and the bottom. It had a quarter bra at the top which did nothing but push the breasts up and out, and it had eight garters at the bottom. Although it looked very soft and feminine, it was heavily boned and was made to literally shape the figure to an hour-glass form. It laced in the front and as I pulled the laces together, I could feel my body changing shape. My waist was being cinched in very tight, and the top and bottom of me was getting bigger.
    dreamdate-p3.jpgWhen I got through with the lacing, my breasts were barely inside the quarter bra they had been pushed up and out so much, and I was really sticking out in the back, just like a sexy female. I sat down to put on my sheer black silk stockings which I was going to wear tonight, and as I fastened the eight garters, I could feel them tugging on my stockings all the way around. I slipped into some red leather sandals which had only two tiny straps across the toes, and a thin ankle strap in the back. The heels were only 3" high, but they were really spiked, and it was difficult for me to walk in them. (I had practiced a lot walking in the 5" heels that I would be wearing tonight, but hadn't worn these much at all.) There was so little support from the two tiny straps. It felt like I was walking on my tiptoes all the time. I went to the bathroom and teased and brushed out my shoulder-length hair. I pulled a little bit of hair down on my forehead to give me some bangs, and fluffed it all up real good to give me a feminine look. Then I pinned an artificial carnation on the side. I lined my lips with a bright red liner and filled in with a bright red wet-look lipstick. I clipped some red button earrings on each ear and put on a red bracelet. It was almost 3:00 o'clock so I slipped into a tight-fitting red silk blouse and buttoned it up the front. It was almost too tight because you could plainly see the outline of my nipples sticking out, but I thought Sammy would like that. I put on my panties, the sheer black bikinis that had the ties on the sides, and they really made me feel sexy. I just knew that you were going to be pleased with the way I would look tonight. I stepped into a black, straight skirt and zipped it up on the side. It was tight enough to show my behind sticking out, but not too tight to be uncomfortable. I grabbed a red leather shoulder bag, put my lipstick and money in it, and left for the beauty parlor. It felt funny walking down the hallway of the apartment building in those spindly high heels. I could barely tell that I had them on, they were so light, but I knew I was in heels because every once in a while, I would wobble a little as I took a step. As I got on the elevator, I almost tripped but I caught myself before I fell. The elevator was empty except for one lady and a little girl. As the elevator started down, the little girl tugged on the lady's skirt and said, "Mommie, mommie, I want you to polish my toenails like that lady has hers.", pointing to my feet. Her mother came back, "Sally, that's no lady. That's a man dressed up to look like a woman. Didn't you see that he tripped in those high heels as he was getting in the elevator? I guess he wants to be a female. It looks like he has gone to a lot of trouble to fool people. He won't fool very many though, until he learns how to walk better in high heels. He should have worn flats."
    I was so humiliated that I could die. I wasn't 30 feet from my apartment and I had been made', by someone I didn't even know! They got out of the elevator a few floors down, and as she left, she said, "Sweetie, you be careful in those heels, or you will break one of those pretty legs, ok?" I was devastated by her last remark. My heart just fell. What if I did fall and hurt myself. Maybe I shouldn't go through with this. But then, I thought of the consequences if I didn't, and they would be far worse, so I continued. I was very careful as I stepped from the elevator and out on to the street. Thank goodness, there was nobody around, and I only had two buildings to cross to get to the beauty shop. When I got to the door, Sammy was waiting to let me in. He put the CLOSED' sign in the window and locked the door. Then, he escorted me back to the back. He complimented me on how well I looked, especially with the flower in my hair, and he noticed my figure too. I told him I was already dressed for tonight, except for my evening gown, shoes and purse. I would put those on when I got back to the apartment. He asked me to tell him specifically what I would be wearing tonight. He wanted to make sure that my hair and makeup complemented my dress. I told him that I would be wearing a black and white evening gown, black at the top and white from the waist down. He wanted to know exactly how it was made. I had to tell him that it was strapless, very low cut which would expose a lot of my breasts if I removed the little short, bolero cape I would be wearing over the top. I told him the skirt was rather provocative. It was straight and tight, and that it was split to the thighs in both the front and the back, making me have to stand all the time. If I sat down, it would fall away on both sides, exposing virtually all of my legs. I really felt naked when it did that. Like I had nothing on. And since the skirt was white, and I was wearing sheer black stockings, my legs would stand out even more against the white background. He wanted to know how low the top was cut, and I told him it just barely came up over my nipples. All the top of my breasts was exposed if I removed my jacket. He though that was real sexy, and said that I surely should remove my jacket during some part of the evening, just to give my date a thrill. I thought about what you would do when you saw my breasts exposed like that. It kind of made me shudder. With very little effort on your part, my gown could be slid down, exposing practically all of the breasts. The bra on the corset didn't cover much at all.
    When we got to the back of the shop, he opened a door that led into a big private room. It was completely equipped with a chair, sink, hair dryer, etc. He asked me again, "Do you want the works' this afternoon?" I responded with a timid "Yes, please. I want to be as beautiful and seductive as I can for my date." Sammy said, "Well, you will have to do everything that I say. Are you ready to do that?" And I responded, "Yes, I guess so." With that, he asked me to take a seat in the chair. He went over to the wall and flipped a switch and turned and said, "Since you are getting the works', you will receive a video tape of the entire transformation. There is no extra charge for it. I do it every time I give the works'." And he came back over behind the chair. Before I knew what was happening, I felt a wide belt go around my waist and he was buckling it tight behind the chair. I asked him what that was for and he said, "You'll see. Just wait. Put your hands in the manicure molds." As I looked down at the arms of the chair, there were molds at the ends to separate the fingers and thumb. Not knowing what was going on, I spread the fingers on both hands and places them in the molds. Before I knew it, Sammy had placed a wide Velcro bands around my wrists and the arms of the chair, and pulled them tight. I didn't know what to say, so I just waited and didn't say anything. Sammy proceeded to put another Velcro binding on my arms just below my elbows. I was now securely bound to the chair with my arms and waist. I tried to move a little and couldn't move anything but my legs. It wasn't long before they were spread to the sides of the footrest and bound with more bands. Now I was totally helpless. Sammy reached over to the counter and got an aerosol can with his right hand, and then held my nose with his left hand. When I had to open my mouth to breathe, he sprayed something down the back of my throat. It had a cherry taste, and when I opened my mouth to tell him how good it tasted, my vocal cords would not work at all. He had paralyzed them. Not a sound would come out, no matter how hard I tried. Then he said, "Don't worry, honey. This will last only an hour or so. I just didn't want to hear you whining while I was working on you!" Then he turned the chair around and laid me back flat, as though he were going to wash my hair. He said, "I have some beautiful contact lens that you will wear in your eyes tonight. I used some just like them a couple of weeks ago on a guy that got the works' and his date thought they were fantastic. Don't worry about being blind. I will see that you get back to your apartment and get dressed on time."
