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Nov 201520

Weight Loss And Slimming

frequently asked questions
Our natural slimming and weight loss products will help to achieve that authentic feminine look it may sometimes be necessary be lose a few pounds or inches. Choose from slimming patches, they can be worn discreetly and work l bit like a nicotine patch. The active ingredient of the patches is fucus vesiculosus, a natural, non-addictive metabolic stimulant that acts on the thyroid gland, leading to a higher burn-off of calories consumed and resultant weight loss. These are available in packs of 60 or 180. Reductamin slimming pills combine all 3 weight loss methods in one diet pill. Firstly, the pills actually reduce your appetite. Secondly, they make you feel full after just a small amount of food,and thirdly, they speed up your metabolism so that you actually burn more calories. Taking two pills daily, significant weight loss can be achieved over a relatively short period of time, but we recommend that you try and limit your weight loss to just 2lb or 1 kilogram a week. On no account should you ever exceed 6lb per week. If you do please reduce dose to just one pill a day. Because you don't have to starve yourself on an unrealistic diet plan these diet pills are used for patients who have tried and failed to lose weight on normal slimming programmes. Our weight loss combination pack is the best of both worlds. Using our sucessful sliming patches and reductamin slimming patches can help boost your weight loss. Slim into that new dress or create that hourglass figure or use it in conjunction with your other feminising hormones to help you reach your final goal of true femininty.

Nov 201520

Cross Dressing For King And Country

short story

A Cross Dressing Story

  They were the "volunteers" enlisted into the various concert parties which were used to keep up morale amongst the troops. Many of them were probably closet trannies anyway, glad of a chance to slip into a frock, but even those who weren't at least learned a trade they could use in civilian life. One far more useful than killing people. And use it they did, taking their feminine tricks of the trade onto theatre stages throughout the country in all-male revues that were highly successful into the 1920's and beyond. One of the most celebrated wartime concert parties had been called Les Rouges et Noir in France, but changed its name back to splinters back in Britain. The cast of cross-dressed ex-soldiers played to full houses in Shaftesbury Avenue and the London Coliseum before launching a provincial tour that ran with various changes of company for another twenty years.  
  The success of another concert party has been uncovered by researcher Peter Farrer for a recently published book. He found a review of their show in the British Army newspaper The Balkin News, which listed seven men playing girls' parts. The star part of Lizzie was played by Private T Wardle who "has a future to be envied", the paper reported, "with charming manners and soprano voice." The paper continued to gush: "The costumes must have been one of the many surprises. One hardly expects to find these things in a troupe from "up the line", but they were splendid, espacially Lizzie's who had to reveal the contents of her boudoir more than once." On the whole, it sounds like Private Wardle had a bad war. As well as a third-party review of the concert party, we have a first hand account of what it was like to be a male actress in those days. For luckily one member of the cast wrote to the newspaper "Bits of Fun", which Peter Farrer has used as reference for his collection "Confidential Correspondence Part II 1916-1920" Regular readers will remember that the first part of this collection was reviewed in our last issue. Peter Farrer has now followed it up with another batch of letters, almost 300 in total, which provide further fascinating information about cross-dressing in that period. The writer of the letter was a sergeant in the Mechanical Transport section, who had been a closet TV since he was a small boy. Suddenly, the war had given him the opportunity to wear his fantasy clothes in public for the very first time.  
  "For the past 18 months I have shown almost every night ....dressed up in women's clothes", he wrote. "I wear the tightest of corsets (23ins), high heeled boots and shoes, long, tight fitting black or white kid gloves, silk stockings, ladies' undies, a wig and above all, long heavy earrings, for which I had my ears pierced." Signing himself simply as JEH, the sergeant follows up his letter with a second a month later when he writes about attending a weekend houseparty as a girl, and staying undiscovered throughout. Peter Farrer's research identified the writer through a review in The Balkan News as a Sergeant Howard. He was in the same party as "Lizzie" Wardle playing a fairy called Fifi. It's such attention to detail that makes Peter Farrer's collection so interesting. These are real men writing of their experiences in dresses at home and at war, some voluntary and some forced to take on female roles that nature never intended.

Nov 201520

Shopping With Us Is Safe

frequently asked questions
Safe Technology: Our secure socket layer (SSL) software is the industry standard and among the best software available today for secure commerce transactions. To ensure that the information you send is safe the latest versions of popular browsers display a locked padlock image, in the grey bar at the bottom of your browser screen, to indicate you are browsing in a secure environment. In the extremely unlikely event that your credit card details are compromised, we will refund in full any fraudulent charges to your card made through us. Any order may be cancelled with no charge before dispatch, or returned for refund if in acceptable condition. See below.* The information you provide is used only for processing your order, and not passed to any other company, so you won't be bombarded with junk mail or spam. We will only show up on your credit card statement as 'SERCUS LTD', and all orders are sent under plain packaging to ensure your privacy. In the unlikely event of there being a problem with your order, our friendly, female Customer Services staff will be happy to answer any queries and will do everything they can to help you. Click here for our telephone number and address. Transformation has been serving the TV / TS / TG community for 32 years, and has grown into a multinational company with a shop in Manchester and customers all over the world. We trade globally via the internet and mail order, and have established a reputation for quick and efficient service - our high stock levels ensured that last year we dispatched 99.7% of orders within 2 working days. Click here for Customer Testimonials. Transformation has been in business for over 32 years now, and our customers are very important to us - please don't hesitate to contact us if you have any questions! *Returns policy: You may return unused and unopened products within 7 days for alternative items, less postage costs. In the event of a product or item being faulty, defective items will be replaced with a similar or alternative item. N.B. US customers please do not return goods via UPS Delivery, if you are unsure please contact our Customer Services Department for more information.

