It Started With a Nightie

For me, the most wonderful aspect of transforming myself is painting my lips. I think that this is because it's such a feminine thing to do. Similarly, painting my toenails and shaving my legs.

By Anne Ritson

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Putting my 'anyone can write that' attitude next to my very limited knowledge of fetish clubs, I set off and began writing. Easy as that, no problem, even my four finger typing couldn't keep up with what was pouring out of the word processor.

Heady stuff this sudden creativity, it isn't until you've read it over that you realise how bad it actually is. Descriptive, suggestive, sensuous, whatever words I tried to apply to the stories and tales didn't quite fit. I'm biased enough to say it was good, but it lacked feel, missed intuition.

I couldn't express what the characters felt when they were dressed or forcibly dressed, what was it like to put on lipstick or to wear spiked high heels? I didn't know, and there's nothing worse except writers block than having an excellent idea for a story but not knowing how your characters feel, act or react.

Crossdress

How was I going to get over the problem? Brain wave! Ask my girlfriend! Great idea? Well, yes and no. You see, I'd developed this particular character, Daniel - I'll leave the plot out for the most part, but he'd fallen into a tangled web involving this mistress, she'd got him to crossdress and I didn't know what to do with him.

The trouble was doubled in that the more I was writing, the more I was becoming intrigued by the whole thing. I found it easy enough to get into the character's heads, but I couldn't get into the character's clothes, so to speak. If I was already writing good stories, how much better would the stories be if I understood what my character got from crossdressing? Which is roughly where the nightie came in.

The first time was innocent enough - HA! Who am I trying to kid! I don't know if it was innocent or not, what I do know was that is was as broad a hint as I could possibly have come up with. I sneaked off to bed early one night, slipping under the duvet in the light blue, strappy nightie I'd 'discovered'. Just below knee length, slightly flowered over the breasts (or where my breasts would have been). Soft and smooth on my skin. Exciting? Yes. Arousing? Definitely.

I lay quietly in bed, nervously waiting for my girlfriend. This nervous anticipation certainly lent an edge to the experience. At worst it would be outrage and disgust, at best she'd just laugh!

As it turned out, it was better than that - it was sensational! To protect the less than innocent I will spare you the details... oh alright then! I couldn't get my head to follow what my body was feeling, from the touch of Lynn's hands on me through the nightie, to the way my nipples seemed to set themselves on fire. Lynn 'asserted' herself and it came as a very pleasant surprise to me that she loved the 'power trip'. When she straddled me and took over completely I was totally blown away.

It became a regular 'nightie' game, too regular for both of us really so we cooled off from it for a little while. The nightie was still around but it wasn't on all the time. I explained to Lynn about my problem writing and where the idea for the nightie had come from. If I could work out what it felt like then I'd have a better idea what to do with the characters in the wstory. (I think I'd left poor Daniel standing there in a white lace nightdress and negligee).

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