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Nov 201520

My Corselette

short story

My Corselette

I think that the problem with just bra and panties is that all Cross-Dressers / Transvestites need a little extra feminine shaping - that bit in the middle requires something else. The answer, for me is a corselette, which shapes me in such a way that no other piece of feminine underwear can. I have always worn bras and panties, until the day there was a stock sale at the town's local department store. I was about thirty at the time and had been cross-dressing since my teens. In the sale was a black body; I didn't need to look at this piece of feminine underwear for very long before I decided I had to buy it.glamour.corselette Looking around lingerie departments is utopia for me - so much to touch and feel that my imagination runs riot. Unfortunately for me the body was a 'B' cup and as I only fit into an 'AA' cup without padding, I was unsure if it would look out of proportion. But this did not bother me too much, as I had bought my first Body - a 'Corselette'!   I wanted to wear my new body so much that I went back to where I work, as it was a lot closer than home. Locking myself in the toilet, I stripped off and pulled on my new underwear and quickly adjusted the straps. It felt fabulous. Even though the cup size was wrong, It still held me so tightly, holding and shaping. I felt beautiful and it was so feminine that I couldn't bring myself to take it back off again... so I didn't! I just put my male clothes on top and stuffed my male underwear into my jacket pocket. I had to go back to the office to collect my overcoat and briefcase. My only worry was that the black cups would show through my white shirt but thankfully no one noticed. Even driving home in my car felt so wonderfully different, I just couldn't wait to get home Once at home, I went straight to the bedroom and stripped off by clothes so I could look at my self in bedroom mirror. Not only did it feel wonderful, it also looked good. I quickly pushed in my bra pads (falsies) into the cups to fill them out. I stood back to get a full mirror view, saying out loud 'I cross-dress'. I turned to see the back and there was a slight bulge - I had been in so much of a hurry putting it on, I had left the label attached. I undressed to cut off the label and read what it said on it - 'Corselette firm hold'.   That night I must have tried on all my dresses and skirts with of course my corselette and different tights and hold-ups. The result was amazing, how different I felt and looked. Don't just take my word for it, try it for yourself!!! It is said that a woman can't have enough underwear, I now know this is the same for cross-dressers / transvestites. Ever since, I have worn corselettes or control panties, whenever Kera goes out... I have read articles where people like myself get embarrassed when buying lingerie. My advice is 'don't be embarrassed'. You will get over this and one day, you will not think twice about going into a store, picking up the prettiest piece of underwear and saying to the sales assistant, 'I will buy this please'.   Go out and buy what you can, see how different types of lingerie feel next to your skin and see how good you can feel inside. Best wishes, Kera

Nov 201520

My Wedding dress

short story

My Wedding Dress

  I went on a few night trips without my wife, and while driving, passed a store called "David's Bridal." The store was some thirty miles from my home and I vowed to myself that I would stop there on my drive back. I did. My drive back was on a Sunday and I stopped at the store. It was a mad house! Brides-to-be everywhere. I walked through the busy aisles and looked at the thousands of dresses on the racks. The store was so busy with so many people that I must have been assumed to be a potential groom or brother of one of the brides, just wandering about. I lost my nerve to ask for a fitting and took a business card from the counter. From the safety of my own vehicle outside, I called the store and asked about getting an appointment. The woman inside asked if the bride needed to make the appointment for today or would it be possible to make one for a day later in the week. Without as much trepidation as I would have thought I would have required, I told the lady on the phone that the appointment was for me.  
  Then I added, "you have fit for men before, haven't you?" I don't really know why I said that, but she said, "That's not a problem... I just think that particularly in these circumstances, a weekday appointment would be best." We set a time for Wednesday afternoon. I arrived ten minutes early on Wednesday and took some deep relaxing breaths in my car. I walked in and noticed the difference between mid- week and week-end - there were only a small handful of people in the store. At the counter a woman asked, "May I help you." "Yes," I replied, "I'm Ryan and I have an appointment." Well, the woman then couldn't look at me while she talked and said, "Please fill out these papers and your consultant will be right with you."  
  wed3.jpgMoments later, she introduced me (still not looking at me) to Christine. Christine took me to the racks and asked me if I knew what I was looking for. I took Christine's hand and asked her if she had ever fit a man. She had once. I then told her how absolutely proud I was of myself for being in the store and going through with this. She told me not to worry, we'd be fine. She asked me if I knew what my dress size was and if it was similar to men's sizes. I told her I wear a size 14 dress. She told me she would have put me in an 8. I thanked her for the compliment, but I was pretty sure of my size. I told her that I wanted a dress with some sleeves (didn't want to shave my arm pits) and something simple, yet elegant. We picked out a few and went to the corner dressing room. This dressing room was away from all the others and had its own private mirror so that the bride would not have to go out to the main room. Christine handed me a full under- skirt and a bustier with padding. She told me that the way she usually works with her brides is that they put those things on and then she comes in and helps with the dress. I took off my boy-clothing and put on the undergarments. Christine entered and explained to me how one dives into the dress and then helped me with the first.  
  I emerged on the other end and was beaming with joy. A look in the mirror was a bit disturbing, but looking down at my body and seeing the beautiful white dress made me the happiest girl I have ever been.f501_1732genresgallerybridepage4 Christine graciously took a picture of me with my camera and helped me change into the dress of my dreams. It was in horizontal stripes of cream with little shoulders that fell off of the arm. I wish I were a poet to describe the beauty and the wonderful feeling. The only thing I wish I had done was ask for a veil, but there is always next time. Live your dreams... that is the only way they can happen. Nancee. (Ryan)