Nov 201520

Diane's First Dress

short story

DIANE'S FIRST DRESS

  I was 10 when I first discovered the joy of donning a dress. It was white satin, the bodice trimmed with white feathers; it was long and strapless. The year was 1938. Since age 5 I had many times rummaged through my older sister's dresser drawers for 'soft and feminine' things to soothe my aching mind and body - I had sorely wanted to be a girl, and experiencing the feel of silk panties and slips was intoxicating. My favorite place to play was the attic where there were two, large cedar closets. The one at the top of the stairs was for seasonal clothes like heavy jackets and my father's WWI uniform; the other was tucked away in a far corner for clothes waiting for my younger sister and me to grow into. Since there were 10 years separating my sisters' ages, there were only winter coats and leggings for my younger sister; feminine fashions changed constantly even 'way back then,' so there was little of the 'feminine' there for me. For years the only feminine attire that held any interest for me in the 'seasonal' closet were my mother's skirt-suits and dresses, none of which felt 'right' on me. My mother was very small and ultra-conservative, having come upon the planet before the turn-of-the-century. I remember the day, wet and blustery, when my best friend and I were in the attic playing. He had discovered my father's uniform and had put it on - I never had. As he paraded around the attic he came upon the other closet and opened the door. Something shiny-white inside caught my eye, so I went in and turned on the light. Lo-and-behold, the closet was now filled with my older sister's evening gowns. I could hardly wait to try them on, but I was afraid at the time of what my friend might think of me. I knew that I wasn't 'normal.' The following day was a schoolday, and I had nothing else on my mind for the entire day but those pretty dresses. The energy rampaging through my body was exhausting, and the run home and to the attic did little to ease the excitement. Besides the cook who was preparing the dinner, I was the only other soul in the house so I raced to the attic, went into the far closet, turned on the light, closed the door and locked it from the inside. I had found a New World to hide in. Moments later I was naked except for my socks which protected my feet from the wooden floor.
I looked at the array of long dresses for what seemed hours but could not have been more than a minute, trying to decide which dress I would try on first. Is that a 'feminine' trait? I first noticed that the shiny-white dress that had caught my eye the previous day was strapless, and I took several moments wondering what it was that was going to 'hold it up.' I came to the conclusion that it was the breasts that would hold it up, and since I didn't have any, I should forego that dress and try the others first.   That was a painfully disappointing moment, coming-to-terms with the fact that I did not have breasts and probably never would. To me, that dress epitomized what it would feel like to be a girl. One-by-one I stepped into or let fall over me every one of those dresses, closed the zippers as best I could - most were in back - and marveled at the luxurious feelings of femininity. As time passed, and I knew it would soon be time to appear before my parents and the dinner table, I arranged the closet as I had found it and then stood there eyeing the one dress I had yet to put on. I knew intuitively that, if I did not satisfy a most powerful inner urge to at least step into the dress, I would never forgive myself. I unzipped the back of the dress, held it in front of me and stepped in. As I eased the dress up my body, I became very aware that it was the smoothest and most delicate of all the dresses I had put on. I managed to get the back zipper all the way up, but I had to hold the dress up and close to my chest lest gravity pull it down to my knees. Holding the top of the dress up at the sides, I looked for a mirror to see how I looked in the dress, and how the dress looked on me, but there was no mirror; there would be the next time I came. I swished and twirled and curtsied and danced to the music in my mind, reveling in the most powerful feminine feelings I had ever experienced. Rather than let the dress fall so that I could step out, I dutifully unzipped the back and stepped out of it, put in on its hanger and returned it to its proper place on the clothes rack. As the weeks and months passed and my body grew larger, I would periodically go to that far closet in the attic and see how that white gown would fit me. I still believed that it would be my 'breasts' that would hold up the dress, and I could see no way of making that come to pass short of putting on one of my sister's bras and filling the cups with her silk stockings (nylon had yet to be invented). But that would not be what a strapless dress was all about; it was going to take real breasts, and I promised myself that some day I would have my own. I was as yet unfamiliar with the phenomenon known as the 'strapless' bra; it would be more than a year before I would.
    When I finally did become more familiar with bras, I would go to the attic with a 'proper' bra, panties, stockings and a garter belt in order to dress 'properly.' By the time I was 12, the dress almost fit me and the strapless bra had finally come into common use. Now the dress would stay up if I used enough padding to fill the strapless bra cups, but it felt awkward; there was something unnatural about having to use padding. Girls my age were beginning to develop their breasts, and here I was with the prettiest dress imaginable, and I had nothing of my own to hold the dress up. I would look down at my flat chest and feel diminished. I remember about having had quite a dilemma wondering how I might be hurting myself by continuing to indulge myself by 'dressing up,' but you, Reader, know why I did not and could not stop. By the time I was 14, the dress was fitting me perfectly except for what I had always believed was intended to 'hold it up;' the trauma of seeing the other sex blossom with what I thought was rightfully mine was excruciating. Most of all, I was now going to formal dances myself - in a tuxedo - and wanting with all my heart to wear that pretty gown hanging in that faraway closet. Envy of the girls in their pretty gowns was near-all-consuming. In my bed later, I would cry to vent the hurt. I was at a dance one evening when I finally came to realize what was actually holding strapless dresses 'up.' It was by observing girls who I knew were small-breasted that I finally understood. It is the depression of the female waste above the widened hips that 'holds up' the strapless dress by supporting the top from underneath. I smiled, but I really wanted to cry; I lacked not only the breasts, but the shape of the lower torso. Once again I was reminded of what my mind said that I was, and of what my body said that I was not. It is now many years later, and that dress continues to be the most elegant and feminine article that has ever draped my body, including all the lovely nighties and undies that fill my dresser drawers and adorn my body every day. Best of all, though, is that feeling of wholeness and completeness that I have today of being able to now hold the top of that dress up the way I had originally thought it should have been... by my very own bountiful breasts. Thank you Transformation! dianemorrill@juno.com

