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Nov 201520

The Decision

short story
Peter sat in his car waiting patiently at the top of the hill. From his viewpoint, he could see the entrance to the street where he lived. The time dragged - but then the action was so swift, he only just caught it. His wife's car turned left from the street and descended the hill. Starting the engine, he left his resting place, and upon reaching the street he saw Irene in the distance turn right and disappear from view. A moment later, he was in the garage attached to the house. The garage was large and considerably taller than most. It had enough room for a floor to be suspended from the roof giving him storage space. He climbed the vertical ladder by his work bench which gave him access to the 'garage loft'. His heart pounded as he lowered a large cardboard box to the bench below. A second box followed a moment later. Once down the ladder, with sparkling eyes, he opened the smaller of two boxes and pulled out a black pair of three inch heels and a handbag. He placed them in a carrier bag and then opened the larger box. His hands examined the clothes inside - soft dresses and underskirts of satin and nylon. He picked up a peach dress and caressed it against his close-shaven face. Sighing deeply, he held it against himself. It was a perfect fit - like all the other clothes in the box they fitted him perfectly because they were his... The previous evening, he had selected his clothes and laid them on the top of the pile. Now he carefully inserted them into the carrier bag. Taking a large makeup bag from the box, he opened the door to the house. He called out, checking for certain no one was home. Irene had gone to work and the three children to school. When they got together, Irene loved the idea of his cross dressing, but as the children grew older, Irene changed the rules. Irene now insisted that he was not to dress in front of the children, and as they were always there he was not allowed to dress at all. It had caused many arguments over his need to be a woman. Irene finally got her way, she had come home one day to find all Peter's female clothes gon. She was not surprised - she had threatened to tear them all up because she had caught him dressed; Peter had simply saved her the trouble and avoided further argument.
  He had looked cunningly for a hiding place but there was nowhere Irene wouldn't look. Then he thought of the garage. It was perfect, and for the last six months, that was where his beutiful clothes had lain, only to see the time of day when the time was right. There had been a long talk about his cross dressing long before, when their eldest daughter had told neighbours and friends about his transvestitsm. Irene had tried to laugh it off as a young girl's fantasy, but deep inside she knew no one believed her. As a self-employed electrician with a thriving business, Peter had started to put extra money away. He had taken on an employee and put all the profit from his work into a special account, whose balance was growing quickly. He was certain that Irene was going to throw him out very soon, but he was determined to be ready financially, anyway. He went up to their bedroom, and once there it took him seconds to strip naked and empty the carrier bag onto the bed. He caressed each article before putting it on - first panties, then tights. He had often worn stockings, but that was in the good old days when Irene had joined in with his dressing. Being a flabby man, he wore a corselet, the tightest he could cram himself into, then a full slip. He looked at the dress now lying gracefully on the bed. He slipped his feet into the high heels and walked around the room. Feeling feminine, he sat at the dressing table mirror and applied his makeup before getting into his dress. Finally, he put his keys and money into his purse. "Oh Alison, you do look gorgeous," he said with a slight chuckle, standing below the full length mirror. He turned around several times, allowing his flared skirt to sway. His hair was long and he was very good at styling it. His hair, along with his two pierced ears, were the only two items Irene had not managed to get him out of. He continually wore gold stud earrings, and often coloured his hair, much to Irene's disgust. He changed his earrings to long coloured ones. By the time he styled his hair, he looked very feminine indeed. Now, he had five hours to be a woman, and he decided the first job was to make a coffee. As she walked to the kitchen, her slip moved back and forth, making her feel elegant and sensational. She sat in the lounge sipping her coffee with her little finger cocked. She was expecting no one, and no one would call...
  She glanced at the picture window, slowly getting up courage to leave the house. Thinking as to how she would cope with the outside, she picked up a magazine and started to read. Her mind kept wandering; she stood and turned to the window. On the other side of the glass, there was a man smiling at her! He held up a bucket, indicating that he wanted to fill it with water. Alison stood perfectly still, her heart thumping wildly. She felt herself being drawn towards the window, and the magazine slipped from her hand and onto the sofa. "Can I fill my bucket, missus?" the man shouted. Alison smiled and walked to the front door, debating what she could do. Her hand touched the handle and slowly turned it. The door opened and a ray of sunlight brightened the hall. The man was standing before her with another man entering the gate with a ladder. "Can I have some water please? I'll start on your house first?" the man asked. Alison was just about to reply when she remembered her deep voice. "Yes," she coughed, and opened the door. It was too late now - if the man saw through her, then so be it. It would really give the neighbours something to talk about, at any rate. The man walked in and waited for Alison to show him to the kitchen. The whole event was over in a matter of moments, and afterwards, despite wondering worriedly what else could go wrong, she managed to calm herself. As she sat down again, she wondered about paying the window cleaner once he had finished. Peter had taken no interest in house keeping, it was just done as a rule. Now, Alison was in the thick. Getting her handbag, she got her purse out in readiness and practised talking in the manner she would have to adopt when she spoke to the man. A short time later, the door bell rang, and she opened it with purse in hand. "Electric, ma'am! I've come to read your meter." the stranger said. Alison gulped in rising panic - "This way..." she stammered, and stood aside for the man to enter the hallway. As he read the meter, the door bell rang again. "That will be four pounds fifty, please", said the window cleaner. "Oh, yes, certainly," Alison replied, fumbling with her purse. Paying the man, she turned towards the electricity meter reader. Then the phone rang, and Alison panicked... both men appeared to be hanging around, waiting to see if she was really a woman. "Excuse me, I have to answer the phone," she said, closing the door. "Hello?" she said, picking up the telephone. "Peter, is that you?" said a voice at the other end. "Yes, Mary," he replied in his usual masculine voice. "Irene was involved in a car accident this morning." said Mary. "Is she alright?" Alison asked. "She's in the Central Hospital. I'll send David around to drive you there - you need to get to the hospital immediately to sign an operation consent form... David should be arriving any minute now." Alison's idle thoughts of venturing outside were about to become reality....