Nov 201520

Janices Summer

short story

JANICES SUMMER

With summer passing I thought I'd recount what had happened to me this summer. It was a summer of revelation, which was both scary and exhilarating. Firstly let me tell you that I'm 22 and I started with my present employer when I left University last year. I've been dressing when I got the chance for some time, and as I'm only 5'4" and 8 stone I don't think I look too extreme. Now I have a decent job I can afford my own place and am able to spend more time dressed around the house. Anyway I've always tried to be discreet and hoped that nobody would take too much notice. In July we completed a major part of a big contract, despite the timescales being tight (unrealistically so) we worked all hours necessary and got the job done. The project manager was pleased and after the wash up meeting for the stage he said that although there'd be a bonus - we should have a long weekend to make up for some of the extra time. So the team had the Monday & Friday off.   On the Thursday evening I got out the dep cream and soon my body, legs and arms were hairless. Lounging in a satin nightie and then bed followed a long soak in a scented bath. In the morning I lounged about a bit again, painted my nails (fingers and toes) - no hurry and then dressed. I'd chosen a pretty light blue lace bra and pants set with a full and floaty petticoat, lemon coloured (layers of chiffon edged in lace). Over this went a white circular poly-cotton skirt and a white georgette blouse. The outfit was completed with a necklace and a couple of bracelets, a pair of black high heel sandelised shoes and a cardigan. Checking the coast was clear I walked out to the car and drove off for a run. I drove off to a near(ish) beauty spot and was lucky that there was nobody else there. I was glad to stop as the temperature gauge on my old car started to zoom up so it gave the old girl time to cool. Fortunately the area was deserted so I took the chance to get out and have a walk around in the fresh air. It was terrific simply walking, feeling the skirt & petticoats move. I' brought some sandwiches and a flask so I sat on a nearby bench and had a little picnic. However, soon it was time to head back. I got into the car and turned on the engine, almost straight away the temperature went up and there was steam everywhere. I opened the bonnet and water was spraying out of one of the hoses. I was now ready to panic. I wasn't in the RAC/AA and besides well I was in a skirt. Eventually I phoned Lorna. Lorna was friend and also a member of the team so would be off for the day and she had gone on about how she had done a car maintenance course. I briefly explained the problem with the car and asked if she could help.   Fortunately she thought replacing the hose wouldn't be a problem and she'd be straight out. I did suggest that she try not to be too shocked when she saw me, which probably raised her curiosity...
Transgender Life   About twenty minutes later her car arrived. She had brought Sarah. While Lorna was someone I'd call a friend; Sarah was more an acquaintance and had a reputation as the team gossip. Well, both of them, their jaws dropped, they looked at me and then at each other, then they grinned and giggled. Once they'd settled down there were questions, you know - how long had I been doing this, was I gay etc. Then Lorna decided it was time to get the replacement hose and did I want to go with her, not really. The idea of standing in Halfords in my skirt didn't appeal. So off she went leaving me with Sarah. Too pass the time a bit we walked a little way down towards a nearby stream. Sarah stopped for a moment and when I turned Sarah she had taken out of her bag a small camera and took a couple of photos. I wasn't amused and went off in a bit of a huff back to the car. She came after me and we ended up sitting on the bench near the car chatting.   I let her take another picture and then went to stand up. Unfortunately I missed my footing in the heels and promptly fell back over the corner of the bench. As I fell I ended up with the front of my skirt and petticoats up around my waist and my blouse unbuttoned and open. So there I lay, one leg on the bench, one on the ground exposed up to the waist and blouse wide open, displaying my bra and pants set to the world. Sarah laughed and there were a couple of clicks. I struggled to my feet and managed to fasten myself up again. I saw the funny side and soon we were both laughing. Soon Lorna returned with the new hose and a couple of old squash bottles of water. We fitted the hose and filled up the radiator. Lorna said I did realise that there was a price to pay, and that was I had to have a day out with her and Sarah the next day and also on Sunday? Not only was I to join them, I was to be dressed in a skirt or dress. I wasn't too keen but they both laughed and said it would be fun and I'd have some company. Well we drove back to my place and the girls managed to park a couple of houses away, making me walk back to my own house. I was going to run so as not to be exposed to the neighbours for too long, but its not easy in high heels! When we got in I made tea for us and we went to sit in the garden. When I went back in for some biscuits Lorna followed me in and pointed out the state of my skirt and blouse which had now acquired some grubby marks as a consequence of falling over. Somehow she seemed to take charge and had me strip down to my bra and pants and then sent me off to change. So I returned to the garden in a pretty cotton floral summer dress. When they left they reminded me that I was expected around at Lorna's the next day suitably attired.   I felt drained. The day had been full of panic and stress and the next day was going to be the same. I spent not too great a night worrying what lay ahead. In the morning I was up and dressed fairly early. I'd chosen a nice cotton skirt and white blouse. I sat by the back door with a cup of tea trying to relax. Lorna called to check that I hadn't forgot and she said I should try and get around to her place for oneish and have some lunch. So at around half twelve I checked that there wasn't anyone around and made my way out to the car. It didn't take long to get to Lornas' place. Sarah was already there and soon we sat down to some salad and a chat. Somehow it wasn't quite so stressful as I'd imagined. After lunch we had a trip out to the shops, a new experience for me, followed by tea in a cafe. Later it was back to Lornas for a rest. After some sandwiches we went out again this time to the cinema then a curry. It was nearly midnight by the time I eventually got home. On the Sunday the girls called for me just before twelve and we went off to a nice fairly secluded pub for a pub lunch. Despite it being fairly busy nobody seemed to take any notice of me. Presumably we looked just like three girls out for lunch. Anyway that was the main events of the weekend. On the Tuesday it was back to work. There was the usual banter about the weekend, good weekend? Do anything? Did you watch etc. It wasn't until Sarah produced the photos she'd taken over the weekend that my heart sank. There in technicolour me in skirts, me in dresses even a couple showing me in bra and pants (when I fell over and when I got changed at home).   Well what do you say, all I could do was brazen it out, take the jokes etc. Sarah at some stage scanned several of the photos and at lunch time we loaded MS Scenes on my machine, and created a gallery of my pictures to use as a screen saver and as a desktop image. On the Wednesday evening I went out with Lorna, Sarah and Jenny (one of the others) for a meal. Somehow the previous day's revelations were like a weight lifted and it didn't worry me going along in a skirt and top. It was an enjoyable evening. At the end Lorna told me she had a treat for me for Friday and after work she'd pick me up, I should wear something nice but not too constraining - intriguing...
Transgender Life   When Friday came I was ready at five in a cotton print dress with a fluffy chiffon & lace petticoat. We drove down to the local shopping area, not the town centre. It was hardly worth the drive as it was only about half a mile away. Lorna led me into the hairdressers (sorry salon). She introduced me to the hairdresser Sylvia (or should that be stylist), hardly necessary as she lived at the end of my street. She sat me down and tried to put the cover around me and decided that the neckline of my dress was in the way so could I nip behind the screen and remove my dress. I was given a nylon robe, which came down to mid thigh. So there I say in the chair with petticoats on display while Sylvia started messing with my hair. She wetted it, cut it and covered it with various lotions and potions while her trainee gave me a manicure and pedicure. It wa,s I must admit, great to be so pampered. I asked what she was doing with my hair and she said that Lorna had asked her to style it a little, lighten the colour a little and put in a few highlights. While I was resting, recovering from this she told me to look to the left and when I did so - ouch, my ear!. Then she pierced the left one. By the time I was ready to leave I'd had a manicure, pedicure ears pierced and eyebrows shaped and dyed. I put on my dress again and was at long last allowed to see what she'd done. My brown hair was now a lot lighter with blonde streaks and shaped in a sort of bob style coming in in a big curl at the bottom with a prominent fringe. The bobbed hair hung away from my ears, which allowed the black studs to be easily visible. My eyebrows were a lot darker and thinner, arched like a girl and my fingers and toes now had vibrant red polish. Lorna was pleased with the results and, if I have to admit it, I wasn't too upset either. She had me make another appointment for a couple of weeks. We went out for a meal and I felt really confident.   The hair was a bit embarrassing on Monday but they'd already seen the photos and my screensaver (and Sarah's) so this wasn't as awful as it could have been. At the start of the following week Lorna told me that Sylvia had had to cancel the Friday booking and moved it to Thursday evening. So on the Thursday I made my way to the salon to have my hair done again. By the time I left qmy hair was almost blonde and had curls around the bottom helping it have extra body. I had another manicure and pedicure plus my legs waxed (ouch!). Lorna called for me first thing on Friday. Being an early riser I was sitting in a skirt and blouse wondering what to do with my hair for work. I enjoyed getting up early, particularly in the summer, when I could sit in a dress or skirt for a while before getting changed and going to work. It was Lorna who organised me. Previously I'd bought a three-piece suit from a catalogue, jacket skirt and trousers; she brought out the jacket and trousers. So I ended up sitting in my ladies trousers (back zip) with a white teashirt on over a white lace bra and pants set (no falsies though), stockings and suspenders. She brushed my hair for me, attacked it with spray and finished off with a black hair band. I put on my jacket, a pair of flattish shoes and a pair of earrings and we were off. When we got to the office she gave me a quick spray of perfume and escorted me in.   Well that's it. I haven't actually gone to work in a skirt or dress but it's not far off it. As some of the others say I might as well be wearing a dress. It was a bit touchy at times, but things seem to be settling down. Relationships may have changed, but we still seem to be working as a team. Janice