Nov 201520

The Wedding Dress

short story

Amanda's World - The Wedding Dress

It was the only thing in the window. That is, apart from a paper banner in bright red with gold lettering proclaiming 'SALE'. It was the window of the dress shop specialising in wedding wear and normally filled with half a dozen wedding dresses, page boys' outfits and smart, uncomfortable looking dresses or suits for the bride's mother. And, of course, in the background to contrast with all the feminine finery, a tailor's dummy dressed in a morning suit and grey top hat. But this morning there was just one dress, the sale bargain of the week, with a discreet price tag: £349... I paused in astonishment. Before I had even seen the price tag I had been quite taken with the dress itself. Perhaps because it stood alone in the window, it had caught my attention as I hurried by and drawn me to the window to loook closer. My breath was taken away by its beauty - it was of cream satin, with a demure round neckline beautifully embroidered, and the design carried on down over the bust to the waistline. The puff sleeves carried a similar design with a delicate lace edging at the cuffs. Below the waist, the gown billowed out fully, but plain, to the scalloped hemline at the front, while at the back it was gathered into a full bustle from which masses of material descended into a wide flowing train, yards long, with delicate embroidery. I could readily imagine how beautiful it would appear as it was held by pretty bridesmaids following the wearer up the aisle to the wedding ceremony, and afterwards as she walks on the arm of her groom - the hem rising and falling with each slow pace to the sound of the wedding march, and the swish of the satin skirt along the floor of the church.
The only other item in the window was a matching headdress, a hoop of artificial orange blossom with a full veil attached to give a hint of mystery as she entered the church, and to be flung back after the ceremony to reveal her beauty and happiness as she led the bridal procession from the church.   I stood for some time admiring the dress and dreaming. I felt the excitement of the wedding morning, the last minute preparations to ones hair by the attendant hairdresser, the beauty treatment and the make-up, the careful adjustment of the new bra specially bought for the occasion to fit under the dress, the feel of the new expensive sheer stockings as I rolled them on to my freshly smooth legs and fastened them to the suspender belt (not new, but worn in compliance with the old adage about something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue). I would have borrowed my sister's lovely earrings and tucked a pale blue handkerchief away out of sight for emergency use. I could imagine the giggles of my bridesmaids - hiding their nervousness on this great occasion - and, taking my father's arm, I would have sailed down the aisle to be given away by him to the man of my choice, to love, honour and obey him as commanded in the words of the age-old service. I could have afforded to buy it to live my dream in the privacy of my own home, but I knew as I asked the assistant that the dress was at least two sizes too small. She offered to show me other dresses, but this was my dream and I fled the shop, but not without a backward glance at the dress in the window. I passed that way again about a fortnight later. The dress had gone from the window, presumably sold. I wonder who the lucky girl is? I would have liked to have met her. From the bottom of my heart I wish her all joy in the wearing of my dress, and all the happiness for the future.



