November 2015

Nov 201520

Helen's Story

---cdata-eal-admin--- short story

Well where do we start? With the Victorian father who was an out and out bully? With the time spent in childrens homes or with the closeness of a mothers love? All of them are there but I prefer to look at the girl in me as a result of all this. A brief example of some of my experiences: An 11 year old very confused boy who would play games of dressing up with his sister, feeling the sexual arousal of the feminine garments about me. Being found out by the elder sister (they were her clothes) and then going further into the closet. What a common answer this is to our situation. The clothes in those days (the 1950s) were what I consider still to be the most feminine of clothse. I loved them then and still do. The stockings, the bra, the slip and those fabulous skirts! I was the kind of boy who had friends, who played boy games and enjoyed them (I still do) but at the end of the day found solitude, pleasure and excitement dressed as the beautiful princess waiting for her knight to rescue her from the dungeon of her life. Unfortunately I still wait, my cries go unanswered. If he does not have a horse, a car would do or maybe I can sit on the handlebars of his bike (I wont be singing Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head - I cannot sing to save my life). But the dungeon is cold and bare. Where for art thou Romeo? I remember getting to 15 and 16 and waiting for everyone to leave the house, claiming pressure of homework for not going with them, but as soon as they left transporting myself to that tower (attic which was my bedroom) in the castle. Mother would have bagged her and my sisters 'out of season' clothes and left them there. I would rummage through them - my favourite being this delightful silk Chinese style dress. It had this pretty floral pattern and was knee length. I was so angry when mother got rid of it and I might add Stephanie I never saw one in any of your shops. I have loved asian (Indian and Chinese especially) clothes ever since. I get to 30 and I'm still in that closet. One day I have to go to London on business. I call in at the shop, have a swift look round and I run for it. What am I doing, perhaps a beer will help? It doesn't, I stay at the bar. I have just come through a spell of drinking to get through life and it does not help the problem - there is still the next day. The next time I go to London I call again and now start to talk to the girls there. Aren't they sweet? I am enticed to try it and I flatly refuse to be beaten. The coffee, the look through the book, the decision, the climb up the stairs and here I am dressed up to the nines talking to women like me about normal everyday things. The only thing missing was that knight in shining armour. I used to go back there often and those four hours take the pressure off, I can relax and be myself. I come out a new refreshed person ready for the new day. One day I have to go to Newcastle and decide to visit the shop there. Horrors - around the corner is a womens boutique also with Transformations in the title and yes I go in and ask for my transformation. I am not sure who was more horrified. I never saw that shop again - perhaps they changed the name! I dont know. But here was the difference: I left, laughed and went on to the right place and had a ball with the girls. This is me getting it off my chest. I now live abroad and I have gone back into my closet and at times get very frustrated. Shall I tell you about the time I walked out dressed and got caught by the next door neighbour? Or about the video camera I use to check my walk, my presentation, and to remind me of the good times. Perhaps, but that had better be saved for the next time... All my love, Helen (New Zealand)