Nov 201520

The Shopping Spree

short story

THE SHOPPING SPREE

Let's face it there are sometimes days which ought not to exist. They should be excised from the calendar. Days when everything seems an unnessary chore. From the moment of waking, whatever one sets out to do remains for one reason or another unaccomplished. Such days are usually accompanied by a headache of gargantuan proportions and a feeling of utter listlessness. They occur with a horrid regularity, about once a month. And they occur at times when one most has need of mental agility to face the current problems of work or everyday life. I had such a day recently. But it turned out far better than I could have hoped. At least I had the sense to do something about it - I went on a shopping spree. I threw on a blouse and skirt and a pair of old shoes and set off for town. I have found that looking around the shops often helps to lift the gloom. And on this occasion I was even better placed than usual to enjoy the experience, for I had just received a fairly substantial cheque for monies which had been owing to me for a long time, so I could happily contemplate spending some of it on whatever might catch my fancy. I visited a number of clothes shops, not with anything specific in mind, but just looking and trying on what appealed to me. And eventually I saw it. It was a lovely dress, peacock blue with a pleated skirt, calf length and a V-neck. The colour seemed to shimmer and reveal hidden depths, like looking down into the clear waters of a tropical sea. Chiffon The price tag revealed a figure well out of the normal range. I tried it on in the cubicle and then came out into the shop to see myself reflected in more than one mirror. I twirled to watch the skirt float after me and posed like any young thing on the catwalk. It suited me perfectly. The sales girl proffered a matching chiffon scarf which I knotted carelessly about my neck. That too was irresistible. Already the day which had begun so unpromisingly seemed rosier, not even the drizzle which was just beginning outside could dampen my upswing of mood. I tendered my card in payment and while waiting for the assistant to make out the receipt and lovingly fold my new dress into its plastic carrier bag, I began to comtemplate the sort of shoes which might go with the dress. Needless to say in the next half hour I had acquired a new pair of shoes and a matching leather bag, Italian style, and my black mood had entirely evaporated. It is amazing what a new outfit can do for a girl, isn't it? It was now lunchtime and I returned to my favourite small cafe for a light lunch and a glass of wine. It is an establishment much patronised by women shoppers, indeed it has an almost exclusively feminine clientele. It was very full. Expensive The proprietress, knowing me to be a regular, showed me to a small table at which one seat was already occupied by another customer surrounded by bags of shopping bearing the names and logos of some of the more expensive dress shops in town. She smiled and agreed to let me share her table, and soon we were talking like old friends. It is truly amazing how quickly women can make friends and chat away happily about their most intimate affairs. I soon learnt about her family, her husband and two sons, now away at University. We compared notes about our shopping, part opening our bags to peek inside at each others treasures. Time passed too quickly and we parted with the promise to look out for each other again when in town. As I left the cafe, the drizzle had ceased and the sun was coming out. My day was made.