  The doorbell rang, and without thinking, Alison answered it. It was David. "Hello, is Peter there?" he asked. In her shock, Alison had forgotten all about being dressed. Her hands caressed the front of her dress as she realised the seriousness of the situation she was in. "I'm Peter..." she said, nervously. David looked at the woman facing him. He was not surprised - he had heard rumours about Peter, and now they were confirmed. "We'd better make a move, the doctor is waiting." "I can't go like this!" "Irene's life is at stake, and you worry about what you're wearing? Come on!" he said urgently. They were about to leave when Alison recalled her keys and money were in her handbag. Returning to the lounge, she grabbed her bag, and followed David to the car, slamming the door behind her. "I feel I should offer you an explanation," Alison said as they drove to the hospital. "There's no need. You're my boss, and I need my job." He turned to face her at a set of traffic lights. "It's going to get around when I turn up at hospital like this..." Alison said, worried. "It would have taken time to change, and from what I have heard she's lost a great deal of blood." Alison picked up the car phone and phoned her office: "Mary, have all the staff meet at the office around four thirty." "What are you planning to do?" David asked. "My marriage will very soon be on the rocks. I'm coming clean. I've bottled things up for far to long." "Would you like me to come in with you?" David asked as they turned into the hospital emergency entrance. "I think you might need some help." The receptionist looked curiously at Alison as they entered, then, smilling, called for Doctor Longhurst. As Alison looked around, everyone seemed to be staring at her. A woman walked up and spoke to David. "Mr Harrison, I'm Dr Longhurst." David pointed to Alison and told her "She's Mr Harrison." "Ah, Mr Harrison, shall we go to a private room?" Seconds later they were sat listening to the details of Irene's condition. "So you see, your wife is in a critical condition. Does she know about your transvestitsm?" "Yes, but not to this extent." "She's asking to see you before the operation..."
  A few minutes later, Alison was beside Irene in a cubicle. As his wife turned her head, a faint smile crept across her face. "Irene, I'm sorry." said Alison, tears rolling down her face as she saw Irene lying helplessly on the bed. "I know all about your secret in the garage," she whispered, gripping Alisons hand as tightly as she could. "I shouldn't have turned up like this..." "You came, that's all I wanted. Don't leave me." "But I'll have to change..." "Don't go" she begged, and closed her eyes. Doctor Longhurst moved Alison aside. "It's okay, she's asleep. We'll take her into the operating theatre." "How long will you be?" "Three hours or so. You can wait in the room if you wish." Alison thought about what Irene had said. David lead her away, just as if she was a real woman. Unlike earlier in the morning, the time flew by. When the nurse called her into the recovery room, Irene was awake. Expecting the worst, Alison entered the room. The nurse who was caring for Irene glanced at Alison, but didn't say anything as they held hands and looked at each other. "You stayed?" "All the time," said Alison, making her clothes known. "The doctor told me. We will have to have a heart to heart talk. What time is it?" "Almost three." "The kids! They will be out of school soon!" "Don't worry, Mary is getting them." "I suppose everyone knows about you?" "I suppose they do now. I love you, I love you with all my heart. I'm sorry that it happened like this." "I knew you would dress up today, you can't hide everything from me..." "You have to rest. Is there anything you want bringing in later?" "Just you," she sighed. "Of course. I'll go home and change." "Alison, you'll have to leave. Your wife needs rest," said Doctor Longhurst from behind. "Wear your red suit and white satin blouse tonight..." Irene whispered as they kissed goodbye.
  Ten men, three lads and one woman were waiting for Peter back at work. Mary was at Alison's looking adter the children as Alsion, acommpnaied by David, entered the office. "I know there have been a lot of rumours about me. Well, I'm here to face them. Yes - I am a transvestite. I wear dresses, skirts and blouses, but that doesn't make me any the less the boss I am. However, there are a few people who may not agree. As you know, my wife had a serious accident today, and I was caught in this dress. I may as well put my cards on the table - I intend to stay in a dress as often as I can. I'm not going to chat any of you up - none of you are handsome enough" he joked, getting a few chuckles, "and if any of you want to leave I will accept your resignations. I won't stay out here any longer, I know you have a lot to discuss. I'll be in my office until five, but then I'll have to leave." "I want to know where I stand with my firm, perhaps you would give me your answers by then." Alison sat alone going through the jobs. Irene was hard to get from her thoughts. As she got up and walked around, her clothing seemed natural, although she doubted that she would have a firm left by five o'clock. Ten minutes after her maiden speech, David entered her office with a letter in his hand. Certain it was a letter of resignation, Alison said "I thought you needed the job..." She took the letter, and read the contents. Looking at David, they walked in silence back into the outer office. She looked round at her employees, and said "You have taken me by surprise - thank you for all your support." With the backing of her staff behind her, David drove Alison home. Now she faced another dilemna: the children. It took a while to explain to them why their dad was wearing a dress, but in the end, Alison got her point through. She gave Irene's request as to what she should wear a lot of thought before deciding to comply. Mary had stayed behind to help out and was the first to see Alison in her new attire. "You look pretty. Are you wearing it to the hospital?" "Yes, and to work as well. Do you mind looking after the children?" "Of course not. Now off you go." Irene was sat up in bed talking to her parents when Alison entered the ward. They were the two people she had forgotten about. Irene's parents glared at the woman walking towards them. Alison knew she should never have arrived in a skirt - it was stupid and irresponsible. "It took courage for you to do what you have done. Irene has been telling me." said Doctor Longhurst. "Mum, Dad, this is Alison, the dearest friend and companion that anyone could wish for" said Irene. "But what about Peter, why's he not here? Is he putting his work before you again?" her mother asked.
  "No Mum, I know you won't understand. This is Peter, otherwise known known as Alison. Peter is a transvestite and also my loving husband." "He's a pervert!" said her father, standing up. "We love each other Dad. Today, he made a great sacrifice to come here for me. I'll stay by his side." "But he's in a dress!" said her mother, stating the obvious somewhat. "It's what I asked Alison to wear." "He's a pervert!" her father repeated. Her mother stood and glared at Alsion. "How could you disgrace us so? You will never be welcome in my house again." "You will always be welcome in mine," said Alison and pulled up a chair, getting closer to Irene. Her parents left, followed by the Doctor. "I thought you were going to divorce me," Alison said, lowering her head. "No, my love. We will have to move, there will be too much talk." "I know, I'll put my clothes away." "No! When we move, you can move as Alison. We will be two women living together. I think it's what we really wanted for a long time. It just needed something like this to bring us together." "Do you mean it?" "Of course my love. The day I made you throw your female clothes away is the day I made a big mistake. You need them just as much as I do, you can stay as Alison always. It will be nice to be in another house where we can be ourselves without people staring. Do you agree?" "Yes! As soon as you are out of here we'll go house hunting." "As long as it is as Mrs and Mrs Harrison." "Agreed." They kissed gently and hence started their new relationship. Peter would be a name of the past, Alison a name of their future... The End    

Nov 201520

Myths about Transvestism

frequently asked questions

MYTHS ABOUT TRANSVESTISM: ALL transvestites are gay FALSE.