Nov 201520

Charlene's Story

---cdata-eal-admin--- short story

Charlene's Story

As may be obvious to any TV, writing on this most sensitive of subjects is not an easy matter. I have decided to do so in an attempt to reassure those of you who think that what you are and what you do is 'freakish' or 'weird'. My story will, I hope, enable you to see that transvestism is part of what you are and that you are not the only guy who likes to dress in feminine clothing. It doesn't matter whether you are a person who dresses and acts entirely as a woman, or like me, happens to enjoy wearing lingerie alone. I first became aware that I was attracted to the idea of wearing lingerie when, in my early teens, my older brother was married. As money was short, the newly wed couple lived at my parents' house until they could afford a home of their own. During this time, although I was aware of my fascination with female underwear, my actions in this area were confined to looking at pictures of models in catalogues and magazines. This is as far as I expected to get with what I initially thought of as a shameful and disgusting habit. The thing that I hadn't considered in this was that although I didn't realise it, the feelings of pleasure I got from imagining myself wearing the pretty underwear that these women were modelling, were a part of me. It wasn't too long before the inevitable occurred and I was left alone in the house. Although I was apprehensive as to the possible consequences, I still couldn't resist going into my brother and sister-in-law's bedroom to see what kind of underwear she liked. I couldn't have been more surprised, in fact, when on looking through the wardrobe, I came across a couple of drawers full of my favourite sorts of lingerie. I couldn't believe it! Right before my eyes were all sorts of lacy goodies bras, panties, suspender belts, French knickers and so on, in a variety of colours and styles. Scattered around these beautiful things were a number of pairs of stockings, ranging from tarty black fishnets to pretty white lace-tops. Why I wasn't caught touching and feeling these undies, I'll never know, because while I was there I couldn't think of anything else. (That, I must say, has always been a major element of the fascination I have with women's underwear. Some of my female friends who know other TVs have said that this is a common phenomenon. Men's underwear, with the exception, I think, of silk boxer shorts just cannot compare with lingerie for tactile sensation.) To cut a long story short, I took every opportunity to go into my sister-in-law's underwear drawers after that. Inevitably though, it wasn't long before looking and touching weren't enough. I remember taking a conscious decision one day, that as soon as I got the chance, I would try on some of the lingerie, to see what it was like. Soon enough the day came when I was on my own in the house. Everyone else would be away for several hours so it was the ideal opportunity to actually do what I had only previously thought of doing. I recall creeping into the bedroom feeling very nervous, even though I knew that nobody would be in the house but me, and that everyone else would be out for ages. I found my breathing was getting difficult and my hands were trembling with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. I pulled open the drawer and picked out a red and black suspender belt, matching panties and a pair of stockings. Quickly I went back to my own room with my stolen treasures and proceeded to strip off, prior to putting on, at long last, the first lingerie I had ever tried. From all those magazine pictures I knew that one put on the stockings and the suspenders first, so I sat on my bed and worked out the unfamiliar fastenings, first securing the suspender belt around my waist, then rolling the stockings up my legs. After finally working out how the clips on the suspender tabs worked and clipping the stockings up, I then picked the satin panties up, and slowly pulled them on, revelling in their beautiful smoothness, surprising after so many years of cotton. The underwear didn't actually fit me too well, but that didn't matter as I looked in the mirror at how I looked, a slim figure in shining red and black lingerie, for the first time. From that moment I knew that this was 'me'. Throughout my teenage years I fantasised about having my own lingerie, but with the lack of money that youth normally bestows, my dream didn't become a reality until I started work. When I started work I also discovered women and sex. I always longed to combine my secret passion with a physical relationship, but I never told anyone about my secret. In fact all was not so easy as it may seem, for I went through periods of denial, where I would throw my lingerie away and think I had conquered this desire, but it proved to be part of me and was not to be denied. Now I am happily married to a woman who knows about my feminine side. I made sure that she knew all about my lingerie passion, since I wouldn't want to go through the lies and deceit that inevitably follows any attempt to deny what is a powerful part of my life. In closing, I would say this to anyone out there who feels like some sort of outcast. You are not alone. You are who you are. Be very sure of anyone you reveal your self to. Finally, enjoy your passion and don't be a prisoner of guilt! Charlene

Nov 201520

Testimonials

Administrator frequently asked questions, how to guides

Testimonials

Real extracts from customers letters or emails telling us of their personal results. The originals of all of these letters are held by Transformation for verification.

DO YOU WANT TO APPEAR ON OUR WEBSITE?

We realise that most of our customers guard their privacy & would not want to appear on video. But we also know that there will be a few of you out there that would love to appear as a convincing woman in a short video clip where even your mum would not recognise you!!! If you are interested in shooting a short testimonial video using your phone please ring Diane or Beverley for full details on 0161-773-4477 or email us here.