Nov 201520

Applying Lipstick

frequently asked questions, how to guides

Applying Lipstick

[caption id="attachment_3944" align="alignleft" width="150"]lipstick Applying Lipstick[/caption] Consider your lipstick colour and finish. You'll do well with colours that match the natural shade of your lips, opting for darker tones that complement your overall colouring. Matte lipsticks offer a muted finish complementary to workday makeup, while satin and gloss finishes offer appealing evening looks. Apply all other makeup before putting on lipstick and lip liner. Begin by dabbing on a very small amount of lip balm or petroleum jelly to give your lips a little moisture. Draw a thin line along the edge of your lips with a lip liner whose colour is one shade darker than your lipstick. Start at the centre of the upper lip and work outward. Hug the very outer edges to open up thin lips, and line well within the edges to downplay excessively full lips. (Image 1) [caption id="attachment_4085" align="alignleft" width="150"]how-to-apply-lipstick Applying Lipstick[/caption] Apply lipstick from the tube or by using a firm, small lipstick brush. Coat the lips evenly. Pay special attention to staying within the lips' edges. (Image 2) Blot to remove any excess color and to even out the texture. (Image 3) Remember to touch lips up after a meal, as lipstick easily transfers onto coffee cups, wine glasses etc.

Nov 201520

EyeShadow That is Perfect for your Eyes

frequently asked questions, how to guides

Perfect EyeShadow for your Eyes

  Not sure which eyeshadow shade that will look great with your eye colour? Here's some help. FOR BLUE EYES 1. Tried and True: taupe, gray, violet, purple, deep blue (a darker shade than your eye color makes your eyes really blue), black (mix it with bright blue for a smoky effect) 2. Funky Favourites: silver, turquoise, fuschia (brightens any shade of blue) GREEN or HAZEL EYES 1. Tried and True: brown, apricot, purple, plum, deep khaki or forest green (because they are in the same greenish family, they brighten green eyes) 2. Funky Favourites: gold, lime-green, really light green, bright purple (super modern) BROWN EYES 1. Tried and True: copper, bronze, champagne (soft pink with a touch of apricot), brown (for a doe-eyed look), beige, and khaki-green (lighter shades add highlight) 2. Funky Favourites: tangerine, royal blue, hot pink, lime-green (the contrast adds punch to brown) ALL EYES 1. Tried and True: navy or charcoal base to define and a powder-blue shadow for highlighting (it brightens your brow bone so any eye color pops) 2. Funky Favourites: silver-sparkle shadow makes all eyes look edgy