Nov 201520

The Realisation Of Michaela - A Transvestite

short story

Short Story  - The Realisation of Michaela - A Transvestite

  I suppose that some of us 'Girls' are more lucky that others and that a very lucky few are luckier than most when it comes to being able to realise our Dreams, but not one of the many 'Girls' that I have ever met seems to have had my enormous amount of good fortune down the road to total feminine release. Which only goes to prove that being in the right place at the right time is probably the Fate that you rightly deserve, if only once in your lifetime, and is the 'lift' that you are dying for, to bring you out of the Closet and into the open, rightly and properly. Here is the story of one very lucky person: Michaela My name is Michaela Jane and I am a totally fulfilled Transvestite. By total, I mean that, at last I am able to live the complete life as a young woman with my own Home, Bank Account, Car and Job - All registered under my 'Femme' name, which must surely be the object of fullfilment for most serious Babes wishing to make the change. Of course, none of this came easy and time seemed to run away with me once I had really started on my 'conversion', but the perfect opportunity arose when my Wife discovered my 'Secret' - A neatly hung selection of female clothing, in a smaller size than her, secreted in an hidden alcove behind the built in wardrobes in the Master Bedroom! Yes, being a bit of a DIY freak, I had made part of the back of our unit slide across to give access to the hidden alcove behind the main unit, and fitted it out with Drawers and a Hanging Rail - That is until the fateful day that I forgot to close the hidden door and my Wife decided to change her daytime outfit for an Evening Dress prior to our going out to a Dinner Dance on that fateful day - Febuary 14th Valentines Day! I will not bore you with the details of the upset that followed when I told her the truth about my 'desires' and my 'feminine' side, except to say that, unlike the other wives that I read about - you know, the ones that fully understand and end up 'going along' with the wishes of being a transvestite husband - She totally 'flipped' and insisted that I left our home, there and then - and that is how it has been to this day.... Well, one can't win all the time! (But one can in the end). I'm writing this, just having emerged from a long, hot scented Bath where I have been lying in for a very long while thinking how wonderfully relaxing being a fully fledged 'girl' really is - Admiring my long smooth legs, narrow waist and almost totally hair free body. (I find it so much cooler to be into almost total depletion). I have had a Heart-Shape tattoo outline done around a small pubic area, and depleted only up to that outline and shorten the pubic hair within the outline to a nice close crop style. But no hair left anywhere else on my body exceept for my own natural auburn head of hair, which is now down to shoulder length and professionally 'done' once a week. Anyway, now I must emerge from this Bath and proceed to apply some scented moisturer to the whole of my body to take away the slight male feel of some areas of my skin. Whilst I am doing this, I will tell you how I am going to get dressed and what I am going to wear whilst I tell you more of my 'story'.
    I always treat the phrase 'What am i going to wear?' as meaning a total look and feminine 'aroma,' as perfume is so very important and must be treated as an 'overall' sensation to bring out the best of the female attributes. So, starting with a light talcing all over my body, I begin to feel and smell my female self. Next I apply the wonderful matching perfume between and under my breasts, around my neck and behind my ears, before venturing down to the more intimate places, finishing with a final squirt down the bottom of my back and between my tight little bottom cheeks. It's really surprising how very feminine one can feel just 'dressed' in a quality scent. So I pause a while just simply breathing in the delicious aroma of my all-ready female self, whilst looking in the Mirror that I am about to watch myself getting dressed in. Before I explain what I am wearing as I complete my dressing process, I should explain that it is now some 5 years since I became totally female, and my body has changed physically to a great extent, due to various drugs and some physical manipulation during my story, but more of that later. I am fortunate that, having had cetain treatments to my now reduntant 'testes' etc, I am able to disguise my former Male self by the wearing of a tight pair of mini-panties, which are always my basic first garment that I prefer to soak in a little warm scented water before I continue dressing as they tend to shrink to a perfect fit in all areas, as they dry out from the warmth of my body, and gives me another 10 minutes to admire myself and them! Today, I have chosen a Sky blue pair with side tie drawstrings and I have pulled them up tightly, tying a long bow just above the hip bone, which gives me a really feminine look, even before I am dressed. I add an extra little touch now by slipping my feet into a pair of sky blue Mules with a 2" heel, as I always feel better getting dressed with some sort of heel beneath me. So here I am, just that little bit taller, with a nice all over tan from my Sunbed. A scented topless Beauty. Next, I select my 36D Bra for today. This is a matching Sky blue Full Cup lacey underwired quality item i purchased some time ago. These days I usually shop in the High Street.
    My boobs are now fully grown and make a perfect fit in my Bra's - In fact, I do worry a little that they are still growing even though I am no longer on my Hormone treatment - but I digress. I prefer to put this very important item of underwear on to my body in the proper manner, as this seems to me to be a part of being feminine, so I carefully place my arms through the shoulder straps and reach behind myself, to fasten the hooks at the back and then, carefully lift each breast upwards in turn, before lowering them into the cups of the Bra. I give great attention to this method, before tightening up both straps in order to lift my breasts to the required height for the outfit that I am about to wear. So far - so good, and now for the next item. Today I have chosen to wear a suspender belt and stockings - not just any stockings as I prefer to wear Holdups with suspenders, as they tend not to pull on the suspenders so much, and give a much 'sexier' feel. Now, I slip off my Mules and gently ease the stockings up my long elegant legs and attach them to the Blue lacey matching suspender belt that is now tightly secured around my waist. I pause to run my hand down my Nylon clad legs. A really fantastic feeling! Now it is time for my shoes, as I want to look at myself in my underwear, with nice high heels. Today, I have chosen an outfit that requires a white shoe, so I select a simple pair of Court shoes, but with a fairly high heel of 4". As I slip my feet into them and stand up in front of the mirror, I am instantly tranformed in to the full woman that needs just a little pink lipstick to complete the picture and that is no sooner said than done in front one of my full length Bathroom mirror. Looking at myself, I feel that I would like to wear some further underwear today, and choose a matching blue set of silk Camisole and French Knickers to overlay my Bra and Mini-Panties, and they do make me feel so silky and smooth, that I know that I have made the right choice. Just my dress now needed to complete the outfit, and today I am going to wear my loose fitting white favourite. This has a short full skirt that 'flares' out when I twirl and a Gypsy top to expose my arms and a wide neckline. I compliment this with a tight white belt that shows off my narrow waist, without 'advertising' the actual belt. Now all I need to do is to select my accessories, including my Coat, Handbag and Jewellery, 'do' my face and Hair, and I'm ready to get on with my day - Is it any wonder that us 'girls' take so long to get ready to go out! I love long dangling earrings, so I select a pair with a matching necklace and bracelet watch, studded with red rhinestones, and put them on in fromt of the mirror. I team these with a white clutch handbag and decide not to bother with a coat, as it is a nice sunny day. Just a little 'sit-down' to brush my Auburn shoulder length hair which falls easily into place, as I only had it done yesterday! So I'm finished and ready to leave home, looking good, smelling fantastic and tasty enough to eat, I'm ready to launch myself on the world yet again, in my wonderful life. When I come home, we'll have a nice 'Girly' chat over a great bottle of Wine, whilst I tell you how by sheer chance and Lady Luck led me into my wonderful new life after being a mere downtrodden Male for far too long. Michaela. End of Part One -- Part Two is here.

Nov 201520

Magnus Hirschfeld

special interest

Magnus Hirschfeld was a prominent German sexologist who developed the theory of a third, intermediate sex between men and women. He coined the term Transvestite and was a strong advocate of gay and TV rights from the early 1900's.