    He reached over to the counter and got a lens. It was extremely large for a contact, as big as my whole eyeball, and it had a picture of a beautiful, sensuous eye painted on the front side. On the back side, it was coal black. He pulled my lower right eyelid down and asked me to hold it there. Then he pulled the upper lid up and dropped the contact into my eye. I startled me a bit but it didn't hurt. He did the same thing with my left eye, and all of a sudden, I realized...I was BLIND! And it would look to anybody else that I was alert and wide awake. I couldn't see anything, not even a little light coming in around the edges. I wanted to scream but nothing came out. I couldn't say anything to stop him. All of a sudden, I began to feel real helpless..more like an object that a human being. I was bound to the chair and blinded by the contacts. I was there for him to use any way he liked. After he finished that, he called out, "OK, guys, you can come out now. He can't move and he can't see you. I have him bound to the chair and gagged with my special spray." I was shocked! Sammy had some guys hiding in the other room. What were they there for? What were they going to do? My mind was racing...I was almost in a panic! I heard them as they walked from the other room. One of them was definitely wearing high heels, real high heels, because I could hear short, mincing steps and the click of his heels on the tile floor. What was going to happen to me? I was breathing fast from the fear. About the time they reached the chair, Sammy said, "Honey, I would like for you to meet Bill and Bobbi, that's Bobbi with an i'. Since you can't see them, I'll describe them to you. "Bill is very tall, about 6'6" and weighs about 180 pounds. Bobbi is a little petite thing, probably not more that 5'6" counting the 6" spike heels shoes he is wearing. Bobbi is wearing a summer-weight mini dress that has pink and blue flowers on it. It has a full skirt and a tight-fitting bodice. He's wearing a black pearl necklace and bracelet with it, and it carrying a black clutch purse. He has on sheer nude stockings and his spike heels are hot pink leather pumps. Bill is wearing white slacks and a hot pink sport shirt with his white loafers. They are going to help me out by draining your balls. You must be totally empty when you have your date tonight, so you won't get any male' ideas. Now just relax and let them do their thing on you. You'll find that they are very good at sucking cock, both of them! Just sit there and let them empty you, do you hear?" I couldn't see a thing. I couldn't see what they looked like or anything. I just nodded my head to Sammy, or rather to where his voice was coming from. With that, Sammy raised the back of the chair to the upright position, but he left my legs sticking straight out. Then he said, "Go ahead boys, he's all yours...but don't go too fast. It's going to take me a while to pull all of his hair through the fine net of this wig. I don't want him cumming before I get through with that." And I felt a wig being fitted on my head.
    Sammy said, "Honey, even though your hair is probably long enough, that mousey brown color just won't go with that black and white gown you are planning on wearing. This is a long black wig that I have put on you. It comes down to about the center of your back, just above your waist a little. I am going to take a knitting needle and pull your hair through the mesh in the wig, and then I will dye your hair and the wig coal black. That should really be pretty, don't you think?" I tried to say no' but nothing would come out, so I shook my head no' to tell him that I didn't want that done. I didn't want my hair dyed black. I wouldn't be able to go to work with it that way. When he saw me shake my head no', he said, "Well, Honey, it doesn't matter whether you want that or not, that's the way it's going to be!" And he poked the thin needle through the hair of the wig, then the mesh base, then twisted it and got a few of my real hairs and pulled them up through the wig. Then he went back through in almost the same place and did it again. And he kept doing that, just three or four hairs at a time. Meanwhile, I felt something else. A hand very lightly touched me on my right ankle and a big, booming bass voice said, "Bill, his legs are so beautiful, I'm getting hard just looking at them." And Bill said, "Yea, and I love those high heels he is wearing. They are so dainty I don't see how he could walk in them. And look at those beautiful bright red toenails. It makes me want to suck them, even with his shoes on." And Sammy said, "Go ahead, Bill, do anything that turns you on. He's not going to resist!" And with that, I felt a mouth on my left foot. He must have had my shoe in his mouth too. And he began to suck on my toes. Then I felt the hand on my right leg begin to slowly move up my leg toward my knee. And I felt the needle go in and get a few more strands of hair and pull them out. All of this together made my cock begin to stir in my panties. Bill kept sucking on my toes and Bobbi kept moving his hand slowly up my leg. When he got to the bottom of my skirt, he went underneath it and kept right on going. I wanted to scream out and say no, stop' but that was impossible. I tried to move to get away from that probing hand, but I was tied so tight that I couldn't move at all.
    Bill said, "Bobbi, why don't you raise his skirt? Let's see what he has in his panties." And I felt my skirt being pulled up and the hem tucked into the waistband. I knew they had exposed my bare thighs above the tops of my stockings, and I could feel the cool air on my panties, and I began to get harder and harder. I couldn't stop myself. Then Bobbi, in his bass voice said, "Bill, look at those cute panties with the ties on the sides. Would you buy me some like that?" And he said, "Sure, Sweetie, as long as you let me suck that big cock of yours. I'll buy you anything you want. Why don't you undo the ties and let's see what kind of cock he has." And I felt some long fingernails fumbling with the ties on my panties. His fingernails must have been real long, because he couldn't seem to get a hold of the ties. Finally, Sammy reach down and said, "Here, let me help you with those. It's hard to do that with those 2" nails you have. I'll do it for you." In an instant, I felt the pressure from my panties was gone, and my cock popped out into the air. I know it must have been sticking straight up from the way it felt. When it did that, they all clapped and hollered, "Hooray, hooray. Would you look at that!" I was so embarrassed and humiliated that I would have died if I could. Bill quit sucking on my toe and started rubbing both hands up and down my nylon-covered legs, and the more he rubbed, the hotter I got. Right then, it didn't seem to matter that he was a man. I was hot. Then I felt a rough tongue on the tip of my cock, and it was flicking back and forth. I didn't know who it was. I wanted to move so bad. I wanted to tell them to stop. I couldn't do either. I just had to lay there and take it. Then Bill said, "Oh, Bobbi, I got a little pre-cum out of him just by flicking the head. Would you like a little taste of him?" And Bobbi said, "Yes, please kiss me, and kiss me deep. I want to see what he tastes like." Then everything stopped for a few seconds except the pulling of my hair through the wig. Sammy said, "Guys, are you going to do each other, or are you going to do him?" And Bill said, "OK, we'll do him first. Then we will do each other." With that, I felt my cock in somebody's mouth, all the way down their throat. My body shuddered when they started pulling their mouth away. I've never had such a thrill in my life. As quick as I was out in the open, their mouth closed on me again, only this time, it was another mouth. I didn't go as far in as the other one. Although I knew that I shouldn't cum with a guy sucking on me, I wanted to. I wanted to real bad.