Nov 201520

Alice In Wonderland

short story

ALICE IN WONDERLAND

  Thomas was just coming up to seventeen. Recently he'd been having the weirdest idea: what would it be like to be a girl? Thomas knew it was ludicrous, but he honestly began to feel that he could have been born the wrong sex, an idea completely without merit for the captain of the school football team. Nevertheless, it would not let Thomas alone. It niggled and nagged, struggling to obtain a place in his identity until he despaired. He did not have any sisters, and it was not as though there was much female influence in his life, or props to try it out - the whole thing was crazy. Then, during a summer visit to his Aunt Jessica, he at last confided in someone. He trusted his aunt and knew she would not tell on him. They had just finished breakfast when Thomas took a deep breath. "Sometimes," he sighed, "I wish I could be a girl, even if only on a trial basis. If I didn't like it, I could always be a boy again." Jessica smiled. "Nothing like covering all your options and having a get-out clause," she said. It was no surprise to Thomas that his aunt was not shocked or taken aback - nothing seemed to knock her out of her stride. Yet he was somewhat disappointed that she had nothing more to offer than sympathy and a fresh cup of tea. Soon after, Thomas returned to his own home. It was dusk, the evening was heavy with humidity, the sky blood red and he knew a storm was pending. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror - he had just started shaving and how he hated it. He slung the razor down. How he wished he could tell his parents or his brothers, but he was sensible enough to realise that they would never understand. He looked out of the window. The sky had turned black as the night closed in. The odd flash of lightning was followed by the rumble of thunder, rain began to beat a tattoo against the window. Water ran from a broken gutter and splashed onto the concrete patio below like a mini waterfall, and the sound of the wind made Thomas glad he was in the warm confines of his house.
    Thomas undressed and climbed into bed complete with his fantasies and dreams. He looked towards the bottom of the bed at 'Mr Jeeves', an old teddy bear much ravaged by time and two older brothers. Gone was the right ear and left eye, and bits of stuffing hung raggedly from a pulled seam in the arm. Once, his mother had suggested that Mr Jeeves had served his purpose and should be laid to rest in the dustbin. With such loyalty for battles fought and won, and tearful cuddles, Mr Jeeves had earned his place at the end of the bed. Thomas fell into the deepest of sleeps. He was woken by the gentlest of touches... "Alice, it's time to get up." Thomas turned dreamily. "Come on Alice, there's a cup of tea on the table by your bed." Thomas shook himself awake and listened to the departing footsteps. He yawned, rubbing sleepdust from tired eyes. His eyes drank in the room: this was not the room he had gone to sleep in... Mr Jeeves winked at him from two gleaming eyes. There were left and right ears, and only the tiniest piece of stuffing missing from the arm. Thomas allowed his gaze to wander around the room. There were also lace chintz curtains at the windows, a beautiful china doll looked at him from the chair by the bed, dressed in the prettiest of dresses. There was a small dressing table with silver brush and comb set, laid out on delicately patterned lace cloths. The room exuded an aroma of scent and flowers - the paper on the walls was green and covered in woodland scenes of fairies and pixies. His gaze turned to the wardrobe door from which hung a dress and petticoats. Thomas shook his head and reached for his cup of tea with his small, delicate and finely manicured hand, the ruffled wristband of the nightdress he wore seemed to awake him to the reality of the situation. He became aware of his long brown tresses and the softness of his body and face. Suddenly he tumbled out of bed, pulling off the nightdress to stand naked in front of the mirror. What had happened to him? He felt frightened, unnerved, disbelieving, and a girlish gasp escaped his lips. The reflection was not his, but that of a pretty girl, who looked back at him with large saucer-like brown eyes, framed with long curling lashes. There were the cutest pouting lips and a pert nose. The body had a slender waist and flared hips, long shapely legs and a fully female venus mound. The small delicate hands went up to the pert little breasts. Thomas shivered. It really was true - he was a girl. He had to pull himself together, his fantasy had come true but now he was terrified and confused. He turned to the corner of the room and filled the wash basin. "Alice," came a voice from a different room. "Hurry, you mustn't be late."
    Alice washed herself, feeling the soft sensitivity of her own body. It was hard to explain how she felt as she slipped into the silky knickers and fastened her bra. She stepped almost daintily into the layers of petticoats. The mid-blue flared skirt came almost to her knees, she fastened it and drew up the zip. She pulled on the white polo-necked sweater and fastened the wide black belt around her waist. How feminine she felt as she sat among a froth of petticoats! Her legs were so silky and smooth, so unlike Thomas's. She put on the short white socks and black patent shoes with their two inch heels. Alice brushed out her long hair and moisturised her face. Walking gingerly in her shoes, and very nervous of other people's reactions, she walked into the kitchen. How gorgeous was the feel of petticoats against one's legs! "Morning Alice, did you sleep well?" asked her mother. "Exceptionally so," smiled Alice coyly. Alice's sister sat opposite her. "You look like the cat who got the cream," Shirley whispered. Alice could not tell the truth as she squirmed with delight at the feel of her clothes, and her very sex. Nothing else was said until she and her sister were walking to school. How conspicuous Alice felt. But why should she? After all, she really was a girl... "you look pretty today," said Shirley. "Thank you." "I hope you have got that stupid notion out of your head about being a boy." She looked closely at Alice. "I began to think you were cracking up." "I don't remember anything about it. Why would I ever want to be a boy?" Shirley looked puzzled. They passed several other children who said hello. Alice felt strange tinglings as she passed one boy. How handsome and strong he looked. She checked herself - she had never thought of boys in that light before. But then again, she had never been female before. The school day passed quickly and it seemed that Alice had the edge on Thomas for schoolwork. People seemed so much kinder to her. She felt totally different, more placid and prone to the giggles over things that Thomas would not have found at all amusing. As the day wore on, Alice became sure that here was the happiness she had always craved. After school some of the girls stayed to watch the boys play football - not so much for their ability as for their legs and looks. Alice nearly said that she could play better than most of them but caught her tongue in time. Perhaps she would not be so good at football anymore...  