BECOME AN INSPIRATION TO OTHERS

Hi ladies, Just wanted to tell you about my visit to Manchester on Saturday. I went again for a changeaway and had just the BEST time. It was wonderful, and again, that is down to the staff you had on duty. As I walked in, Debbie remembered me, saying "Hi Sophie....you staying with us today?", which was the perfect introduction. Both her and Eileen were just fantastic. They take real care and have a genuine interest in you, in your choice of outfit, and your make up. You could say that is what they are paid to do...true, but actually, they did seem to genuinely care, and really did welcome me as a woman into their female fold. Eileen helped me pick my two outfits, listening and taking into account what I wanted, and advising me accordingly. Debbie then did expertly did my make up. Then, once changed, both treated me as the woman I want to be. I literally was one of the girls for the duration of my stay. It was just wonderful - truly magnificent. And my wonderful experience was down to their expertise and kindness. It was FAB-U-LOUS!! Can't wait for the next visit.

Sophie x

Hi Diane Just wanted to write and tell you that I went for two changeaways this week, and what a wonderful time I had. Just wanted to let you all in head office know the wonderful job that Eileen and Debbie did, in the makeovers.Both were fabulous, but Debbie was especially superb. She has this wonderful manner about her, which just makes me feel that, whilst I am there, I am a woman. Her makeovers, the way she picks out clothes, and the make up design and hair styling, are just fabulous. But then after that, she talks to you like you are one of the girls, about girly things that women would chat about, and it just comes naturally to her. It is not forced, there's no act, which makes you immediately feel accepted as a woman there. Transformation should be very proud to have her. Thanks Diane....I can't wait to return!

Sophie x

Hi, This is a note of thanks to your company and if one person is to be singled out it would be Beverley on the phone ordering service. After much deliberation and a little therapy I decided time was right to undergo hormone replacement, my first contact with Bev was lovely, I found her proffesional, patient and knowledgable of products so well qualified to guide me through, I placed an order which arrived next day and delighted, I feel Beverley should be congratulated and no, I am not related to her! Many thanks again from

Robyn

Dear Tracey I feel I had to write this letter to extend my thanks to you personally for my experience on Tuesday 22nd February. After plucking up courage the day before to enter the shop, I was made so welcome and comfortable the moment I entered the shop. Your professional attitude and empathy are a credit to you and I wish the world had more people like yourself to make people like myself feel more accepted in society. Once I had gained confidence I made a purchase and agreed that I would return the next day for a Changeaway. Upon arriving the next day I was greeted with the same enthusiasm by you as I was the day before. I then felt nervous again as there was another lady in the shop. I should have had no doubt that this lady (Christine) would show me the same respect as you. She is also a credit to your establishment. The whole experience that I had over the next few hours felt so normal. This is soley down to your relaxed and empathetic manner. As you know I have a very Plain Jane dress sense and you respected that and did not try to make me look like a Drag Queen. And how you gave me a waist I will never know, I have not had a waist since I was 16!!!!! Your knowledge on applying make-up made even me look special (in my opinion I am six foot tall, eighteen stone and look like a battered rugby player) You made me feel so relaxed that I actually found myself chatting to you as if I had known you for years and telling you all about my secret life and I can honestly say I have never talked this candidly and openly with anybody other than my wife. Saying that, I don’t think I have expressed myself so openly and been so frank as I was with you. Just like two sisters twittering on. You also made me feel so comfortable and convincing that I couldn’t believe that I sat in the shop the whole time. Please pass this on to your managers and feel free to use is as a testimonial if necessary. Once again thank you so much for my experience with you. You are a credit to both your company and yourself. Hope to see you next year when I am next in Birmingham Best wishes

Chris

Many thanks for your help recently. As you now know I visited your London shop unexpectedly yesterday as I realised I couldnt make next week after all and what an amazing experience it turned out to be. I don't think I was ever made to feel so welcome in a shop before, it felt like more of a spiritual event than a shopping expedition; many, many thanks to Samantha & Karitas. I left your shop feeling freed from decades of suppressed emotion and truly I haven't felt so good about myself in many a year. If anybody who has only ever cross dressed on their own before and has any doubts about making such a step by visiting such an establishment (and believe me I can understand) just try it otherwise you'll never know what you have missed. Once again thank you to Samantha & Karitas for making it such a special day.