  He was interested in the study of a wide variety of sexual and erotic urges, at a time when the early taxonomy of sexual identity labels was still being formed. His scientific work extended that of Karl Heinrich Ulrichs and influenced Havelock Ellis and Edward Carpenter. He often visited bars in Berlin catering to gays and transvestites as he researched the first-ever book on transgenderism, Die Transvestiten (1910).
In 1921 Hirshfeld organised the First Congress for Sexual Reform, which led to the formation of the World League for Sexual Reform. Congresses were held in Copenhagen (1928), London (1929), Vienna (1930), and Brno (1932).
Hirschfeld was both quoted and caricatured in the press as a vociferous expert on sexual manners, receiving the epithet "the Einstein of Sex". He saw himself as a campaigner and a scientist, investigating and cataloging many varieties of sexuality, not just homosexuality. He coined the word "transvestism," for example. Although he preferred to project himself as an objective researcher and scientist, Hirschfeld himself was gay and a transvestite, and participated in the gay subculture of Germany. For these activities he gained the epithet "Tante Magnesia" - "Auntie Magnesia."
In 1919, under the more liberal atmosphere of the newly founded Weimar Republic, Hirschfeld opened the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft (Institute for Sexual Research) in Berlin. His Institut housed his immense library on sex and provided educational services and medical consultations. People from around Europe visited the Institut to gain a clearer understanding of their sexuality. Christopher Isherwood writes about his and Auden's visit to the Institut in his book Christopher and His Kind. The Institut also housed the Museum of Sex, an educational resource for the public which is reported to have been visited by school classes. The Institut and Hirschfeld's work there is depicted in the documentary film The Einstein of Sex.
When the Nazis took power, one of their first actions, on May 6, 1933, was to destroy the Institut and burn the library. The press-library pictures & archival newsreel film of Nazi book-burnings seen today are usually pictures of Hirschfeld's library ablaze. Fortuitously, at that time Hirschfeld was away from Germany on a world speaking tour. He never returned to Germany, dying in exile in Nice in 1935.

Nov 201520

Class Reunion

short story

 CLASS REUNION

I was nearly ready for bed when the telephone rang. Hastily smoothing my night cream, I slipped into my negligee and sat on the side of my bed to take the call. "Is that......?" a female voice asked, using the name I have long discarded. "Yes", I replied guardedly after a pause. "I don't suppose you will remember me. Elizabeth Price. We were at school together." Of course I remember her. And all her friends. Denise, Maureen, Joyce, Beryl, Margaret, Hilary and the other girls in our mixed class at the local grammer school, more years ago than I care to enumerate. I could remember the desks at which we all sat, the boys on the right facing the teacher, the girls on the left. Classes were not so large those days, only twenty five in our year. Some of the girls, now mature women with husbands and families, had got together and thought it would be fun to organise a class reunion. Elizabeth and I chatted for hours on the phone, reminiscing about old times. She gave me the date and time of the reunion and exhorted me to come and to bring me any memorabilia of school life, especially old photographs if I had any. I stalled for time, said I wasn't sure that I could make it, suggested that I ring her back in a day or two to tell her whether I could come. Truth to tell I needed time to sort out the implications of taking part in this reunion. Long after I had put down the phone, I sat on my bed manicuring my nails and thinking about those days long gone by. How I had envied the girls as I sat on my side of the classroom wishing with all my heart and soul that I could be on the left hand side of the classroom. How I would like to have joined in their huddled conversations from which the boys were excluded.
    And secretly, I used to wonder what they would have thought if they had known that on occasions, after school when I had the house to myself, I would find my secret hoard and dress for a short time in my long stockings, navy blue knickers, school uniform skirt and blouse and girl's hat worn provocatively on the back of my head. With a touch of Auntie's lipstick and a blush of powder I would gaze at myself in the mirror and wish and wish and wish that I were one of them. I even fell in love. Infatuation would be a better term. But I couldn't show it as the girls did. He was the most handsome boy in the class. And when he started to take Margaret out and I saw them walking home together from school, or standing in close conversation on the playing fields, I was insanely jealous. I could have scratched Margaret's eyes out. There were times when I thought I would grow out of this obsession. But mostly I didn't want to. And as the months and years rolled by the obsession became stronger and stronger. After leaving school I went to college in a distant part of the country and lost touch with all my old classmates of both sexes. And it was at college that I was finally able to lead a more satisfying life than anything previously, when in my lodgings I found I could dress and live as I felt my true sexual identity to dictate. So, back to the present... Before putting out the light, I got up and surveyed myself in the long mirror. Slowly I removed my negligee and smoothed my long silk nightdress over my breasts and thighs. No, I thought, this woman is an entirely different creature from the shy wistful youth who had so envied those girls their femininity. They would not recognise him after all these years and she might be an embarrassment to their spouses at this reunion. Sadly I realised that I could not go to the ball, but like Cinderella would have to stay at home with my memories.