Since the Drag Queen and transvestic prostitute are highly visible members of the social picture and dramatized on the evening television news, occasionally in television "dramas" and the print media the "average" transvestite is, naturally tarred with the same brush even though in truth few "average" TVs are gay or engage in same-sex sex acts. In fact, MOST transvestites are heterosexual while only a small minority are bi-sexual or exclusively homosexual. This latter statement is supported by the results of a study done by Dr. Wardell Pomeroy (co-author of the famous "Kensey Reports" and director of the San Francisco based Institute for the Advanced Study of Human Sexuality) which found that 68% of cross-dressing males are exclusively heterosexual while only 50% of non-cross-dressing males are exclusively heterosexual. It should also be pointed out that some gay males are also, incidentally, transvestites but do not crossdress for the purpose of attracting males, either gay or straight for sexual purposes. MYTH: A transvestite is a potential transsexual. FALSE. The opinion that transvestites are latent, undeveloped or potential transsexuals, is false. Any other form of ignorance is the result of oversimplification and the failure to make distinctions. It IS true both the transvestite and transsexual wear feminine clothing, but they do so for different purposes. While the transvestite often dresses for the physical pleasure of this form of fetishism he always retains or reverts back to and maintains his male gender-identity. It is also true that many transvestites, upon initially bursting forth from their closet assume, because of the lack of information on the subject, they are transsexual. But a TRUE transvestite is quite happy to retain his male gender-role and perform sexually as a male -- although he may OCCASIONALLY fantasize he is the female partner. Definition and Description of Transvestism. It is of the utmost importance to establish the distinctions between transsexualism and transvestism. Originally, a transsexual (TS) was thought to be a type of transvestite (TV). Outside of the fact both dress in apparel normally reserved for opposite physically gendered individuals, although for different purposes and reasons, and, to a certain point in life, live in constant fear of discovery, they have very little in common. Strictly speaking the transsexual is NOT cross-dressing when she wears feminine clothing. Rather SHE cross dresses by wearing masculine clothing to conform with Society's dress code for the physical male. The bi-gendered or cross-gendered person (both the TS and the TV) may start, as early in life as perhaps age 5 years wearing items of opposite sex apparel. Often the apparel worn/used, usually lingerie, are items of mother's or a sister taken either from the laundry or their fresh clothing supply. Occasionally, in early stages, lingerie will be purchased for personal use. It is NOT unusual for the transvestite to use items of feminine apparel as sexual gratification aids in the early stages of sexual awakening. This practice may continue into late adulthood. Occasionally an item or type of apparel, such a bra or panties, or garter-belt and hose, etc., may become a fetish item and required to be worn for, or at least close at hand during, completion of the sex act. Cross-genderists are secretive, because their life-styles are not considered, by non-participants, socially acceptable.{mospagebreak

Nov 201520

WRAF Memories - Maids In Uniform

short story

Maids In Uniform

Over the last couple of years there have been a number of cases reported in the press of members of the armed forces and the police who have dressed as women and gone on to undergo treatment preparatory to a complete sex change. Is there something about the wearing of a uniform which impels them to seek the comfort of the softer more attractive garb of the female? The tabloids have a field day when such a case comes to light with headlines such as the vulgar 'a nicker in knickers', and articles brimming over with double entendres for the delectation of their more prurient readers. There is of course always the lure of a woman in a uniform, but that is the attraction of seeing the uniform graced by the complement of a skirt and long black stockings. No doubt that was partly the motivation of the police officer who, having been revealed as a secret transvestite, announced his intention of seeking a sex change so that he could continue in the police force as a policewoman. Well, I remember my secret ambition as a child to become a member of the WRNS; that smart but nevertheless utterly feminine uniform of the blouse and skirt, with shapely jacket and slightly coquettish hat was utterly fetching. And so often in the films of yesteryear, of heroic naval deeds, the Wren officer played the subservient feminine part alongside the brave handsome naval officers, and the rough macho common seamen with the hearts of gold concealed by their tough exterior and old-fashioned gallantry. Enough to turn any girl's head, including mine. The nearest I ever came to satisfying this ambition was in the days of National Service, an utterly frustrating time for any transvestite. Needless to say I had secreted a case containing all my pretties at an address near my station where I could retrieve it quickly when the opportunity of weekend leave presented itself. Unfortunately, I was not in the Navy, but in the Air Force on a camp which also contained a fair complement of WRAFs. Our work was in a secret control bunker where airmen and airwomen worked together as equals. My chance came one night when I was deputed to control the bunker against the outbreak of fire. I was alone in the deserted building with access to all parts of it, including the offices of the Commander of WRAF at this base. Routinely checking every hour, my excitement may be easily envisaged when I saw in her office a wardrobe containing her dress uniform. I looked further and found a chest of drawers containing some underwear and also some civilian clothing. It took me very little time to strip off my uniform and soon I was stood before her mirror dressed in the full panoply of a WRAF senior officer, complete with shoulder bag. I was safe for at least two hours before the duty officer would come on his rounds. I relaxed sitting at her desk, reading a couple of fashion magazines she had left there. The time passed all too quickly before I had to change back at the end of my shift and remove all traces of my activities in her office. The opportunity never arose again during my term of service, but whenever I saw the Commanding Officer on parades dressed in her finery, I had a secret giggle. If only she knew what I had been up to. And if I had been caught, I wonder what naughty headlines the tabloids would have printed? And would I have announced my intention of changing sex so that i could serve in the Women's Royal Air Force as it was then known? It is an intriguing thought.

