TG: "Rita's Transition

This story has a TRANSGENDER theme, and describes an imagined

extension of my present happy state to transexual womanhood. In

that world, shared with my accepting female partner, I become

involved in a natural consequence of my adopted gender -- sex

with a male, which is described quite explicitly.

One other comment is necessary: the story deals in detail

with some specific symbols of femininity which have a very

powerful effect on me. Though the story is set in North America,

I use the English word "suspender" in place of the American

"garter"; "suspender" carries a much heavier charge for me,

and is one of the few things I retain from my Brit origins.

I hope you enjoy it, and if you find yourself in my special

corner of gender space, I would be happy to hear from you.

RITA'S TRANSITION

1. Introducing Myself.

Before getting into the episode that is recounted here, it seems

appropriate to give a little history in order to set the scene.

I am a woman.

That wasn't always the case. For most of my life I was a

reasonably normal male, though I did have some predilections that

set me aside from others. From a very early age I had vaguely

disturbing thoughts about the possibility that males might be

compelled for some reason or other to wear female clothing. The

thought of myself in that context had a fascinating hold over me.

That led one day to experimenting with some old clothes I found

in the attic, and I experienced my first orgasm spontaneously

while trying on an old girdle that had been left there. I

progressed rapidly from that point to become a fully fledged

fetishistic cross dresser. I was particularly fascinated by nylon

stockings and girdles, and eager to try them in their infinite

variety; I was specifically captivated by the interaction between

them afforded by suspenders, which in my mind seemed to be the

quintessence of femininity.

I indulged my fancies every day and they inevitably invoked

intense male orgasms. I also discovered that my nipples were

extremely sensitive, and that fondling them was exciting; in fact

I found that I could induce orgasms by that mechanism alone. Then

one day I fell in love; the relationship was started by my

partner, and would never have happened without her taking the

initiative, but it continues to this day, many years later. I

assumed that I had graduated from cross dressing, and purged my

extensive collection of lingerie. For a while I was happy in my

normality, and untroubled by my previous desires, but within a

few years the urge returned, and I began to acquire feminine

garments; it became a compulsion again, and I decided the only

thing to do was to 'fess up to my partner. To my great relief,

she was unconcerned; she became quite happy to indulge me in

activities that she considered harmless to anyone else, and from

then on I wore nightdresses exclusively in bed, and we usually

made love while I was dressed in items from my restarted and

growing trousseau.

After many years as a happy heterosexual cross dresser, in a

comfort zone I might well have stayed in indefinitely, the next

step happened as a consequence of prostate surgery. I was left

incapable of erection, and unable to experience anything

resembling the ejaculation of a male orgasm. I became very

sexually frustrated, and the effect of that was to intensify my

cross-dressing compulsion to the point where it dominated my mind

almost continually. I discovered eventually that the glans of my

penis was incredibly sensitive, and that if my partner stimulated

it, particularly with lubricant baby oil, the sensation was

extremely pleasurable and led to an intense orgasm. The orgasms I

now experienced were different; after a gradual and lengthy build

in excitement, in itself an exquisite pleasure, there was a

sudden intense spasm, involving my whole body, which could be

continued for some time. Quite frequently sexual stimulation

could even be continued afterwards. I came to the conclusion that

these were much like female orgasms, and I discovered that

identifying them as such added to my excitement. In fact,

mentally identifying myself as female became a major stimulus for

sexual excitement, and the effect was enhanced by the indulgence

of my partner in her willingness to play along with my fantasy. I

also found that the absence of an erection gave a strange

unlocalised feeling to the physical source of my pleasure, and it

was easy to imagine that my genitalia were really female, and

that my enjoyment of sexual stimulation was a a fully female

experience.

After much contemplation of the way my mind pursued these ideas,

and my responses to them, and after much discussion with my

partner, I came to the conclusion that I was transgendered; it

seemed apparent to me that sexual behaviour and response are to

some large degree learned, and that I had been forced to relearn

because I had become physically unable to function as I had

previously. In my particular situation the relearning was

facilitated dramatically by my disposition to mentally identify

myself as female -- in all likelihood this adopted identity had

been hidden in my subconscious all along. A measure of my changed

state of mind was that I took pleasure in the absence of an

erection, and viewed with some horror the thought that one might

become possible again.

[The story so far is essentially autobiographical; I am very

happy right where I am now located in gender space. However, in

imagination, it is interesting, and even exciting, to consider a

logical extension.]

So, there I was enjoying female clothing as often as possible,

and identifying myself as a female sexually; this was more than

acceptable to my partner, Jan -- she and I had been brought

closer than ever by my recognition that I was transgendered, and

we both rejoiced in the activities that it provoked. The logical

next step eventually became apparent to me, and gradually I found

myself wanting to go further. Increasingly I would think to

myself that it really did make sense to be female physically as

far as possible. Already I wished that I had real breasts, to

fill out the lacy cups of my bra without artificial aids, and to

project my nipples forward to their proper place; from time to

time I thought wistfully how nice it would be to wear dresses --

over my most exotic and feminine lingerie, of course -- not just

at home, but in public, at concerts and the theatre -- moreover

to do that freely and legitimately all the time. Adding to these

ideas, at first in the back of my mind, but gradually becoming

more prominent, was the thought that it would also be desirable

to have a real vagina, and experience the pleasurable stimulation

of my clitoris. This would move my centre of pleasure to its

proper place too, with the advantage that access to it would

require sexual penetration, an idea that grew on me, and came to

be a strong desire.

This development led to lengthy discussion with Jan. Our love-

making had been essentially lesbian for some time; she was happy

to relate to me that way, and she obviously found it stimulating

herself. I took pleasure in being passive sexually, almost

submissive in my attitude, and she enjoyed being in control. She

did now have definite control over my arousal; her participation

was necessary for any kind of real satisfaction on my part. This

role reversal reflected itself in her attitude to my tastes in

clothing; she was certainly female, but not at all enamoured of

some of the more fussy and complicated appurtenances that were

essential to my concept of femininity. While I took delight in

wearing powerful girdles, nylon stockings and suspenders, and

decking myself with frilly panties and frothy petticoats, she had

been delighted in the 70s to be able to throw things like that

away. Her initial horror at my tastes had been overcome by the

realisation that I wanted those things for myself only, not for

her, and she developed a quasi-male response in finding me

attractive en femme. She obviously liked me wearing silky slips

and negligees, sleekly contained by the power net of exotic

girdles, with my nylon stockings firmly held in place by six

suspenders.

She considered my thoughts, and new found desires, and somewhat

surprisingly came to the conclusion that it would make things

even better for both of us if I were to transition as a

transsexual; this would involve hormone therapy and eventual

sexual reassignment surgery. Since I was retired early, and we

were both free and unencumbered, there were no real barriers in

the way, and as she saw things, our lesbian sexual relationship,

which she increasingly relished, would continue more fully than

ever, and that moreover she would have the pleasure of a close

girl friend.

I did indeed follow that path, a story which is long and

interesting and which is dealt with in more detail elsewhere.

During the transition she took delight in helping me with

feminine presentation, and we both spent happy hours learning

more about hairdos, makeup, and all the other essential aspects

of femininity; she thrived on the task of instructing me, and

joyfully helped to develop my femininity; in the process she

learned a lot herself, gaining an enhanced pleasure in her own

presentation. After recuperation from surgery, I found that my

newly created vagina and clitoris were all that I had hoped for

-- the excitement and pleasure from their stimulation was intense;

and I positively revelled in my full and firm breasts, their now

enlarged nipples as pleasurably sensitive as ever.

And I took more delight than ever in feminine clothing and the

lingerie that had excited me from my young days. Even though such

things were now part of my everyday life, all day long, I still

felt thrills of excitement wearing a delectably confining

corselette, and feeling the gentle ever-present tug of suspenders

on my stockings. I positively revelled in lacy nylon lingerie,

and the delightful sensation of panties and slips on my now

smooth skin. Apart from the new and secret pleasure of being

aware of these sensations in everyday life in public places, I

found they were as great a stimulus as ever to sexual excitement

in private. I had read that some women, not many but definitely

some, reported that they enjoyed wearing girdles, and remarked

that they contributed to a sense of sexual excitement -- I found

myself definitely in that group, and very happy to be there. It

also made me recall the comment of a very perceptive friend: that

while the small fraction of the male population that are female

clothing fetishists has been well documented, and the absence of

converse female behaviour noted, it is actually the case that

many women are female clothing fetishists, and this is the only

way to account for the self-imposed subjugation of women to their

clothing (in any completely rational view some of it could not be

considered either convenient or comfortable). Certainly I could

be counted among this group too, and I was happy in their

company, just as I was with being legitimately included on the

feminine side of the gender boundary.

Our life together continued happily, Jan relishing my

idiosyncrasies if possible even more than I did. She delighted in

finding "femme" things for us to do together, and encouraged my

progress in my new role. Then, one day, she outdid herself. We

had been chatting happily about the progress of my femininity,

and my obvious enjoyment of it, when she suddenly said, quite

thoughtfully "You know there's one essential female activity that

you have missed out on."

"Oh," I said, "what might that be?" as I thought of the

continuous round of utterly feminine delights I enjoyed. In fact

I felt a squirm of delight, and squeezed my thighs together,

feeling the captivating motion of taut suspenders.

"Technically speaking, you are still a virgin," she said, to my

absolute amazement. "Hasn't it crossed your mind that it might be

interesting to put your new equipment to its intended use?"

"I'm quite delighted with what I can do with it," I said lamely,

"or at least, I enjoy what a skilled lover can do with it."

"Don't be coy, and don't deliberately misunderstand. I'm talking

about having sex with a male. Have you never thought about the

experience of feeling a large cock become stiff and extended in

your hands? Have you never even been curious about how it would

feel to have it thrust into you? Can you imagine your response to

its final spasm after the stimulation of its relentless motion to

and fro over your most intimate and private pleasure centre?"

I was not really shocked, but somewhat taken aback. "That's very

poetic," I said. "I didn't really know you felt that way about

it; in fact you make me feel a bit selfish as you are now

deprived of the pleasure."

"No, that's not it. In the early days I did find it a delightful

experience, and I enjoyed it as a basic expression of my

femininity. As things developed between us, it seemed to have

less importance, and I can't say that I miss it. I really get

high now on helping you to express your obvious femininity, and

that's essentially the point. I do remember the way I used to

react, and the fact that it seemed then to be a basic statement

of my female nature; as your female nature develops, it strikes

me that you are really missing out on something. I don't want to

lose you, and I'll make sure I don't, but I really think we ought

to find some way you could do it. It's a way of putting a seal on

things: fulfilling yourself as a female."

I was still nonplussed, and tried to take in the enormity of what

she was suggesting. "I guess I haven't really thought about it,

other than having an idle curiosity once in a while about what it

might feel like; in fact even males wonder about it. I have never

really considered males as sex objects; I suppose that's odd,

given my identification of myself as female. As a male, I wasn't

really attracted sexually to females; there were certain female

images that excited me extremely, but the effect was always a

sort of envy: I wished I could be just like them, at least in

clothing and appearance. It certainly didn't translate into a

desire to take them to bed and have my pleasure with them. When

you and I got together, the essential attraction was between two

people; we hit it off together and became best friends, and it's

almost as if the sex was merely a delightful side benefit because

it just happened that we were a heterosexual pair." As an

afterthought I said "And we're still relating just the same --

people who are best friends; and because we have both progressed

into being lesbian in orientation, sex is now a benefit of the

fact that we're both female."

She smiled at that. But she couldn't let go of her idea once it

had come to her mind. "Well, what about it?" she said. "How do

you like the idea of being serviced by a handsome stud?"

I blanched a little at the idea, but my curiosity had been

piqued. "I don't think a heavy handed stud is quite my cup of

tea," I said. "I have never really related to the macho thing; I

was quite happy to be a male at one time, though I didn't really

run with the crowd. I never found macho attitudes to be

attractive, not in others, and certainly not for me. I found

women in general much more pleasant as people; so pleasant in

fact that I identified with them, and eventually came to the

conclusion that I really wanted to be one of them. Even now I'm

sitting on their side of the fence, I feel the same way. It's a

little ironic, isn't it? I revel in the difference between the

genders, and in my tastes I want to maintain them, certainly as

regards clothing, in a way that many women wouldn't tolerate; but

in spite of that there isn't a real attraction for the opposite.

In my case, the clear distinction seems to be necessary, but like

attracts like."

She was warming to her theme. "But as a somewhat inexperienced

woman you really should try all the female options you can. One

of them, crudely put, is to get yourself laid; that clearly

requires a male with all the correct equipment and a healthy

heterosexual interest. The question really is what kind of male?

Not a macho stud, obviously, but is a sensitive new age male

really the alternative?"

I bit on the bullet. "Tell me," I said, "what about your own

experience? You were an apparently normal heterosexual female,

and you fell for me; what were the characteristic traits that

drew you to me? Some of them obviously only came to light later

on, and they seem not to have created problems. They probably

improved our relationship in the long run, though the apparent

reason for our dramatic change in sex life was not my

subconscious desires, but a simple medical condition. My hand was

forced somewhat in the beginning; I desperately had to find some

way to carry on, and giving in to femininity turned out to be the

answer."

She thought for a while. "You definitely were not excessively

macho," she said. "But I can't say I detected any undercurrents

of femininity -- who knows how I might have reacted then if I

had? As you say, we related simply as people; we shared, and

considered one another as equals. That's the basis of the

relationship, and gender seem to have been irrelevant to it."

After a pause, she said "but you may have given me an idea; you

said like attracts like, and maybe you would react best to a male

who had some of the characteristics you had."

"One with a compulsive cross dressing fetish?"

"Not exactly. But someone sexually naive and inexperienced.

Obviously someone gentle, maybe even somewhat shy. The idea

begins to make sense to me; you would then be doing him a favour,

bringing him out fully by introducing him to the pleasure of a

real sexual experience between caring people, both respectful of

one another's well being and happiness."

I couldn't resist another dig. "Would a fetishistic interest in

women's underwear be a good test for those qualities?"

"Maybe. And maybe not. But suppose the male in question was

particularly turned on by exotic lingerie worn by his partner?

That's not an uncommon male reaction, much more in the mainstream

than was yours; I suspect it accounts for the fact that the items

so dear to your heart are still so widely available -- many poor

women are forced to wear them simply to make their partners

function and provide any kind of response that is adequate for

them."

"Just like the way you demand it of me?"

"Indeed, though I haven't noticed you suffering unduly from the

imposition." She smiled her wonderful smile. "But the fact is

that in an odd way it helps me to understand where these guys are

coming from. I remember the pinup pictures all over the wall of

an auto repair shop, and there were magazines obviously directed

to real connoisseurs: titles like 'From the tip of the toes to

the top of the hose'. From my brief exposure to that subculture I

got the impression that the typical male was captivated by the

image of suspenders and tops of stockings. Girdles always were

much more for real specialists, but suspender belts and frilly

panties obviously had an arousing effect on the male of the

species. They still do; men quiver with tumescent excitement at

phrases like 'wisps of stockings, firmly gripped by pink

suspenders'."