    But then they slowed down, and one would suck on me and then the other. I thought I would explode but every time I was on the edge, they would stop for a few seconds and just leave me suffering. This must have gone on for over a half hour, and then Sammy said, "OK, guys, one of you finish him off. I'm about done with pulling his hair through this wig. We need to get on with other things." I felt my cock go down somebody's throat, and this time it stayed there. They took their rough tongue and rubbed the underside of my cock without taking it out of their mouth. After about 30 seconds of this I exploded with the biggest orgasm I have ever had in my life, and they just kept sucking and sucking until my balls were absolutely empty. There wasn't one drop left in them. I wondered if I would be able to do half as good for you if you made me go down on you tonight. No sooner than they were through with me, Sammy said, "Sweetie, I'm now going to color your hair and give you a perm at the same time. Your hair is really beautiful as it is, but it needs just a little wave in it. That will make it look fantastic. The perm has an ebony black dye in it. Unfortunately, I don't have any rinse-out color in black so I will have to use this one. You'll just have to get used to having black hair from now on." Then, I could feel him start to put big rollers in my hair. When he had all of them in, I could smell that awful perm solution being put all over my scalp. While the color and perm were setting, he said, "While that sets, I'll pierce your ears...no, I'll double pierce your ears. That will make you look really sexy!" In no time, I could feel something cold on my right ear. Then a snapping sound, like a staple gun. But I didn't feel anything. The thing was moved a little and then another snap. He was literally ruining me with this make over'. I wouldn't be able to go back to work on Monday. I couldn't take holes out of my ears!
    When he finished with my makeup, he assisted me out of the chair and said he would walk me back to the apartment. It was eerie, trying to walk in those high heels and not being able to see where I was going. I thought I was going to fall down all the time. He walked me around the shop for a little for me to get used to being on his arm. Then I heard him open the door and we went out on the sidewalk. I could feel the difference in walking on the concrete and walking on the tile floor in his shop. In what seemed like forever, we made it to my apartment building. Thank goodness there were no steps for me to have to climb. But Sammy did tell me when to step over the elevator opening so I would not hang a heel in the crack. As we rode up the elevator, a male voice said, "My, Dear, your hair is just beautiful!" Sammy nudged me a little to indicate that comment was for me, so I turned my head toward the sound of his voice and in said, in a whisper, "Thank you." And he said, "And those big, blue eyes of yours are just gorgeous" to which I repeated my thanks, bowing my head to make him think that I was very shy. If he only knew I couldn't see anything but pitch black, he would be shocked. This was really weird. As we got out of the elevator and were walking down the hall, he called out, "And those beautiful red high heels really make your ankles look nice." I could have gone through the floor with embarrassment. Sammy asked for my apartment number and I told him 611, and fumbled in my purse for the key. As he unlocked the door and we went in, he said, "Gosh, it's almost 7:00 o'clock. I had better get you dressed, and fast. With that he unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. He couldn't resist touching my breasts, and I couldn't say a thing. He removed my skirt and I could feel the air blowing over my body, standing there in my undies and high heels. He had me sit on the bed and I could feel him taking off my shoes. Then I felt him putting on my evening shoes, those black patent pumps with the 5" spiked heels. Sammy said, "You can't go out tonight with your cock flapping around in your panties like that. I'll fix it up real nice for you, and I guarantee that you won't have to worry about it. I have this 1/4" wide pink ribbon. All we have to do is to tie it real tight around the head of your cock and then pull your cock down and backwards and cement the ribbon to you buttocks. We can't bring it up through your crack, because your date might want to get into that virgin backside tonight and play around." Then he stood me up and put on the bodice of my evening gown. It was really tight, I could just feel that I was sticking out over the top. He patted the tops of my breasts and said, "Those are just about the nicest tits that I have seen in a long time. Your date should really enjoy them."
    Then Sammy said, "I have some earrings here at work that I will loan you to wear tonight, Dear. They will really be pretty with your outfit. We will use these small sterling silver balls in the upper holes, and I have some beautiful, silver Christmas trees for the lower holes. You won't even feel the little balls at the top, but the trees' may be a little uncomfortable until you get used to them. They are quite long and heavy, but I'm sure that your date will really get turned on by them. They are like little 5" trees with a trunk and branches, hanging down from your ears, On each of the branches, there one to four tiny silver bells, which will actually ring when you move your head. I'm sure they will attract attention. They have every time they have been worn." And then I could feel him put the little balls in the holes he had made in my ears. And when he put the trees' on me, I could really feel them. They were really heavy, and I would be consciously aware that I was wearing earrings all the time! And the little bells would tinkle every time I moved my head the least little bit. Sammy came around to the front of the chair and started working on my hands which were tightly bound to the manicure molds. He said, "Honey, we're going to have to remove your nail polish. I have some beautiful 2" artificial high fashion nails which will make your hands look much better." And I felt a cold liquid on my fingers, removing the polish that I had taken so long to put on. Then he said, "Sorry, Sweetie, but I don't have any of the regular fingernail cement. I will have to put these on with industrial strength cement. They will stay much better with that anyway, except you won't be able to remove them for several months." I was literally being ruined. I had a wig that I couldn't get off, breast forms that would be very painful to remove, and now artificial nails that were permanent. What was he doing to me? I could feel him cement each nail over my own nail, but I couldn't tell any difference, at least not then with my hands and arms bound to the chair the way they were. When he was finished with my new nails, he laid me back in the chair and I and heard the water running. He took the rollers out and rinsed out my hair and raised my chair and put me under the hair dryer. When I finished drying, he started doing my makeup. He moved me over to a makeup mirror where he start to transform my face into that of a beautiful female. He said, "Your face will be beautifully made up, almost lacquered like a Japanese doll, with silvery eye shadow, a dull reddish rose blusher, and pancake with powder to match your tannish complexion. Long false eyelashes complete the picture, along with your normal eyebrows. Your lips will be painted a glossy red. You will be exotically beautiful."
    dreamdate-p12.jpgThen he had me put a hand on his shoulder to keep my balance while I stepped into the skirt of the gown. I could feel it being tightly fastened around my waist, but I could also feel the air on my legs and know that they were sticking out through the slits. I tried to put my feet together so it would cover my legs, but it was difficult to stand in that position for very long. I could feel him pull the white, elbow-length gloves up on my arms, and could feel my fingertips open to the air. He slipped a strand of black pearls around my neck and a black pearl bracelet on my left wrist, over my glove. To finish up, he slipped the short, bolero cape around my shoulders and buttoned the one button to hold it on. He handed me my small, silver clutch purse, to complete my transformation. He said I was to carry that with me at all times, wherever I went. Just as he finished, the doorbell rang and Sammy went to the door. He opened it, and invited you in. He introduced himself and told you he was the one responsible for the transformation. He told you that I was blind, but if you wanted me to be able to see, all he had to do was remove my contact lenses. He also told you about my lack of voice, and gave you a little atomizer tube you could use to neutralize the chemical that had paralyzed my vocal cords. Then he said good-bye and left, closing the door behind him. And here we are together, all alone..just the two of us. I hope you will be tender with me.