Steve

On Monday (16th) I gave myself a treat by spending a day out, and just over £400, at your branch in London. It is a pleasure to tell you just how helpful and kind both Beverley and Samantha were, Beverley paying particular attention to my needs, and also to tell you how much they both contributed to my enjoyment of my time there. Please pass on my grateful thanks for their time and attentionl. My only regret is that I could not stay any longer than I did as it took me over three hours to get there and roughly the same time to return to my home near Southampton. Highest regards

Dawn

Yesterday, I visited your Birmingham shop and had one of the most fantastic experiences of my life, thanks to Shirley. This was my first-ever visit and my first ever Changeaway. I arrived just before 11 o'clock and Shirley was in the shop. Her sixth sense came into play instantly, as she knew I was self-conscious and sensed I was also confused. She sat me down on the sofa, "magicked" a cup of coffee and asked quite a lot of very discreetly worded questions. The result was that she put me very much at ease (not completely, but that was down to me, not her) and established, out of her questions, a look that would suit me - I had no real idea except that I didn't want to look tarty, because this was not a joke to me. Shirley selected a breast size, measured me, selected a pair of suitable shoes, guided me on an ideal pair of panties (I wore them today all day) and off we went. She left me to strip down to underwear then came back and started work. With a suitable corset, she whittled eight inches off my waist, fitted my bra and breasts (fantastic - if only they had been real!) and made an elegant woman of me. She did a fantastic job - my face was the only bit I wasn't entirely comfortable with, but Shirley could only work with what she had! Here's the fantastic part of it all - when she had finished, Shirley walked round me and then looked me in the eye and said: "You look fabulous". And I thought she was right - but it was she who had made this fabulous transformation - and by saying what she did so spontaneously gave me a massive confidence boost. It has given me the resolve that this will not be my last visit. I had a particularly difficult phsychological obstacle to overcome and almost without my realising it, Shirley led me through it to perform true magic. Not only did I look fantastic, I felt fantastic. I sat in the lounge for quite a while, getting used to this new me, read a few magazines, learned how to sit from what I read and I loved it. Shirley, you are a marvel and I'm looking forward very much to my next visit and experiencing you working your wonders again. Thankyou so much - and thankyou Transformations for being there.

Love, Sarah

I want to thank you. my last order was complete and on time like every order i placed. the three gifts were perfect. i will make use of them throughout my transformation. they are needed essentials for the m/f transformation. i will put them to the test when i go out to clubs and concerts. when i started transformation at first, i was very uncomfortable. now, i look forward to face the world. I am no longer a closet dresser.

love Martha

Hi girls I want to thank you all for my purchases my new breasts Alice dress ankle boots etc. I now have everything that I need to be a complete woman thank you all

love Carol from Manchester

I'm just emailing to say that the creams arrived early this afternoon and I've already had my first session with them. Here's hoping that I'm able to see some results in the near future. If you like, I'll keep you posted. Can I say once again a very big thank you and how very pleased I am with your service, your promptness in responding to emails, the speedy overnight delivery and for your very kind and discrete help when I called. It is all very much appreciated indeed and I'll certainly have no hesitation in contacting you again by phone. Very many thanks again and my kindest regards.

from Jaydee in the UK

This is one girl that is beaming with pleasure after receiving my new Realistic Vagina. It looks so real and thank you so much.