"They certainly produce an effect on me too. Fortunately it's one

I can indulge to my heart's desire -- with the full approval of

society in general, if not all militant feminists. But it's news

to me you had such wide experience of the dark underside of male

desires and motivations."

"Well, I have always been interested in what makes people tick,

and the continued existence of 50's lingerie at the end of the

90's is a curious social phenomenon. The image of suspenders and

stockings as sex symbols is remarkably persistent in our culture

still, at a time when most male members of society would never

have been likely to encounter them. I must admit, though, that I

do have a little inside knowledge; my sister's boy had some

problems as a youngster, and she found a whole pile of magazines

like that in his room. She was quite worried about it, and had a

heart to heart talk with me; she gave me all the details, and

even showed me what she had found. I was able to persuade her

that it really was fairly innocent, almost normal even. In case

you're thinking the obvious question, it was evidently a part of

his picture of female pulchritude; I'm convinced he would have

had the normal male horror of wearing such things himself. He's

quite normal," she grinned.

"How's he doing these days?"

"Still unattached. He's a pleasant young man, but he doesn't seem

to be too much into any kind of social life; in fact I suspect he

might still be a virgin." A light went on in her head. "Wait a

minute! How about him? If he hasn't experienced real love making,

and is still finding satisfaction all alone, then it would really

make me feel good to help him discovery what more enjoyment there

can be with a willing partner. He's a very nice young man, and I

would really enjoy helping him; in fact it would really be a

wonderful way to kill two birds with one stone -- giving two nice

people an experience that they both need."

"I don't know whether you are a matchmaker, a pimp, or a plain

nice do-gooder." I smiled too, but I realised with some inner

excitement that her idea had caught my fancy.

1. A Visitor: Sounding Him Out.

Once Jan caught hold of an idea, she pursued it with a singleness

of purpose, and finding a male to initiate me fully into

womanhood became her current project. She was attracted to her

strange idea that both participants should be neophytes, and came

to the conclusion that her nephew was the obvious candidate.

We both lived a long way from our small number of relatives, and

didn't keep up with them much at all, though Jan had been quite

close to her sister. I think she had been quite forthcoming about

the developing situation with me, and her sister had reacted much

as she had: our lifestyle and choices obviously were good for us,

and they didn't hurt anyone else. It had been on a rare visit to

her sister that Jan had been involved in the discussion about her

nephew; he had been very appreciate of her understanding, and the

two of them got on well together. By a stroke of good fortune,

his job had very recently called for him to move quite near to

us, and she had intended to get together with him. He knew about

my transition, and apparently had a positive reaction to it. So

we asked him to come visit one weekend.

He arrived on a Friday afternoon. He was a very polite

presentable young man, and I must confess to feeling some measure

of attraction. He was deferent and polite, and appeared to be a

little shy, though it made him quiet and slow to start a

conversation, rather than awkward. "Hi, Rita," he said

cheerfully, and smiled pleasantly. I kissed him lightly on the

cheek, by way of greeting, and he took it in stride as a normal

greeting from a relative. We had dinner, and sat around

afterwards making conversation; it was a little hesitant at

first, but warmed as the topic got past family matters and on to

his work. He continued to be very open, not really ill at ease,

and seemed to accept me for what I appeared to be (precisely what

I now am). The odd time, I did think I caught him looking at me,

and had a suspicion that he was attempting to size me up.

Finally it was time to go to bed, and as we said our goodnights,

Jan said to him "I hope that you'll be comfortable. I think that

the guest bedroom is reasonably pleasant, and I hope you won't be

unduly intimidated by the feminine atmosphere the two of us must

generate." He smiled. "Not at all," he said; "in fact I rather

like it." Then he blushed. "I'm not sure that came out quite the

way I meant it," he said. He seemed to feel the need to explain,

and became a little embarrassed. "What I mean is that I don't

have any problem being in the presence of two attractive women.

I've always thought my aunt was a beautiful woman, and to be

quite honest I didn't quite know what to expect of Rita -- I'd

never met her." His innate honesty seemed to compel him to

continue in spite of himself. "You are quite beautiful too,

Rita," he said, causing me to blush in turn. "I wasn't sure how I

would react to you; Jan has told me a little about you, and I

thought I might find the situation difficult to deal with. I

don't, though. You're so natural."

He looked a bit awkward, and obviously thought he had said too

much, so I thought I should make a rescue attempt. "I take that

as a very nice compliment," I said. "Most men would feel a bit

curious about me, and some can't handle it. What happened to me

came about rather gradually as a matter of fact; I always had a

liking for certain aspects of femininity, and that part of me

grew over the years. I finally got to the point where it made

sense to admit things to myself, and choose to do what I was

happy with."

The next morning at breakfast he seemed a little bemused, and

conversation was difficult. The ever perceptive Jan came to the

rescue once again. "I have to go out shopping this morning," she

said; "maybe you could come and give me a hand, Peter." "I'd be

glad to," he said, "and I wanted to go look in a bookstore too."

They went off together, leaving me to do a little tidying up, and

Jan didn't come back until much later in the morning -- on her

own. She smiled at me; "Peter wanted to go and look at books, and

I convinced him that I could manage the groceries back here by

myself." She seemed almost gleeful, and continued. "We had a real

long talk over coffee, after the shopping," she said, "and it got

quite deep. Poor Peter obviously wanted to unburden himself -- it

started with last evening, but once he got going he touched a lot

more bases." Suspecting that this all related to her current

project, I asked her to carry on and tell me the whole story.

"Well," she said, "he obviously felt a bit awkward about last

evening, and wasn't sure he hadn't put his foot in it. I told him

he certainly hadn't, and that everything was cool. He seems to

empathise with me, and open up completely when we get talking. It

turns out he was more than a little attracted to you, and he was

really worried whether that was kosher; firstly there's the

question that transsexuality seems to raise in everyone: are they

really what they appear to be, and can a 'normal' person take

them simply as they present and interact in a normal way?

Secondly, he was obviously concerned about the fact that you and

I were partners, and still are in some sense he doesn't quite

fathom; that got him to worrying about how his interaction with

you would affect me.

"I reassured him on both counts, and did the loving aunt routine

to try and make him feel better; the result was that he opened up

completely and told me more and more about just about everything.

His real problem is that he hasn't ever had a close relationship;

he has good friends, but he has never got close to any kind of

intimate relationship with a female. I think he feels the urge

quite strongly, but he doesn't know how to do something about it.

I told him that some people were just a little slow starting, but

in the end they almost always found their soulmate and settled

down happily. He then told me that he wasn't at all uneasy in the

presence of girls, but that he felt awkward about sex, and didn't

know how to break the ice with a prospective partner. I responded

by saying that his case wasn't at all unique, and telling him

that we didn't handle some matters at all well in our culture. I

recalled the practice of some Polynesian societies where it was a

routine part of raising children for youngsters to be initiated

into the pleasures of sexual activity by elders of the opposite

sex. That way the youngsters learned about sex as they

traditionally learn about everything else -- from people with the

wide experience and developed skills that come with age. It also

meant they saw sex as a perfectly natural adult activity.

"He obviously thought that was a great idea, and said as much,

wishing wryly that he had been Polynesian. But then he harkened

back to our previous chat of a few years ago, and told me that he

was still bothered by the things that he found so interesting

then. I asked him why that could be a problem since special

intimate things that are clearly identified with the opposite sex

are simply a component part of the general attraction; 'It's just

that they really do turn me on,' he said, 'and I worry whether in

a personal relationship, the girl will pick up on that, and think

that's what I am really attracted to, rather than her.' 'There's

no reason why you can't be attracted to both,' I told him; 'then

over time you'll find the personal relationship does transcend

the specific components of the attraction. And if there are

particular triggers that are still there, and still work, then

they add to the pleasure for both.'"

"You're drawing somewhat on your reading of my experience," I put

in, "but I think you gave him the straight bill of goods.

Obviously the message was edited just a teeny little bit, to push

the desired heterosexual viewpoint, but as we know it can work

whichever way."

She smiled at that. "I really did have to do the helping aunt

bit," she said, "but the poor boy had a compulsion to unload a

whole lot. I hope that I helped him, and I think that I did. You

and I started this 'project' with a rather specific purpose and

agenda, and I think he's played right into our hands. That does

sound a bit self-serving, but I got very concerned about where he

was at, and I am convinced that our fanciful idea would really

get him going on the right path for him."

I ignored the suggestion that it was 'our' project. "So you can

continue in your manipulative role of bawd, as Shakespeare had

it?"

"Why not? For some reason the idea of expanding your womanly

experience caught my fancy, and the idea of helping out a nice

nephew who's got things a little mixed up really does fit in with

it perfectly. I'll try to chat to him some more tomorrow and put

it to him directly if the moment seems opportune."

"Just take it easy," I warned her. "It's fine to orchestrate my

love life; for starters I'm grown up, and I'm also a self

confessed femmy submissive who likes things that way. But it

isn't necessarily a good idea to do the same for somebody not so

willing. You should be really sure of yourself in what you're

doing."

"I'm well aware of it, and the 'manipulation' did really start

out as a pleasant fancy; I don't even know deep down whether I

really took it seriously. But Peter unburdened himself to me

completely this morning; he feels at ease doing that, and I

suspect he may do it again. I'm concerned for him, and I have now

changed my point of view to think rather that you would be the

one doing him a favour. I'm convinced that your initiation is

just the experience he needs, but I won't even suggest it to him

unless I really feel he's receptive."

She did sometimes enjoy the role of a theatrical director, I

thought, but I knew that she usually called things correctly, and

I had faith in her judgement.

At this point Peter returned with some books he had bought, and

seemed to be much more at ease. He responded happily to my peck

on the cheek. The rest of the day was uneventful: we had a

pleasant drive in the afternoon, had dinner out, and then went to

a movie afterwards. It so happened that the movie was Carrousel,

set in the Germany of the 1930s; many of its scenes took place in

a nightclub featuring female impersonators -- a symbol for the

ambivalent society in which it was set. The opening chorus line

of glamourous girls wearing green corsets and black silk

stockings, their naked thighs set off by the wide frilly

suspenders then in vogue, immediately produced the predictable

reaction in me. In spite of that, I couldn't resist a glance to

see how Peter was taking it; he sat there, eyes agog, and I

thought to myself "he may not be quite in the same space as me,

but we certainly share some interests!" There is no doubt he was

strongly impressed by the images. The movie progressed through

its sequence of scenes in the nightclub, alternating with those

showing the beginnings of Nazi terrorism; quite a depressing

tale, but by the end we realised that most of the shapely girls

wearing corsets and suspenders were actually male. Of course this

produced a thrill for me, as always, but I noticed that Peter

seemed taken aback, and even a little horrified. He actually

remarked on the way home "Why did they have to spoil the effect?

Those girls were so glamourous, and then in the end I realised it

was all a put-on." He got embarrassed again then, realising my

closeness to the situation portrayed, and sought to make amends.

"I'm sorry, Rita," he said; "I just wasn't thinking. It was quite

a letdown to find those girls weren't really girls after all, but

I just don't see you in the least like that. You're a real woman

to me, and I have to say I find you quite attractive."

"Please don't worry about it," I said, and smiled as sweetly as I

could at him. Jan just looked at me and winked.

Of course I was stimulated by some of the scenes in the movie

too, and I did my best to emulate the costume of the chorus girls

when Jan and I went to bed. She caught on, as perceptive as ever,

and we made love together as only we knew how. She was masterful,

passionate and stopped just short of aggression as she gradually

fanned my excitement and made me wish for more, and more, and

more ... In the calm of the afterglow, she said "I love you, and

I'll never let you go. Just because of that I want to make you

even more of a woman; then you'll have a standard of comparison,

and I'll be happy knowing that your choice for another woman is

educated and freely made -- just like mine." I was too happy to

resist her now, and I was no longer sure that I wanted to. "Yes,

yes," I said sweetly; "I'm beginning to look forward to the big

cock, and its penetrating thrusts." I was hardly ready to admit

it even to myself yet, but I believe I was.

The next morning after breakfast, it was my turn to make a

diplomatic exit. "I've just remembered that there's a package to

pick up at the courier office. It's a new dress I want to try on,

and I think they are open on Sundays. I need a bit of fresh air

too, after the wining and dining yesterday evening." So I went

off in the car, but made my way to the park, and took a walk in

the sunshine to collect my thoughts. Jan's idea did make some

logical sense to me, and it was beginning to have some appeal.

The sense of curiosity about how things were on the other side of

the fence was still pushing me onwards. It drove me originally to

see for myself what women's clothing really was like; it drove me

inexorably to gender bending, with its final culmination in a

permanent crossing of the boundary. It now seemed to be driving

me towards an experience of heterosexual intimacy, with my

insatiable curiosity making me wonder how it might differ from my

previous experience, viewed this time from the feminine side of

the boundary. Jan was my partner in everything, and I had no

doubt that she always would be, but it didn't seem so terrible to

try a new exotic experience as a change of pace, even though she

wouldn't be involved. Involved directly, I added to myself,

thinking that she was after all the instigator. I resigned myself

to the idea, not without some titillating anticipation.

When I got back home, lunch was ready; Jan told me that Peter had

to leave soon after, but she hoped he would be able to see us

soon after such a brief visit. "I'd love to," he said, very

positive. "I've enjoyed my trip here, I've certainly enjoyed the

pleasant company, and I even think I have had my eyes opened a

bit wider." He gave a knowing glance at Jan, and smiled at me

happily. We had a pleasant and leisurely lunch, and then he

decided it was time to leave. He was obviously regretful about

that, and when I gave him more than a sisterly kiss on the cheek,

he responded in kind; then he held my hand briefly. I did a

squirm inside, as a reaction to that, and wondered again to

myself what was happening to me.

Jan was obviously wanting to tell me something, and could hardly

wait to wave to Peter as he drove off. "Well," she said, "Peter

wanted to talk to me some more. It's interesting that he can talk

to me, a woman, about his intimate life like that; I'm gratified

in a way, but it is a bit overwhelming." "It's not so odd," I

replied; "women are just nicer people, and the nurturing, caring

image is more than a stereotype. Some men sense that, and feel

more at ease. The only people I ever got close to, and felt free

about telling my confidences to were women. That was so, even

when I was a sexual neophyte, much like Peter seems to be. Also

you do have a real genius for getting people to open up and lay

bare their innermost souls, judging by what happened to me."

She smiled. "Then let's hope I can help Peter to find his way

through the maze of human sexuality and gender -- I don't think

he's headed on the path you finally took at all." "So what did he

have to say this time?" Now I was eager to hear the story. "He

seemed to be taken with Polynesian social habits," she said. "He

started by saying that he had been thinking about that, and he

was very impressed by their ideas on sexual initiation. 'It makes

such obvious sense,' he said; 'it could be done as a perfectly

natural part of growing up and learning about the world, and I

think in that context it wouldn't be daunting or inhibiting at

all.' I agreed, and let him go on. 'There's another aspect to it

that appeals to me,' he said: 'we seem to have problems with sex

because a natural physical urge gets bound up with emotional

attachments, and the way people interact in intimate situations

when they get very close to one another. These things go together

of course, but I have often thought that it would be nice to

separate them out, and deal with one thing at a time, at least at

the start. I imagine that if one was confident about sexual

behaviour, and was able to deal with the basic mechanics and

technique just as a matter of course, then it would be a

perfectly natural outcome of developing a close personal

relationship with a girl.' I just let him carry on, thinking that

he really was very perceptive. He obviously didn't feel inhibited

at all about what he said to me, and carried on with his train of

thought. 'Would you believe,' he said, 'that in my opinion this

might be a useful social purpose for prostitution? I have even

thought about visiting a hooker, just to get myself initiated

into the way of things, but I never got up the nerve. I'm not

sure how I would have found the right person, but I'm told that

the real experts have particular skills in making their customers

feel at ease, and finding precisely what they need.'