Nov 201520

Gwen's First Support Group Meeting

short story
Greetings all, I've just read Robyn's story of her first time out. I think all of us remember our first time. The very first TS/TV/CD Support Group meeting I went to, I must admit to being petrified! I was so new at all of this that I didn't even have a wig! I had purchased a nice 2 piece outfit and a pair of new heels to go with it. Prior to leaving the house, I spent almost an hour doing my face and and another half hour doing my nails. It is a one and a half hour drive to the meeting site. The site is held in a Hotel/Motel usually quite busy with 'regular' patrons. The entire trip was nerve wracking to say the least. I was constantly on the lookout for any patrolman and monitored my speed. Perspiring (or is it glowing!) I arrived early and sat in my car and waited. And waited. And waited. During this nail biting time, my heart was trying to pound it's way out of my chest, my mouth was dry and I kept running all kinds of scenarios through my head. There were a constant stream of people walking by - some stared, some were too caught up in what they were doing to pay any attention.   Finally, after seeing one of my 'sisters' enter, I got out and with knees weak with apprehension, I clicked across the public parking lot sans wig, made it up the stairs without tripping and took a deep breath and knocked on the door. I didn't know what to expect. Being as scared as I was, I ran hundreds of disastrous scenarios through my mind. They would laugh. I would be rejected. The list goes on and on. Then the door opened. That moment changed my life.   With a great deal of cordiality, I was invited in. The lady that I had seen walk in told me to 'come on in honey and relax as we are all human' in here. I almost burst into tears. I was greeted by more warmth and friendship than I ever thought possible.   There were M2Fs, F2Ms, CDs, TVs, TS (pre & post op) and 2 Significant Others gathered in small groups. During the couple of hours of the meeting, every single person made it a point to come up to me and introduce themselves. They all welcomed me and not one person said anything about the nonexistent wig. I was euphoric. I felt that for the first time in my life that I was accepted. Accepted for who I was, not what I was.   These people have all tread the same path as I and the camaraderie was unbelievable. Having had no one to turn to for any kind of assistance, I suddenly found myself in a room full! One lady had a spare wig in her car and made the trip, through the public area to retrieve it. She gave it to me. She told me that I was welcome to join them after the meeting for some libations at a club that catered to the GLBT community. Not wanting to be pulled over and have to explain my outfit to a patrolman, I went real easy on the sauce. But the sheer acceptance was more intoxicating than what I had to drink.   In the years since, I have made every meeting possible. But, I will never forget that day. It has turned my life around. Yes, problems still exist, but with friends like this, talking them out is easy and we all share each others ups and downs. I hope that someone who is dithering about joining a support group would take the plunge. Yes, it may not be all goodness and light, but the chances are that you will find acceptance and friendship. Please, at least give it a thought. Hugs and kisses, Gwen9960@aol.com

Nov 201520

Jenna's Story - A Crossdressing Story

short story

Cross dressing has become a big part of my life and like others I would like to share my experiences and views, if you decide to post my article…”

 

Ok, so this is my story…

 

It is not one racked with with emotional turmoil, it probably wouldn’t even make a Mills and Boon novel. It is not one of a man’s desire to become a woman when he realises that he should have been born a girl.

 

But the interest being a TV has created to the general public and indeed to the unique individuals who visit the Transformation site, made me want to put fingers to keyboard (so to speak) and share my cross dressing experiences and views with you.

 

As I write this article, I do so as Jenna, my female alter ego. I am dressed as her, in lacey underwear, high heels and a short skirt with a bosom-hugging top to add to the air of occasion.

 

I am 31 now and have been cross dressing since the tender age of 6 or 7, or indeed as far back as I can remember. To be honest, I don’t know why I began cross dressing, but having an elder sister probably helped and may have been a starting point.

 

At that age, I cannot put it down to hormonal imbalances, or even starting to think to myself that I wish I had been born a girl, it was something that happened one day and has been a part of my life ever since. Looking back now, there still doesn’t appear to be a reason, but even to this day, I now have the urge to slip into my lacey underwear and my own female clothes and become Jenna whenever I can. My reasons are simple: female clothing is a damn sight prettier than my own, I love to wear it, I feel good when I am wearing it.

 

Why did I choose Jenna?

 

A couple of reasons really. Firstly, it is unusual (a bit like me I suppose) and secondly, it is quite a girly name which befits the way I feel when I cross dress.

 

I had never really thought of giving myself a female name or personna before, that was until I met a lass at a party, who was a transsexual. She listened to me and suggested my giving myself a girls name and it went on from there.

 

Throughout my life, there have been several occasions when the opportunity to dress as a woman, and actually go out in my party frock dressed up to the nines, have presented themselves. They were mainly confined to fancy dress parties, or pub and club nights, but even to this day I am still very much in the closet and have never met anyone in real life who feels the same way as me and understands why I and many others cross dress.

 

Speaking to someone by email is not the same as meeting someone face to face. When you can both sit down together, you can at least both dress as women and swap experiences.