A Loyal Customer

from Ginger in USA

I would like to thank Maria for all her help and assistance when I have called the customer service line and for the way that she treats me like a woman. Maria has always explained every item I have asked about in a very helpful and respectful manner and I look forward to talking to her again soon. Many thanks

from Karen in Suffolk

Thank you so much Claudia for your understanding and kindness, your service and Customer Service staff are extremely friendly and helpful and are a credit to your company. Cant wait till my next treat from CDC.

from Allan

I have just received my Realistic Vagina and what a wonderful transformation it has made. I started wearing it immediately and have never felt better. Thank you so much for offering this product and I will buy from you again.

from Marryann in USA

Thank you very much for the parcel I received and shall be ordering again very soon and I will be recommending you fast efficient service to all my friends.

from Steffan

Jess United Kingdom

I just wanted to thank you I've been really happy with Transformation and the products are fantastic, they have not only made a difference to my body but also my quality of life. I think I would have committed suicide had I not found out about this site so I just wanted to personaly thank you all at Transformation for your support. Your customer service is amazing and user friendly and I immediately felt at home and I don't have to pretend to be somone im not. Please thank Stephanie Anne Lloyd, I think she is legendary and a true hero to the Trans people and I think shes saved and changed so many lives for the better. I only wish there were more people like that around. Im going to continue to use your services indefinatly where I feel safe and secure. Thanks for your help and have a nice night Jess x

Nov 201520

Unexpected Change

---cdata-eal-admin--- short story

They looked and felt so nice and were so soft. When I took a bath, I found myself noticing her stockings drying over the shower bar. When I asked her about what a run in her stockings meant, and why my socks didn't have runs, she tried to explain it was a girl thing. Then I decided one day to look in her dresser and that experience changed my life. Everything was so smooth and soft and smelled so good. I decided to revisit that dresser when I got the opportunity when I got the chance. I thought my chance came when my mother was at work and I got out of school at 3:00. Careful to remember where everything was placed and how it was folded, I took some items from her lingerie drawer. There were silky things and other items that looked tight and felt stretchy. For some reason I decided to put on one of the stretchy things that had legs in them. It was hard to get it on but I managed. It felt nice yet strange. My little parts between my legs felt constricted but somehow I felt wonderful. I also loved the smell of her perfume and opened a container of one, spilling a bit of it on me. I carefully replaced the cap and put it back on the top of her dresser. I spent an unknown amount of time enjoying my feelings and sensations. Then I heard the door open !!! It was my mother! I was in her bedroom, in her girdle and smelled like her perfume! I struggled to undo what I had done! I found myself on her bedroom floor, her girdle around my ankles, trying to crawl under her bed. The expression on her face gave me no clue as to what she thought. I undressed - embarrassed and afraid. We ate macaroni & cheese without a word spoken. I went bed fearful, yet exhilarated from the emotions and feelings that came from my mother's dresser that day. Nothing was said for a year. A year later I was in our garage and found some boxes. I rummaged through them and discovered the mother load. So many girdles, so many panties and skirts - blouses, bras and everything feminine! I couldn't resist myself! In a wave of ecstasy I dressed again. Nothing else mattered. Then I heard my mother's voice! Again I tried to scramble for cover! Again I didn't succeed in my deception! This time my mother insisted we talk. Afraid and shy, thinking I might die or be punished. I told her that I liked being in her clothes. Then I cried, went to bed and shivered. Nothing was said again for about a week. She was my mother and I knew she loved me. I was 11 years old. At breakfast soon after she told me that I had to take some new vitamins. I took them as always and ate my oatmeal. I studied hard, made good grades but wasn't very good at sports. I continued this regimen for the next 2 years. Six months after my garage experience I told my mother that I was feeling a bit of pain. She asked me where and I said it was in my chest. She took off my shirt and examined me. My pain seemed to come my nipple areas and I thought that I felt a lumpiness that was new to me. She told me that I was O.K. and it was part of growing up. When I went to Jr. High School I was told that I couldn't take P.E. because of a medical condition. I still did art, studied hard, but didn't understand the obsession the other boys were starting to have in girls. I liked most of the other girls and even some of the boys, but I didn't somehow seem to fit in. I was a loner but still kept taking my "vitamins".

