Laura's Living Doll
By Petal Frances
Eventually, Margaret and I drifted into divorce, not through a single confrontation, but via a thousand smaller divergences. My transvestism didn't seem to be the cause of our separation, but it must have contributed. At first, unwilling to venture into dress or lingerie departments, I suffered frustration as well as loss. Three or four weeks later, however I discovered a specialist shop with everything a transvestite could need - including a number of products entirely new to me.
The girl assistant was very helpful. She was, as far as I knew, the first person to see me in a skirt. Her matter of fact approach gave me a degree of confidence in my femininity that I'd never achieved before. I slipped into a can-can petticoat for the first time and instantly lost my heart to its multiple layers of satin, ribbon and lace.
They sold shoes with stiletto heels, of course, something I'd long coveted. Margaret's had been three sizes too small for me. Walking in them, while wholly pleasurable, proved more of an art than I'd anticipated. They re-distributed my body weight, necessitating a characteristically feminine step.
I entered a period of comparative contentment, a relief after the death throes of our marriage. In the evening, and at weekends, I relaxed in an expanding wardrobe of ladies wear. Colleagues remarked on my being an easier person with whom to work.
Then, I met Laura. It was the way she dressed that first drew me to her - pleasing styles that I'd have loved to wear. Our taste in clothes was almost the same. The great divide between us, however, lay in it being socially acceptable for her to dress thus, but not for me.
In the early weeks, our relationship remained platonic. We did things together as a pair of women friends might. I'd have loved to be with her in my feminine persona, but thought it would spoil things between us. Revealing my secret would have seemed an intrusion -thrusting my private life upon her.
It was her suggestion to go down to the coast on a wet and blustery March day. We were clambering over a large rock when I placed my weight on a piece of damp seaweed. Reaching out, Laura held me back from what could have been a nasty fall. Her arms remained about me to take the weight from my twisted ankle.
Our lips met, and we were no longer platonic friends. It came as a shock to realise that I was already in love with her. But I was determined my secret crossdressing should not come between us, as it had between Margaret and me, I had to tell her. If our relationship was doomed, better to end it quickly than risk greater pain - in allowing it to develop under pretence of being something I wasn't.
"Laura, there's something I must tell you," I began. "I love you..."
I had intended to add 'but' and continue into my confession. Before I could say more, however, she kissed me again. When our lips parted my resolve had weakened. The moment for my coming out had passed.
"I love you too," she said, "but let's not talk about it- not now, anyway. People spoil too many moments with unnecessary words."
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