Nov 201520

Story - The Realisation Of Michaela - Part 2

short story
Hi There... Here I am back home ready for a nice shower to wash off that dreadfully, scruffy 'Outside World' feeling that I get everytime that I am forced to leave the private and personal Female World of my much loved home, with it's feminine colours, tastes and the multitude of Mirrors that pander to my vanity. So, why don't you open up the Wine whilst I take a little time in the Bathroom, getting myself all 'prettied up' for a nice relaxing evening in something silky and comfortable before I begin to tell you my story... I don't know about you, but I love my Bathroom and much as we like a nice relaxing scented Bath, I have a very special routine for the full enjoyment of a warm Shower at least once a day. I usually watch myself in the wall mirror, as I slowly undress down to just my Panties, before pulling on my pretty shower cap with my hair folded up underneath it. I like to start my shower whilst still wearing my Panties, as I leave my 'private parts' until last to get that lovely feeling of pulling down the wet, soapy Panties. Next, I stand under the water making sure that I am nice and wet all over, before turning off the water jets. Next, I proceed to slowly rub my perfumed shower Gel all over my body, starting with my arms and then my neck, breasts and back. Still keeping away from any water, I proceeded to smooth the perfumed Gel down over my Panties, carrying on down each leg to down in between my toes, making sure that the perfume finds it's way into every crevice, before I gently lower my Panties to apply the Gel to my private areas and the inside of the Panties, and to allow the perfume to be absorbed into my skin.{product_snapshot:id=98|560|166} Finally, I pull up the Panties as tight as possible and just stand there, all covered in the perfumed Gel for a couple of minutes whilst I enjoy the aroma that is me! Re-starting the jets, I begin to wash off the Gel leaving just the wonderful aroma clinging to my body for as long as possible.
    So here we both are. All warm, relaxed and cosy, drink in hand and ready for a quiet 'girls' night in. Where to start my story is the real problem, so I suppose that I had better start by skipping the 'usual' parts about my desire to cross dress from the age of 15 when my father was beating me on a regular basis, yet leaving my sister alone. So, I soon decided to get out of there while I was still in one piece! By the time I was 20, I had a reasonable job and a new wife! All should have been fine, except that I had been wearing my sisters and my own female underwear for several years prior to marriage, and then started to buy my own 'things' in the forlorn hope that my Wife would either 'understand' or that I would be able to hide the whole thing from her...Some chance!...I did not take me very long to ascertain what her thoughts about Transvestites and cross-dressing were, so there was no chance of going down the 'Confession' route...The urge just got stronger and stronger and I spent hundreds of pounds on 'closet' goodies, only to throw them all away every time I felt guilty about my simple Fetish. In the end, I just gave in to 'it' and vowed to not Let her find out...Or did I WANT to be found out. We shall never know, as the whole think came to a head on February 14th...Valentines Night...Just before we were about to go out for a romantic dinner to celebrate our third Valentines Day as a married couple. I had been at home most of the day while my wife had been to visit her mother in the next town.Naturally, I had taken advantage of her absence to indulge in a fantastic session of perfumed Bath etc, before spending the remainder of the day totally crossdressed. I was 'changed back' and ready for her when she returned and was waiting for her to get changed prior to our night out together. All was well, until I saw her coming down the stairs carrying an armful of MY dresses and some underwear. My throat went dry as I realised that the dreaded day had arrived. I had been found out, and she was FURIOUS. 'I can't believe what you have been doing' 'I am so disgusted with you' and so on, and so on.. Like a fool, I had left open the sliding door in the back of the spare Wardrobes that I had built in behind the fitted units in the second Bedroom, where she also kept her 'special occasion dresses'..Why did I not think that she would be needing to go to THAT wardrobe on Valentines Day..and then for me to leave the 'secret' door OPEN! Well, no doubt most of you have 'been there', so I won't bore you with the details of the disgust, temper, shame etc, except to say that I had no alternative but to leave the house there and then.. The only difference was that I never went back, ever, as she later made it quite clear that we were really finished, and that she was going to move in with her female friend from the office, and as the house was rented anyway, there was no great loss...I still wonder if the incoming tenant ever discovered my secret wardrobe!
    Just a pause to gently remove my Panties and attend to the rinsing of my private parts, I am now ready to step forth out of the Shower where I begin to dry myself with a huge and very fluffy towel, by gently patting all parts of my body. I never rub myself with the towels, as I find that too masculine. Next I 'dress' myself with a heavy dosage of Talc (of the same perfume as the Gel that is still lingering). Again, no portion of my body goes without in this procedure. You can't have too much of a matching perfume, as perfume should be a total experience. Unlike some other 'Girls' I just can't walk anywhere without heels, so before doning my satin bath robe, I step into my matching 2 Inch mules and enter my Dressing Room, which was originally the 'Box' Bedroom, that I have had to have had converted into a Link Room between the Bathroom and the Main Bedroom, due to my inability to call a halt to my retail therapy where Female Clothing is concerned. I think that this is due to the fact that I was 'deprived' of Female Clothing for so many years and I am trying to make up for lost time! Pausing only to remove my Shower Cap and shake my Hair down, I try to decide what to wear to relax in this evening. Since I have a Guest waiting for me, I decide to wear my Red Satin Lounging Pyjamas with matching Satin 2 Inch Mules over some fresh black, warm damped tight Panties under a black mesh 'strechy' body and no Bra! This way, I will feel comfortable and only need to apply the minimum of makeup. I go into the Bedroom, turn the lights on around the Dressing Table mirror and do a simple Make Up job using just a tinted moisturiser, a little eyeshadow, and a suitable gloss lipstick. I even miss out my usual 'primer' coat of a lighter coloured lippie! I sally forth into the Lounge to rejoin my Guest and lounge on the Setee next to you, as you pour me a glass of wine. I have a feeling that this will be the first of many tonight - my friend.
    But, back to that day. Leaving home with just your car and the clothes that you stand up in, presents a few problems ...namely where to stay! I soon found a boarding house for the night and decided to start a new life 'tomorrow' and that, this time, I would be honest with myself and everyone else that I came into contact with. The following morning found me buying a few clothes to see me through the week, and making my excuses about 'severe personal problems' to the office, as a ruse for a few days off to sort my life. I had spent most of the day reading notices in shop windows trying to find a flat or rooms in the area near to my office, when I caught sight of myself in a shop window, and looking at my hair, was reminded of one of the jibes that my wife had hurled at me, about the length of my hair. 'You LOOK like a woman,anyway' 'I don't know why you don't just get a sex change and have done with it!' I decided that I should probably have it cut anyway, as I had also had some comments at the office, due more to the fact that it was naturally wavey, rather than just straight and long. On the High Street, I came across a Unisex Hairdressers and decided to 'go for it'. As I had no appointment, it was decided that the owner, a lady called Gwen, would attend to me as soon as she had finished her present 'cut'. They gave me a cup of coffee and I sat down on a settee and waited, absorbing everything about the place as this was the first time that I had been in a ladies hairdressers..I loved it, especially the atmosphere and the smell of the lotions etc. Gwen finally came and surprised me by addressing me as 'My Dear' rather than the more usual 'Sir'. I liked it, as it made me feel feminine, and suddenly all thoughts of a 'short back and sides' were never further from my mind! What lovely Auburn hair you have..with such a natural wave' said the quietly spoken Gwen ' What would you like me to do with it for you? Or would you like me to suggest a style?' I stammered out - 'Well, what do you suggest - I just wanted it a bit shorter' She replied ' It's a pity you're not a lady - I could do wonders with this, but if you want it shorter, I'll just shampoo it, cut the ends a bit and pop you under the dryer - hows that?' 'That will do fine - I'll leave it to you'....I told her. As you do in hairdressers, we got to talking and I mentioned that I was looking for a flat or rooms in the area. Gwen said that she knew of someone who had a room to let locally, if that would help and agreed to give me the address when I left I have to say that I had never felt so pampered in a hairdressers in my life before then. By the time Gwen had finished with me, I had had my first conditioner and who knows what else done to my hair.I was even put under the dryer in very large rollers in order to bring out my natural wave, (I was told). I was enjoying it so much, that when offered, I even went along with a manicure and had my nails finished in a translucent nail polish. When they were finished, and I saw myself, I was amazed. Even though I was masculine, my hair was so nice, I really felt feminine. Why had I not tried this before? I vowed to return to Gwen again and again. Clutching a slip of paper with the address of the 'ROOM TO LET' written on it, I ventured forth into the late afternoon, looking for the address. I soon fount the very pleasant double fronted house standing in a secluded garden. I rang the bell and chimes echoed from somewhere inside. If ever I needed some GOOD luck - I thought�

Nov 201520

Laura's Living Doll

short story

A Living Doll

  I tried my speech for the twentieth time in the hope that eventually I would get it right. "Laura, my darling... I have something to tell you... I... I'm a transvestite." I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror. It was wrong - entirely wrong. No matter how I phrased the speech, it still sounded wrong. Perhaps I could scrap the word transvestite. "Laura, darling... I ought to have told you before, but I like to dress in women's clothes..." I imagined Laura's face freezing into a mask of horror. More likely, it would crumple- as a prelude to tears. With an effort, I could just picture her melting into my womanly arms - but only as part of an unconvincing romantic novel. Maybe I could lead up to my bomb shell gradually. "Laura... you enjoy wearing beautiful things, don't you?" It wasn't the first time I'd faced this problem. Seemingly in another lifetime, I should have told Margaret before our wedding. I'd thought of it, but had lacked the courage. As a supposedly easier alternative, I had thrown away my feminine clothes and resolved to make an end to my transvestism.{product_snapshot:id=96|78} At the start of our marriage, Margaret had only half of me - the better, feminine part remaining buried. Later, wearing Margaret's clothes was almost a physical necessity. My ugly masculine garments felt like a prison. The first time I slipped into my wife's things was akin to homecoming after years in exile. There was no dramatic scene in which Margaret discovered me dressed, although she once came close to it. I was putting her clothes away when she returned two or three hours earlier than expected. I hastened to place the underwear out of sight. When she entered the bedroom, I was hanging her dress in the wardrobe. "It'd come off its hanger," I explained. "I was just tidying up." This was not, I assured myself, a lie. The dress had come off its hanger, and I was tidying up. The question of how it had come off the hanger, and why, was another matter. If not a lie, it was certainly deception.
Eventually, Margaret and I drifted into divorce, not through a single confrontation, but via a thousand smaller divergences. My transvestism didn't seem to be the cause of our separation, but it must have contributed. At first, unwilling to venture into dress or lingerie departments, I suffered frustration as well as loss. Three or four weeks later, however I discovered a specialist shop with everything a transvestite could need - including a number of products entirely new to me.   The girl assistant was very helpful. She was, as far as I knew, the first person to see me in a skirt. Her matter of fact approach gave me a degree of confidence in my femininity that I'd never achieved before. I slipped into a can-can petticoat for the first time and instantly lost my heart to its multiple layers of satin, ribbon and lace. They sold shoes with stiletto heels, of course, something I'd long coveted. Margaret's had been three sizes too small for me. Walking in them, while wholly pleasurable, proved more of an art than I'd anticipated. They re-distributed my body weight, necessitating a characteristically feminine step. I entered a period of comparative contentment, a relief after the death throes of our marriage. In the evening, and at weekends, I relaxed in an expanding wardrobe of ladies wear. Colleagues remarked on my being an easier person with whom to work. Then, I met Laura. It was the way she dressed that first drew me to her - pleasing styles that I'd have loved to wear. Our taste in clothes was almost the same. The great divide between us, however, lay in it being socially acceptable for her to dress thus, but not for me. In the early weeks, our relationship remained platonic. We did things together as a pair of women friends might. I'd have loved to be with her in my feminine persona, but thought it would spoil things between us. Revealing my secret would have seemed an intrusion -thrusting my private life upon her. It was her suggestion to go down to the coast on a wet and blustery March day. We were clambering over a large rock when I placed my weight on a piece of damp seaweed. Reaching out, Laura held me back from what could have been a nasty fall. Her arms remained about me to take the weight from my twisted ankle.{product_snapshot:id=81|82} Our lips met, and we were no longer platonic friends. It came as a shock to realise that I was already in love with her. But I was determined my secret cross­dressing should not come between us, as it had between Margaret and me, I had to tell her. If our relationship was doomed, better to end it quickly than risk greater pain - in allowing it to develop under pretence of being something I wasn't. "Laura, there's something I must tell you," I began. "I love you..." I had intended to add 'but' and continue into my confession. Before I could say more, however, she kissed me again. When our lips parted my resolve had weakened. The moment for my coming out had passed. "I love you too," she said, "but let's not talk about it- not now, anyway. People spoil too many moments with unnecessary words."
    I'll tell her tomorrow, I thought on our way home. It would be wrong to spoil this moment with unnecessary words. I meant it, too, although it didn't work out as intended. Going to see her the following day, I wore my prettiest underwear and seamed stockings below masculine outer garments. That way, I felt sure, the matter couldn't slip my mind. I didn't forget my intention to tell Laura, but didn't act on it, either. Wearing my feminine clothes made me feel more submissive, more passive. In my girlish state of mind, it was difficult - seemed unnatural - to direct the course of our conversation. It was surely better to delay my confession until the following night, wearing more masculine, more assertive things. As the evening progressed, a fresh fear arose within me. What if this was the night we went to bed? Undressing, there would be no need to explain my secret. I didn't want her to find out that way - it was only fair to let her know beforehand. "I see you're not the kind who expects to go to bed on a first date," she said archly. "No... no, I'm not... It's not that you don't turn me on..." "Good. I was afraid it might be." "I just don't want to make the mistakes I made with Margaret." It was the truth, and the nearest I'd come to confession that night. My stomach churned at the thought of explaining what mistakes I'd made with Margaret. I wondered if I'd ever have the courage to tell Laura about my transvestism. Perhaps I was already repeating the mistakes.