Now it was the era of long hair for boys and other social changes. There were other major changes happening to me. Some of the boys were growing mustaches but nothing that way was happening to me. Other things were though! Slowly I noticed things in the mirror! My pants didn't fit right! They were loose around my waist and my bottom and thighs were looking fat! My mother encouraged me to grow my hair long because it was now in fashion. Then I noticed in the mirror that not only did I not have any chest hair but that my chest looked like I had breasts! Over the next six months they were undeniable! I had larger breasts than half of the girls in my high school! I also started having feelings for some of the boys that were hard for me to understand. I also kept close to some of the girls who told me that I way of relating to them that "other boys" didn't. I wore loose shirts, kept my hair log according to the style and tried to figure out that which was getting very difficult to disguise! My waist was thin! My breasts were large! I had a body shape that caused most people to call me miss or young lady! I was surprised that most of the time I enjoyed it! I still kept taking my vitamins - but it was time that I had to express my concerns and intimate feelings to the only family that I had known - my mother. My breasts were now large, my waist was thin and body had a shape that some girls would envy. I felt attracted to boys in a way that scared me and excited me too. My voice didn't sound like the other boys and because I was teased I kept to myself for the most part. Confused, I turned to my mother again. Dutifully I still kept taking the "vitamins" as always. She suggested that we have a talk, keep taking my vitamins and that she had something to tell me! What she said both floored me and relieved me. She related that since my father left her she had a distrust of men. She tearfully told me that she had always wished to have a daughter. She couldn't fathom raising a son and had early on decided for me to be her daughter. We both cried. She then told me that she had a couple of surprises for me. In my old bedroom was a new dresser. She asked me to open the drawers. Inside them were the prettiest panties, the coziest night gowns and in the top drawer were barrettes, head bands and ear rings! I sighed, was excited but didn't know quite how to express my feelings. I was glad inside but then knew that it was time for us to have a real "girl to girl" talk! We proceeded to have that talk and I expressed my honest concerns and fears! I took my vitamins, sat down with mother as she told me of her last surprise! She told me that she had been saving her money and had befriended a skilled doctor. Over the next 2 hours I thought, cried and went more than twice to the mirror. Among the options I considered was being the boy that born as. The mirror told me otherwise. But there was still the matter of a particular piece of anatomy that made my mother's wish for a daughter impossible - or was it? After another heart to heart discussion with my mother, I decided to finally resolve my ambiguity. My anatomy could finally be in sync with the rest of me!

The arrangements were made, and with trepidation I checked in, was prepped, sedated and went to sleep. When I awoke it was over and a nurse told me all was successful. I had completely become the daughter my mother had always wanted and there was no turning back! Eventually I healed, we went shopping together and even looked at catalogs. My reasoning was that over 50% of the population was female, I didn't feel comfortable as a male and we have nicer clothes. I enjoy doing my hair, picking out earrings and necklaces and dabbing perfume. I enjoy being a girl. The best "came later". Since being a woman I naturally wanted to try out my new equipment. I did however require that it be with a nice and loving man. Since my mother has passed on I have considered lesbian options. Either way I love to be loved, love to have my breasts loved and enjoy an orgasm. As a woman it is a bit of an inconvenience to pee when camping or to always have to sit on the toilet, but I have come to enjoy being touched, lotioned, and cuddling! The first time I was entered I was scared and it was a little painful. I sure it was the same for all girls at first. Believe it or not one of the most pleasurable experiences I now have is to walk by my bathroom mirror, look at myself and then apply the soap to the body that my mother so long ago envisioned her son/daughter having. Enjoy being a girl - a boy - but living!