Nov 201520

Privacy Policy

frequently asked questions

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Nov 201520

A Transvestite Story-Autumn Reunion

short story

A Transvestite Story

She did not have many visitors these days. Her contemporaries were already deceased or equally as immobile as herself. She gazed down wryly at her fingers, twisted and and gnarled with arthritis. Sixty-odd years ago those fingers had been white and soft, deft enough to make her own dresses for the County Ball, deft to apply the powder and lipstick artfully; soft to touch the hands of handsome young men, to stroke their hair, to wrap around their shoulders as their lips met in a passionate kiss. Those days were long gone. Her fiance shot down in a dog fight over the Channel in the darkest days of the war, she had devoted herself to nursing until, after the war when she could somehow no longer face the prospect of courtship and marriage with someone else, she had settled back to help her older brother, back from the war with a substantial gratuity which he had invested in purchasing a run-down boys' prep school in the quitest part of the Lincolnshire Wolds. Together they had built up a reputation for the school, expanding its accommodation so that in its heyday it took ninety boarders and almost as many day boys. But her brother too was now dead, and the school buildings long since sold to a major international company intent on relocating outside the metropolis. She had lived quietly in retirement until she was no longer physically able to look after herself properly, and now she lived in this retirement home in the country, a large mansion accommodating some thirty folk like herself. Comfortable and well looked after as she was, she still regretted the loss of her valued independance. But she was a realist - she accepted her lot and her constrictions philosophically, although sometimes she wished for company. For despite her immobility, her mind was as acute as ever. Today was special: she had been wheeled out onto the terrace to her favourite spot. From here she had a good view out over the lawns to the distant lake with its fringe of trees. Their leaves were just beginning to turn in the early autumn sunlight. Drama Late September was her favourite time of year. It had been, for her, the beginning of a new school year with all the promise it contained for the new intake of boarders. She had taught English at the school - she had been a good teacher, capable of inspiring her charges with a love of poetry and literature, and especially of drama. Sometimes she mused that had life turned out differently for her, she might have gone on stage herself. At school she contented herself with staging the annual play production, and the beginning of the school year was the time when she enjoyed the excitement of choosing the production of the year, and planning and casting. Even now as she sat at the end of the terrace, she had asked the nurse to bring her one of her favourite plays to dip into and sample the pleasure of its language. Her hand trembled as her fingers grappled with the book on the table beside her, her favourite collected edition of the plays of Shakespeare, heavily marked with her own editing now faded and blurred. The book fell heavily into her lap, opening out at the middle of one of her favourite plays: "As You Like It".
    She began to read a little, but she found it difficult without her glasses. She would have to wait until one of the nursing staff came outside , and ask her to retrieve them from the cabinet beside her bed., Still with the book open upon her lap she fell to musing about the message she had been given that morning: someone was coming to visit her. There had been a telephone call the previous afternoon. The caller had told the staff that she was an old friend who happened to be in tha area, staying in a nearby town, and would visit if convenient at around eleven in the morning. Was there anything she could bring as a present for the old lady? The line had not been good - it had not been easy to hear against the background of a vacuum cleaner in operation, but it was thought that the caller had given her name as Linda something or other, perhaps Linda Price. Did she know anyone of that name? As she at in the morning sunshine she thought long and hard about that name. It meant nothing to her. She was very surprised as her memory for names and faces was still surprisingly good, but the name rang no bells and no face came to mind. It troubled her, but when at last one of the staff emerged onto the terrace she was able to ask for her glasses, and soon she dismissed the puzzle from her mind and began to read the play where the book had fallen open: Rosalind, banished into exile, resolves to seek her likewise banished father in the Forest of Arden, in the guise of a young man to escape the attentions of thieves and robbers. "Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, A boar spear in my hand; and - in my heart, Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will. We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other Mannish cowards have, That do outface it with their semblances..." What a delicious ambiguity is there. In Shakespeare's day boys played women's parts. Here was a boy playing a woman playing a man. In school productions boys perforce had to play the female parts, usually with extremem reluctance, never quite managing the feminine touch. That is, all except one... She remembered him now, a new boy, in her last production at the school before it closed down - this very play, her favourite, chosen as her swan song. This boy, she had sensed, was likely to be the best Rosalind she had ever coached, and she had been right. She saw him now in her mind's eye as clearly as if he were standing in front of her. He was of slight build, soft skinned, fair haired. For a twelve year old he carried himself with an amazing maturity, his movements were graceful, almost feminine. He was quiet, reserved, self sufficient, unpeturbed by the ribbing of his peers. He had an air of authority about him which enabled him to ride any difficulty with the other boys without appearing to be in any way affected by it. In a word, he was unruffled.
    When she told him that she would like him to play the part of Rosalind in the forthcoming production, there was no show of reluctance, no questioning. He seemed to regard it as the most obvious and proper role for him. She had never known such a reaction from any boy before in the like circumstances. He was quick to learn his lines, he seemed to be even quicker in understanding the demands of his role. She had never before seen a boy get so quickly into the mind and the character of a girl. It was uncanny. She found she had little to teach him about deportment. In character he moved and walked like a girl although out of character there was nothing in his manner to suggest effeminacy. Garments When it came to the dress rehearsal and he donned female garments for the first time, she could have easily mistaken him for a girl, and, surprisingly, when he was called upon to wear boy's clothes again as part of Rosalind's travesty in the play, he seemed to be just that: a girl in boy's clothing. "Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on." She could hear him now saying those lines as naturally as if he were indeed Rosalind herself. And when adjured to be good of heart and counterfeit to be a man, "so I do: but i'faith I should have been a woman by right.", the double ambiguity which would have been apparent to the Elizabethan playgoer was as lacking when he played the part as it would be to a modern playgoer seeing a female in the part. She remembered in particular one little incident which had surprised her at the time. It was the first performance of the three scheduled for parents at the school. A small army of women teachers and male teachers' wives were assisting the boys into their costumes and with the stage make-up. She hereself went to help 'Rosalind' with his make-up for the part. Lipstick To her surprise she saw him before the mirror applying his own make-up with professional skill and competence. After dusting powder powder over the foundation cream designed to give a natural appearance under the powerful stage lamps hired for the occasion, she watched him expertly wielding the lipstick and admiring himself in the mirror. He had already taken on the persona of the heroine and he walked gracefully, head held high, to the stage door to await his entrance alongside his companion, another boy playing the part of Celia. The contrast between the two was remarkable.
    On the last night came the greatest surprise of all. Shakespeare wrote his Epilogue for the heroine to speak, and in Shakespeare's time the boy actor would doubtlessly have doffed his wig to reveal the urchin beneath and speak the cheeky lines: "If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me..." - words more than likely to excite ribald comments from the groundlings. But this Rosalind changed without warning and without the slightest embarrassment to "As I am a woman, I would kiss..." And incredibly, the words sounded absolutely right coming from him in his character as the woman Rosalind... For September, the sun was now quite strong, and as she sat musing on her last production, the old lady began to doze. She awoke with a start at the chime of a distant church bell, she counted eleven strokes and then she heard the sound of a car on the gravel in front of the entrance to the nursing home. A few moments later there was the sound of footsteps behind her, and the voice of a nurse calling out cheerily "Here's your visitor". She turned in her chair to see a tall young woman approaching, bearing in her arms an enormous bouquet of flowers. She was wearing a navy blue pencil-slim skirt and open matching jacket. Firm pointed breasts were concealed behind a white cotton blouse open at the throat to reveal a thin gold cross and chain. Her long, shapely legs were encased in sheer nylon stockings and she wore navy high-heeled shoes. Her hair was tied back into a tight bun wrapped in a chiffon scarf at the back of her head, and her lips were parted in a smile as she approached. "How lovely to see you again after all these years. I hope you remember who I am?" "Of course I do," the old lady replied. "In fact, I was just thinking about you. How are you, my dear, darling Rosalind?" The End