 

The clothes I wear are my interpretation of how I think a woman should look, as indeed is many other TVs’ perceptions. I love sexy, lacey underwear. I love wearing figure hugging skirts, tops or dresses finished of with a set of perfect legs and of course, the good old high heel shoe. I own a pair with a 4 inch heels and I wear them as often as I can, because I think they look really feminine and I look good in them.

 

I think I dress the way I do because I am very envious of how many sexy women there are in this world, and as well as wanting to be able to pass convincingly as one of them, I would prefer to share my bed with one as well. Kind of have my cake and eat it.

 

They have so many beautiful things — what do men have? A chauvanist attitude and a dull, grey suit…

 

I feel great when I am dressed as my alter ego and it also helps in de-stressing me at the end of another crap day at the office. I have to keep my feelings and wanton desires well in the closet when I am at work, as well as at home as the wife refuses to accept that I am TV and life could become very unbearable.

 

Going back to dressing as a woman: my feelings can sometimes be really overwhelming. I enjoy dressing in petite feminine things (I am a slim size ten by the way). I even used to bunk off school in my teenage years, just so that I could rifle through my sister’s clothes and spend the day pampering myself as every woman does now and again.

 

I buy my own clothes, the knowing look of the spotty faced Saturday girls are always a bit disconcerting… can they actually sense that you may have an ulterior motive for that bag full of sale priced clothing you have just purchased? One would certainly think so. Why does it always seem to take so long for the items to be put through the tills, accompanied by the girly titters and giggles. Embarrasing as it may be, as long as you look good and feel comfortable in that nice sexy little outfit you have just purchased, who cares?

 

Which brings me nicely onto my next point:

 

..that of the narrow minded views and opinions of the good old public… I can’t discriminate, but it really annoys the hell out of me when you get the big mouthed idiot or the unsavoury characters shall we say, who make life unbearable for each of us, each TV – a unique person in my own opinion.

 

Yes, it isn’t the done thing for a man to dress in women’s clothing. It could be misconstrued as being abnormal, but what the hell. You can only take so much abuse, but the narrow minded views of individuals who think that just because you are TV you must be perverted push the limits. Is it any wonder that most TVs remain in the closet?

 

Underneath the mascara and lipstick there is still a man, and I am pretty sure that most people will only take so much before they explode, myself included.

 

Some women actually actively encourage their partner’s cross dressing. They feel that if they help their menfolk to become women, not only do they gain a confidente, a sister, a good female friend, they also gain the respect, love and admiration only a part-time woman can bring.

 

Most feel threatened though, God knows why.

 

Personally speaking, I have no desire whatsoever of becoming a full time woman. Not taking away the respect I give to those who have made such a huge emotional decision, it certainly takes guts. I have a friend who is in the final throes of their transition to full time womanhood.

 

I admire and respect her, but at the same time I pity her because of what women face. There is no doubt that they are, probably, the weaker sex in some respects. They are used and abused in a very male-dominated world and more often than not taken for granted, something of which I too am guilty at times.

 

So where does that leave me? Still in the closet I’m afraid, unless by some freak act of nature I turn into a female overnight or the world actually realises that TVs do exist but underneath our lipstick and mascara we are human too.

 

I would love to wear my lacey underwear under my clothes, but I can’t, I have to remain behind closed doors. Perhaps Jenna might come to fruition one day and people will understand.

 

I am a normal person, I just enjoy dressing as a woman.

 

Take Care One and All

 

Regards, Jenna



Nov 201520

Zoes's Trans Woman Story

short story

Zoes's Trans Woman Story

The story begins in what I think was 1970, which would make me about 6 years old. There was another boy in my class at school whose parents weren't very well off, and one morning he didn't have any trousers to wear for school. What exactly can this have to do with the story, I can hear you asking? Well, as I said, this is where my story began (or maybe before as the thoughts were already there), but this poor young child had to come to school in a pair of his sisters green woollen tights (you know the kind, the ones that little girls wear), and all I was thinking was that I wish my mum would send me to school in a pair of those tights too, and a skirt and blouse like all the other young girls were wearing. There was a girl in my class called Helen - she was very pretty and had long fair hair, in which she always wore ribbons or a hair band. I used to go to sleep at night after saying a prayer that while I was asleep, could God please make me look like Helen, as I really wanted to be a girl and didn't feel right being a boy. It wasn't a sexual thing then, I can't really put my finger on what exactly it was, but I knew that I really should be a girl. I can then remember going shopping with my mum in the high street, and she called in a local shop to collect some wool. The lady behind the counter began a conversation with her, and as I looked at her I began to notice her breasts - and please remember that in those days bras weren't as shapely as they are today, they were sort of pointed and very rigid looking. I asked my mum if I would have busters like the lady's behind the counter when I got older. She was very embarrassed as you can imagine, and we made a very quick exit from the shop.   Things were forgotten for quite a while, I suppose until I reached puberty, and I was at comprehensive school. There was a girl in some of my classes called Jane - nothing stunning, in fact she was probably very ordinary - but all I wanted was to be like her, long white socks, grey skirt, white blouse, and grey school jumper. I would go home from school and unroll long lengths of toilet tissue, roll it up in to balls and put it down my jumper. I would then put on one of mums grey skirts and a pair of her shoes - it felt nearly right, but it would never be right for me as perfection is all that I wanted, and if I couldn't be a girl it wasn't good enough. It wasn't long after this that we went to a party at an aunts and my cousin, a girl who was quite a bit older than me, was talking with her brother about something (I cant remember what), but she said something which made me sit up and listen. What did she say I hear you ask? Well it was something to do with a friend and a sex change. It was said in fun and this friend didn't really want a sex change, but it was the first time I had heard about such a thing, and I thought "they don't really mean that you could actually change sex do they?".   I carried on all through school dressing up, and then started to go out with girls but sex wasn't right, something was missing. When I was seventeen I met this girl and went steady for quite a while just to fit in (my brother had a steady girlfriend and I wanted to look normal), but when having sex we used to try different positions and one of these was to get her to lie on her back on top of me and I could run my hand down to her vagina and imagine that it was really mine. I would caress her breasts and imagine what it would be like to really grow a pair. Of course I already know what it is like to have sex as a girl, how it feels, the emotions, the excitement and everything - I can't explain this, it is something which I just knew. About a year after this I met another girl. We moved in with each other and it was bliss; all the clothes I could possibly want to play with when she was at work. I was very slim then and could just squeeze in to a size ten. I would put make-up on and for a day I was a girl. After a year we split up, and I went back to live with my parents - for quite a few years cross dressing didn't happen, and on the outside I was again what people would call normal.   When I met my wife things just began again. It's impossible to suppress the urge to dress as a girl because it's the right and normal thing to do, because deep down I think that really I should be a girl. At 36, fat and balding though, I don't think that this will ever be. Some days you get depressed, and of course the feeling never goes away and never will.   I have considered leaving my wife and beginning a new life as Zoë, full time, but can't make the break. I just want to disappear and go somewhere where I can be with other people like myself, to share the real me with people who don't run a mile or call you a weirdo, queer and the like. Of course this hasn’t happened to me as I am still in the closet (and you don't meet many people in your bedroom closet do you?). I really want to grow breasts, but as a Changeaway Assistant pointed out to me, my wife would be wondering what the hell was going on if her husband suddenly started to grow breasts. This is the story so far, in brief, and is still going on. Zoë