"I told him that he made a lot of sense, though I had no direct

experience in that field of commerce, and he smiled. 'What about

finding some friendly caring non-professional to do the job?

Someone you know, and you're at ease with.' He was a bit taken

aback: 'You're not suggesting ...,' and he trailed off. 'No, not

me,' I said; 'my mind tells me it would probably be an excellent

idea, but I do seem to have some of the inhibitions of our

culture.' He seemed relieved, and I decided it was the time to

plant a seed."

"Oh, no," I groaned. "Oh, yes," she said. "You weren't there, but

believe me, the mood was right. 'Peter,' I said 'you have been

very open with some intimate personal things, and I appreciate

being taken into your confidence. I would also like to help, and

it seems to me you are on the right track; you need someone

friendly and attractive who can get together with you to do a

little basic education. You want to discover the pleasure that

would come with the experience without any fear of emotional

attachments and long-term commitments.' 'That's about the size of

it,' he said. 'So let me do a little unloading on you,' I said.

'I don't know how much you know about Rita and me. We are

lifelong partners; we started out as man and wife, and we're now

a lesbian couple, let's face facts. Rita is undoubtedly a woman;

she lives as one, she reacts as one, she delights in all things

feminine, and she is now a real woman physically. In spite of

that she has not had any experience with a male partner; she's

quite happy that way, but I think that she would benefit if she

did, and to be honest that means she needs a little help too from

some kind person.'"

I shuddered, but let her continue. "'Rita!' he said. 'Yes. If you

think about it, she fills the bill.' I decided to play completely

fair, and make it clear there was no attempt to mislead him. 'She

isn't quite the skilled elder, and may even be a bit anxious

herself, but I think her past history would give her just the

right touch. She started life as a man, I don't want to pretend

that wasn't the case, but she was similar to you in some

respects. She won't have the consummate skills of a courtesan in

providing the perfect response to male desires instinctively, but

her past memories will give her a special empathy with you. She

won't be the elder in female sexual knowledge, but she will have

the necessary experience in human intimacy; I think that will

make learning together work just right for you. She's also much

older than you, and she's my partner, and not quite the person

you would want to continue your life with. She comes without the

threat of ongoing attachment, which is just what's needed'"

"I don't know whether to be flattered or horrified," I said. "I

suppose you were telling it the way it is. But how on earth did

he react to that?" "Quite well," she smirked. "He didn't seem

taken aback, and he thought about what I had said for quite a

while. 'She is attractive,' he said finally. 'I don't see her as

a future girl friend at all, but there's something about her that

appeals to me.' 'She's sexy,' I provoked him, 'and she just loves

all those special items that appeal to you.' He grinned at that,

in spite of himself. 'You make her sound better and better,' he

admitted. 'I certainly find I can relate to her very easily;

maybe it's like you say, that her background is similar enough

that we have some strange kind of rapport. You know it's odd: I

would have thought that knowing about where she came from would

put me off, but it doesn't at all. It's something a little

mysterious about her that makes me curious, and adds to the

attraction.' 'Well then,' I said,'would you like me to talk to

Rita about it.' He thought for just a moment, and then said 'Yes,

I would like you to.'"

"So my fate is sealed," I said weakly. "You did lay it on a bit,

didn't you? If he really wants to have me now, he'll certainly be

doing it with his eyes wide open." Jan sat down beside me, and

hugged me. "Auntie knows best," she said. "You are a big girl

now, and I think you can handle it." "I'd rather be your little

girl," I said, "and have you play with me." She started to caress

my thighs, and immediately encountered a suspender. "Guess what

I've found," she said playfully, and she started to console me in

her inimitable way. She caressed my knees through the nylon

stockings, and gradually worked her hands up, under the silky

sheen of my slip. She paused at the tops of my stockings, and

delicately tugged at each of the suspenders. I felt the pull on

my girdle, and a quiver of excitement ran through me. "Everything

seems to be in order there," she said. "All nicely even, and

adjusted to just the right tension. I think I should check out

your frilly panties now and see what I find in them." I melted

like wax in her hands.

1. Meeting Again: the Arrangement.

During the next few days I found myself thinking about Peter.

Things were as good as ever between Jan and myself, and I had no

doubt that my relationship with her provided everything that I

needed to enjoy my sense of femininity to the full. But I had

become quite curious to discover what so-called normal sexual

intercourse would be like. I reviewed my somewhat jaundiced

feelings about the male of the species, and realised that I

didn't react to him the way I reacted to males in general. I

began to have the feeling that Jan had been right all along, and

if it had to be done, then I might rather enjoy doing it with

him.

I told her as much, and she smiled knowingly. "I do think so,"

she said, "but I didn't really expect things to happen quite as

easily. Someone up there must be on your side." "That's assuming

that they see eye to eye with you on what's good for me," I

quibbled. "That I am certain of," she said. "I have made

something of a transition myself, and at least with you, my love,

I can't imagine anything better than a loving lesbian

relationship. But I wasn't always in that space; I have a past

too, and I have some fond memories. I have no desire to relive

them now, but responding to the urge of a horny male had some

effect on me. I think it would add something nice to your

experience too."

"I think I've been won over," I said; "the question is where do

we go from here? It's not fair to get me all excited like a

timorous virgin bride, then leave me all alone, wondering what

might have been." She thought for a moment. "Peter was really

very receptive, but I'm not sure whether he would respond too

well to pushing. Of course he's probably all excited about it

now, and wondering what his next step ought to be. Maybe I should

give him a call. I know: why don't you?"

I was a bit nervous about that, but felt that I was now committed

in some way. "OK. But what do I say to him?" "That depends on how

you want to proceed. So far he and I have done all the talking,

and he's only heard your side of the story secondhand. Why don't

we ask him over again for the weekend, then I'll find some excuse

to get you and him together in a tete-a-tete. Then I'm afraid my

sweet big girl, you're on your own."

Later that evening, with butterflies in my inside, I called

Peter. "Hi, it's Rita." He responded warmly. "Your auntie's been

telling you all about me, and I think I ought to have a chance to

speak for myself. Would you like to come visit again this

weekend?" "I'd love to," he said. "But don't worry about what Jan

told me; she seemed to think you were a very nice person, and I

agree with her." "Thank you kind sir," I replied; "Jan does like

to talk about people, and give them her advice -- she just told

me I was a big girl now." He laughed. "I guess you are; I really

would like to see you again. Friday it is."

Jan looked at me approvingly. "You handled that in exactly the

right way," she said. "You're a very nice big girl." I still had

a pleasant reaction to being addressed in a feminine way, and

squirmed happily. "I'm a girl," I said; "I've always liked saying

that to myself, and I must say I rather like being one. I like

doing girly things too, and so I suppose I must find out what it

is that big girls do." Jan laughed happily.

Peter arrived late on the Friday afternoon, and as if by mutual

consent, we all acted as if it was just a normal family get

together. We had a pleasant dinner, followed by a quiet evening,

and went off to bed. We spent Saturday much the same way, but

there was an underlying feeling that there was one matter on the

agenda, and we couldn't put it off indefinitely. Peter seemed

completely at ease, and happily chatted to me as the three of us

walked in the park. We sat down on one of the benches by the

lake, and he smiled approvingly at me as I smoothed my skirt. It

seemed the time had come. "Jan seems to have told you a lot about

me," I said. She grinned at me. "I think it's only fair to give

you my side of the story. Why don't we go off after dinner

somewhere where we can chat quietly, and leave her out of

things?" "I'd like to do that," he said. "But I'm very grateful

to Jan for being a wonderful auntie, and I wouldn't want her to

feel she wasn't wanted." Jan was right on cue: "Don't worry.

There is a little errand I need to run; I'd forgotten, and was

worrying about messing up the evening." We went out for dinner,

and then Jan excused herself and left. Peter and I wandered into

the cocktail bar in the hotel, and found a secluded corner. He

seemed quite at ease with me, and offered all the gentlemanly

courtesies as he helped me to my seat. I crossed my legs after I

sat down, and carefully arranged my skirt; it wasn't too long,

and decent lengths of dark nylon clad leg were exposed,

terminating in my high heeled pumps. Peter watched approvingly as

he sat down beside me, and seemed much less ill at ease than I

felt.

The drinks were ordered, and arrived, and then I smiled at him in

an attempt to be encouraging, to myself as much as him. It wasn't

necessary. "Let's drink to auntie, who always knows best," he

said. "She probably does," I replied. "She's a wonderful person.

But she sometimes does like to manipulate people just a little."

"I guess you're right," he said, "but I didn't see it that way. I

got a bit carried away telling her about my problems -- she's

wonderfully empathetic -- and things just seemed to roll right

along. I was a bit startled at some of things she said, but they

really do make sense to me." He was very much at ease, and

obviously prepared to be as candid with me as he was with his

aunt. "Did her more specific suggestions make sense to you?" "I

think they did, and I've had some time to think them over." We

were getting down to the nitty-gritty so I thought it time to

stop the verbal niceties. "Then the idea of a liaison between us

to expand our worldly experience appeals to you?" He seemed at a

loss for words for a moment or two, then almost burst out "Yes, I

do. To me you are an attractive woman, and as I've got to know

you a bit I find that I like your company, and I feel at ease

with you. There's something about you that helps me to open up,

maybe it's the age thing, but I feel very different from the way

I do with girls my own age." "You're not falling in love with

me?" "No. It's not like that. I find some of the girls I meet

really attractive, and in the long run I want to settle down with

one of them. I see you as a friend. A real friend." "I appreciate

that more than I can say," I said. "But do you see me as the

person to initiate you into some of life's sweet mysteries?

Things that have eluded me so far." "I think so," he said simply.

We sat in silence for a while. Then I decided I should match his

candour: "You've been very open with me; I really appreciate

that, and I take it as a compliment. But I think it is only fair

and honest to respond just as frankly. There's one aspect of this

whole affair that bothers me: it's clearly been arranged,

admittedly by someone with both our interests at heart, but I

don't quite feel right about doing things that way. I've always

thought that things like this should be spontaneous." "It is a

set-up," he put in, "but if it's a good idea, and we feel happy

about it, so what?" "Maybe so, but I need to be convinced.

There's another aspect that needs to be considered: let's be

completely candid and face up to it." He looked puzzled, so I

hurried on. "I am a transsexual woman. The effects of hormone

therapy and surgery have enabled to me follow my natural

inclinations and be a woman. My femininity satisfies me, and

seems to be acceptable to society. But it wasn't always that way.

I was a male, and I was quite happy as one for many years. I have

to be sure that you feel at ease with that basic fact; I'll be

happy to have you take me as you find me, but I want to be

certain sure that you won't feel you're being conned in some way,

or taken for a ride."

He smiled at me, and then took my hand. "It's OK," he said. "I

know about that. It really doesn't bother me in the least." I

squeezed his hand, and said "I just want you to be sure." "I am,"

he said. "It's one of those things you read about, and I've been

a bit curious, though I have never thought much about it. Meeting

you did get me to thinking about it. Seeing you, and thinking

about how attractive you are made it hard to believe. Then I got

to thinking about what drove you to go through all that hassle,

and in a way I understand. Your conviction that you really were

female gave you the strength to persevere, and the results leave

no doubt -- you had to be a real woman to go to those lengths,

and I think it shows. You are a woman, and I find you

attractive." "Thank you," I said, taken aback. "You're as

perceptive as Jan says; that's the most understanding expression

of transsexual feelings that I have ever heard." He wanted to

continue: "You can be reassured; I see you as you are now. The

way you were is in the past. I know you must have memories, but

they must seem almost like those of a different person." I

nodded. "But to tie up all the loose ends," he went on, "in a

strange way that does relate to my situation. Jan was perceptive

enough to see that, and I have always respected her judgement.

She was obviously wanting to help me out as I whined away, and

she made the point that it could be your history would give you

the empathy to make me feel at ease. Once, a long time ago, you

were in the same boat. That does make sense to me." "Not that

long ago," I said using my feminine perogative to lie about my

age, and I couldn't resist the urge to hug him. He responded, and

kissed me on the lips. I felt very very feminine, and squirmed

happily. I thought that things seemed to be working out, and I

was finally happy with the whole idea.

"Look how late it is," I said. "Jan will be wondering what we've

been up to." "She knows very well," said Peter happily, "but I

suppose we should get back to her." As we drove home he said "We

seem to have followed the plot so far; when do we arrange for the

climax?" He grinned at his involuntary play on words. "Take me,"

I said. "Have your will with me. I'm a helpless little girl, just

putty in your hands." "I do like the thought," he said. "But

let's get serious. It's fun to talk about the next stage, but

I'll come down to earth and start getting anxious as I always do.

I hope I don't blow the whole thing as usual." "You're right," I

said, "and don't forget that I'm anxious too. In spite of my

comments about detailed planning, I think we have to do it right.

We have to find some way to set the mood just right, and then go

very carefully so we don't scare one another off." "Right. I know

I'll be quite tensed up, but I have a feeling you're the one to

get me past that. Let's make a definite date. How about next

Saturday?" "I'll have to check with Jan," I said, knowing full

well that she would actually be cheering on the sidelines. "It

sounds like a good idea to me."

We got home to find Jan waiting relaxed in an armchair. "How was

the chat," she said. "Well," I replied, "I don't really know how

to tell you this, but Peter would like to have a very private

date with me next Saturday." She smiled happily. "I'm not sure

what he has in mind, but I think he might want to take me off

somewhere very private." "Indeed!" she said. "What an impetuous

young man my nephew is. I don't see how a sweet girl like you

could possibly resist." We were all quite happy and relieved

about the way things had worked out, and the humour helped to

ease the situation. "But there's something come up," Jan said: "I

got a call this evening from an old school friend who's got into

trouble with her marriage. She obviously needs some consolation

and support, so I thought I would visit her next weekend. I was

planning to leave around noon on Saturday, and come back on

Sunday."

"What a schemer!" I thought to myself, and realised that the die

was cast. "You'll be away Saturday evening, then?" I asked

innocently. "I'm afraid so," Jan said. "Why don't you get Peter

to come and keep you company next weekend, while I'm gone." Peter

had come down to earth, and just stood there bemused. "I will," I

said; "is that alright with you, Peter? I'm sure we can find

something to do to entertain ourselves." He just nodded. We both

knew we were committed.

