Lipstick
By Catherine D'Oreal
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There was a nightmare quality to the idea of trying to discover how to remove lipstick - desperately and in a hurry - as I heard a key in the door. Did I dare risk that possibility? In the end, with much regret, I emphatically did not dare.
My not daring to try my sister's lipstick was compounded by the layout of the house. My sister's bedroom and mine were off the same upstairs passage, next to each other. While dressing in her clothes, moving from room to room was no problem.
However, I suspected that removing the lipstick might involve using the bathroom, which was downstairs and reached via the kitchen. To get there from my sister's room (or mine) involved going downstairs and past the front door (a likely spot for running into someone entering the house), then through the dining room and into the kitchen (with its back door, the other likely spot for encountering people coming home).
Thinking about that now, the solution seems obvious. Take the lipstick down to the bathroom, put some on my lips, and then see how easy or difficult it was to remove. There was no need to wear a skirt in order to experiment with make-up. Oh well, I've thought of that solution three dozen years too late!
In fact, of all the things which give me a lot of pleasure, I think that lipstick may be the most recent to have really grabbed me. After my teenage era of feminine experimentation, I grew a beard. Goodness knows why I did it - I was still dressing in private. It was during this bearded period that I first wore lipstick.
I was living on my own then, and no longer worried about family members returning unexpectedly, or even paying me the occasional visit. Alas, the effect of the lipstick was far from flattering.
My reddened lips served only to emphasise the beard. My reflection was grotesque... well, it was probably always pretty grotesque during that period, but usually I didn't notice the beard. I had developed a sort of beard-blindness, but that selective blindness didn't operate when I looked at my lips... I still can't think about my reflection that first time I tried on lipstick without a little shudder. Ugh!
Unsurprisingly, it was only when I lost the beard that I started to enjoy my lipstick. By this time, I was a Transformation customer, and had 'come out' to one of my friends. I took to decorating my letters to him with lipstiuck kisses, I got a lot of a kick out of that. It seemed a continuing 'coming out' process, and also had a slight hint of danger. What if someone else saw the letters?
Another pleasure in those lipstick kisses was the realisation that no two people's lip prints are identical. The marks on the paper were as individual as my fingerprints. Just me, and nobody but me.
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Related categories: Crossdressing Desires
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