{product_snapshot:id=560|48} "Margaret?" "My ex-wife. I don't often mention her. It doesn't seem right to talk about my ex... not with you... Maybe I'm superstitious - she might cast a cloud over you and me..." "Oh, I see. No... I don't often talk about Bill, either." The moment for our going to bed passed. For the first time, Laura talked to me about her ex-husband. He was evidently a beer swilling football fan with whom I had nothing in common. Her obvious distaste for the macho Bill made me hope that she might consider acceptable my feminine persona. The following evening I wore my usual socks and Y­fronts, but found it no easier to say what I must. That night we went to bed together. Thereafter, our relationship developed rapidly. A fortnight later she suggested that I move in with her.
    I'll tell her tomorrow, I thought on our way home. It would be wrong to spoil this moment with unnecessary words. I meant it, too, although it didn't work out as intended. Going to see her the following day, I wore my prettiest underwear and seamed stockings below masculine outer garments. That way, I felt sure, the matter couldn't slip my mind. I didn't forget my intention to tell Laura, but didn't act on it, either. Wearing my feminine clothes made me feel more submissive, more passive. In my girlish state of mind, it was difficult - seemed unnatural - to direct the course of our conversation. It was surely better to delay my confession until the following night, wearing more masculine, more assertive things. As the evening progressed, a fresh fear arose within me. What if this was the night we went to bed? Undressing, there would be no need to explain my secret. I didn't want her to find out that way - it was only fair to let her know beforehand. "I see you're not the kind who expects to go to bed on a first date," she said archly. "No... no, I'm not... It's not that you don't turn me on..." "Good. I was afraid it might be." "I just don't want to make the mistakes I made with Margaret."{product_snapshot:id=71|570} It was the truth, and the nearest I'd come to confession that night. My stomach churned at the thought of explaining what mistakes I'd made with Margaret. I wondered if I'd ever have the courage to tell Laura about my transvestism. Perhaps I was already repeating the mistakes. "Margaret?" "My ex-wife. I don't often mention her. It doesn't seem right to talk about my ex... not with you... Maybe I'm superstitious - she might cast a cloud over you and me..." "Oh, I see. No... I don't often talk about Bill, either." The moment for our going to bed passed. For the first time, Laura talked to me about her ex-husband. He was evidently a beer swilling football fan with whom I had nothing in common. Her obvious distaste for the macho Bill made me hope that she might consider acceptable my feminine persona. The following evening I wore my usual socks and Y­fronts, but found it no easier to say what I must. That night we went to bed together. Thereafter, our relationship developed rapidly. A fortnight later she suggested that I move in with her.
    "At some point I was going to tell you about Pauline," she said, sitting down. "I suppose it isn't very urgent, though... would you like your say first?" "No," I said hoarsely. "I'd like a few minutes to gather my thoughts." "OK... though maybe I could do with collecting my thoughts about Pauline... the manufacturers called her Paul..." "Barbie's boyfriend?... I see... that accounts for the short hair, but not the dress." "Yeah, I had to make the dress myself. Pauline's a bit bigger than the other dolls. Their clothes didn't fit her properly." "Yes... but why?" "Why put Paul in a dress? I think it was my Mum and Dad who started me thinking about that. They took me to a pantomime. There was a dame - a man in a woman's dress." "All pantomimes have dames. I was taken to several myself... I don't see..." "Yes, they have dames, but not like this one. She was glamorous-I mean really glamorous-looked a million dollars... sequins, ostrich feathers, the lot... I t got me thinking, why do men have to wear such ugly clothes?" "I've sometimes wondered about that myself." I replied, sensing what was coming. "You have?... Well, I kind of found the idea exciting. I made outfits for my Paul doll. Later, I had these fantasies about men in women's dresses." "Just fantasies?" "I'm afraid so. I asked Bill if he'd indulge me, but he wasn't interested." "And that's what you wanted to ask me? Whether I'd dress up in glamorous outfits for you?" "Yeah... I was hoping... but I suppose it doesn't matter... you're not keen, are you?" "I wouldn't say that - in fact, I'm perfectly ready and willing to oblige..." "Really? That's great! What about tonight?"{product_snapshot:id=85|96} "Tonight's fine... but what if I enjoyed the dressing up more than you did?" "I can't imagine that. It'd be like playing with a full size, walking talking Sindy... only better. You can reach some parts a doll never could... can't you, my love?" "Yes, I suppose I can. But what if I did enjoy it more than you?" "I'm sure I could live with it. Hell - it'd be a pleasure making you happy in that kind of way. Anyway, what was it that you wanted to talk about?" "I was going to make a confession, Laura, but now it'll seem more like a boast..." I reached out to squeeze her hand. Laura smiled encouragement. The dread, from which I'd suffered only a few minutes before, now seemed unreal. Things were going to work out very well indeed. The End

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