Nov 201520

Sweet Tea Dancing

---cdata-eal-admin--- short story

Sweet Tea Dancing

"It's alright for you girls in your trousers," I said, between gritted teeth, the wintery wind whipping about my stocking tops. There were four of us at the bus stop, two lesbians sensibly wrapped up against the weather; two transvestites less warmly dressed. We were waiting for a night bus. Really, it would have been a good idea to leave in time for the last tube, but the Tea Dance had been a lot of fun. The Sunday Tea Dance is a good place to shake a leg. It would have been best to let it go at that. But in my fourth tea dancing year I went a lot further than leg shaking. I broke a wrist. It is not a trannie event. The Evening Standard published an article which said something about forty transvestites turning up to the Tea Dance. That gave a very misleading impression. A sub-editor had axed a bit about most of the transvestites being women in male clothing. Without actually asking them, I feel sure that most of the women in masculine attaire would not care to be labelled as transvestites. 'Lesbian' or 'dyke' would surely be more popular. And, certainly going beyond transvestitism, the Tea Dance often attracts at least one female to male transsexual. In spite of some camp statements, the vast majority of the biological males dress in unequivocally male clothing. Amongst those in skirts. i suppose that almost as many would describe themselves as drag queens as would care to be called transvestites. The maximum number of trannies and drag queens I've ever seen at the Tea Dance is seven. More often it's just been me. On some of the infrequent weeks when I haven't made it there may have been none of us, although Gina's generally gone when I've missed it. The Sunday Tea Dance is, rather, a lesbian and gay affair. In Edwardian times, and subsequently, tea dances took place in the afternoon. There was tea and ballroom dancing. There's tea, and sandwiches, at the Sunday Tea Dance, too. The tea is available until seven o' clock, which used to be when they started serving alcohol. Now, the dancers can drink tea, something stronger or both before seven. The sandwiches are available until they run out. The dance runs from 5pm till midnight. It starts with ballroom numbers. The men mostly dance with men, the women with women.

Later, there are usually one or more cabaret turns, disco dancing and line dances. The last named are after the fashion of chorus lines, everyone trying to do the same steps. Some don't always succeed, not that it matters. The spirit of the Tea Dance is to give it a go, no need to worry about being foolish. The typical tea dancer (if there is such a creature) has been through that and doesn't give a damn. There's a bit of barn dancing, western numbers..... The dancing is as diverse as the Tea Dance crowd. They even do the Gay Gordons. Well, what else would those Gordons be? With the moves, Tea Dance folk come and go, but the sprinkling of trannies shows no sign of increasing. Actually, our small number is one of the attractions for me. I like transvestites company well enough, but prefer diversity. The small number of trannies led to the accidental start of the cabaret number Gina and I do. One night the DJ put on 'Sweet Transvestite' from "The Rocky Horror Show". It cleared the dance floor, apart from my friend Gina and me. Evidently, we were the only two that night who considered ourselves sweet transvestites. As a child, I'd been very shy. Now suddenly a transvestite the centre of attention at a gay venue. I discovered that I enjoyed showing off. It was tremendous. I was having fun. Obviously, with no advanced warning. I hadn't put on a special costume for the number. As the routine developed, I just wore whatever skirt and top I had on that evening. For it did develop into a routine. A couple of weeks after our first "Sweet Transvestite", the DJ played the number again. We'd had time to think about it and produced something less like disco dancing and closer to a performance. Our cabaret number became a regular feature of the Tea Dance. Gina and I actually discussed what we were doing and went some way towards working together. As we improved, we received more enthusiastic applause. I loved it. Occasionally, I did the routine on my own when Gina couldn't make it. I enjoyed having the dance floor, and the audience, to myself. It was on such a night, however, that I broke my wrist. Gina was working that night. I have the impression that, when Jo put on our number, she was unaware that I was on my own. I leapt into the number, giving it plenty of oomph dancing for two. Suddenly, not far into the routine, I felt my feet sliding out from under me. I was falling over backwards and unable to recover my balance. Automatically, I extended my hands to break the fall. There was a wet patch on the dance floor. I can't say for certain that I stepped on it, at the time I was looking at my audience rather than my feet. The probability is that, as I went up on one toe, I was resting my entire weight on perhaps a square inch of wet floor.