    Shirley and Alice arrived home for tea together. She felt so confident in herself that she asked to be allowed out. "I'm sorry Alice, but it's your turn to wash up, and you also have needlework to do on your dress for your party next week," said her mother. "Anyway, you know I don't agree with you going out after dusk." Alice felt annoyed. She had never been refused when she wanted to go out in the evenings as Thomas. She helped wash the dishes, then retired to her room. Why was she suddenly so tearful? Did she miss her family? Of course she did. If only she could be Alice with them... She liked Alice's family well enough but they were not hers. Alice decided on a hot scented bath before preparing for the night. She looked once more at her naked body, before donning her panties and nightie. She curled up inside the comfortable covers of the bed, knowing that tomorrow it would be back to boring Thomas. Saturday dawned, the fanlight window let in the crisp morning air. Thomas snuggled comfortably in the warmth of the covers. He looked at Mr Jeeves and the old bear winked at him, one eye and one ear missing. "Cup of tea, sweetheart," smiled Thomas's mother putting it beside the bed. The fragrance of his mother's scent reminded him of his strange but wonderful dream. It was the same scent Alice had used. Thomas picked up the cup and a slender hand flicked back a long tress of hair. His mother's voice sounded from the kitchen. "Alice, please remember you've got ballet at nine-thirty." Thomas choked on his tea, he put the cup down and ran to the mirror - Alice looked back at him. Thomas opened the wardrobe door. Gone were all the clothes he usually wore and in their place were those a fashionable young girl should have. Ballet shoes and high heels replaced football boots and training shoes. It was as though Thomas had never been. How could it be possible, he wondered, that Alice was an accepted part of his family. What magic was afoot?
    Alice washed herself, feeling the soft sensitivity of her own body. It was hard to explain how she felt as she slipped into the silky knickers and fastened her bra. She stepped almost daintily into the layers of petticoats. The mid-blue flared skirt came almost to her knees, she fastened it and drew up the zip. She pulled on the white polo-necked sweater and fastened the wide black belt around her waist. How feminine she felt as she sat among a froth of petticoats! Her legs were so silky and smooth, so unlike Thomas's. She put on the short white socks and black patent shoes with their two inch heels. Alice brushed out her long hair and moisturised her face. Walking gingerly in her shoes, and very nervous of other people's reactions, she walked into the kitchen. How gorgeous was the feel of petticoats against one's legs! "Morning Alice, did you sleep well?" asked her mother. "Exceptionally so," smiled Alice coyly. Alice's sister sat opposite her. "You look like the cat who got the cream," Shirley whispered. Alice could not tell the truth as she squirmed with delight at the feel of her clothes, and her very sex. Nothing else was said until she and her sister were walking to school. How conspicuous Alice felt. But why should she? After all, she really was a girl... "you look pretty today," said Shirley. "Thank you." "I hope you have got that stupid notion out of your head about being a boy." She looked closely at Alice. "I began to think you were cracking up." "I don't remember anything about it. Why would I ever want to be a boy?" Shirley looked puzzled. They passed several other children who said hello. Alice felt strange tinglings as she passed one boy. How handsome and strong he looked. She checked herself - she had never thought of boys in that light before. But then again, she had never been female before. The school day passed quickly and it seemed that Alice had the edge on Thomas for schoolwork. People seemed so much kinder to her. She felt totally different, more placid and prone to the giggles over things that Thomas would not have found at all amusing. As the day wore on, Alice became sure that here was the happiness she had always craved. After school some of the girls stayed to watch the boys play football - not so much for their ability as for their legs and looks. Alice nearly said that she could play better than most of them but caught her tongue in time. Perhaps she would not be so good at football anymore...  
    Alice opened her wardrobe and a thrill ran through her as she touched the feminine finery. She dressed prettily in a leotard with a short white skirt. She put her hair in a less-than-expert ponytail and slipped on a pink woollen wrapover. Alice bubbled with excitement as she stepped into white ankle boots and picked up her ballet shoes. "Tut, Alice, let me do your ponytail," said her mother. Alice's brothers smiled and jested. It was as though Alice had always been part of the family. Even the photos dotted around had changed to show Alice instead of Thomas. "Don't forget, Graham is meeting you here after ballet," said her mother. Alice found it all a little overpowering. "She" did not even like Graham. Ballet class proved to be hard work and the mistress was not impressed by Alice's lack of attention. The trouble was, she was desperately trying to work out how all this had come about, and the only possibility she could think of was Aunt Jessica. Alice returned from ballet and changed into her prettiest pink dress. It flared from the waist, and how her petticoats swished! Her high-heeled white patent court shoes made her feel so elegant. She added blusher to her cheeks and flicked mascara onto her long lashes. She picked out her lips in pretty pink - she felt daring and crazy, yet she was a girl. The doorbell rang and Graham entered the lounge. She looked at him - how different he was, masculine and strong! She felt her nipples go react and her breasts go taut. Surely she could not fancy him, but he was sending her hormones wild. They went walking and talking. At first she resisted the arm around her waist, but eventually she gave in. It felt so reassuring and Graham was so different from how she remembered him from Thomas's point of view. When he took her into his arms and kissed her she felt unable to resist. Her mind said she shouldn't, but her weak female body failed her...
    A week later she went to Aunt Jessica's for the weekend. "Can I take your vanity case, dear," smiled Jessica. "Thank you Auntie. How pretty your garden is," remarked Alice as they sat drinking tea. "I do so like your ornaments." Alice was able to express her feelings far more easily than poor Thomas. Alice helped her Aunt in the kitchen before settling herself on the sofa. How wonderful to sit in a froth of petticoats with silk-clad legs. Thomas was becoming little more than a hazily remembered dream. As each day passed Alice felt more and more sure she had always been "Alice". Aunt Jessica looked at her and a cheeky smile crossed her face. "Well, Thomas, how do you like your new life?" she asked. Alice squirmed in her knickers, then compsed herself. "So you were behind all this?" she said. "You have your wish," smiled Jessica. "And, so far as everyone else is concerned, you've always been Alice." "But what if I wanted to become Thomas again?" asked Alice, tempting fate. Aunt Jessica looked carefully at Alice. "But you don't, do you?" "But if I did?" "It's too late, my pretty little rose, far too late." She shook her head. "This isn't Clapham Junction, you know, and you can't change as you want. Anyway, you are such a pretty girl, Alice." Alice blushed, embarrassed by her aunt's words. "Aunt, how did you know what I would choose?" "I knew for years, even before you asked for my help..." "But how did you manage it?" "That, Alice, is my secret and from what I hear you already have the young boys chasing you. It will soon seem as though you've always been Alice." "What happened to the real Alice?" Jessica laughed. "Dear girl, Shirley's sister is now Thomas in the same way that you are Alice. If I had not found someone who wanted to change places with you I could not have altered the cosmic balance. Alice always wanted to be like Thomas and you like Alice. You have your wish and Thomas his. Now concentrate on being the pretty girl of your dreams." The End

