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Mirror Mirror – A Short Story
The last night of the village pantomime, Sleeping Beauty had been a resounding success. The director had whipped us into shape and it had exceeded all our wild expectations. My part in the production had been insignificant, I was a stage hand, painting the scenery but the director Emelda had taken pity of me and promoted me to “ Gofer” If she needed anything I got it !! It had been my responsibility to place the mirror on the stage. No one else was permitted to touch it or even look into it. To my surprise she had also cast me to make the mirrors replies. The groans from the other cast members made me blush. I had had a disastrous debut in a previous production and had sworn to never appear on stage again. Emelda persuaded me though. By the time the show came round I was entranced by her and she had asked me to rehearse with her. I had learned all the mirrors lines by heart and when we practiced together all my nerves disappeared. Despite the age difference we were close and my crush was huge !! and I found myself opening up to her and telling her everything about me. On the opening night she found me in a corner by myself. She sat next to me still resplendent in her stage makeup that emphasised her hypnotic blue eyes and the figure hugging black velvet dress that did the same for her body. I was jealous of her husband that much was obvious !! Her arm rested on my shoulder. “ It’s always the same after a successful show. I’ll tell you what, go home and take my mirror with me. After we’ve cleared the stage tomorrow you bring the mirror to my house and I’ll show you the play I’ve chosen for the summer. I think there will be a small part for you” As I hurried home clutching the precious mirror. Exhausted I began to undress but felt an irrestible urge to look into the mirror. As I stared at myself I could see my bare shoulders. Not broad as I longed for but slim and delicate like a girl. My eyes switched back to my face and I felt more atrractive than I ever had before. My lips had become fuller and pinker. A straggly eyebrow had disappeared and the brows seemed more prettily arched than before. I felt a flush of excitement. I could not believe this feminine face in the mirror was me but it was !! Now I could see bra straps running across bare shoulders and interesting moulds entrapped within delicate white lace at her chest. Glancing down at my own chest I was shockingly disappointed to find nothing there. Disturbing dreams of the girl in the mirror intruded into my sleep. Who was she? How had she appeared in the mirror ?? Why was she so like me ? I arrived back at the theatre to clear up but Emelda ignored me. As the rest of the cast went off to the pub she offered me a lift. She lived in a remote farmhouse about a mile away and we completed the journey in silence. I was going to ask her who she thought the girl in the mirror was. We had a light lunch and I discovered she was no longer married and in her mid forties. It was on a visit to a foreign country that she bought the mirror. “ No one looked in it did they??” She asked. Within minutes I was confessing what had happened the night before. Her pale blue eyes darkened as I told her. Her voice was soft and bewitching when she answered “ And who do you think it was ? “ My masculine ego denied my interest. “ It must have been my imagination, I have always wanted a sister” I noticed during this denial that was voice had lowered as if to underline my masculinity. To my surprise she got the new script put and suggested we do a rad through with each other. Emelda was keen for us to a particular scene together which turned out to be a love scene between 2 women!! “ Surely we aren’t going to perform this in the village ?” I stammered She laughed, “ I don’t think the village is ready for this yet do you ? ! “ “ I just wanted to see if you could get into character -well done !!” “ Lets try again and this time try the voice you used for the mirror – remember you’re a sexy, young woman determined to seduce an older woman. “ We repeated the scene stopping just short of the climax where the two women embrace passionately. “ Martin you’re nearly there ! You have to believe you’re Lizzie. Discard your masculinity and be this girl with all her memories and feelings” The words hung in the air between us and I longed to get to the part where they embraced. But Emelda wouldn’t let it get that far until I was fully into the character. “ Look your character is returning from a nightclub. She’s a little tipsy, sexily dressed and frustrated. You know what its like to be frustrated don’t you ?” This was it. This was my chance that every young man dreams of – an invitation from a sexy, older woman. She read my thoughts and smiled. “ There is one way – but it isn’t fair….” She hesitated and then went on” you do want to get it right don’t you ?” Once again I gulped in excitement and nodded. Her suggestion that I borrow a blouse and skirt from her to get into character shocked me at first but the promise of those passionate embraces and what they might lead to induced a heady recklessness. Throwing all caution to the wind I agreed. Purely for the sake of the art of course !!