We all realised the matter was settled, and gradually things got

back to normal. We had a pleasant Sunday morning, and after lunch

Peter said it was probably time for him to leave. "I'll see you

next weekend, Rita," he said. "But I've just remembered that I'm

tied up on Friday evening -- I have to work late. I'll drive over

on Saturday morning." "That's a pity," said Jan innocently; "I'll

probably miss you. I don't really know what time I'll get back on

the Sunday." "Oh," he said. "I don't think I have to rush off

then, so I hope I'll see you." We said our goodbyes, and watched

him drive off.

When Jan and I were back inside, I felt quite overwhelmed, and

snuggled into her arms. "Your master plan is running like

clockwork," I said. "but I feel a bit awkward about the whole

thing. I'm sure you know best, but I'm apprehensive." She

consoled me gently. "You'll do fine, and you will enjoy it once

things get under way. I love you, and I want you get all the nice

things a girl can have." I responded as always to being called a

girl, and pressed myself against her. "Remember that you will

really be doing Peter a good turn too; that should make you feel

better." She paused, and added "It's still a long time to dinner;

why don't we go and relax in the bedroom -- I think I know what

might cheer you up." She did, too.

1. Dressing for the Occasion.

The following week was somewhat strange. Jan and I carried on

apparently as usual, but my growing nervousness about the coming

weekend cast a bit of a shadow on things. Jan took to reassuring

me, and did her wonderful best to help me get back to normal. We

did all the things we usually enjoyed, and we made love together

often. Mostly it was because I felt scared, and then I would

snuggle up to her for comfort.

"I'm a scared little girl," I said on the Friday. "I know, my

love," she said, "but there's no need for it. You'll have fun."

Of course I knew that, but I was still apprehensive. "One thing I

will grant you," I said: "Peter is certainly the person, if

anyone is. He's quite scared himself, and that puts me into

consoling mood; I get to be quite the kind auntie myself. I'm not

sure I can play that role simultaneously with femme fatale."

"Just be your sweet self," she said; "that will fill both roles

beautifully." "Another thing," I said plaintively: "I don't know

what to wear. I just have to make the right impression; I need to

help get him turned on, then nature will no doubt take its

course, but I don't want to scare him off." "You'll do just fine.

You look lovely in all your clothes. But I would imagine Peter

isn't going to be too critical. For his sake I would recommend

black stockings -- and of course suspenders; as many suspenders

as is possible." She winked at me. "I know," I said, "I think I

can give him his money's worth there, but which dress shall I

wear? That's for the first impression, then for later in evening

it matters very much what goes underneath." I was as nervous as a

bride on her wedding day. "What do you think about girdles?" "Not

too much," she said, kidding me. "For me, that is. They work for

you, and on you I find them very sexy." "But which one?" I

insisted. "That's one thing that has to be right. It will give me

support -- in more ways than one -- and I think it's going to

matter to Peter." "A good point," she admitted. "I'll help you

get ready tomorrow morning, and we can start now by planning your

whole ensemble."

That made me feel better. "It all goes together," I said. "the

slip and the girdle have to be right for the dress. The stockings

too." "Yes," she said; "women's clothes are so difficult -- I

don't know how we put up with it. And to think that you got into

them by choice!" Her tactics were working, and I grinned. "Let's

start with the dress," I said. "That's the important first

impression, and it helps fix some of the other things. Apart from

my feminine desire to be happy in the way I look, what is the

appropriate wear for seduction? Neat and form fitting -- the

little black dress -- or voluminous skirt with layers of

petticoat?" She considered the options: "I don't think petticoats

are right," she said. "They give a wonderful feminine effect, but

I'm not sure they are sexy -- at least not for the unpetticoated

one. Ruffled panties, maybe, but they don't appear until later.

You don't want to be too prim and proper, either. Smart

businesswoman isn't quite the right image. How about a

shirtwaist? The skirt should flow a bit -- not too much, but I

don't think too narrow a skirt is right. It shouldn't be too long

either, so that it rides up strategically when necessary." This

was starting to get interesting. "What about the silky print?" I

asked. "You know, it's light blue with little brightly coloured

flowers. Not quite the thing for a sedate business meeting, but

good for a party." "That's it," she said. "It's colourful, but

just right. It's not too long either -- I've seen it ride up too,

and expose your lacy slip." "I would normally wear a black slip

with that," I said, "but if it's to be seen that might not be the

best colour. I think dazzling white, with a nice fussy lace trim

round the hem; I've got one just like that." "You've got just

about everything possible," said Jan, "but I know the one. It's

right."

"So we get down to the basics," I said. "Foundations." "Yes,

indeed," she replied with an impish grin; "You must have some

thoughts on that topic." "They matter a lot to me," I said, not

really defensive. "They seem to matter to Peter, too. I don't

know how wide his experience is, but this must be the first time

he will have encountered such things first hand. I wonder what

his tastes are?" "He seems to really go for suspenders," Jan

said, "like a fair number of men do, but I don't know if they

care too much where they come from. What they like next best are

panties." "I like them too," I said, especially now that they fit

me properly." She smiled. "But I just know that you really want

to think about girdles." "Yes," I said. "I like to wear

corselettes under smooth dresses. They pull me in nicely, they

make the dress fit well, and they avoid the problems of things

pulling up and down. They sit just right, and they also get rid

of any nasty bulge in the middle." "You're the expert," Jan said,

"but once the poor man has seen your suspenders, he'll want to

see something of you. The logistics of getting it off aren't too

aesthetic, either. How about a nice simple suspender belt, just

like the pinup pictures?" She was teasing me now. "Not my style,

I'm afraid. It has to be some sort of a girdle. For some very

intimate reasons, it has to be open at the bottom, with plenty of

room there -- then with any luck I can keep it on. I know!

There's that one that sits high and is close enough to being a

suspender belt. But it is enough of a girdle to do the right

things for me. It's power net, a little high in the waist, and

just fits over the top of my tummy, so the suspenders are quite

long." "Six, of course?" said Jan teasing again. "Yes. Then they

keep my stockings just right. It's white, though. That's very

pristine and it won't show through the slip. I would love to wear

black, then there would be a provocative suggestion showing

through my slip; I wish I had one in black, and I don't know why

they don't make girdles in pastel colours either." Jan ignored my

complaint. "So you'll need a bra," she said. "It should be white

too, to match, and lacy cups are de rigeur." "I know the one," I

said. "It has nice narrow straps, and it fits like a charm." "How

are the hooks," asked Jan, ever practical. "If all goes according

to plan, he'll be the one to undo them, and it isn't a skill he

will have had any practice in -- he'll be very nervous too, at

that point." That gave me pause for thought, and reminded me of

the purpose of our pleasant little chat about lingerie. "I don't

have a problem with the hooks." "I know," she said, "but you must

have spent most of your life practicing. So all we have left to

consider is the final defence of your most intimate secrets:

panties." "Do I have to wear any?" Now I was teasing her. "Of

course you do," she said. "In spite of your tastes, they are

universally considered to be the ultimate feminine symbol. They

are slowly removed at the penultimate stage of the game --

whether by the seductive female, or the aggressive male, depends

on who is ahead at that point. Peter will definitely expect

panties as a sign of your femininity. Again, we don't know his

tastes, unfortunately. I think plain is out, so the choice is

lacy or frilly. I vote for frilly." I agreed: "Yes. I like those

nice sissy ones in light blue; they go with the dress."

I had my usual happy reaction to thoughts about feminine

clothing, and undergarments in particular. As always, just like

in the old days, there was a wonderful calming and soothing

effect. Jan knew me well; "Not so scared, now?" "I'm happy with

the preparations, and I think I'll be presenting my best," I

replied, "but I still am a scared little girl." She hugged me

tight and said "You're my favourite little girl. You're going to

be a big girl soon, and then I shall love you all the more." We

went to bed, and for once we didn't make love; we just snuggled

together and lay there with our diaphanous nightdresses all mixed

up together.

I didn't sleep too well, and had one odd dream in which I was all

confused about gender once again. I was in a play with a big

seduction scene, and I had to play both parts.

The morning finally came: the fateful Saturday was here! I got up

slowly, freshened up, and put on my housecoat to go and start

things in the kitchen. The coffee was ready when Jan joined me.

"Not dressed, yet?" she said brightly. "No. I have to be ready by

noon, and it will take some time." She took my hand, and then

kissed me; "You'll pass with flying colours," she said. "You're a

brave little girl."

After breakfast I had a long bath. I ran the water as hot as I

could, and filled it with bubbles, bath oil and any kind of

feminine fragrance I could find. It felt good and I started to

relax a bit. Eventually I got out, dried myself off with the big

fluffy towel, then put on my bathrobe. Back in the kitchen, Jan

was finishing her coffee. "Have another cup," she said, "Then

we'll get to work to make you presentable." "I'm ready," I said.

"This will be the fun part, as always, but I'm still a bit

bothered about this evening. I know it will be fine, and I may

very well enjoy myself immensely, but right now I'm just plain

scared."

"Just think how Peter is feeling," Jan said. She instinctively

had the right touch. "It's going to be a lot tougher for him. But

he'll finish up enjoying himself too, and be a lot better

equipped to get on with his life and find a real girl friend."

"You're right," I said. "I don't think he knows what to expect.

He must be very nervous. I have a fair idea what is in store, and

all I have to worry about is playing a new part." Jan kissed me

again, and said "let's start getting you presentable."

We went into the bedroom. I went to the drawer filled with my

bras, and picked out the one we had chosen. I have always put my

bra on first, right from the early days. Then I think it had to

do with getting some facsimile of femininity, as soon as

possible, before putting on any other things. Of course if I'm

wearing an all-in-one corselette, then it still works out that

way. Jan looked at the bra: "It's nice," she said, "and the hooks

aren't too difficult. There were four of them; the bra was a

bandeau, not too slight, with very lacy cups and lovely strong

but delicate straps. It was structured, the way I like with satin

latex panels; nice and feminine, and not at all heavy duty in

appearance. I leaned over to drop my breasts into the cups, the

new little trick of femininity that I used not to need. I loved

doing it now. Jan caught me off guard, and took both my breasts

in her hands, and caressed the nipples tenderly. I sighed with

pleasure. "They're nice," she said approvingly, and let me carry

on. I let my breasts drop into the cups, and pulled the band

round me and deftly fastened it at the back. I really had done a

lot of practice! I moved the shoulder straps nicely into

position, and then tugged at the bottom, making sure it was

comfortable, and everything was nice and snug.

I took a glance in the mirror, and saw Jan smiling at me in

approval. There's no doubt I looked like a woman; I felt like one

too, and I enjoyed the feeling.

I found the girdle, and held it in my hands for a moment. It was

still a thrill to anticipate wearing a garment like that. I

pulled it up my legs, and over my hips. I moved it to just the

right height, and smoothed it out over my tummy and derriere. I

don't really have as much of a waist as I would like, but it fit

snugly. The criss-cross power net fabric pulled me in gently. I

liked the sense of containment, not too excessive, but enough for

me to be continually aware of it without discomfort. To me

girdles are really sexy, and I think it must relate to that

effect -- it's a continual reminder of femininity, subtly present

under all the outer clothes. I revel in that feeling, which says

to me that I am a woman. I stood for a moment, thinking these

nice thoughts. The suspenders dangled saucily over my thighs.

There were indeed six of them; they were quite narrow, and each

one of them had a delicate ribbon to discreetly hide the metal

loop at the end. A little embroidered flower was sewn onto the

two at the front as part of their attachment to the girdle -- one

of those delicate little touches that make feminine clothing such

a delight.

I took a new package of stockings, and opened it carefully.

There's nothing like the feel of new stockings; they fit

perfectly, they have just enough tension to feel good, and they

are so sleek and shiny. They are never the same again, after the

first time they have been worn. These weren't really jet black --

the package said charcoal; I thought they were dark enough to be

sexy and elegant, but not too dark. These were my favourite

brand; they had a reinforced toe, and were shaped at the heel,

and the dark band at the top contrasted nicely with leg below.

That is another little touch that has always appealed to me: the

band is there to take the stress from the suspenders, but it sets

them off and emphasises their presence. It's not considered

decent to expose this area, but it's there prominent, and is

another of the exquisite little secrets of being a woman. Saucily

exposed under the right circumstances, it becomes very sexy.

There will be an audience on this occasion, I thought to myself

as I eased my right foot into the toe on the stocking; I found

the idea was quite exciting. I got the toe in place, and then

smoothed the stocking up my leg. I took the back suspender, and

carefully made sure the little rubber pad was placed at the

bottom of the dark stocking top -- but not too close to its edge;

I slid the metal loop over it and immediately felt the pull on

the silky nylon, and the tug on my girdle. I did the left foot

just the same way, and then stood for a while with both stockings

securely held behind me. Then I adjusted them round my thigh to

get the suspender just right -- vertically down the back of my

leg. I always do things that way, and I much prefer to have six

suspenders. The stockings are then held nice and even, and the

girdle is held in place too -- there's a comforting secure

feeling. Jan was looking at me bemused, though she had watched

this routine many times. "I wouldn't have the patience," she

said, "and I don't even like the feel of those things." I

frowned. "Don't worry," she added, "there's no doubt it does

things for you. I can feel the effect instantly, and it turns me

on too. On you, my little girly sex object, they are really very

attractive."

I carefully got the suspender on the right side in place, and

attached it, then went to the left side and did the same. I

always follow the same sequence, alternating between legs, and

working from back to front. I find it makes sure that the

stockings are held in position just right, and I still get a

thrill from the gradual increase in tension. To me that's part of

the delight of girdles; I don't want to be imprisoned in a

vicelike grip at all, but the subtle pressures and the way one

feels more and more caressingly constrained as stockings are put

on reinforces the exquisite feeling of femininity for me. I

finally attached the two front suspenders very carefully, pulling

them in ever so slightly toward the inside of my thighs. I

smoothed the fussy little ribbons; I suppose they are meant to

stop the suspenders showing through too much; they don't really

hide them though, and in a state of deshabillee they draw

attention to them delectably.

I surveyed myself in the mirror again. There I was, girdled and

suspendered. As always, the sight made me catch my breath. The

female form, with nylon clad legs, and suspenders stretched up

across the thighs to an elegant girdle, is one of the most

powerful images I know. To some males it is the essence of

eroticism; to me, in the old days, it produced a desperate sense

of envy and an urge to wear garments just like that myself. When

I did so, the effect of making myself fit that image was

overwhelming; to me it is the quintessentially feminine image.

Now I am a woman, and I create that image of myself every day,

but the effect is still powerful. I am continuously conscious of

its secret presence underneath my dress, and it still symbolises

femininity and excites me. Jan was well aware of this, and in her

wonderfully kind and accepting way let me quietly enjoy the

moment. "You look beautiful," she said. "I realise what these

things mean to you, and it shows; they do look good on you. They

are feminine, and they are very sexy and tantalising too." I felt

good, and once again realised how fortunate I was to be her

partner in life.

She was helpful too, and went to look for the panties. She found

some in a light blue, completely layered over with ruffles.

"These?" "They're the ones I meant," I replied. "Aren't they a

bit fussy?" she asked. "Maybe lace would be better." "I'm not

sure now myself," I said. "But let's stay with the plan; I think

they do provide a nice contrast -- the top of the girdle will

show above them, and it is simple enough to contrast. And at

least to start off with the suspenders will suggestively sneak

out from under all the frills. All I'll need is a silk top hat,

and I could play in Blue Angel." She laughed, and I drew the

panties up over my stockings, eased them carefully over my

suspenders, and smoothed them nice and sleek against my tummy.