There I was, alone on the dance floor, the eyes of the entire Tea Dance fixed upon me, falling backwards. In so far as I had time to think anything at that instant, it had to do with making a fool of myself rather than with possible injury. Worse was to follow. As my wrists took my weight (painfully) my head jerked back throwing off my wig. The pain didn't bother me at that moment. What worried me was losing my wig in front of all those people - trannie vanity! There was really only one thing to do. Immediately, I leapt back to my feet, pulling my wig back on as I did so. As soon as I was on my feet I was dancing. I continued to give plenty of oomph. At the end, I received a tremendous round of applause. I wonder how they would have reacted if they'd known that I'd broken my wrist. Of course, there was no way that they could have known that, I didn't realise it myself. Casualty I knew that I was in pain, and I left early. Never having broke a bone in my life before, I was inclined to think that I had sprained it. The following morning, it seemed sufficiently serious to take to the hospital. If there is an ideal time to pass through casualty, it isn't Bank Holiday Monday. Still it had to be done. Next week, I was back at the Tea Dance with my arm in plaster and a sling. It caused quite a sensation. People told me that they thought I'd fallen deliberately. I must have recovered from the fall very well and extremely quickly. A puzzling question was - why should I fall deliberately? At least one person supplied the answer 'to be camp'. I didn't ask what he meant by that, but I suppose that in making my hard landing I'd exposed my underwear as well as my real hair. That was an aspect I hadn't previously considered. After a week off, I was back on the dance floor, performing in plaster. It was a handicap because I use my arms a lot when dancing. Nor was dancing the only thing with which I had trouble. fastening suspenders was tricky, for one thing. Some were more difficult than others - I think the worst was the right hand (or thigh?) rear suspender. A bit of a struggle to overcome these difficulties was well worthwhile. When I put on my dancing shoes, I put on stockings and suspenders as well. The cool draught about the thighs, so shiversome at the night bus stop, is welcome when it hots up on the dance floor. And when it comes to flashing my undies, who wants to look at the crotch of a pair of tights? I t's a rare Sunday that doesn't see me putting on my dancing shoes, and twirling a skirt. It's a lot of fun. Sunday is the best night of most weeks.

Nov 201520

Samantha's First Dress

---cdata-eal-admin--- 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

---cdata-eal-admin--- 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!

Gymnastics 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.

Netball 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.

Tennis 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.

I 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

---cdata-eal-admin--- 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

---cdata-eal-admin--- 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.

The 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.

When 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."

Then 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

---cdata-eal-admin--- 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

Helen's Story

Charlene's Story

Charlene's Story

Testimonials

Testimonials

DO YOU WANT TO APPEAR ON OUR WEBSITE?

BECOME AN INSPIRATION TO OTHERS

Sophie x

Sophie x

Robyn

Chris

Steve

Dawn

Love, Sarah

love Martha

love Carol from Manchester

from Jaydee in the UK

A Loyal Customer

from Ginger in USA

from Karen in Suffolk

from Allan

from Marryann in USA

from Steffan

Jess United Kingdom

Unexpected Change

Sweet Tea Dancing

Sweet Tea Dancing

Samantha's First Dress

Sportswear

Cross Dressing, My Discovery

Dream Date

Dream Date

Gwen's First Support Group Meeting

User Menu

Post List

Month List

Charlene's Story

Testimonials

DO YOU WANT TO APPEAR ON OUR WEBSITE?

BECOME AN INSPIRATION TO OTHERS

Sophie x

Sophie x

Robyn

Chris

Steve

Dawn

Love, Sarah

love Martha

love Carol from Manchester

from Jaydee in the UK

A Loyal Customer

from Ginger in USA

from Karen in Suffolk

from Allan

from Marryann in USA

from Steffan

Jess United Kingdom

Sweet Tea Dancing

Dream Date

User Menu

Category List

Post List

Month List