MOTORWAY FLIRTATION - A Short Story
It was a glorious bright sunny spring day. The road stretched out in front of me over the rolling countryside. I pressed the accelerator and the wonderful surge of power as my small open-top sports car swung out to overtake a sedate family saloon. My hair streamed in the breeze and the chiffon scarf knotted loosely round my throat fluttered gaily in the slipstream as I bombed up the hill towards the motorway junction. I glanced down at my legs, encased in the sheer gossamer nylons, lovely long legs to give a girl confidence when she goes out in public. My short black leather mini skirt had ridden up slightly exposing more of my elegant long legs. My breasts swelled proudly to burst the confines of the lacy bra and tight white blouse. I glanced in the mirror and the face I saw reflected was that of a pretty girl, eyebrows plucked, eyelashes mascaraed, cheeks blushed, lips plump and glossy. Yes, I felt desirable, confident in my femininity and looking forward to a splendid day out in my newly acquired sporty two-seater. Who knows what adventures await me! I had every reason to be pleased with myself. It was not often I could indulge my desire to dress in the clothes of the sex I most desired to join. And I had carefully planned this day out for some weeks. Oh the joy of shopping for the clothes I would wear and the make-up to go with them. Last night I had spent hours doing my nails, my hair, plucking my eyebrows, making all the preparations which could be safely done in advance. And early this morning, clad in my new silk negligee, I had spent over an hour at my dressing table, applying make-up before wriggling into my suspender belt and mini skirt, bra and blouse, and enjoying the sensuous pleasure of rolling on my new 10 denier nylons. As I joined the slip road a large van was in the slow lane of the main motorway and I had to slow down to let him pass me before I could edge out into the traffic. I say traffic, but this particular morning it was exceptionally light. As the large van passed me I was conscious of the driver looking at me. From his height in the driving cab he no doubt got an eyeful of me in my low slung car. Doubtless he could see my legs fully revealed below the tight mini skirt. I pulled onto the motorway and out into the fast lane to overtake the van. As I did so I could see the drivers face in the mirror watching my car (and me) and as I passed him he looked out of his side window. His lips moved to shape a wolf whistle. I ignored him and drove ahead for about half a mile and then I decided to a little fun. I pulled back into the slow lane and allowed my speed to drop to a sedate forty. In my mirror I watched as the van quickly gained on me and them pulled out to over-take. As he passed he was looking sideways at me, a big grin on his face. The van pulled in some yards ahead and reduced speed. Again I could see his face in the van’s large wing mirror and could see the look of anticipation on his face as he waited for another view of the fast girl in the sports car. This time I gave him a good view. I wriggled slightly in the driving seat so that the mini skirt rose another tantalising centimetre to partly reveal the suspenders and my nylons, and as I passed I gave him a long look moistening my lips with my suggestively with my tongue. As I passed, he gave me a wave. Again I pulled back into the slow lane and allowed him to catch up. He didn’t take long over it. The van came bombing up behind me as though about to sweep me off the road, then settled down to follow me closely. Another half mile and I gave him a wave to overtake. As he did so, he waved back and I blew him a tantalising kiss. Almost immediately he slowed down again ahead of me and once again I pulled out to overtake. This time I drove alongside and level with his cab for two or three miles, occasionally glancing up at him and tugging ineffectively at the hem of my skirt as though to affirm my modesty. Then I pulled ahead and drove fast, putting a considerable distance between me and the van and yet keeping him within sight in my mirror. The road signs indicated the approach to another intersection, and as I drew level with the 300 metre sign I switched on my indicators to show an intention to turn off the motorway, at the same time slowing down considerably. Seconds later as I eased into the slip-road I was gratified to see the van’s indicators also signalling and he came up the slip road in pursuit. At the junction I paused, just sufficient time to let him catch me up. Then I let in the clutch and shot forward across the intersection and onto the slip road that led to the motorway. As I re-joined the motorway, I could see the van following me down the slip road. Back on the main carriage way, I again eased back into the slow lane and allowed him once again to catch up and overtake. Bu now he was signalling wildly as though to pull onto the hard shoulder and intermittently flagging me down with his arm. But I maintained my speed behind him and then, as another intersection approached, I ignored his implied invitation to pull off and become better acquainted, but flashed him with my headlights and zoomed past him at full throttle. When I finally lost sight of him I took the next intersection and ended the flirtation. He is no doubt still regretting the loss of the sporty girl who might have pulled off and indulged in a little hanky-panky in the cab of his vehicle. I drove on happy to have played fast and loose with a fellow like any flirtatious girl. Well, after all, that’s precisely how I felt.
Objects of Desire - Stockings and Suspenders
This is one of life’s pleasurable things. So soft and delicate, clinging like a second skin. There is something wonderful about slowly rolling a new stocking up your leg. It must be done slowly. Like all pleasures it should be savoured. Transvestism thrives on the differences between men and women’s clothing. The sock is coarse and the stocking is sheer. The sock doesn’t advance beyond the shin. The stocking clings intimately to our thighs.
A sock is something you use but with a stocking it is like a relationship. Like a lover. You need your nails to be smooth to avoid snagging. Be careful - don’t tug. Suspenders too are sensual. Fastening them in place a delight. Position them carefully. They must not grip the welt not the sheer fabric beneath. Slide the suspender into place. Feel it take the tension. I love it !! 30 years after stockings and suspenders were “replaced “ by tights lots of women still have them in their drawers and on their legs. The appeal continues and not just for Transvestites. Possibly the most sexy pictures I’ve ever seen was in a glossy women’s magazine. It was an “ I want to be that girl” sexiness. These mags exist to sell clothes, makeup, perfume, anything feminine. They are in the business of making the reader want to be that girl. The point is that stockings and suspenders can ooze sex appeal to women as well as men. The sexiness for me is about the fact that they are hidden.
The image of a girl adjusting her suspender is so sexy and only she will know she’s wearing them. “ I want to be that girl" The Transvestite is in a privileged position. We can place ourselves in the private world of the woman. This is especially satisfying when stepping out with suspenders out with suspenders and stocking tops hidden under our skirts. We know but no one else does. When looking at ourselves in the mirror we are both the man and woman looking on at the sexy image we see before us. It’s no wonder w love mirrors so much.
It’s not just about looking good, it’s how they make us feel too. The feeling when we roll them in is so great. Even better when the suspenders take the tension. Stockings are sexy and practical !! Sex with both if you in stockings comes highly recommended. The friction of nylon upon nylon - WOW !! Wearing feminine clothes is a very special experience. They say the most fun you can have with your clothes on. Let’s pamper ourselves and as far as I’m concerned that includes stockings and suspenders. They’re great !!!