They fit snugly everywhere, and I thought how nice and

comfortable it was with the proper anatomy. Jan had already found

the slip, and was bunching the skirt up to help me slide it over

my head. I got the straps over my arms, and she lifted it up

high, letting it fall and envelope me. It was silky in texture,

and felt cool against my thighs. There was quite a wide hem of

rather fancy lace, and it rested just above my knees. Jan got the

shoulder straps sitting just right, over the bra straps, and

smoothed the bodice against me and brushed the skirt down gently.

Her hand briefly touched my suspenders -- their outline was

visible through the material, and she smiled as she felt my

reaction. "We're ready for the dress now, my love."

She went to the closet and got it out. It really was beautiful;

it was made from a wonderful smooth silky fabric, and the

underlying colour was a perfect shade of blue. It was a light

blue, in shade, not really pastel and strong enough that it

definitely registered blue when one looked at it. There were

dainty floral designs in just about every colour imaginable

spread all over the background; they didn't take up too much of

the space, but they added dramatically to the effect. One saw

blue, but one also had an impression of colour, rather more like

wildflowers in a mountain meadow than the intense profusion of

colour in a tended garden. Jan held it out in front of her

admiringly. "In some things you have very good taste, my love,"

she said. "Thanks. It is nice. I just love the effect." It would

have looked just great on anyone, and I loved wearing it. It also

was a perfect fit. There was a smart top, with a wide neckline,

and lapels which continued round the neck to form a folded

collar. It buttoned down to the waist with small buttons also of

the same blue colour, not too obtrusive. The style needed a belt;

I wasn't quite sure about that; the one that came with the dress

was made of the same material -- I finally decided to use a thin

black patent leather one. The dress fit quite snug at the waist,

and the belt held it nicely and provided a contrast. The skirt

flared out moderately, and when I was standing it hung fairly

straight, with loose folds in the material. It could be spread

out when I was sitting, and wasn't constricting at all. I loved

walking in it, and it worked very well for dancing. The sleeves

were flared just slightly, and came just about to my elbows. It

was a lovely dress. Jan expertly helped me into it; I threaded my

arms through the sleeves, and she eased it over my head and let

the skirt flow down. Then she pulled lightly at the hem, and I

wriggled a little to get the top nicely comfortable over my

bosom. It displayed that nicely, without excessive emphasis, and

felt just absolutely right as I looked at the effect in the

mirror. I did up the three buttons at the bottom, just high

enough that there was a suggestion of lace showing from my bra,

and adjusted the neck to just the right look of casual elegance.

"You must have a necklace with that," Jan said. "I know. It needs

to be high round the neck, and not too long." I picked out a

string of small glass beads; they were a matching blue, and quite

short. They fit close to the base of my neck, and added just the

right touch of interest to the open neck. "We didn't really talk

about accessories at all," I said. "I think I'll go with my usual

things; they look nice, and they're not too obtrusive. I want to

look like a woman who has taken some care with her appearance,

but I don't want to overdo it. "Right," said Jan. "I assume that

means the usual bracelet or two, but what about earrings?" "Not

too outrageous," I replied, "but they have to be long and dangly.

I like to feel them there. I'll wear the silver ones, with the

native design." "And of course we forgot all about shoes," Jan

said. "I know. I have to wear heels, and I think the occasion

calls for something sexy. They must be spikes, but maybe not too

high." I wasn't sure about the colour, either. I had some nice

blue ones, to match the dress, but I didn't know whether they

would really go with the stockings. I finally decided on a light

fawn pair, thinking the contrast with the dark hose would be

effective.

I sat down beside Jan, spreading out my skirt, with a sense of

satisfaction. "I think I'll do," I said. "You will indeed. Your

hair just needs a little attention, and you no doubt have some

thoughts about makeup." "Just to look really like a woman. It

will need a bit of care, but I don't want overstatement." "Just

your normal simple sweet self?" "Yes, but to get it that simple

requires some skill." She smiled knowingly.

I was now ready to put my face on. It was a labour of love for

me, but it was definitely a labour. Of all the essential

components of presentation as female in our culture, makeup was

the one I came to last in my long journey across the gender

divide. It had always intrigued me from very early days, as it

was one of the most obvious indicators of gender; facial

adornment with cosmetics was about as far removed from normal

male behaviour as wearing sheer nylon stockings. As such it

provoked my curiosity, my envy and my urge to make it part of my

activity. But it presents difficulties to a neophyte female

because it requires an expertise only achieved after much

practice. Through most of my journey to a more and more feminine

persona, makeup lost out to my preoccupation with female

clothing. Wearing items of female clothing made me feel feminine;

when I looked at those items of clothing on myself I saw a female

image, even though it was only a partial image. To make it a

complete image required physical changes to my body which I only

came to desire near the end of my journey; in the early solitary

stages, and even later on with Jan, I had no desire to make a

public presentation of myself as female. Thus my incomplete image

did not present a problem, and as long as there were no physical

changes, the question of cosmetic adornment of my physical

features did not seem important.

When I decided to transition, my perspective changed, and my

desire was to be completely feminine, rather than to enjoy

feminine feelings due only to selected female characteristics.

When physical changes were actually taking place, making a public

presentation of myself as a complete female became my objective,

and makeup was then as essential to my sense of femininity as

lingerie and all the other clothing. With Jan's help and

guidance, I devoted much time and effort to learning how to use

cosmetics properly and effectively.

I sat down at the vanity to work on my face. I looked in the

mirror, and had a thrill of pleasure to see the image facing me;

The essentially feminine activity of putting the final touches to

that image was now as rewarding and exciting as selecting and

putting on my clothing. I rubbed some light foundation onto my

cheeks and spread it out carefully with my fingertips. Then I

highlighted my eyes with the thinnest possible trace of eyeliner;

I also used a small amount of shadow on my eyelids. The final

step was to make sure that my lips were perfectly right to make a

categorical statement of femininity: I carefully outlined them,

and then painted them with lip gloss. I was finally satisfied

with the total effect, and powdered my cheeks and jaw as lightly

as possible.

I picked out the earrings and slipped them through my pierced

earlobes, snapping the fastening on each one. As a final touch, I

put a dab of my favourite subtle but noticeable fragrance behind

each ear, and added some in the area between my necklace and the

neckline of my dress above my breasts.

A woman's crowning glory is said to be her hair; I had always

liked relatively long hair on women and favoured styles that were

not too fussy and let it flow down smoothly and freely to almost

reach the shoulders. Mine had been relatively thick as a male,

and as I kept it cut short then, I had made the odd experiment

with wigs. One of the miraculous effects of hormones in my

transition was to stimulate hair growth; from that point I

avoided any cutting or even trimming, hoping that a feminine

coiffure would be possible, and to my delight it did grow long

enough and sufficiently profuse for me to style it as I liked. It

became fine and quite silky in texture, and I now was able to

present myself as I wished with my own hair quite long enough to

satisfy me. I brushed it carefully, smoothing it out, and making

sure it was arranged to frame my face to best effect.

Finally I was finished, and turned to smile at Jan. "You'll do,"

she said, and hugged me tight; she kissed me carefully on the

cheek -- I would have liked her to be more demonstrative, but I

knew she was thinking of my carefully applied makeup, and I

appreciated her thoughtfulness. Yes, I was ready. From deep

inside me, right out to the visible exterior I felt feminine; I

had no doubt about my self-identification, and the reconciliation

of my inner conviction with my appearance was a joy. I glanced

down at my feet: the charcoal nylon stockings looked sheer and

smart; I felt their smooth caress all the way up to the tension

on the suspenders over my thighs. I was aware of the girdle and

bra, holding me snug and firm; I could feel the texture of the

panties and slip, and as I could see in the mirror the dress was

absolutely beautiful.

"It's time for me to go," said Jan. "I have mixed feelings about

leaving you, but it just wouldn't be a good idea for me to be

here. That would bother both of us, even though I would love to

give you moral support. This is something you have to do on your

own." I gave her a look of mock surprise. "You know what I mean,"

she said: "Just you and your male partner; that excludes me. But

I'll be thinking of you and radiating good vibes." She hugged me

again, and went for her small overnight bag. "I love you, Jan," I

said. "I'm still scared, but deep down I know you're right. I

wouldn't be here like this, dressed up and ready for an

assignation, without all the love and support you've given me."

"It was well worth it," she said. "Watching the way you have

changed has been wonderful for me too. Tonight will complete the

process, and things will be better than ever for the two of us

together." As she went out the door, she said "Good luck, Rita,

my love. Enjoy it. You're a big girl now; tomorrow you'll be my

wonderful big girl."

Feeling anything but a big girl, I wondered how to occupy myself

until Peter's arrival. Normally I would have been in seventh

heaven, decked out as I was; I would have delighted in my feeling

of femininity, in my feminine appearance, and in my feeling that

all my clothes, accessories, makeup and hair were just right. I

would have sat down to read, pausing from time to time to make

little feminine gestures, smoothing my skirt, patting myself here

and there and enjoying satisfaction in my femininity. But I was

edgy, with butterflies in my tummy, and unable to let myself

relax into my usual happy state. I sat down nonetheless, and my

preoccupied mind went over the last two weeks' events; I thought

about the meetings with Peter, and thought about his imminent

arrival, and I wondered what he would be like later on. What

would it be like?

1. Rendezvous: The Scene is Set.

I probably spent some time in a mixed state of musing and

worrying, recalling memories and anticipating what was ahead; I

was jolted by the doorbell and got up to open the door. It was

Peter, dressed casually and looking as though he had something on

his mind too. He managed a smile: "Hi, Rita." "Hi, Peter," I said

and gave him a quick kiss. He took in my image, the image that I

had spent so long working with, and smiled again. "You look

wonderful!" "Thank you," I said, "come in and sit down." We sat

side by side on the couch, and sat silently for a moment. Peter's

shyness was very much in evidence and it seemed we might sit

there awkwardly for a long time. We both knew why we were there,

but we were incapable of any spontaneous action, and hesitant

about initiating the ritual dance that would lead to the

inevitable conclusion.

In spite of my fears about what was in store for me, I almost

wished he was a typical male, at ease with his feelings about me,

and happily contemplating his next sexual adventure. He would

then embrace me, sweep me off my feet, and events would follow

their inevitable course. That prospect was scary, but it suited

my passive nature; I needed my partner to take the initiative, to

seduce me, and to do things to me. My fears would eventually be

overcome; I would enjoy the things done to me, and be transported

to a state of ecstasy -- that was my narrow concept of femininity

and it was my personal path to sexual fulfillment. But I knew

that it was not going to happen that way; I knew that I would

have to take the initiative with Peter. It was up to me to break

the ice.

What was I to do? What should we do? When should we start? I

thought about the possibility of getting the show on the road

immediately, but it didn't seem right. If we waited for a

civilised evening venue, what would we do in the interim? I had

to make the decisions. I wound myself up. "Peter, my love," I

said, "It ought to be nice sitting here together, but I don't

think we're enjoying it very much. We are both on edge. I think

we need to relax ourselves somehow." He nodded, and I continued:

"We're here for an assignation, and we don't know quite how to

proceed. How about having an early dinner together, and letting

nature take its course after that when we both feel a little bit

more at ease?" "Yes, that would be best," he said, "but I'm not

really hungry." "Nor me," I replied. "It's far too early yet,

anyway. Why don't we take advantage of the beautiful weather and

go for a walk in the park? We can eat something when we get

back." "OK."

We went out, and took the street down to the park. I took hold of

Peter's arm and clung to it. He seemed to like that, and by the

time we got to the park, we were walking hand in hand, my heels

clicking on the sidewalk by his side. It was relaxing; we walked

a fair distance, pausing to sit in the sun from time to time; we

made some casual conversation about nothing in particular, but

most of the time neither of us had much to say. Eventually we

walked back home, and I got a glass of wine for each of us, and

sat Peter down in the kitchen while I got the dinner organised.

There was very little to do as Jan and I had done most of the

preparation ahead of time, and Peter and I were soon at the

table.

It was still a little early for dinner, but Peter and I made

heroic attempts at eating, and we eased the task by drinking some

wine. We both made attempts at casual conversation, but our minds

were on other things. Just one other thing in fact.

When we had prolonged the meal as much as possible, I made a

quick trip to the bathroom to fix my makeup. Everything seemed to

be the way I wanted it, and I carefully repaired the lipstick. I

took the opportunity to relieve myself, and while my panties were

pulled down over my suspenders, I applied some lubricant to the

inside of my vagina. I smoothed my panties back into position,

and did a final check on my stockings. "All set to go," I said to

myself, and with butterflies in my stomach I returned to Peter.

He made a brief visit to the bathroom too, and when he came back

looking quite timid and hesitant I realised I had to take the

initiative. "I may be femme, but I'm not too experienced in the

role of a femme fatale. I think the time has come to do my best."

I smiled at him, in an attempt to appear seductive. "Why don't we

go into the other room, and make ourselves comfortable?"

He agreed, meekly. The "other" room was the guest bedroom. I

thought that the room Jan and I used would have the wrong

associations, and would have almost felt as if I were betraying

her there. She and I had spent some time arranging the guest

room; the king sized double bed, comfortable armchairs and

chesterfield did look secluded and inviting in the subdued

lighting. I took Peter by the hand, and led him to the

chesterfield; we sat down close together, and I felt his tension

as I hugged him closely. "This is it," I said quietly, "but I'd

like to talk a little to start off with." He nodded, still

apprehensive. "We're both a little on edge," I said. "We're

scared and worried about what will happen. But all we have to do

is be natural, and take things as they come. We just have to do

what we feel happy doing, and try not to worry about how it ought

to be. I'm just as scared as you, but I want to go on." He nodded

agreement. I continued: "In one sense I have some advantages.

I've been here before, and I know the play fairly well; the

problem is that I'm cast in a new part, and that makes me

nervous. Now I told you last weekend that I didn't think things

should be planned down to a T, but we're both apprehensive enough

that I think we should talk a bit about what happens." He seemed

to relax a little, and smiled wryly. "Yes," he said "I'm a great

one for talking. I can talk about anything -- the problem is

doing."

I held his hand, and snuggled closer. "It's the oldest game in

the world," I said, "and it's a natural thing to do. I'm a woman,

you're a handsome young man, and we find ourselves all alone in

an intimate setting -- a bedroom even. Social custom doesn't

leave us too many options. Because it's a game, people couldn't

resist coming up with rules; we don't have to play by them, but

some of them are useful as they relate to the nature of males and

females. They attract one another, but they don't have quite the

same needs and desires, and they definitely respond to different

stimuli." He was relaxing more and more, getting interested in

the situation as a topic of intellectual discussion. I continued

the sociology 101 lecture. "In our culture women adorn

themselves; they take delight in doing so, and it isn't clearly

established whether they do so primarily for their own pleasure

or to attract males. They do attract males, and their specific

items of adornment become part of the attraction; some of the

adornment is secret, and hidden, only to be revealed to those

with special privilege. We worry about precisely what it is

legitimate to show, and under what circumstances. Our gradual

unveiling is an essential part of the ritual. Women don't react

the same way to males undressing. Under the right circumstances a

naked male body is stimulating, and can produce a physical

response, but mood and emotion are more important."