Nov 201520

Michelle's Story

short story

MICHELLE'S STORY

  Since I started looking at the Transformation web pages about a year and a half ago, I have read so many stories that were dialogues of some of the most sacred parts of the people they are about. Before I do continue on I would just like to say that the Transformation site is second to none and that it has helped me immensely with my own transformation. Due to the fact that so many people like myself have been willing to put their story on the site, I would like to add mine for those younger, confused members who may be looking at this site at the minute, due to the fact I have only just turned 18 and live as female almost 100% of the time. My story begins when I was 11 years old. Like most youngsters at the age of 11 I began to notice the girls at my school. I knew this was normal, or thought it was at that point of time. Most of the guys in my class would spend time talking about this girl, or that girl that they had met and that she was cute or nice looking. I simply put 2 and 2 together and assumed that the feelings were one of attraction towards the opposite sex. As I continued to grow and reach the full blown stages of puberty I began thinking more and more of women. Most of the boys in my class at that time were beginning to have more sexual thoughts and feelings that became apparent whenever the topic of a nice looking girl came up in our conversations. At this point I began to notice a more evolved sense of feelings, I was starting to distinguish my feelings apart from the rest and read into what I was really feeling. My emotions and feelings were not ones of the normal animal sexual desires but ones of respect and admiration for the opposite sex. It became more anymore apparent that my attractions were not that of the woman but the shape of her body, her makeup, the clothes they wore and the little things like the way they would wear their hair. As more time passed I found myself hitting 14 years old. I will not bore you with the details but my big sister had left and married and unknown to her had left a stockpile of clothes in the attic. They fitted perfectly. I found myself from time to time going into the attic and trying on her panties and stockings. This soon developed to an addiction, having to ware them under my clothes for school and anywhere I went. After about 6 months, I began having sneak sessions while my parents were out and put on skirt, blouse bra and jacket. I would put some tissue paper down my bra to act as breasts, until one day my mother decided to enter a fancy dress contest. She bought a long blonde wig for it and after she was finished with it put it up the attic. I decided at this point that I was going to go the full hog and dress female. By this time I was 15 and a half. I had a friend at school called Jolene. She was a lesbian and confided her secret in me. She had told me a year before about it and was expecting a bad reaction from me. I just shrugged and asked her if she was happy, to which she told me she was, so that was a good enough answer for me. I decided that it was time to confide in her the same way she had trusted me so I took her out to lunch and told her. Don't ask how because I don't really remember the details! At this point I asked for her help as a woman. She was a beautiful girl and also spent time preparing her each day. She was always stunning but never over the top, had I admired her for her style. She agreed and when her parents went on holiday for a week, I stayed over. She made sure I was shaved, trimmed and fully made up with her makeup kit. She also shaped the wig for me and helped me choose my garments. While she was doing this she kept me away from the mirrors. When she was finished she gave me a set of high heels that were fawn in colour with a thick strap across the middle. I walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I was absolutely stunned at what I saw. There was no boy in that face or body, only a young woman looking back. I felt vibrant and alive, I felt comfortable, I felt like myself! I continued to dress for a month afterwards, every weekend until my parents divorced then I took a few months break to sort my head out. When I went back to it again I wore the same garments I wore as the first time. It felt just as exciting and amazing as the first time. At that point, with my 16th birthday only a week away, I made my decision. Was going to tell my mother, who I was living with. My father had moved to the USA so I didn't see him often. I wrote my mother a letter and left it on her pillow. I stayed the weekend at a friend's house to let her absorb it. In the letter I explained my desires and how I didn't feel like a boy, I was a Girl and I wanted to spend my 16th birthday dressed as and being Michelle. Then I went home my mother agreed to it. She told me she had no idea about it and that if I felt so strongly I should have told her sooner. My mother never stood in the way. In fact for a couple of days afterwards she went shopping for me. On the 17th of Dec my life would change, I would be 16 but best of all would be a 16 Year old woman. More to come ........... Love Michelle