Nov 201520

Creating A Sexy Cleavage - Advice

how to guides

Creating A Sexy Cleavage

It's easy to use make-up to create the illusion of bigger boobs and sexy cleavage with a plunging neckline, but do it subtly. To create the illusion of having more cleavage, simply apply and blend a little dark colored bronzer to the area between your breasts where the cleavage is supposed to be. If you don't have any bronzer handy, try applying a little white powder on the top halves of your breasts first, then apply a dark eye shadow color between them.... blend well. Think about flattering necklines to make the most of what you've got. Contour seaming, halternecks and cross-your-heart necklines all enhance a small bosom. A bustier or corset top is guaranteed to create a cleavage where none exists, but make sure you don't overcompensate by choosing one that's too tight. Don't ruin everything by wearing an ill-fitting dress that you can't fill out.

Nov 201520

Dancewear

frequently asked questions, how to guides
dancewearThe first requirement when wearing Dancewear is to shower and shave in order to get my legs feeling slinky smooth. I then proceed to slip into a white coloured satin deluxe naked tanga followed by a pair of seemless tights, again in white. Feeling 'all femmy' and gloriously comfortable I put on my supersoft bra, padded out with a pair of socks. I then eased my way into a pink and white tutu. The soft flimsy skirt is positioned as to allow a pair of pink frilly panties to be worn and for the multiple layers of pink frills to be visible, front and back at all times. Finally, ballet pumps are worn to complete tutu16athe look. All I need do is practice my curtsy. The thrill - I am transformed into a fairy princess, all silky smooth and girly. As an alternative to wearing my tutu, more often than not, I wear a satinized body with high cut legs. When worn with 2.5 Inch heels that accentuate my long, shapely legs I am again in heaven. Oh, to gaze down and finger my slinky, smooth nylon clad legs and caress the full majesty of my C cup bra! Colour combination is important. Ecru/white tights with a black or pink body, caramel or nude tights with white body or black tights with black or coloured body. Trixie