"I see that now," he said. "So things aren't symmetric at all," I

continued: "it doesn't really matter to me when you take off your

t-shirt, or even your shorts. But what I am wearing is vital to

the whole situation, and how it gets revealed is critical in the

process of seduction. I'm sure you're wondering what titillating

things I'm hiding underneath this dress right now." He grinned,

his interest piqued. "Here's the situation as I see it," I said.

"We're both scared newbies, but we have slightly different parts

to play. I have to lead off; I know the way the game is played,

and I am the woman: my job is to be seductive and gradually work

on your arousal by revealing my secrets. Once you get started,

then you take over. You're the male: you have the equipment and

the desire, I can't do anything without you, and on top of that

I'm actually an innocent virgin bride."

He was ready now to be brave and take the plunge. "It's scary,"

he said. "It is scary," I agreed, "but we'll have fun."

I thought that part of getting Peter going would be for me to

slowly unveil myself, and let the gradual appearance of my

carefully assembled secrets inspire him to action. Although I had

said that the opening move was mine, and it would be, I thought

it would be easiest to get him undressed first. I was also

curious about how I would react to the once familiar male body,

this time seen from a very different viewpoint. I took him in my

arms, and kissed him on the lips, lingering and pushing my tongue

into his mouth. I felt him relax gradually. "I'll help you

along," I said, "but I'd like you to do me a favour to help me.

I'd like you to take your things off first." He tensed just a

bit, and didn't respond. "We'll do it slowly," I said, "and

there's nothing to worry about. I know what a man's body is like,

and I'm sure I am going to like what I see." I kissed him again,

and he did respond, gripping me round the waist. "The point is,"

I whispered, "I have some nice things to show you, and I think

you'll like them. I want to show you very slowly, so that it's

nice and easy for you, and I want you to be ready for me." He

smiled bravely. Then I had an inspiration. "I know! why don't you

just change into something comfortable? There's a terrycloth

bathrobe in the closet, which will keep you nice and snug." He

brightened up at the suggestion. I can't imagine why it had

eluded me, especially after Jan and I had plotted skirts riding

up, and thought about what garments would be removed most easily.

He would feel quite secure, instead of naked and defenceless, but

when the time came it might just fall open. If it didn't, I could

always carefully pull it open.

He went over to the closet and took out the bathrobe. It was

quite large, and obviously a male garment. He took his shirt off,

and pulled off his undershirt, and put the robe on; then with his

back to me he undid his pants, and let them and his shorts drop

to the floor. He wrapped the robe around him, tied the belt, and

then came back to the chesterfield. He appeared considerably

brighter, and smiled weakly. "That's a lot better," I said. "Does

it feel comfortable?" "Yes," he admitted. "Then things will be

much easier; let's go nice and slow, and get used to one

another." He was sitting by my side again, and quite deliberately

he held on to me and kissed me. I caressed him gently through the

fluffy material, carefully avoiding any areas that might be too

stimulating at this stage. I put my hand on his chest, under the

robe, very carefully and I thought for a moment about working on

his nipples. I remembered how stimulating that had been for me,

as a male, but decided it wouldn't be a good idea -- he might not

respond the same way, I and didn't want to mess things up. He was

relaxing visibly, and I thought I had made the right choice.

"I guess you don't know too much about girls," I said softly.

"No," he said. "I like them, but then I get to thinking about

them, and what they're like, and I get scared. They pick up on

that, and things get all screwed up." "What do you think they are

like?" "Well I know some basic anatomy," he said with a grin,

"and I have seen some pictures of the things they wear." "What

sort of things do they wear?" "Things that look very nice," he

blurted out. He didn't seem to want to be too specific, yet.

"They do look very nice," I said, "and I love wearing them. We

need some of them because our bodies are different, but mostly

they are to make us look nice and feel nice. I call them

feminine. Would you like me to talk about them?" I was speaking

softly, continuing to caress him, and I kissed him again. "I

don't know," he said. His honesty overcame him, and he added

"Deep inside, I think I would, but I would feel embarrassed."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about; we do different things,

and we wear different things -- we're different, and that's what

the attraction is. It's completely natural."

I was feeling much more relaxed myself now, but I did think to

myself "What a hypocrite you are Ms. Femmy Lesbian." But chatting

about my favourite topic, even obliquely, was helping me along

too, and there's no doubt that concern for Peter in his ordeal

brought out my empathy and what I would dearly like to think of

as a feminine quality of caring. "Do you like my stockings?" I

asked. "Why don't you just put your hand on my leg and feel the

smooth material? I would like it if you did that." He reached

over and touched my leg, somewhere near the ankle. Then he did

start to move his fingers gingerly over the material. "It does

feel nice," he said. "It feels very nice to me, now," I

whispered. "Please keep going, and move your way gradually up my

legs; I won't bite." I think he was just beginning to enjoy

himself; he took my advice, and I realised that I rather liked

what he was doing. I relaxed too, and leaned back deep into the

seat. My skirt was beginning to ride up a little, and I gave it a

little bit of help very surreptitiously. Peter had finally

reached my knees, and was getting close to the hem of the dress.

I inched it up just a little more, and the white lacy hem of my

slip appeared. I let well alone, and caressed him again; I kissed

him, and let his robe open wider on his chest. "You can go higher

than that," I said. "I like what you're doing; it really feels

nice."

He had become quite intent on what he was doing. I reclined back

into the corner of the chesterfield, to make things easier for

him. I slipped my shoes off, and then lifted my right leg, so

that it sat across his lap. My dress fell back in the process,

and a nice expanse of slip was exposed. Peter massaged the leg,

very tenderly, and didn't seem to be having any trouble

negotiating the layer of lace. Both his hands were under it, and

he pushed upwards carefully. The slip fell back too, and the tell

tale edge of dark stocking top came into view. I felt his

immediate reaction; it was almost a gasp, and he fingered the

border very gingerly. He had seen enough pictures, and he was now

making the discovery that the camera didn't always lie. He knew

what lay ahead, and he could no longer help himself. He pushed

his hands slowly up, over my thighs, the slip rode higher, and

suddenly ... Eureka! This time he did gasp audibly; I gave him a

quick kiss, and helped him roll the slip right up. The ruffles on

my panties appeared, and I squirmed a little, rolling from side

to side. I pulled his hands round my thighs then, and helped him

to feel all six of the little bumps in the tops of my stockings.

The delicate bands of my suspenders stretched across my thighs,

to disappear under the ruffles. He looked at them in awe.

"Those are my suspenders," I said, very informatively. "I love

wearing them, so I hope you like them." He obviously did, but was

too overwhelmed to reply. I shifted my leg provocatively, and the

suspenders moved slightly as I did so. I held his hand, and

placed it carefully on my thigh, and with the other one I pulled

at his bathrobe. It fell open, and I saw his large cock standing

upright. I brushed my hand against it, and it showed a slight

spasm. Suddenly I became overwhelmed too, and I realised I was

desperate to have the whole length of his magnificent manhood

thrust deep inside me. "I see that you do like my suspenders," I

said, and he finally relaxed enough to say "Yes." "Maybe we are

getting used to one another, now," I said. "I'll take my dress

off, and we'll try to calm down a little. We know now that it can

be done, and we should try and do things just right." He smiled.

"I'm beginning to get worked up; you're a lovely big hunk of man,

and I like what I see too; I want it -- I want you to push it

inside me -- all the way -- as hard as you can."

I stood up in front of him, and smiled. I undid the buttons on my

dress, untied the belt, and lifted it carefully over my head. The

slip came up too, and Peter looked at my suspenders and panties,

his excitement evident, finally unconcerned about being in that

state in my presence. I walked over to the dresser, letting the

slip fall back into place, and laid the dress down. I returned,

and sat a little primly in my slip, taking Peter's hand. "You

liked what you saw, didn't you?" I asked again. "Yes," he said

and felt the need to explain. "I've always had a thing about it,"

he said; "I don't know why. But it is an incredible turnon." "So

I noticed," I said, and added quietly "They are for me too;

believe me, I know exactly how you feel. It's nothing to worry

about -- it's something to enjoy. You're doing something

wonderful for me; I love wearing stockings and suspenders because

they make me feel good -- they do nice things to me. When I see

the effect they have on you, it feels better than ever." I kissed

him again, and pressed my legs against his. His robe was wide

open still, and he must have felt the suspender through the

material of the slip. It was stretched tight, and the ones in the

front were clearly visible, as was the dark shadow of the

stockings. "You can look again, any time you like," I said, "but

I'll keep the slip on for a while." He sat happily now, and felt

the suspenders carefully, through the silky nylon of the slip.

There was one eventuality that worried me, and I didn't quite

know how to deal with it. My experience told me that having a

timeout "to relax" wouldn't work too well. I decided to take the

bull by the horns, and thought ruefully to myself that there

might be better metaphors to use. "Peter, my love," I said, "I

think there's something I want to talk about. I think we can get

through this situation and look back on it with great pleasure,

so I don't want anything to go wrong." He looked at me a bit

puzzled, but continued gently running his hands over my stocking

tops and feeling at my suspenders. "My problem, apart from liking

to talk," and I paused to smile at him, "is that I do happen to

know something about the way the male system works. When a man

gets very excited, and strongly stimulated, sometimes he comes

too soon. He can get upset by that, and it's very frustrating for

his partner, especially if she's just slowly getting into the

mood. Women enjoy a much longer buildup of their excitement -- it

can go quite slowly, and they like the gradual rising of their

desire. I'm told it can take a bit of practice to get the right

skill and feel for the other person." He was very interested; he

liked discussion at any time, and I was right on topic. "I think

there's a way to deal with that," I continued, feeling the caress

of his hand on my suspenders. "Women can continue sex more or

less indefinitely, once they are sufficiently stimulated, but men

are out of commission for a little while after their release.

It's intense, even violent in a way -- it's male," and I smiled;

"if they are young, they can recover quite quickly with the right

stimulation. The next time they will take a while longer to get

ready, and it will take a little more work to reach a climax --

that way we'll be able to sustain things longer." Peter nodded; I

realised he knew exactly what I was talking about from direct

experience -- all by himself, with his pictures. "I want the big

scene to be a great success," I said; "that's partly because I am

a selfish woman, but I don't want you to feel you missed

something either." He was curious now, not quite sure where I was

heading. "I think it would be best for us to have a little

rehearsal; why don't you enjoy yourself with my suspenders, take

a little time to find your way around a woman's body, and let me

bring you to a climax? We can take a little time to recover, then

I'll work at getting you back into service -- when you are really

nice and hard again you can push your big cock right into me, and

we'll both have a great time." He looked a bit taken aback at my

choice of language, but he nodded agreement. "OK," he said.

"You're so nice to me. I'm really worked up over this, but I

don't feel embarrassed so much now -- it's really wonderful of

you to think about me like that."

He still had a powerful erection, and it had a profound

hypnotising effect on me. I squeezed it very very gently. "I like

that very much," I said. "I'll see if I can find something really

nice to do with it. But I'm overdressed for the part, do you mind

if a take my slip off?".In spite of his nervousness he grinned.

"Not at all." I eased the slip up over my head, revealing my

panties and then my bra; I dropped it on the floor, and sat down

beside him again. I pushed my legs against his, rubbing them up

and down, and felt the suspenders moving and tugging at my

stockings. He made a brave effort: "I like your panties," he

gulped out. "Thank you," I said. "I wasn't quite sure what would

be best, so I'm glad I made the right choice. I'm wearing a bra,

you notice, but it can be removed anytime at your convenience. I

did want you to see it's effect first, though. You'll also see

the nice satin material above my panties; that's a girdle -- I

hope you don't have a problem with girdles. It's very important,

because the suspenders must connect to something -- don't worry

though, it sits very high on my tummy, and I don't think it will

cause any obstruction. The panties you've just remarked on; at

this stage they become quite optional, and I will place myself in

your hands -- I think it might be nice to keep the girdle and

stockings on, however." He picked up my attempt to make light of

the situation which was still a bit intense for him. "I'd like

that," he said. "But you look wonderful; you know I've looked at

a few pictures, but this really does do things to me." "You like

me the way I am?" I asked. "Oh yes! Please stay like that for a

while."

I did; after all, I was always happy to be dressed like that. I

pushed up against him again, and once more lightly touched his

cock and gave it a gentle playful squeeze. It responded, and I

could still imagine the tingling feeling he must have felt. I

wasn't sure quite how to proceed from there, but suddenly

something came over me, and fascination for that big cock just

drove me into action. I got up quickly, I swung Peter round so he

was laid out on the couch, pushed a cushion under his head and

then kneeled on the floor. I bent over him, opened my mouth wide,

and slid it over the shaft of his big cock.

I still don't know what came over me at that point, and I was

completely without experience in oral sex, certainly with a male

partner. But it seemed the thing to do, and I wanted very much to

do it. He had been circumcised, and as I slid my lips up and down

his shaft I worked my way to the sensitive groove around the base

of the glans. I concentrated in that area, and worked my tongue

over the head of his penis. It swelled in response, and I felt

the whole shaft throb against my lips. It was an intense

experience, and I was thrilled deep down inside, ecstatic with a

strange pleasure, and drunk with the feeling of power. He was

completely under my control I thought -- he just lay back and

made little moaning noises of pleasure. Then he looked up at me

kneeling over him, and reached out with one hand to the tops of

my stockings. He tugged at my suspenders, and followed one of

them up my thigh -- then he pushed his hand under the ruffled

panties. I became more excited myself, and sucked hard at the

swollen glans. I felt the first hint of a tremor, then there was

a massive spasm and I felt a warm jet spray over the back of my

throat. This spurred me on, and there were several more spasms

and my mouth filled with the warm fluid. It tasted slightly

salty, but not at all unpleasant, and I swallowed eagerly. After

a pause for breath I gently continued working my lips and tongue

over his penis, licking up every last drop of his ejaculation. I

felt his erection gradually subside, and he lay back, completely

spent. I relaxed too, and half fell over him, with my head

finally resting in his crotch.

"That was fantastic," he finally whispered. "I have never felt

anything to match that." "You are an exciting husky man," I said,

and you inspired me." He certainly had, and I wondered why. The

raw emotions were still strong in my mind, but I couldn't account

for them. There I was, dressed in my favourite outfit: lacy bra,

ruffled panties, girdle and nicely suspendered stockings; a real

femme who took her greatest delight in submitting to the control

of her lover. Maybe there was something in what I had been

telling Peter about the basic attraction between males and

females; maybe I was female enough to have been overcome by that.

"Let's go and lie together on the bed now," I said finally. "We

need to relax for a while, and quietly enjoy one another's

company. In a little while we'll be ready to carry on, and see if

we can make things even better." He was now completely relaxed,

and threw off the bathrobe; he held my hand happily as we walked

over to the bed, and we lay quietly for a while side by side.