Nov 201520

First Steps Out - A Dressing Story

short story

Dressing

  Almost all crossdressers start by dressing in the complete privacy of their own homes. Many are happy to stay that way, but others want to venture further afield, stepping out into the wide world of everyday life. That first outing can be a terrifying, but exhilarating, experience. Are you going to be read, and if so, what could the result be? Where should you go, and what should you do? The Groundwork Your very first time cross-dressed in a normal, everyday environment will be like no other, and once you have done it successfully you will have the courage to do it again and again. It will open up a completely new world. For this reason it is worth going to special lengths to make sure your dream doesn't turn into a nightmare. You will have enough to worry about without getting lost. 1. Plan out where you are going to go, how you are going to get there, and how you are going to get back. Going Out In Daylight... Fledgling TVs often making the mistake of choosing places where there are few people around, while in fact there is more safety in numbers. You are less likely to cause attention in a busy shopping street than in a quiet park, where mothers with children could misunderstand your motives. If your first outing is to be in daylight, head if you can to a city centre and choose the more affluent shopping areas. Here you are more likely to be amongst people who are too polite to mention your appearance even if they spot something amiss. Avoid areas that are frequented by gangs of bored teenagers looking for something to do - or someone to jeer at. It's well worth rehearsing your trip before you make it. Going by car, if you have one, is obviously favourite as buses and trains can add to the strain, but if you have to go by public transport find out the times so you're not stranded for 20 minutes in the rain. This can play havoc with your wig, your make-up and your nerves. Unless you want to chat with a car park attendant, go for pay and display or an automatic multi- storey. Its worth queuing for the right spot and never take any risks with parking - you won't be the first transvestite to have to go to the car pound to pay the towing-away charge, but believe me, it's not fun. Parking is obviously easier in small towns, but here you run greater risks of embarrassment. Seasoned TVs might get a buzz out of shocking Chipping Sudbury, but provincial policeman may take more notice of you than the city forces who have seen it all. ...Or After Dark Some TVs I know just enjoy driving around in their cars, but this just seems an extension of the closet. If you are going out, you want to head somewhere and do something. But what? Whatever you do, don't hit your neighbourhood streets for a stroll at two o' clock in the morning. This may be tempting, you're all dressed up and it's just out there, but it really is the silliest plan of all. If you look good, patrolling policeman are going to wonder what a woman is doing out alone at that time of night. Passable at first first glance, you could be still be done for soliciting. There are various transvestite groups who meet here and there about the country, in venues ranging from someone's front room to the upstairs of a gay pub, but again it very much depends on where you live. However most large towns nowadays have a gay pub or club, somewhere. It's well worth sussing out the local scene first, as a man, to see how the land lies.  
  Transgender Resources...Into The World As A Woman, By Annie Clarke 2. If you want to pass successfully as a woman, make sure you look the part Making Up... When you're dressing up in your dimly lit bedroom, it's easy to think that the more make-up you apply, the greater the transformation. Inch thick panstick, bright blue eye-shadow and a wide swathe of red lipstick and Bob's yer Auntie, you're away. You might look like your own perfect little fantasy in the mirror, but on the street you'll appear ridiculous. Dress as other women will be doing around you. Wear light make-up during the day, but always enough to cover your beard shadow, and you can afford to go heavier on the eyes at night. Your make-up is all-important. It takes practice to get it right and it's always worth getting a second opinion. You will get good advice and help from the girls at Transformation shops nationwide. Choosing Your Outfit Do try to blend in with your surroundings, unless outright exhibitionism is really your game. If the average woman in Debenhams wore a tight pvc mini skirt and six inch heels, you could as well. But they don't. Dress your age. You can be chic as you like, but a middle-age woman tarted up as a teenager attracts sniggering without the added incentive that she is also a man. Remember, the mast majority of people won't even notice you unless you're of an unusually large build. Those that do will seldom give you a second glance if there is nothing that particulary strikes their eye. 3. Things to avoid Ladies loos - the one place you really are risking trouble if you're read. You'll get away with it in gay pubs, but the best advice is to avoid them whenever possible. Breaking the law - don't drink and drive, or do anything which could bring you into conflict with the police. If you behave yourself, you should have no problem at all from the boys in blue, and especially their female colleagues. Don't give them any reason for taking you down to the station, because there you could find their liberal attitude is just skin deep. Kids - Children are the worst challenge you will face. Young ones lack their parents' social inhibitions and can call a spade a spade, or in your case, a man a man. Their parents will also be in protective mode, and could over-react to a "pervert" being near their kids. Places like McDonalds are not recommended. Older children, especially in gangs, are even worse and can easily take it upon themselves to follow you for something to do. A TV aquaintance of mine recently had to seek help from a policeman because a pack of 15 year olds chased him through Manchester's Arndale Centre on a saturday afternoon. It does happen, and he always thought he was totally convincing. Acting like a man - remember you're a lady, and don't let your inner masculine self dominate your commonsense. Ladies don't walk the street at night on their own, and may be thankful if a police car stops and asks them if they O.K.. You won't be so glad of it. Ladies on their own may eat in restaurants or drink in bars nowadays, but they are still few and far between and are likely to attract unwelcome attention. Unless you want to be chatted up by amorous waiters, stick to the gay areas of town for eating and drinking if you can. Above all - take care and you should enjoy yourself. Once you have done it once, and felt the breeze waft your skirts, you'll want to do it again. It's a free country and why shouldn't you - so long as you don't upset other people, they shouldn't trouble you. The rest is all down to confidence, which only experience will bring. Go for it, and have fun!  

