A true story, no more of a snapshot. They say confession is good for the soul.
I waved them goodbye as their car disappeared, tail lights glowing as the car was lost from view. f****y gone for the next few days and more importantly home alone, excited and aroused at the prospect of indulging my secret pleasures.
I had planned this weekend for weeks before, a rare opportunity of self indulgence and pleasure. Constructing every detail of the night ahead in my rational mind, such is the plight of the devoted, but occasional thrill seeking closet dresser.
The door securely locked behind me, I ran upstairs and retrieved my hoard from the loft hatch, left there in preparation of my impending playtime. I trembled slightly even after so many secretive years of dressing as I removed the stash of lingerie, clothes, toys and heels that had provided me with so much pleasure. With the passing of time these sessions had become more precious and intense perhaps as they occurred less frequently and the mental stimulation from their planning and execution had grown with maturity.
The previously washed and scented clothing was unpacked carefully then each item laid out across the bed for my intimate fun and games. The new 10 denier stockings delicately unwrapped from the carded packet. Where did they find those gorgeous models with such sexy long legs whose figures adorned the packaging? A far cry from the sensible shoe wearing ladettes on today's high streets.
Trembling even more now as I tore the polythene packaging from the 14 strap deep suspender belt that had only recently had arrived just in time from E-Bay "no Darling, just some boring stuff for work" I had remarked as I guiltily squirrelled the package away. My, how they would react if i turned up for work wearing the suspender belt and open bottomed girdle that the seemingly innocent package contained.
Did she suspect or know of the package contents or the revealing nature of my online account and purchases, maybe, perhaps, who knows? Either way it remained unchallenged. The thrill it gave me was immense, sexually the knowledge that one day I would be wearing them. Was it also the thrill of a secret other life, being found out or even the thrill of getting away with it.
Buying lingerie is made so simple and anonymous these days with the advent of the Internet but it is almost negated as getting sexy purchases across the threshold and away from inquisitive k**s or a suspicious wife. My mind rambled as I continued to lay out my frillies selecting those for this evening and those for another day.
Excitedly I undressed then sensually pulled on a pair of tan, glossy, office girl pantyhose, stepped into a pair of black patent court medium heels and covered my body with a silk full length slip. Not the most pretty of lingeries as I always prefer stockings to tights but the feel of the nylon on my legs in any form has always has been an incredible thrill as is the swish and coolness of the silky slip.
Dressed like this with my exquisitely excited clitty neatly encased within the imprisoning nylon made the household chores I had to undertake so exciting. By now I was fully aroused and the urge to end it all with a few moments of tender caressing was overwhelming but I let temptation go by with the promise of more exquisite delights to follow.
Teetering on heels and feeling like a million dollars, I rechecked the doors downstairs, drew the blinds, tidied up then ran the bath, added copious oils and lit several candles before opening a bottle of wine. This has now become a pre-dressing ritual, a relaxing, gorgeous long soak in bubbles and oils, a far cry from the quick shower with the latest cheap supermarket Old Spice equivalent as my male self gives way to a more tender girly personna, a Dr Jekyll and Miss Hyde if you will but without the malevolence.
As I get on in years I have noticed the unfairness of the sexes, blue for boys when girls wear pastels or pink, socks for men when women wear nylons, I was becoming so jealous of the male vs female stereotyping but I was doing my utmost to redress (no pun intended) that balance.
Bathing complete, a light dusting of oh so girly talc and body lotion, my dressing now underway.
The telephone rings and my wife lets me know they have arrived at her Mums, "Wizadora" sending her love. Love my arse!! She has always despised me, never good enough for their little girl. My only saving grace being that at least I had been proficient enough to give her grandc***dren. She would have me committed to a mental assylum if she knew my plans for the weekend proclaiming she was right all along, "that man is a digusting little perv!" Rightly or wrongly in her opinion I was glad she was so far away and that it was her distance from her precious little girl that allowed this "no good loser" in her words to indulge in his disgusting little hobby.
The irony of the situation never ceased to make me smile. My wife then enquires what I am doing, "just a quick shower and maybe a few drinks with the lads" I lie, better that than "dressing up in women's clothing then wanking myself silly with a bit of luck" I suppose but the truth is best not spoken this time. Both answers have their misgivings but social acceptance probably errs on the side of beers with the lads. I thought maybe I should tell her that I might have a beer and do a spot of DIY but she is not stupid and I reckon she would have images of me necking cans of lager, masturbating furiously over internet porn films, perhaps not the best of images to leave her with. I do have some self esteem after all and any venom I feel is towards her mother not her. We said our goodbyes and polite night-nights.
So reality over and in the knowledge that chances of disturbance were at least 160 miles and a warning phone call away it was back to proper dressing.
First the stockings and the multi straps. 14 suspenders to attach just enhances the excitement as each one is fixed and the nylon pulls and stretches over my smooth legs bringing back so many memories of past silky pleasures.
It took an age to get the seams right and the strap spacing correct as well as the constant attention seeking of my throbbing maleness whose condition was made more excited as each suspender was affixed into place.
A true labour of love owing to the fact I almost put my back out getting to the 2 straps around the back, trying in the mirror was completely useless but the view was good. Aah such simple pleasures.