Then I kissed him lightly, and smiled. "The next move is up to

you. I want to see that big cock stand up again, and then I want

you to fuck me.

"I want you to fuck me."

1. The Act.

Peter and I lay side by side on the king bed. He was completely

naked, and now quite unconcerned; I was presenting my enticing

female image: satisfying to my concept of femininity, and

hopefully an erotic vision to him. My lacy bra still held my

breasts discreetly; my legs were still sheathed in smooth

charcoal nylon, and the suspenders still remained in position

tugging gently between my stockings and the girdle. And in spite

of the brief exploration of a half hour before, my fussy ruffled

blue panties were still in place. We started to talk quietly,

both of us pleasantly relaxed, and at ease in one another's

company. "That was just fantastic," Peter said again. I smiled at

him. "There's more to come," I said. "Men and women can have a

wonderful time together." "I am beginning to understand," he

said. "But I am so powerfully affected by the sight of ....

certain things, and I don't know how my partner will react to

that." "What things?" "You know," he said, with a wry grin and

then got himself to blurt it out: "Suspenders and stockings. And

all the things that go with them." "Why not?" I asked. "I like

them too, and they do nice things for me. If that's part of the

chemistry between us, let's make the most of it." "But I'm not

sure my girl friends would react that way." "They might not at

first," I said, "and now you know there are some other things

that can be exciting; maybe you can start off concentrating on

them. Then when you get to know one another, and feel for one

another, you can ask little favours. I'm sure any nice girl would

feel flattered, just like I am." "Maybe," he said. "But you have

certainly helped me a lot." "I'm very happy about that; I really

hoped it would be that way." I paused for a moment. "Maybe we

should see what happens in Act II."

I gently started to fondle his cock, and very carefully moved my

fingers over his balls. He half turned on his side to face me,

and ran his fingers over my suspenders once again. Then he became

more adventurous and worked up over the panties to the bra. He

held the lacy cups gently, and then started to caress; I felt a

thrill go through me as he discovered my nipples through the

material. They started to harden and stood up, clearly

discernable against the lace. "I like that," I whispered to

encourage him. While I gently worked away on his cock, which was

beginning to show some signs of life, he squeezed my nipples

gently, and caressed my breasts with more vigour. He eventually

realised what he had to do, and reached behind my back to find

the bra fastening. I eased my back up to help him, but otherwise

left him to struggle on his own. He was persistent, and finally

got one hook undone; then he realised how it was done and quickly

undid the others. He paused for a moment, then eased the bra

straps off my shoulders and pulled the whole thing forward. As my

breasts popped out, I moved my arms to get untangled and pushed

my bosom towards him. I was beginning to get very much in the

mood, and my nipples stood out proud and erect. He squeezed them

gently, then realising the state they were in, took hold of them

firmly, almost roughly. It was my turn to lie back contentedly,

and let him make his discoveries; I left his cock alone, knowing

that there would soon be a reaction. Inspiration came to him; he

kissed my nipples. He was learning very fast, and my immediate

reaction was unmistakable; he got up and crouched over me,

leaning on his elbows and started to suck like a baby at my

nipples. He switched from one to the other, caressing my breasts

as he did, and began to enjoy the obvious signs of feminine

arousal.

The turnon for me was beginning to be fantastic too. I lay and

wallowed in the delightful sensations, letting my whole body

react to the stimulation. I started to feel slight spasms in my

groin, and squeezed my legs together in happy anticipation. The

feelings became stronger, and soon I was beginning to ache with

desire -- I realised the moment had come. "I'd like you to take

off my panties now," I whispered. He carefully took the

waistband, and eased them down; he had trouble negotiating my

suspenders, and the mass of ruffles stretched tight round my

thighs. He stared at what was revealed. My girdle sat high on my

tummy, with its satin textured powernet structure lightly

constraining me, the suspenders tugging at its hem; below it,

fully revealed, and framed by the tightly stretched front

suspenders was an expanse of smooth skin, delicately shaded

towards the bottom by light pubic hair. I wriggled quickly to

free the panties, and slid them completely off one leg; then I

fell back and squeezed my legs hard together. I saw his cock

start to stiffen and stand up in anticipation -- he was almost

ready. I reached out to the nightstand and found the little tube

of lubricant, squeezing some on to my hand as quickly as I could;

then I very carefully rubbed my hand over his cock, making sure

not to miss the glans. His big cock distended and stood up from

his groin rigid and hard. I was now utterly desperate for it, and

opened my legs wide in anticipation.

Peter took in the view with wide open eyes. It must have been his

first sight of a vulva and labia, clearly displayed in a female

groin, devoid of any external organs. He knew instinctively what

to do, and moved his legs in between mine; he inched upwards, his

elbows outside my outstretched thighs, and moved towards his

obvious target. He pushed the swelling end of his completely

rigid cock toward my labia, and I could hardly contain my

anticipation. I thought about helping him ease his way in, but I

wanted to be taken, almost forcibly; I could hardly stop myself

yelling "Push, push! Take me! Fuck me, my love!" The lips parted,

and he was inside me. After a moment's relief for both of us, he

worked his way in deeper and deeper, and I felt the shaft

penetrate all the way inside me. We paused again, our pubic hair

in contact, and I felt a feeling of ecstasy -- I was a woman, I

was female, I was the embodiment of femininity -- and I was

penetrated fully by a lustful male feeling the primal urges of

his sex -- I was fulfilling the essential purpose of my female

body.

I reached round his strong thighs and took hold of his balls,

caressing them gently. I felt the spasm of his response, and then

he started slowly to withdraw, just far enough for his engorged

glans to ride over my clitoris, and I responded with a spasm in

return. He started to move too and fro, gently at first, and the

motion inside me gave me almost unbearable delight. My clitoris

was fully engorged now, and reacted to each thrust he made. He

gradually worked faster and faster and we came close to frenzy as

I squeezed my vagina inwards, and moved my pelvis slowly to

counter his motion. Suddenly his climax came, and I felt the

spurt of fluid penetrate right into the depths of my vagina. He

had spasm after spasm and my clitoris echoed his passion. My

orgasm came then, with an intense shock, engulfing my whole body,

and I cried out in wild abandon. Wave after wave swelled over me

and I gave way to the sensual pleasure. The intensity gradually

died away, and excitement was slowly replaced with a delightful

calm, and a sense of well-being. I realised then that Peter had

collapsed on top of me, with his penis still buried inside me,

now completely flaccid. He withdrew slowly and carefully and

moved deftly over my thigh and lay by my side, completely relaxed

now with a beatific smile.

I think we lay there sated for a long time. Then I smiled at him

and said "I think that's the way it's supposed to be. You were

fantastic." "It was good," he said simply; "I don't know how to

thank you." "It was a pleasure." "But you've done so much for me;

you were so kind and caring, and you thought of all the little

things you could do to help me along." "I don't like game plans,"

I said, "but this time I felt that thinking ahead a bit would be

a good idea. Remember, I was trying to work up my own courage --

you are the first man I have ever had." He looked at me in

amazement. "But it was so good for both of us." "I know," I

replied. "I guess that nature must give us some reasonable

instincts." I thought I owed him a bit more of an explanation:

"You know my history," I said. "And first off I should thank you

from the depths of my heart for helping me to the culmination of

my transition. I was a male to start off with, and I was also

turned on by exactly the same things you find so exciting. The

difference in my case was that they didn't really turn me on to

the girls wearing them -- I wanted them for myself, and I wanted

to look like those girls." "I can't imagine that," he said, "they

turn me into a raving stud. I want to go after those girls and

...." He paused, slightly embarrassed. "Fuck the hell out of

them," I prompted. "Well, yes, to be honest about it." I was

relieved. I enjoyed my space, and couldn't imagine being anywhere

else now, but I didn't have any desire to seek converts from

outside. My guess was that Peter was outside, and happy where he

was, and I didn't want to mess him up. "I can't really see you as

a guy, either," he said. "Well, I wasn't much of one. I wasn't at

all unhappy, but when the time came, I decided to go with the

flow. As a guy I was more or less normal in my orientation and I

had a good life with your Aunt Jan; I was never attracted to

males. Things didn't really change when I transitioned; Jan

decided she liked me the way I had become, and we carried on as a

happy couple of lesbians." "That's interesting," he said,

beginning to understand. "But ..." "You have a wonderful auntie,"

I said. "She decided that there was something I was missing, and

she pushed me into it. She turned out to be right -- she usually

is." He nodded, and we both relaxed in the big bed and finally

fell asleep.

I awoke in the middle of the night. Peter was sound asleep, naked

beside me. I realised I was still partially dressed the way we

finished up; I even found the ruffled blue panties twisted round

one of my ankles. I went through to our bedroom and found a

nightdress, but decided to leave the girdle and stockings. I

thought they might well see some more service before the day

began, and in any case they were comfortable. I had spent so many

nights dressed just like that, before and after my transition. I

went back to join Peter, still stretched out naked and lost in

sleep. I lay down quietly by his side, and rubbed my palms over

the wonderful smooth nylon of the nightdress across my thighs,

feeling my stretched suspenders happily through the material --

they felt nice and reassuring as always.

I woke gradually from a dreamless sleep, with an undefinable warm

pleasant feeling. I saw from the drapes that it was morning. It

gradually worked into my partially conscious mind that the

pleasant feeling in my genital region was more than the feeling

of excitement that often came to me spontaneously. There was a

gentle caressing touch in the folds of my labia, and I also

became aware of the girdle left on from the previous night --

there were evident tugs on it, and I realised that someone was

playing gently with my suspenders. Full consciousness then

returned, and I realised with pleasant surprise that I was lying

on a bed with a naked young man leaning on his elbow by my side.

My nightdress was pushed up to my midriff, and with his free hand

he was exploring whatever he could find. "Good morning, Peter my

love," I said. He looked a little sheepish, like someone caught

redhanded, then smiled and said "Good morning, Rita." "That deals

with the conversational niceties," I said; "so what do we do

now?" He looked at me appealingly, and couldn't bring himself to

say what was obviously on his mind. I smiled as sweetly as I

possibly could, and said "I think you want to fuck me again." He

wasn't upset by my phrasing, evidently legitimate in the

circumstances, and nodded. "It would be nice," he whispered. "I

agree," I said, "and at this moment I can't think of anything

nicer. How would you like to do it?" He looked puzzled at that,

so I thought it would be a good idea to further his education in

intimate matters. "I have never been a big fan of missionaries,"

I said; "they had very puritanical views on many matters, but

there's one basic thing I think they got right. I rather enjoy

lying on my back with a big hunk of man on top of me, especially

when he finds something interesting to do. Human beings are very

inventive, though, and they have dreamed up innumerable ways of

performing this one simple act. The problem for me is that many

of them require athletic skills that I don't have, but variety is

said to be the spice of life. I think I could manage a simple

reversal of our positions yesterday -- would you care to lie on

your back and let me demonstrate?" He grinned at me, obviously in

tune with my sometimes bizarre sense of humour, and said "Why

not?" He lay back with his head on the pillow and looked at me

expectantly. "You don't appear to be quite ready," I said in mock

disdain. "Women are of course always ready, and fortunately they

do have some skills in the art of seduction." I sat astride his

knees, and started to fondle his cock. He reached out to my

breasts, and started to gently squeeze the nipples. I responded

immediately, and started to feel excitement mounting again. He

was tuned in nicely now and matched my growing response quite

deftly, but his erection was a little slow in getting started so

I decided to pull out all the stops. "One of the advantages of

this position," I said professorially, "is that the female

partner, as they would refer to me in the manuals, sitting

astride the male partner -- that's you, exposes all her secret

charms in full anatomical detail to his view while he reclines in

comfort; she can also pleasure him exquisitely without any need

for him to make too much effort. I am told it is a favourite of

oriental potentates who have grown obese, and are no longer

capable of strenuous physical activity." Peter laughed, and

continued playing happily with my breasts and their inflamed

nipples. "It has another advantage," I continued "in that it

lends itself to the stimulation of those who are titillated by

the sight of feminine thighs, with suspenders straining across

them between a corset or girdle, and the tops of sheer nylon

stockings; this enables connoisseurs to study the subtle details

of the intricate fastening to the dark band of material at the

top of the stocking." I had pushed the right button: his cock

leaped to attention, now rigid and distended.

"That's better," I said, and eased myself gently on to the shaft.

It was wonderfully sensuous to move myself gradually downwards,

feeling the glans penetrate right to depth of my vagina. I eased

back and began a gentle oscillating motion feeling the

stimulation of my clitoris as I moved back and forwards over the

shaft. I had a feeling of ecstatic pleasure, and a sense of power

as I realised that I was in control. Peter was moaning in his

ecstasy, and he lay back helpless, his arms now fallen by his

side. I pushed my breasts into his face, and increased the pace

-- I felt his excitement rise and the first slight spasms

increased my own excitement. I realised I was close to climax and

could not hold back any longer when he exploded and spurted his

hot semen up into my vagina. Almost simultaneously the big wave

crashed over me, and I collapsed on top of him. I lay there

exhausted, feeling his spasms mingle with mine, coinciding and

alternating as they followed their separate rhythms. His

gradually subsided, and I felt him shrinking inside me; mine

continued longer and gradually smoothed out into a continuous

glow of pleasure.

I realised slowly that it wasn't too comfortable, and carefully

eased myself upwards. I knew he would be very sensitive now, and

was relieved when his little prick popped out of me. I swung my

leg over him, and fell back prone myself. "Woweee!" he breathed

finally, and reached for my hand. We caressed one another's palms

with our fingers and lay quietly overwhelmed by a sense of calm.

Neither of us was in any hurry to move, and pretty well an hour

went by before either of us thought about stirring. I finally

came back to the real world, and glanced at the clock on the

nightstand. "Look at the time!" I said. "Jan's coming back around

noon." Peter stirred, and realised the awful truth: "My god! I

have to leave fairly early too. I have a bit of work to catch up

on for Monday." He got up and walked over to his clothes and

nonchalantly pulled them on, oblivious of me watching him stand

facing me. I decided to stay with my clothes of the evening

before, thinking I would have plenty of chance to shower and

freshen up in the afternoon. My stockings seemed to have survived

the session nicely, and they were still nicely in place, thanks

to the six suspenders required by my personal dress code. I found

the panties on the floor, and pulled them on. I wasn't quite as

nonchalant as Peter and I tugged at the waistband and smoothed

them all round me. The bra was lying on the bed, and I let my

breasts drop forward into the lacy cups -- Peter was now taking

an interested look at the proceedings. I quickly got the straps

into position and reached round to fasten the hooks. Peter was

now looking quite impressed; "It just takes a little practice," I

grinned and then slithered into my slip, brushing it down over my

thighs, and getting the straps sitting tidily over my bra straps.

I struggled into the dress, and buttoned it up. I patted myself

here and there and smoothed out the skirt, finally fixing the

belt. My shoes were over by the chesterfield; I slipped into them

and then turned to look at Peter. "Is the film as exciting when

it runs backwards?" I asked. "Not quite," he smiled. "It's a

fascinating plot, though, and I enjoyed seeing it both ways."