Nov 201520

Robyn's First Dress

short story

First Dress

  It was the summer of 1972 and my fiancee and I had gone for two weeks of sun, sand and sangria on a package tour to Ibiza. Linda and I were getting married that autumn and this was our first real holiday away together, just the two of us with no friends or relatives to get in the way. I have been a transvestite for as long as I can remember, at least in the way that I had always fantasised about being dressed as a girl. It was a compulsive dream but not a compulsive act. Although I was 19 at that time, I had never worn a frock.   On the first morning everyone was gathered together in the hotel lounge and told about the entertainment on offer during our holiday. There were trips across the island here and there, barbecues and discos, but it was one in particular that really excited me - a his 'n' hers party on the first saturday night. "It's not compulsory of course," said the bubbly rep with the long brown legs, "but most couples join in and it can be a real giggle." I could hardly believe my ears as she said it, but she did... "the girls come as the boys, and the boys come as the girls." Nearly thirty years later, I can remember that moment even now, as if it had only just happened. Linda was all for a bit of fun and we duly booked on almost every trip going. To my absolute delight, she was also keen on the his 'n' hers party. I tried to play it cool, but inside I was so excited I could hardly speak, and there was still four days to go...   Somehow I kept myself together for the first two days, and never mentioned the party, but eventually I just had to talk about it. We had just been out to look at the place were they filmed South Pacific and were coming back to the coach when I asked Linda what we were both going to wear. I was so nervous I was sure she could tell. I just remember her saying we would have to sort it out when we got back, and I was too scared to say anything else. When we returned that afternoon she was as good as her word. I had the most wonderful time of my whole life, something I will never, ever forget. Linda soon chose the shirt and trousers she would wear on the night, and then it was my turn to be kitted out. I was in absolute heaven.  
  Real Life Transgender Stories I was taller than Linda but not much wider, so her dresses fitted me okay. She tried me in three or four different dresses, then various combinations of blouses and skirts, then back to the dresses and round again, over and over again while she made up her mind. This was what she was like when she was shopping for herself, never able to make up her mind and it would normally drive me mad. But this time I was the model, in her pretty clothes, and for once I wasn't complaining.  In the end she decided on a long-sleeved Indian print dress in flowing cotton, a hippy style that could go well with sandals - shoe size was a problem, and there was no way I could have fitted into her size fives... So, that was my first dress. It was a mixture of blue, lavender, and pinkish hues in a soft, soft material that seemed to float with me as I walked. For me, it was a dream come true. By the time saturday night came I was so hyped up I was really scared I would do something silly, like confess to Linda or something like that, but I didn't, not that night anyway - I just had a ball!   Linda seemed to be enjoying herself as well as she made up my face, not to Transformation standards admittedly - there was no beard cover and she didn't even bother with foundation - but just wearing lipstick, rouge and eyeshadow was a big enough thrill for me. I remember I couldn't resist continually licking my lips to remind myself that I really did have lipstick on. I had long hair in those days, so that was no problem, but Linda set it off with her wide straw hat with a pink silk scarf that tickled the back of my neck. When I looked in the mirror I thought I was the image of Marianne Faithful, although the lady herself could well have sued for slander if I had said so publicly. I half murmered it to Linda and she agreed, with a laugh, that she would call herself Mick.   As Mick and Marianne I was sure we would win first prize, and of course if this was in TV fiction we would have done. But as it happened, we didn't. The honours went to a couple we didn't know, who were incredible. He must have been a TV, and she must have known. He was only about 5'6" with natural, shoulder length blonde hair and a neat little figure most of the women would have died for. He had on a bright red mini-dress with short puffed sleeves and knee-high boots. He was supposed to be Nancy Sinatra, and his wife, slightly taller than him, was Frank.  
  Nowadays, being a bit braver on the TV front than I once was, I would have asked him all sorts of questions, but then I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Perhaps if he was a real TV and is reading this he may get in touch and put me out of my misery. I'm still very curious as to what his wife thought about him being so much prettier than her...   To complete my dream I would have given anything to have made love to Linda while we were still cross dessed, but there was no hope of that. I tried to kiss her but she wouldn't have it - "I'm not a lesbian, you know", she said curtly. End of dream. That holiday was not only the first time I dressed, it was also the last time for many years. Linda and I got married, and divorced, and although I was living on my own I still never came to terms with myself enough to actually buy my own clothes. That had to wait until I discovered Transformation. I now have my own wardrobe of dresses, skirts and suits and go out regularly about the town. However, Linda remains the only woman ever to have dressed me up, and despite our later quarrels I will never forget her for that. Ibiza is always in my mind. Robyn

Nov 201520

Disguised in Skirts (Part 1)