High heels now, my current favourites being 5" high suede peep toed dressy ones naturally elevating me, pulling my calf and leg muscles in no way than any other male footwear can possibly excite.
Next the lace trimmed silk camisole top over my taut budding nipples and finally the silk full length chemise/robe to cover all.
The rustle of silk and swish of nylon excite and enrage my senses as I apply my eye shadow. Sadly my amateurish efforts always tend to render me into an Egyptian whore or a sad sultry panda (a good look never the less) rather than the delicate beauty I am attempting to create but the transformation is completed with thick applications of luscious tasting lipstick, copious sprays of YSL finally the donning of a blonde wig.
Now in the mirror I no longer see the male me but a distantly familiar woman looking back. I adjust my hair, attach the not so inconspicuous dangly ear rings and pucker my lips, the heavy eye makeup hides my expected looks and I am fascinated by the woman pouting back at me.
In my many years of dressing it has only lately been the addition of a wig that has taken away the male in me and given the appearace to me at least of some semblance of a woman. Now for once i can dress and preen myself before a mirror and not see ME looking back.
Narcissus personified my arousal is heightened at the reflection. This for me is (and always has been) what dressing is all about. Not wanting to actually be a woman but the incredible sexual thrill that being dressed as a woman brings to me.
Lust fuelled and in a sexual frenzy my hands caress my silk robe from my breasts down to my throbbing clitty that by now is dancing and straining with the incredible eroticism of my dressing game.
It seems an interminable age before I finally let the ties of the robe become undone and the black satiny garment parts revealing my silky lingerie and OMG there's a little clitty in all it's glory. The tip glistening wet, shiny and oozing with clear pre-cum nectar, framed so deliciously by my multi suspenders. I am looking at every woman I have drooled over, school crushes, women teachers, sexy aunts, pretty colleagues the list goes on endlessly.
I am also looking at me being caressed and fondled by an unseen she male lover or admirer. One who knows my dark secrets and desires.
His/her hands are all over my stockings, teasing then caressing the bare flesh above my stocking tops, her hard cock pressing the silky barrier between it and my buttocks, hot lips at the nape of my neck, nibbling on my ear lobes, long bl**d red painted fingers tweaking and pulling at my nipples before a gasp as of horror and excitement as her hands find my not very girly clitty between my legs.
In my early years of dressing it was always a strict aunt or sexy neighbour who in my fantasies discovered my erect cock above stockings or in pantyhose.
This was somehow a shameful and embarrassing discovery, as if my dressing as a girl, taunting, teasing yet possessing the genitals of a boy was so unholy deceitful.
Despite this guilt it has always been a source of sexual fantasy and arousal. These days it is a fellow dresser with equal silky longings and desires who exposes me amidst my feminine clothing and discovers my deceit.
Within a flash my mind races and flips, again lusting at the image in the mirror. I stare at myself but now the erect cock surrounded in sexy nylons is no longer my own. The mirror reveals a new mistress to me, one whose heels I desire to worship, whose nylons I long to touch and caress. To kiss that pale flesh between stocking tops then to gorge myself, shamelessly sliding my red lips over that swollen head until my mouth is sweetly filled with pulsating cock. Maybe it is my cock that is desperately seeking the warmth of such a welcoming mouth and expert tongue.
What disgusting thoughts fill my head as I fall onto the bed. My mind is an erotic pool of mixed up fantasies and delights. It is now that I stretch out, fully spread eagled as my body is beautifully and tenderly ministered by my fantasy phantom visions and dreams. Silk slides up and down my enraged cock, nylon stockings encase and cocoon, spike high heels tease, prod and imprison.
Straps from sexy high heeled sandals tighten around my balls, unseen expert hands feed my engorged cock through the peep toe and a hungry tongue performs a symphony on my engorged clitty.
I am now a total slave to heels and nylons.
I can still see in the mirrors the writhings of a blonde tart, legs wide apart, mouth sucking greedily on imaginary cocks, nipples and breasts whilst ridiculously performing a lewd sex act with a strappy wedding shoe of all things-for goodness sake she was right about the disgusting perv!
Who knows what has possessed this poor creature as she bucks violently on the bed for what seems like hours.
The edging and shoe fucking continues no more as her body is convulsed with ecstatic sexual release, thick jets of joy spurt in raging pulses from the leather entrapment as she is drained both physically and mentally.
Almost within an instant of orgasm the waves of ecstasy are replaced by a tsunami of disgust and revulsion.
How can such an erotic charge swing from so high a positive to so low a negative.
Ghosts of guilt and self loathing creep from the darkened bedroom corners and slither over the wretch on the bed. Spent with nothing left now but despair and self loathing, my mind collapses in on itself retreating into a black hole of inner hatred.
There is thankfully just one glimmer as in every opened box when the nasties have been released there is always hope.
I will lie there spent and disgusted, my body reverting out of the dark zone as sl**p finally claims me but I will awake, bathed in flickering candlelight, tartily dressed, silken stockings pulling at my legs, leather straps tightening as the shoe reminds me of previous pleasures and I know I will be ready for more.....