I went to the bathroom for a quick repair to my makeup, and

brushed my hair hurriedly; then I went into the kitchen and

started the coffee going. Peter sat down at the counter, and

looked me in the eyes. "I have to thank you," he said. "I can't

find words to tell you how fantastic this last day was. You've

helped me deal with a stupid hangup -- something that shouldn't

have been a problem at all. Now I know it isn't. I think I'll be

able to deal with women a little more easily now. There's a

wonderful girl at work ...." He realised the implication of what

he was saying and became embarrassed. "Make it your task to get

to know her," I said, "and when you and she are at ease with one

another, you'll find equally nice things happening. We had fun --

fantastic fun, but we're not in love, and you shouldn't feel

badly about that. To be perfectly blunt about the whole episode,

now that we don't have to worry about spoiling the romantic

atmosphere, it was a set-up. It was carefully planned by your

wonderful auntie, and she has great powers of persuasion." I

smiled tenderly at him. "She was right too, as she so often is;

she was right about both of us."

We sat quietly, sipping our coffee. I think we both felt we had

memories of an unforgettable ecstatic experience, which would

always remain, but we didn't feel any sense of future commitment.

We would fondly remember one another, but we were free to carry

on with our separate lives. Peter would seek the girls that

attracted him, hopefully find one special one, and be able to

deal with the emotional effects of a close relationship. I would

soon be back with my lovely Jan, and once again enjoy the bliss

of a our exclusively feminine relationship. As I thought about

her, I realised how much she meant to me, and I began to pine for

her return.

There was a sense of closure that we both felt. The ecstasy had

been intense for both of us, but it was now passed. It was a

memory that would never fade, but already it seemed more like a

wonderful dream than something that had actually happened. I

don't believe for one minute that Peter really had work to get

back to; maybe he felt a bit awkward about running into Jan on

this particular morning, or maybe he felt that he and I couldn't

carry on with an innocent social visit as though it was just

another weekend -- in any case he wanted to get away, so we

hugged quite passionately, and took a last lingering goodbye

kiss. Then he was off. I felt happy but a little drained and sat

back in one of the deep armchairs in the living room. I leaned

back and went into a reverie, going over my pleasant memories of

the last several hours.

It was a half hour or so later that I heard Jan come in. She

walked into the living room and saw me still reclining lazily in

the chair. "Hi, Rita my love. Where's Peter?" "He decided he

wanted to get back early," I replied. "Oh? I hope everything is

alright. How was it? Tell me all about it." She was obviously

desperately eager to get the whole story. I reached out for her

hand and squeezed it. "Yes, everything was fine." I smiled at

her, and even managed a sly wink. "So what happened?" "Well," I

said, "we had some dinner together, then I gave him a blow-job.

Then he fucked me. We slept through most of the night, then you

might say that I fucked him."

"What?!?!?" "That's the quick summary," I said. "I think you can

conclude that we enjoyed ourselves. It was fun." She sat on the

arm of the chair and hugged me. I responded to her touch, and

became overwhelmed; I wasn't able to carry on with my fake

nonchalance, and lay my head in her lap. "Jan, I love you. It was

really wonderful." I started to cry happily. She realised that it

was an emotional release and that I wasn't upset, and she started

to caress my hair lovingly. "I do want to hear all about it," she

said, but there's no hurry." "I love you, Jan. I love you more

than ever." She leaned over to kiss my tear stained cheek. Soon I

was calm again, and said: "I need to freshen up now. I want to

take a nice long bath, and then get changed. Then I'll tell you

all about it."

1. The Happy Ending.

I kicked off my shoes and struggled to my stockinged feet; I made

my way to the bedroom and carefully took off my dress. I eased

the slip over my head and let it fall to the floor. The bra came

off once again, and I held my breasts for a moment. I eased the

ruffled panties down my legs, and added them to the pile. I

couldn't resist the usual glance in the mirror, then, and I

realised that I had been wearing the girdle and stockings for

over 24 hours. I lay back on the bed, the bed I shared with Jan,

and carefully undid my suspenders. I held my left leg up in the

air, pushed my fingers just inside the stocking, to hold the

suspender inside, and eased the little loop at the front upwards

to free it. I undid the other two in the same way, and eased the

stocking up, fluttering it out when it was off my foot. Then I

repeated the process with the stocking on the right leg. I got

off the bed, and tugged at the bottom of the girdle and slid it

down my legs to the floor. I stood naked in front of the mirror

and took off my necklace and earrings. Then I went into the

bathroom, started the water going, poured some nice smelling bath

salts into the tub and slid myself luxuriously into the hot

water. I lay back and relaxed for ten or fifteen minutes.

Eventually I made some half-hearted efforts at washing myself

with a facecloth. I reached into my groin and eased the cloth all

over the region between my legs. That felt nice, and there was a

pleasant hint of sexual response; I pushed my fingers into my

vagina and let the warm water flow inside. I realised that

Peter's sperm was still there, and had a moment of regret at the

thought of erasing a tangible reminder of the previous night. It

felt refreshing though to swill the water round, and the vaguely

sexual feeling was quite delicious. I'm utterly insatiable, I

thought to myself as I got out of the bath and started to dry

myself off with a big fluffy towel.

Dried off, relaxed, and back in the bedroom I found a fresh

nightdress and put it on; I sighed happily as the soft smooth

pink nylon flowed over me, finally enveloping me. I completed the

picture by picking out the most femmy fluffy peignoir I could

find, and wrapping it around me. I noticed Jan had looked in, and

was watching me with a smile. "I'm in the mood to relax," I said.

"I don't anticipate any visitors, and I thought I might remain

deshabillee. It's a pleasant change from the formal wear that was

required yesterday." She laughed, and said "You look delicious. I

feel very tempted to follow your example; would you mind very

much if I were to join you?" I couldn't maintain the loving

banter we both so fond of. "Yes, Jan. I want you to," I

whispered.

She kissed me, and I reclined on our big bed as she started to

undress. She was wearing a red flared skirt and crisp white

blouse. She took off the blouse to reveal a white lacy bra quite

similar to mine. She eased the stretchy waistband of her skirt

down over her hips and legs, and her two tier half slip came with

it. She stood there in bra and sheer pantiehose. "You look quite

delicious, too," I said. She was a beautiful woman. She was also

very much a woman, but her tastes in clothing and lingerie in

particular were quite different from mine. I was still completely

captive to the imprinting of my fetish interests which seemed to

date from the late 50s and early 60s, while she had followed the

lead of most other women in rejecting such things as girdles and

suspenders; she was somewhat more inclined to be in step with

current fashion than I was, though these days one could be

elegant in styles dating from almost any decade in the second

half of the century. Our differences in taste added a little

spice to our interaction, and we both enjoyed it; we were both

women and completely satisfied by one another -- our relationship

could be intensely sexual at times, and sisterly at others, and

we both relished the little differences between us. I took great

delight in my conviction that I was the one that had the really

feminine tastes; Jan indulged me happily, and we both knew that I

was the femme in the partnership.

She undid her bra, and casually showed her lovely breasts, then

she sat on the edge of the bed and wriggled as she undertook the

somewhat ungainly task of rolling down her pantiehose. With them

off, and nicely fluttered out and folded, she took her nightdress

from under her pillow and eased it over her head. It was mint

green, lacy, and swept down over her almost to the floor. She put

on a robe out of the closet, matching soft green nylon, and then

got onto the bed and snuggled up to me. "Tell me all about it,"

she said.

"There's so much to tell," I said snuggling closer to her; "I

don't know where to start." "Well," she said, "I obviously want

to know how things went in great detail, but your short summary

of the major events has really made me curious. What on earth

happened?" "A whole lot of things," I replied. "They were all

very nice, and some of them were really fantastic. I was a scared

little girl, as you know, yesterday morning, but then I found

that Peter was a very scared little boy and it brought out my

feminine mothering instinct." "That's wonderful! I had a

suspicion it might work out like that. But how did you get to

...?" "You mean the blow job?" I asked innocently. "Yes, my sweet

little femmy Rita, the blow job. You seem to have depths that I

have missed all these years." She was kidding me now in her

loving way, and hugged me just to make sure I knew. "Well, it

happened this way," I said. "Once I stopped worrying about what

was going to happen to me, and started worrying about how to deal

with Peter, I felt better about everything. He was very tense,

and the problem became how loosen him up." I smiled and couldn't

resist "Of course a little later on the problem was to get him

good and hard." Jan laughed. "The only way to get anything going

was to chat him up," I went on. "You know how he likes to talk; I

thought that would do it. I told him that we were playing the

oldest game in the world, and that we had very specific moves to

make. I was my job to be seductive to start off with, and then he

had his turn, and it was all up to him."

Jan nodded agreement. "Good tactics," she said. "He got nicely

calmed down, and even joined into the intellectual discussion," I

said. "It was not quite the usual seduction scenario, but it

worked. He was so scared and out of his depth that I was pushed

into taking control -- a change from my usual style, but I quite

enjoyed it as a change of pace. Once we got him reasonably at

ease with the idea of actually making love to a woman, and I was

ready to start flashing suspenders and stockings at him, I had

the horrible thought that he would get so excited that he would

come right away. I didn't want that at all, and I thought it

would upset him too; so we talked some more about that, and I

suggested that I would bring him off first. Then we could relax

for a while, the initial fears would be laid to rest, and I could

gradually work him up again for the main event. I got through to

him; and I think he knew from his solitary experience exactly

what I was talking about." "I'm impressed," said Jan: "so

feminine, so maternal and a skilled therapist with expert

knowledge of human sexuality -- you really do have hidden

depths." She gave me a quick hug of delight.

"I got him into a bathrobe, so he could be decent to start with,

without it getting in the way later, and we sat down on the couch

to get things started. My plan was to get him into body contact,

then gradually reveal what secrets I had hidden away, knowing

that they were things that would really get to him. By the time

he was not only seeing suspenders and stocking tops, but actually

touching them, he was standing up stiff and hard. Ever practical,

I was wondering what to use for lubrication, when the sight got

to me. Some female response I never knew was in me took over, and

I suddenly knew exactly what to do. I sucked him off." Jan gazed

at me in something close to admiration. "It wasn't unpleasant," I

said; "I was so moved by the circumstances and the stimulus that

I carried on instinctively." I nestled close to Jan. "So Peter

had his premature climax nicely taken care of; he was calmed down

and finally reasonably at ease in the presence of a seductive

female -- she, meanwhile, was beginning to get very very horny.

We relaxed for a while, and then I let him follow his instincts

-- with just a little suggestion from time to time: 'I'd like you

to take my panties off' was one of my lines -- his instincts were

very good, and he read all the little signals like an expert.

Once he was inside me, I just lay back and went to heaven." Jan

squeezed my hand. "It was good, then?" "Very good. I felt like a

real woman." Jan smiled happily. "I hoped that's what would

happen," she said. "I'm so happy it did; that's exactly the

experience I wanted you to have. But I hope you haven't developed

too strong a taste for it." She wasn't too worried, but needed

some reassurance. "No," I said. "It was fantastic, and it made me

feel what it was to be a woman, but it was a special event -- a

once in a lifetime thing. I'll always have nice memories of the

big hard cock thrust inside me, but what I really want is you. I

love you, Jan."

We nestled closer and closer, and I caressed her breasts; then I

laid my head on them. "You told me that there was another

episode; I forget quite how you put it, but it seemed a bit more

as though you were dominant." "Yes," I said, "that was this

morning; it was fun too." "Oh. Do tell," she pleaded. "Well," I

replied, "to recap: things had gone more or less according to

your master plan -- once I had got it back on track, thanks to my

intimate knowledge of the way the male system functions. If you

refer to your copy, you'll see that my clothing was to be removed

as required during the proceedings. We followed the script. He

took off my bra, and then my panties too, after a plaintive

request from me. That left me exposing my feminine charms fully,

but still clad provocatively in a minute girdle and nylon

stockings of a carefully selected shade. Oh yes, I was wearing

suspenders; it was partly for pragmatic reasons -- you know how

stockings slip down -- but we also had thought that this might be

a significant stimulus for -- what do the books call him? The

male partner." I couldn't carry on and giggled. Jan was also

enjoying my annotated version of things, and she giggled too.

I continued eventually: "The outcome of this ritual was that we

both had had the experience of an intense orgasm; in the

subsequent euphoria we relaxed blissfully on the bed. Peter was

naked, and I still retained the basic items of feminine clothing

that I described. We fell asleep. He must have slept right

through until morning; I got up at some point and put on a

nightdress -- I was comfortable, and didn't see the need to take

anything off. In fact it did cross my mind that I might need

those things before we finally got up." Jan giggled again.

"You're incorrigible," she said. "I was merely thinking ahead," I

said. "I went back to bed, prepared for any contingency, and

slept like a baby. It was already light when I came to. It took

me a moment to sort things out, but my nightdress was up round my

neck, and Peter was playing with my breasts and suspenders -- I'm

not sure which he was most interested in. He didn't seem quite

ready for action yet, so once again I had to take the initiative.

After a suitably informative briefing, I had him lay on his back;

I sat astride him so he could see everything. He began to take an

interest, and I explained the advantages of this posture to him.

Then it seemed to me to be appropriate to draw his attention to

the prominent display of the tops of my stockings, framing as

they did his unobstructed view of his ultimate objective, and I

also pointed out the way the suspenders were stretched tight

across my thighs to hold them." Jan was now giggling helplessly.

"That did it," I said. "He stood up like a ramrod. I was then

able to manipulate things for myself, and control the next stage

of the proceedings. I enjoyed that very much." Jan smiled at me.

"You enjoyed being in control, didn't you?" I couldn't continue

in jocular mode any more; "Yes, I did. It was really fantastic,

Jan -- feeling that great thing pushed right into me, and being

able to position it where I wanted it. I moved up and down on it

for a long time -- then we both came, right at the same instant."

She hugged me, and squeezed me in her arms, pressing our breasts

together. "I'm so glad for you, Rita, my love," she said. "It was

a wonderful night," I said. "You were so right. It all seems a

bit strange now, something like a dream, but it felt so good. I

felt like a real woman -- I had a deep down feeling that I was

fulfilling my real nature."

After a long pause I added "But it wouldn't have been the same

with someone else. Peter's little hangups and inexperience

brought out the best in me. You were so right about that. For all

the wonderful feelings I had, I'm not sure I would want to do it

with anyone else -- or again with him. I don't really feel I want

to be with men; I love being a woman, and I love being among

women. Most of all I love one special woman." Jan started to

caress my nipples through the material of the nightdress. "Me

too," she said. "I feel exactly the same way as you do. I liked

men, and I followed the normal path for a long time; I have fond

memories of my ecstasy when I felt a big cock thrust right into

me, but I don't need it any more. I like the company of other

women, and I like the way women do things; the happiest moment of

my life, Rita my love, was when you realised that you had to join

us."

My nipples were standing up hard now, and I felt a desperate urge

for someone to love me and take me. I wanted it to be another

woman, who would empathise with me and share with me -- someone

who would be both a lover and a sister to me. I wanted it to be

Jan. She was there ready. She understood -- and she wanted to

take me for herself. We made love; it didn't have the intense raw

lust of my experiences of the previous night, but it was deeply

satisfying as only the true love between two women can be.