Laura's Living Doll
By Petal Frances
I'll tell her tomorrow, I thought on our way home. It would be wrong to spoil this moment with unnecessary words. I meant it, too, although it didn't work out as intended. Going to see her the following day, I wore my prettiest underwear and seamed stockings below masculine outer garments. That way, I felt sure, the matter couldn't slip my mind.
I didn't forget my intention to tell Laura, but didn't act on it, either. Wearing my feminine clothes made me feel more submissive, more passive. In my girlish state of mind, it was difficult - seemed unnatural - to direct the course of our conversation. It was surely better to delay my confession until the following night, wearing more masculine, more assertive things.
As the evening progressed, a fresh fear arose within me. What if this was the night we went to bed? Undressing, there would be no need to explain my secret. I didn't want her to find out that way - it was only fair to let her know beforehand.
"I see you're not the kind who expects to go to bed on a first date," she said archly.
"No... no, I'm not... It's not that you don't turn me on..."
"Good. I was afraid it might be."
"I just don't want to make the mistakes I made with Margaret."
It was the truth, and the nearest I'd come to confession that night. My stomach churned at the thought of explaining what mistakes I'd made with Margaret. I wondered if I'd ever have the courage to tell Laura about my transvestism. Perhaps I was already repeating the mistakes.
"Margaret?"
"My ex-wife. I don't often mention her. It doesn't seem right to talk about my ex... not with you... Maybe I'm superstitious - she might cast a cloud over you and me..."
"Oh, I see. No... I don't often talk about Bill, either." The moment for our going to bed passed. For the first time, Laura talked to me about her ex-husband. He was evidently a beer swilling football fan with whom I had nothing in common. Her obvious distaste for the macho Bill made me hope that she might consider acceptable my feminine persona.
The following evening I wore my usual socks and Yfronts, but found it no easier to say what I must. That night we went to bed together. Thereafter, our relationship developed rapidly. A fortnight later she suggested that I move in with her.
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