Nov 201520

Poon, the Thai Transvestite Dancer

short story
f593_1153gnrsfeatofpoonpage1 JOHN WILLIAMS first wrote in TV Scene about the incredible transvestite dancers he encountered in the Thai resort of Pattaya. Later, he returned to the resort and spent a day on the company of Poon, one of the prettiest dancers of the large 'Simon' transvestite cabaret, which attracts hundreds of tourists every night. Pattaya is a seaside resort about 3 hours drive from Bangkok, and one of the main tourist attractions is the big transvestite cabarets, particularly the Simon and the Alcazar. Each has 40-60 dancers, all boys, most dressed as beautful girls. The cabarets are family shows: tasteful and glamorous. There are three sittings each evening, starting around 7pm and end at around 11.30pm. Coaches tour the big hotels to convey tourists to them and most sittings are packed out. f593_1157gnrsfeatofpoonpage1I first saw Poon on my second visit to Pattaya - many of the boys look amazing as girls, but Poon was perhaps the prettiest and most feminine of the all. He also conveyed on stage how much he enjoyed the glamour of the cabaret, and the gaze and admiration of the audience. I was entranced, but I was told that he had a boyfriend, and my efforts to see him after the show failed. On my next visit however we became friends very quickly. His English was limited so our conversations were slow, but he was lovely to be with: delicate, affectionate and happy. Now 19, he had started dressing when he was about 12 or 13, and had lived full time as a girl since soon after leaving school at 15. At 16, he came to Pattaya to join the cabaret: it was the fulfilment of his dream.
    Now he is able to send money back home to his family in Bangkok. He visits them regularly and they fully accept him in his new lifestyle; they also periodically visit Pattaya to see him in the cabaret. When I met them I was struck by the pride they took in his beauty, in the glamour of his clothes and make-up, and in the fact that he was one of the stars of the show. Poon Clearly loves living as a girl. He is on hormones and considering whether or not to have the operation. He delights in pretty clothes and took great pride in showing me his dresses and lingerie: he adores silk and lace.f593_1155gnrsfeatofpage2 He loves going shopping and visiting the hairdresser - when we visited a dress shop, the assistants recognised him as one of the stars of the show but enjoyed helping him select various dresses and skirts to try on. As they helped him into one of the outfits, one of the girls commented on the silk lace-trimmed teddy he was wearing and asked where he had bought it. I enjoyed his blush and shy smile as he answered her.
    f593_1154gnrsfeatofpoonpage2I relished my time with Poon, being able to share his delight in his femininity, and the attention he attracts both as a girl on the streets and as a performer in the show. I particularly enjoyed sharing his pleasure in his own appearance as he looked in the mirror. Perhaps the loud applause he received at the end of a show was like a mirror too?

Nov 201520

The Luckiest Man

short story

The Luckiest Man

I couldn't believe it! The lights came on and Jen grinned mischievously at me and threatened to pull my wig off. Jen and Andrea were loving this. I was loving this but I was as scared as I could be. This is not a work of fiction, this is a true story. One of those true stories that when you read it, it must be a work of fiction; the sort of fiction that comes under the heading Transvestite stories: fiction. I was in a club in Brighton, near the pier, popular with not so serious clubbers, but an ordinary club all the same, open from 8:00 till 2:00am and I was in it sometime after nine with Jen and Andrea and I was completely dressed up and having the bizarrest and most exhilarating evening I had ever had. It started like this. I'm 32 and married to a fantastic wife who is more or less tolerant of the fact I like to dress as a woman. Well, it was her birthday party and we were having a great laugh with loads of mates and I was chatting and having a laugh and circulating and found myself sitting next to our next door neighbour Jen and her friend Andrea. Jen and Andrea are great fun and up for anything and I'm not sure how we got round to it but suddenly and without my prompting I'm being invited out on a girl's night out with Jen and Andrea dressed as a girl. "Go on, I dare you!" she chided in her Cardiff accent. What! She can't possibly know, can she? I'm paranoid, like most men I imagine, about letting it slip, about being found out, but how could she know? She can't have. Andrea can't have. But here is a plate put in front of me and a fantastic chance lay upon it. In front of me. Asking to be snapped up. How could a girl refuse? This was a Saturday and I had to wait for the following Friday and the week was agony under the weight of expectation tempered with the thought of the crushing disappointment if it didn't happen. The wife? Oh yeah, Well I had to ask her permission and she knew that it was something I wanted to do so "Don't worry, I'll baby sit for Jen so you can go out." In fact, she bought me some stockings and made the lovely, sexy and elegant elbow length gloves with a feather trim that I was pulling over my shaking hands as I got dressed in Jen's bedroom the following Friday. I had gone round there desperately trying to hide my enthusiasm and exploding Joy and Jen said "right then,", upstairs, use my room and I'll get you made up when you come down." Gulp. No ceremony. No do you want to wimp out just go upstairs and get dressed! So now I am walking tentatively down her stairs wearing a slightly tarty but dangerous outfit. First I had put in the black shiny bra that fitted very snugly and with a little padding gave a good representation of breasts, then very feminine cream suspenders with little frills and bows on. These were attached to the fresh black stockings that seemed painted on my legs and stopped the regulation distance from frilly, teasingly smooth black knickers that held me in place and felt so amazingly sexy. If they saw these then they'd know.
    I put on the animal print top and then from my bag a dangerously short skirt that only just covered the stocking tops. I couldn't believe this. I was about to walk down stairs and face two whistling, laughing women wearing the sort of clothes that had never left the safety of my house and present myself to them. The last touches were some Pat Butcher like jewellery and a pair of Lady DI high heels - a genuine mix of cheap tat and expensive shoes. Their faces when I opened the door and tottered in were a picture - both Jen and Andrea were screaming with laughter as they sat me down and teased me and admired, jealously in Andrea's case, my legs. They didn't shave them, luckily I'm fair haired, but they did go to work on my face and cover me with silky foundation and lashings of mascara, lipstick, eye shadow etc. They were having more fun that I was. Finally the long blond wig I had brought from Transformation was placed on my head and arranged to look deliciously feminine and an overly generous spray of perfume was aimed at me and then I was ready. Ready for a night out with no keys, my money handed over, no male clothes, no surrender, total reliance on my two friends (why do women seem to love humiliating and titillating men like this) and no way home until they said so. Fantastic. Who ever has been out for a walk dressed up will know that stomach knotting feeling of apprehension, especially when the seconds drag by as someone walks towards you, or drives past, but suddenly, no matter how "interesting" I looked no one was really paying me much attention. There was no way that I could be 100% disguised but people just weren't paying me any attention - at least not to my face. The British sense of reserve is a wonderful thing. And then before I really knew it the short drive was over and we were in the queue to get into the club, chatting and Joking and still no one seemed to pay me much attention and then I was paying for my entrance ticket and then walking into the bar and then "Well, hello there!" The DJ had spotted me, oh yes, and to him I was a perfect target. "Look at the gorgeous girl who's just walked in." Ok, it's roughly half eight and the place only had about a hundred people in it but that's 200 hundred eyes staring at me. Oh my God. The fear instantly rose. There was a big bunch of guys at the bar already getting drunk. I expected to get through the night relatively unscathed but this could go anywhere. Jen seized the moment perfectly and went up to him and said I had lost a bet on the England - Argentina World Cup football match and this was my punishment (if only you knew Jen, If only you knew.) an then the DJ got really mischievous - as did Jen as she conspired to win me a bottle of champagne from the DJ if I danced on the stage with her - IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. The wind from the smoke machine nearly raised the skirt to new heights as I was paraded on the stage and made to dance with Jen as Andrea took photograph after photograph. It was then that the fire alarm went off and Jen decided that now might be a good time to pull my wig off. Jen! People from my work come to this place! But she resisted the temptation and I got my bottle of champers - but we could hardly drink it for laughing so much. Any tension I had left disappeared as the alcohol flowed and from then on it was non stop and I was on the dance floor, in the ladies toilet (when I needed to pee), in the arms of a Thai girl who thought I was very sexy (this is all true), back on stage with a hen night from Rayleigh, getting chatted up by a very excited gay bloke, dancing with Jen and Andrea and some other girls, having more make up and perfume applied and then, finally being allowed to relax and sit down with a more manly pint of beer at some time around 1:30 and then "I'm starving. Let's go to the local store and get some food." Said Jen. This was getting bizarre and bizarrer still! By two thirty we were walking round the 24 hr store in Brighton in and out of the aisles while Jen looks for cheese and onion pasties and Andrea for some sandwiches and then having negotiated the giggling girl on the till who could only just find the composure to scan the items we had bought, I had to sit with the girls in full view of the late night shoppers while they sat and ate them. What a night for the staff of the store! All the time, I was made to feel like a princess, but a naughty one who had to do what her wicked aunts demanded. Bliss. Finally, closer to three, I was dropped off home and we sat and giggled and laughed and recounted what an amazing night it was. If it were transvestite fiction I imagine this would be where the kinky sex scene would be put but there was none of that. Just a gentle end to a thrilling night. My wife was so happy to see me home unmolested and un-beaten-up but she thought the whole thing was hilarious and wants to come out again next time. They'll definitely be a next time, but maybe not to that club again. Kim Shaw.