short story

Disguised in Skirts

  f686_1164gnrsfeatoftransfashpage5I first met Rita in the winter of 1982 in the make-up department of a top store in Manchester. It was late afternoon - one of those dull dreary November days. I was due go to a little "do" that evening in a local pub, where a number of like minded people met every week. I was already dressed as a woman ready for the evening's jollities. I remember I was wearing a new olive green straight skirt I had bought the previous week and it fitted me like a glove, making me look slim and elegant. With it I was wearing a beige silk blouse and a little green and brown silk scarf. Of course Rita could see very little of my sartorial elegance as I was wearing a three quarter length swing back camel hair coat to keep out the chill. Whether she picked me out as a transvestite or not, I do not know. At first glance I was reasonably sure that she was one, even though se was stylishly dressed in a black tailored suit and a white silk blouse. Her feet in their high heeled patent leather court shoes and black stockings seemed very small - one of the things that made me uncertain as to whether or not she was actually a fellow traveller. Nevertheless, there was something about her, -- I could not put my finger on it, but there was something not quite right. "That's a beautiful colour" - I acknowledged, as she tried a lipstick on the back of her manicured hand. She looked up with a start, her eyes momentarily frightened. Yes, I ad been right. "Yes", she replied, forcing a little smile as she stared at me. In the moment we both knew the other was a fellow traveller, and I saw her relax. We chatted away for several minutes afterwards about make-up in general and then I suggested that she might like to join me upstairs for a coffee in the cafeteria it being such a miserable cold day. She agreed readily as we toddled on our high heels. "How did you know?" she asked as she sipped her coffee. "Darling," I smiled, "when you've been at it as long as I have it is extremely difficult for someone to deceive you!" "Oh", she sighed, obviously upset that I had "read" her. "Look, you're extremely good - one of the best I've ever seen. You mustn't take offence." "No, it's not that. It's just that, as far as I know, I've never been read before." "Really?" I smiled eyebrows raised. "Not as far as I know, anyway" Oh dear, how we deceived ourselves, I thought. The poor girl, good as she was, had probably been "read" by a good few people before now. "Have you been doing it a long time?" I enquired casually - not wanting to appear to pry. "Since 1972 - since I was twelve" f686_1163gnrsfeatoftransfashpage3"My goodness - no wonder you're so good! Did your parents know?" "My mother started me off", she smiled. "Well I must say that's decidedly unusual. Tell me more." And so she told me her story...
  As I mentioned earlier her femme name was Rita, but her real name was Roger and she was born in Reading in a beautiful house with gardens sloping down to the river. Both her parents worked and she was an only child. Her father was a city solicitor and her mother an architect. Roger's earliest memories were of the furious rows between his parents. His father was demanding, domineering and short tempered, and always complaining about something. His mother was artistic and gentle by nature and always ended up in tears during the rows. Roger was terrified of his father, who frequently beat him, even when he was only 3 or 4 years old. His mother would try to intercede on his behalf but usually ended up being brutally beaten herself for her pains. Roger did not go into a lot of detail about his early life with his father but it was obvious that both he and his mother were physically terrified of the man. Eventually his mother decided to break up the marriage and start a new life with Roger. She was welcome to go as far as Roger's father was concerned but Roger stayed - under no circumstances would he let his son go. He would have made him a ward of court - anything, but he stayed with his father. Roger, who overheard all this being shouted across the dining room table on evening, was distraught - as was his mother. Under no circumstances would she desert Roger, she whispered to him as he clung to her and wept bitter tears in the privacy of his bedroom. Two weeks later his father had to go up to London for a weekend conference. As soon as she had left his mother hurried home from work, packed some clothes for both of them and they drove off into the night in her little Renault - both of them determined never to return. That night they stayed in a small hotel on the outskirts of Birmingham. His mother had had the forethought to withdraw all her money from the bank in cash before leaving in order to avoid being traced by her husband. When his father returned home late on Sunday night, and realised what had happened, how his wife had outwitted him, he was beside himself with rage and frustration. On the Monday morning he set about making Roger a ward of court, and thanks to his influential position, ensured that the story was published in most of the national daily papers, together with photographs of Roger and his mother. Roger's mother saw their photographs in the paper on the Tuesday morning and was panic stricken. She was determined that she would never let her husband have Roger, but how to avoid detection - that was the problem. f686_1162gnrsfeatoftransfashpage2She sat in the hotel, rocking backwards and forwards as she cuddled Roger who, even at the age of twelve, was glad of the warming assurance. Suddenly she got up off the bed and put on her coat - her mind made up. "I'm going out for a while, Roger. You must stay here. Under no circumstances must you leave this room or let anyone in - anyone at all. Is that clear?" "Where are you going?" Roger demanded to know. "When will you be back?" "I'm going to the shops - to the town centre. I should be back within a couple of hours. Now remember, stay here whatever happens." With that she was gone, leaving young Roger alone. He stared out of the window and watched the little red Renault drive off, feeling frightened and alone.
  It was, in fact the best part of two and a half hours before Roger heard a car pull up outside again and rushed to the window. It was not the Renault and his heart sank. However, out of the battered Fiat stepped his mother clutching armfuls of carrier bags and parcels? Roger rushed to the door and unlocked it, waiting for his mother to appear down the corridor. "Get inside!" she ordered sharply as she came into view, almost smothered by parcels. She threw the parcels onto the bed, ordering him to close and lock the door. "What happened to the car?" Roger asked. "I've sold it - part exchanged it for another one. Your father would have traced through one of his contacts. It was much too risky." "Do you really think he will go to all those lengths to get us back, mother?" "Any lengths - he will see this as personal - a humiliation. It's not me - I could go to hell as far as he is concerned. It's you he'll be after, Roger. Here, come into the bathroom", she ordered. Both Roger and his mother had dark brown hair - almost black. It being the early seventies Roger, like most boys at the time , wore his hair quite long - much to his father's disgust, who had numerous rows with his mother about it. An hour after his mother's return they were sitting on the bed staring at each other fascinated, for they were both as blonde as it as possible to be. "It suits you" Roger said to his mother, grinning. "You don't look so bad yourself," his mother replied. "You think we're safe now then?" "No way! This is only the beginning," she said starting to unpack her parcels. "By the time we've finished he'll never find you. We'll be safe."
  f686_1161gnrsfeatoftransfashpage4Roger stood fascinated as he watched his mother unpack the parcels and horrified as he saw the contents and begun to realise what was going to happen. She had spread out on the bed a girl's pink gingham dress with a large white collar and cuffs, a silky white vest and knickers, a lace trimmed waist slip and a pair of white ankle socks. "What are they for?" Roger whispered, but he already knew. "Your disguise, darling," his mother smiled encouragingly. "Get undressed - quickly." "No!" He gasped. "Don't be silly, Roger." she said impatiently. "I'm not wearing a dress - not for anyone." "Do you realise your father has got every policeman in the country on the look out for us - a woman with a twelve year old boy?" "I know, but�" "Any policemen worth his salt would have us placed in no time at all." "Not with blonde hair - we've both got blonde hair now.", "That's a help certainly, but it's not enough. Now come on put these on," se demanded, holding up the knickers. Roger blushed and shook his head vigorously. "I can't", he muttered. "Alright then, I might just as well take you down to the station and put you on a train back to your father.", she snapped. "Is that what you want? Do you want to live with him, alone - without me, until you're old enough to leave home? Do you want to be beaten and shouted at all the time?" "No, No," Roger whispered. "Then get undressed - if you want to stay with me, get undressed and put these things on, Roger, "she said sternly. It was not that his mother was unkind, on the contrary, but she was desperate and determined that her violent and selfish husband would not get Roger. Slowly, reluctantly Roger stripped off his shirt and long trousers, watched by his mother. When he was standing naked in the middle of the room she handed him the kickers again. Deeply embarrassed, he pulled them on. Next his mother slipped the little silk vest over his head and told him to tuck it into his knickers. She helped him to step into the lace fringed little waist slip and settle it around his waist before handing him the gingham dress. Roger stared at it and then, pleadingly at his mother. To be continued...

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