Nov 201520

Lipstick

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She sashays into the room wrapped in a scarlet sheath. Her nails are the same colour... and her lips? What would this image of feminine allure be without lipstick? Some people's favourite images of femininity might revolve around lingerie, perhaps, or high heels. Mine are firmly focused on the lips. I think, for example, of Robert Palmers 'Addicted to Love' video. The women on the instruments, in their black dresses, wore make-up which seems to obliterate their facial features - except the lips. Their bright red lipstick holds my eye. My favourite pop video - I love it! An equally memorable lip image is the opening sequence of the 'Rocky Horror Picture Show'. Lips, tongue and teeth occupy the screen against a black background, just red lips, pink tongue and white teeth. Other kinds of make-up have their place of course, but lipstick is special. I feel that wearing it lies close to the heart of who I am, and what I do. f682_705gnrsxdlipspage4.jpgIf I was in a balloon sinking slowly towards the ocean, with all of my feminine trappings aboard, what would I throw out first to gain a little height? Sure as there are no eggs in my basque, it wouldn't be a lipstick. And I feel sure that my final pair of stilettos would go before my last lipstick... As 'last lipstick' implies, one lipstick is certainly not enough for me. I like to have a choice of different manufacturer's products. No two are quite the same - the textures are different, they go on my lips differently, and they don't look quite the same once applied. I like to have more than one type of lipstick - both the 'stay-put' kind, and the ones that leave their mark. Above all, perhaps, I need a choice of shade - the more shades the better in fact. Last night, for example, going out in a green skirt and yellow blouse (a pleasingly spring-like combination, I think) required a muted lip colour. I picked one called 'Strawberry', which may suggest a bold red, but is actually a dark pink. In fact, 'Strawberry' is quite similar to the natural colour of my lips... but, in spite of the similarity, it doesn't leave me looking as if I had forgotten to put my lipstick on - that would never do!!! Going out the week before, I strutted my stuff all in red. Strawberry would not have gone with my outfit, I needed a proper, full-blooded red. The one I selected is called 'Poppy'. It is just about the colour I'd expect a poppy to be, just a little darker than 'Scarlet', another lipstick generally to be found in my handbag.
  The colours are lovely, but the names of theses lipstick shades strike me as being a little dull. Of all the shades which have passed through my fingers, I think that my favourite name was 'Hearts Afire'. If I recall correctly, it was a Max Factor one. The name was enought to banish all doubt that this was a lipstick - there is no 'Hearts Afire' in the Dulux range! I don't know whether the the names of the shades are, in general, becoming more dull - or whether it's just the ones I've been buying. Either way, I look forward to them perking up... I always look forward to applying my lipstick, and enjoy prolonging that pleasurable anticipation. When I was a child, I liked to leave the best bit of my dinner to last. It was the same with a packet of fruit gums - I ended up with a pocketful of fluff-coated black ones. I'm still much the same, at least when it comes to getting ready, that is: I now eat my dinner in a more sensible way, and haven't had a fruit gum for years! I have a regular routine for my process of feminisation. I enjoy it all, but some parts are inevitably better than others. First of all comes foundation, then powder, blusher, and eye makeup. With almost all of my makeup on, I dress, then put on my shoes. The wig is almost the last item, an important moment - inspecting myself in the mirror, nearly ready. Finally, the crowning stage, and in many ways the best of all - lipstick. Like any pleasure, putting on my lipstick is not to be rushed. I apply it slowly, lovingly. I roll my lower lip over the upper one, then contemplate my reflection. I apply a little more lipstick... the process can last for quite a long time. Why hurry when I'm enjoying myself? Sometimes I use a lip brush - I have a retractable one which is a very satisfying little gizmo. Once I have finished putting on the lipstick in the usual way, I work round the outline of my lips with the brush. It extends the process a little bit further, makes it last a little but longer, and adds to the enjoyment. Of course, it wasn't always like that. While I have been attracted to, even fascinated by, lipstick since my early teens, I was well into my twenties before I applied it to my lips. In spite of my writing: 'Why hurry when I'm enjoying myself?' - there are limits. My lack of hurry in first sampling the delights of lipstick now seems crazy. Perhaps I was (at least a little bit) crazy when I was a teenager... I handled my sister's lipsticks, removed their tops, slid the lipstick itself out of the tube and then back in again. I would have loved to apply it to my lips, but it would be years before I found the courage to do so. A large part of the problem, I think, was that I didn't know how one went about removing it. Putting on my sister's clothes was one thing, I had a fairly good idea of how they would come off again. If anyone came home unexpectedly, undressing might be a rushed process - but I felt confident I could manage it. But how did girls remove their lipstick? Would washing remove it entirely? Did it require some make-up removal product? If so, which? My sister had a selection of liquids and creams, of whose function I was unsure.
  f682_703gnrsxdlipspage3.jpgThere was a nightmare quality to the idea of trying to discover how to remove lipstick - desperately and in a hurry - as I heard a key in the door. Did I dare risk that possibility? In the end, with much regret, I emphatically did not dare. My not daring to try my sister's lipstick was compounded by the layout of the house. My sister's bedroom and mine were off the same upstairs passage, next to each other. While dressing in her clothes, moving from room to room was no problem. However, I suspected that removing the lipstick might involve using the bathroom, which was downstairs and reached via the kitchen. To get there from my sister's room (or mine) involved going downstairs and past the front door (a likely spot for running into someone entering the house), then through the dining room and into the kitchen (with its back door, the other likely spot for encountering people coming home). Thinking about that now, the solution seems obvious. Take the lipstick down to the bathroom, put some on my lips, and then see how easy or difficult it was to remove. There was no need to wear a skirt in order to experiment with make-up. Oh well, I've thought of that solution three dozen years too late! In fact, of all the things which give me a lot of pleasure, I think that lipstick may be the most recent to have really grabbed me. After my teenage era of feminine experimentation, I grew a beard. Goodness knows why I did it - I was still dressing in private. It was during this bearded period that I first wore lipstick. I was living on my own then, and no longer worried about family members returning unexpectedly, or even paying me the occasional visit. Alas, the effect of the lipstick was far from flattering. My reddened lips served only to emphasise the beard. My reflection was grotesque... well, it was probably always pretty grotesque during that period, but usually I didn't notice the beard. I had developed a sort of beard-blindness, but that selective blindness didn't operate when I looked at my lips... I still can't think about my reflection that first time I tried on lipstick without a little shudder. Ugh! Unsurprisingly, it was only when I lost the beard that I started to enjoy my lipstick. By this time, I was a Transformation customer, and had 'come out' to one of my friends. I took to decorating my letters to him with lipstiuck kisses, I got a lot of a kick out of that. It seemed a continuing 'coming out' process, and also had a slight hint of danger. What if someone else saw the letters? Another pleasure in those lipstick kisses was the realisation that no two people's lip prints are identical. The marks on the paper were as individual as my fingerprints. Just me, and nobody but me.
  Here is one of the basic pleasures of lipstick - leaving my mark. I think it satisfies primal instincts - other creatures such as cats and dogs do it with scent. Wearing lipstick, it's visual, but it seems like a very similar thing. Seeing my lipstick on a glass for the very first time gave me a tremendous thrill. I had noticed women leaving such traces many times, but this time it was me. Wow! Leaving my mark continued to give me pleasure, I suppose, but there's nothing like the first time. A different way of leaving one's mark with lipstick is the message on a mirror. I gather that it's an approved way of makeing one's farewell... This is the kiss off, Buster... Or, if one is leaving with the contents of the sap's walletL So long, Sucker... Or even: So long and thanks for all the fish... But I've never used one of my own lipsticks (or anyone else's!) to write on a mirror. It could be that I don't live the right (or wrong) lifestyle for that sort of thing. It could be that I'm too concerned with the condition of my lipsticks. If I see someone in a film using my favourite kind of make-up for that purpose, I do worry about what it's doing to the lipstick. Perhaps I should have been someone's mum: "Look at the state of your lipstick! It was a really nice one too. Whatever have you been doing to it, you bad girl!" Sticking with bad girls - and marks - I have a slight regret that I gave up smoking before I really took to wearing lipstick. Smoking is a vice of by bearded era, and I've never been very sorry that I gave up the habit. All the same, there is an attraction to the idea of seeing lipsticked cigarette ends in the ash tray, and knowing that they're mine. Another pleasure of lipstick is the taste. There is a slight (and sometimes not so slight) waxy taste which remains for as long as the lipstick is on my lips. I enjoy this constant reminder - I don't forget about my lipstick in the way I do, say, my eye shadow. Not the least wonderful aspect of the taste has to do with kissing. Kiss someone wearing lipstick and there is at least a hint of the taste. (This depends on the kind of kissing as well as the kind of lipstick - some kisses carry a lot of flavour!) Kissing someone wearing a different lipstick from me, I realised for the first time that not all lipsticks taste alike.  
  f682_702gnrsxdlips.jpgThat was interesting, but the real revelation came with kissing someone wearing the same lipstick as me. I had a slight taste in my mouth - so slight that I was scarcely aware of it. Then, our lips met, and the taste suddenly intensified... Hearts Afire! This is something of which I have never grown tired. Enjoying, as I do, both the taste of and the marks left by lipstick, it seems almost unaccountable that I have taken to wearing lipstick with the minimum taste, and which resists leaving marks. I refer, of course, to the 'stay-put' varieties, available from several manufacturers. I've tried several brands of these. One of them, I bought purely on the grounds of it being recommended by Cosmopolitan. I suppose I figured that if Cosmo didn't know which lipsticks were which, who did? In fact, it didn't prove my favourite and I only bought it in one shade (unlike the ones I prefer, where a single shade is certainly not enough for me!). So, what is the attraction of the stay-put lipsticks? I think that it has something to do with their seeming new, glamorous, in the fashion. There is a novelty in the colour not readily coming off. But, above all, I think that I like the shape of these lipsticks. They are longer and thinner than a conventional lipstick, almost like a tube of mascara. They seem to me to have a lot of style. Touching up my lips in a pub or club, I feel pride in producing my elegant-looking lipstick. It seems a piece of class. This is important because not only is lipstick the kind of make-up I most often touch up in public, but doing so gives me a lot of pleasure. There is a kind of paradox in touching up my lipstick. Colouring my lips is essentially an out-going activity, primarily it changes my appearance to others. Yet, gazing into my handbag mirror, applying the colour to my lips, is an entirely self-absorbed activity. The contrast between the outgoing and inward-looking aspects of doing this seems to me deliciously feminine...  
  Wearing lipstick is something I seem to do for the benefit of others. Unless I look into a mirror (which, vain as I am, is something I only do occasionally) I cannot see my lips. But this appearance of it being for others is an illusion - I wear it for myself. Perhaps that's why I so treasure the feel of lipstick on my lips, and its slight taste. A part of the pleasure of redoing my lips in public is that it means closely contemplating my lips in a mirror. Nor is this a small part of the pleasure. I enjoy looking back at what lipstick does for my lips, I enjoy lipstick period... ...I sashay into the room wrapped in a scarlet sheath. My nails are the same scarlet colour... And my lips? What would my conjuration of feminine allure be without lipstick?

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