Nov 201520

Make-Up Made Easy

frequently asked questions, how to guides
Many transvestites applying make-up for the first time are appalled at the mess they make of it, but there's no need to be discouraged. The art of using cosmetics has to be learned like every other skill - and if you use your common sense, it's something you can master. Don't be afraid to experiment in the safety of your own home. You will always learn from your mistakes and, unlike say sky diving, if you make a mess of it the first time you can always have another try. Remember these basic points and you won't go far wrong: Emphasise your good features Camouflage your blemishes Always use good quality cosmetics If in doubt what suits you, get professional advice When make-up is really well applied, no one knows you're wearing it. So, the secret of making the most of yourself is discretion. Disguise the fact that you're using foundation or beard cover by taking the extra five minutes to make sure it is well blended in and that there are no edges or abrupt changes of colour showing. The Nose Noses tend to shine, and shiny noses draw attention to themselves. Right on the point of the nose, there is an area which needs special attention paying to it. It needs a matt finish, but the colour of that finish must blend in so well with the rest of your make-up that no one knows you've touched. Use your fingers or a cotton wool pad to blend the powder well in and to remove any excess. The Jaw Too often, beginners to the art of applying make-up concentrate on the front of their faces, and forget that people look at the rest of their face aswell. Work down from your cheek bone and blend the foundation cream, derma blend or powder down from the highlighted area (right) going under the jaw. Examine yourself carefully to make sure there are no lines showing where the make-up ends, that there is no excess make-up on your hair, and that you haven't left any make-up on your ears. Either that - or wear a very large wig! The Eyes The eyes are considered by many to be the most important - and most attractive - part of the face. Carefully outline the eye with an eye pencil, and discreetly shade the eyelid with eye shadow. Remember not to use an eyeshadow the same colour as your eyes - try for a contrasting shade of the same colour for a superb effect. If you have light blue eyes, use dark blue eyeshadow; dark brown eyes, use a light tan shadow and if you have green eyes use a contrasting shade of green If you have red eyes, wear sun glasses!  
  The Underjaw Pay particular attention to this area when you are shaving, as there is nothing more ugly than a little tuft of hair protruding through a beautifully made-up face. A slightly darker shade of concealer used here will give you a slimmer jaw line and disguise a multitude of faults, but be careful there is no perceptible border between your darker make-up and the lighter one you used on the front of your face. Go over this area several times with a cotton pad or powder brush to ensure an even blend and a natural graduation of shade. If you've got a double chin, take twice as long! The Eyebrows If you intend using false eyebrows, ensure that the colour does not contrast too much with your hair or wig. If you are shaping your own eyebrows, do not make them too pencil-thin because they will end up looking as though they have been drawn on. Wherever possible, try to maintain the natural line of your eyebrows, but make sure you trim any parts that intrude onto the top of your nose area. Noel Gallagher is not the look we want. When you are satisfied you've made a superb job of your make-up, take a last look at yourself in the mirror and then go downstairs and make a cup of hot, steaming coffe. Drink it slowly, holding the cup under your chin the whole time, then go back upstairs and take another look in the mirror. In five minutes, the steam from that coffe will do the same to your make-up as five hours at a party will do. If your make-up stands up to that treatment and still looks good, then you've made an excellent job if it. Congratulations. But don't get complacent... Carry fresh supplies of make-up with you all the time, and get to a mirror every half hour during the time you are out to check that all is still well. Like all works of art and the Forth Bridge, make-up needs constant maintenance!  

Nov 201520

Wedding Bliss

short story
  John felt nervous sitting in the lounge of The Black Horse opposite his fiancee, Veronica, to whom he'd been engaged for eighteen months. They had begun to see each other more and more until Veronica had pushed it to seven nights a week. "John, why are you so worried about seeing me every night?" she asked in a dainty feminine voice. "No real reason." "We'll be married in a week - surely you'll not want a night off then?" she frowned. "Of course not." "Well, what's the matter? You can tell me. We don't have secrets do we?" She smiled and held his hand beneath the table. John looked deep into her eyes and smiled. He loved Veronica dearly but he also had something on his conscience. "Look, Veronica. Perhaps we should call the whole thing off," he blurted out. Veronica looked up from her glass, letting his words echo through her mind. "What?!" she shouted, then blushed as people looked in her direction. "Did I hear you right?" she asked, melting into the chair. "Perhaps I'm not the right man for you..." "Of course you are, John. We love each other." "But there's something you don't know about me. A secret only a few other people know about..." Veronica stared at him. "Surely you can tell me?" "You wouldn't understand." "I will! Look, we are getting married and nothing you say will alter my mind," she insisted. John paused, then: "I've been talking with some of my special friends and they said it would be better for you to know now rather than later, and have to go through a divorce." "Divorce?! We're not even married yet!" she retorted. "Drink up, I'll take you home and show you something..." They finished their drinks with John refusing to answer any more of Veronica's questions. Once in his house, he opened a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. "You must promise to stay down here," he said. "Where are you going?" "Upstairs, I won't be long," he said nervously. "I thought you were going to show me something?" "I'll be half an hour. Amuse yourself," he insisted and left the room, closing the door behind him.
    Once in his bedroom, he removed his shirt, trousers, shoes and socks, then stood before his long mirror in black tights, a pink pantie girdle and a pink bra. He put on a full-length underskirt and filled his bra with foam padding. His hands caressed the dainty feminine material before he put on a knee-length green dress with a zip-up back. Sitting before the dressing table mirror, he quickly applied his make-up. First foundation cream, then powder. Picking up the applicator, he covered his eyelids with green eyeshadow. Mascara followed, then blusher and finally lipstick. He looked at himself, turning right then left before finally feeling satisfied that everything was perfect. Picking up his wig, he carefully put it on and clipped it firmly in place. A quick brush and he looked the part. He glanced at the bottle of nail polish and then at his watch, asking himself if he really had the time. With a deep sigh, he shook the bottle and unscrewed the top. Soon his nails became a bright cherry red. A quick blow with the hair dryer and they were dry. He stepped into his black three-inch high heels and strutted proudly towards the door. The only thing missing was his handbag. He gave the problem some deliberation and decided to take a small clutch bag. Going down the stairs, he wondered what Veronica would say. He pushed the lounge door open, his stomach churning with butterflies. A second later he was standing in the room and a very surprised Veronica stood up to face him. "This is my secret and the reason why we shouldn't get married. I have thought it through and it wouldn't be fair on you." He stood still while Veronica caught her breath. "What do you mean?" she asked after a few seconds. "I'm a transvestite." "A what?" "A transvestite. I like to dress up in the clothes of the opposite sex." She gazed at him and chuckled aloud. She walked around him and sighed, waving her head from side to side. "You really have brought something on me. I never expected this." She lifted the back of his dress gently feeling the soft material of his girdle. "Do you really enjoy wearing these clothes?" "Yes, I do." "I must go to the loo," she said nervously. Some time later John heard the flush go. "Look, John, I have to think this over," Veronica said upon entering the lounge. "I've ordered a taxi, it'll be here in a few minutes." He went to hold her but she backed away, smiling as politely as she could. "I need time, John. You may as well stay in those clothes as you love them so much. I suppose you have a nightie as well?" "Yes, and a negligee with slippers. If you are leaving you may as well know the worst. I go out to special parties dressed up like this. You see, I was right to tell you, I knew it wouldn't work." "What size are you then?" she asked, surprising him with her question. "Eighteen," he replied just as a taxi sounded its horn. "Goodbye John. Don't call me, I'll call you." She quickly left. John spent the rest of the evening drowning his sorrows in wine.
    Two days later, Veronica arrived at his house. He was surprised to see her as he had grown sure the wedding was off. "I've talked with some doctors and read some books on the subject," she said once she was in the lounge. "I see. I'm sorry about the other night." "Never mind. I think I can live with it. Here is a present - try it on," she commanded. He took the bag. Inside was a skirt and blouse. He gazed at her, wondering what was happening. "Hurry up, I'll cook tea," she said with a broad smile. Fifteen minutes later John returned downstairs in the new clothes. "Do they fit?" "Perfect!" She walked up to him, brushing the blouse with her hands. As their faces met, she smiled and leaned forward, kissing his lips. The kiss turned into a long, drawn-out lustful one as her arms wrapped around his body and his moved around hers. "We have some talking to do. I would like to see your wardrobe. And your make-up is dreadful. You'll need my expert help there, and that wig just doesn' suit you at all." "Is all this as a friend or what?" "A lover and a wife. To save any embarrassment later I've told my parents all about you." "That's incredible," he sighed. That evening, with John wearing stockings and bra, they made love as they had never done before. The two days to the wedding soon passed and John had a surprise package delivered by hand with the early morning post. Inside was a pair of white stockings, panties, bra, suspender belt and cami top in white satin and lace. A simple note read "Wear them for me". The wedding went without a hitch. They were due to fly out to Spain for their honeymoon the following day. Instead of spending the night at the airport hotel as planned, Veronica insisted they stay at John's house. Watching him undress, she saw he had done as she'd asked. "I like these clothes on you," she said grinning and fondling them. "They feel adorable. I have a surprise for you," she said giving him a large bag. He opened it in silence and grinned. "It's your wedding dress!" he gasped. "Now it's your wedding dress." "But it won't fit me!" "Try it on," she commanded. John stepped into it. As he pulled it up, millions of tingling sensations flowed through his body. He put his arms into the sleeves and to his amazement they fitted. Even the zip fastened properly. "But how??" "When I changed this afternoon, I gave my dress to a seamstress who quickly did the alterations for your size. Darling, you look almost as beautiful as I did." "Then you really don't mind?" We are going to have the best relationship we could have ever dreamed of. Girlish outings, shopping for all those dainty clothes, and above all, the love to go with it." She clung to his dress, feeling his arms around her back. As they kissed together, the white lace veil slipped over their heads, joining them together for ever.

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