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KNICKERED - a journey into a masquerade ? by: Nicci Knox Chapter I - Experimentation - the beginning. It was almost exactly three months prior to my thirteenth birthday when I was old enough to be left in the house by myself, during the day at least, that I finally plucked up enough courage to obey a desire that was becoming more and more urgent and crept upstairs to my sister's room to try on some of her cloths. By 'some of her cloths' I mean, of course, her underwear - and specifically her knickers. Like most boys of just pre-puberty, I had begun to put aside my macho prejudices and to take a more healthy if somewhat prurient interest in girls, in their bodies and in their cloths. Having a sister two-and-a- half years older than myself I was in better position than some of my classmates to satisfy my wonder - and thereby able to gain something of a reputation in this respect. Over the past nine months, or so, I had several times made a surreptitious journey up into the rear attic room of our old house expressly to peer cautiously through the dormer window, down onto the minimal pitch of the roof over the bathroom, through the clear glass skylight set in the middle, to watch my sister bath or shower. I was therefore familiar with her budding fourteen-fifteen year old breasts and her pert little nipples, with the burgeoning femininity of her hips and thighs and with the somewhat straggly auburn thatch that was establishing itself over her mound. Once or twice I had even been able to glimpse the exciting dark slit of her sex as she washed, dried or powdered herself between her legs. My success in spying on my sister did, on one occasion, prompt me to watch my mother bath, impressing the difference of maturity on my mind. My mother was then in her late thirties and, despite having born two children, was still shapely and lithe. But, of course, her still firm breasts were much fuller and more developed, and her nipples bigger and darker with well defined aureole. And her pubic bush much thicker and more profuse - although almost bright ginger rather than auburn like Susan's. As she bathed herself I had the opportunity, too, to see the far more developed lips of her sex and even catch a glimpse of the pink velvet within. Somehow though this seemed so sacrilegious in our pious household ? 'thou shalt not uncover thy mother's nakedness!' - that I almost expected to be struck dead, or at least stone blind. I didn't repeat the experiment. It didn't stop me spying on my sister though. I couldn't find anything about 'uncovering thy sister's nakedness' in the Bible. My curiosity as to the form of the opposite sex somewhat mollified, and the intelligence passed on to my school friends with a superior air of toleration of ignorance, I began to turn my attention to female clothing. In a mixed sex household, in a mixed sex world, although not a mixed sex school, I couldn't but be aware of the external trappings of femininity or of what my sister and my mother wore underneath. Our mother was not a great believer in differentiating between 'boys tasks' and 'girls tasks'. If my sister had to take some of my cloths up to my room on occasions, after laundering and ironing, I was required to reciprocate - even to the extent of carrying some of my mother's more exotic and sophisticated lingerie. It was that, I think, as much as anything else that began to prompt me to wonder what it might feel like to actually wear some of the soft, pretty, sometimes to my developing senses rather erotic garments I handled. Certainly I had every opportunity to familiarise myself with their wardrobes and to reinforce the growing belief within me that not only did girls have a far more interesting bodies than boys, they were privileged to wear far more exciting cloths as well. Even though I was alone in the house and had satisfied myself that both the front and rear doors were locked, with the keys in the locks so that I would have to be summoned by any one trying to get back into the house, my entry into my sister's room was still stealthy and my heart was beating so much that I had to sit a while to allow it to moderate before I could investigate her draws. I was aware that Susan had three different sets of cloths. Firstly, she had her summer and winter school uniforms; secondly, she had her best cloths to wear to church or on family visits to our grandparents, aunts and uncles, etc.; thirdly, she had her leisure wear. The first set was dictated by the private school she attended, the second were chosen by our parents, specifically our mother. The third she was by then allowed to chose and purchase for herself from a dress allowance provided by our parents. Of course, they maintained a final veto on anything they considered to be to outrageous, and she was expected to remain strictly within the allowance. I had three similar sets of cloths, but my mother chose the third for me at that stage - although I did have some say. Susan, I also knew, kept her three set of cloths separate in different draws and different sections of her wardrobe. When I'd recovered somewhat, I moved across the room to the chest and opened it to make my selection. I decided I would try on one pair of each of my sister's three different types of knickers. Being aware of the likely penalty of being discovered to have interfered with my sister's cloths, I made a careful study of just how her underwear was folded and placed in their respective draws. Eventually, the first pair I lifted out the draw was a pair of her pale tan, almost lilac, school knickers, in soft but sturdy interlock cotton with a doubly reinforced gusset designed to withstand a guided missile - let alone the fumblings of questing male, or female, fingers. I held them up, studying them for some time, aware that the time had now arrived! I was about to put on my first pair of girl's knickers! I laid them on the bed, stripped off my jeans and underpants, picked them up, bent to allow myself to step into them and straightened drawing them slowly up my legs and around my genitals. I'd done it! At last, after nearly six months thinking about it and planning it, I was wearing a pair of girl's knickers! The mere thrill of achieving what I had set out to do, what I had at last dared to do, was sufficient to outweigh the somewhat disappointing discovery that, actually, Susan's school knickers didn't feel that much different from the cotton Y-fronts I was used to! Certainly on my then still immature masculinity! They didn't have a bag in front, of course, for my somewhat meagre male attributes, and consequently they bound them rather tighter against my stomach, but they didn't in truth feel so very different - then. Despite this minor tinge of disappointment, I spent some time strutting about the room, my shirt-tails pulled up, looking down to admire the set of the knickers around my buttocks and flanks, feeling my still developing masculinity - my 'little pecker' - stiffen and grow, forming a ridge up my stomach, held in place the restriction of the sturdy cloth, and watching my reflection in the dressing-table mirror as I did so. Now it was time for the second pair. I carefully removed the school knickers, folded and replaced them in their place, before I drew out a pretty pair of much lighter cotton briefs in pale pink, printed with tiny crimson and green flowers, with a touch of pink broderie anglaise around the top of the waist and around each leg, with three tiny crimson satin bows in the middle of the waist and at the side of each leg and with the gusset lined with an almost feather soft green cotton pad. This was more like it! The touch of the far more delicate cotton on my pecker increased my immature erection to proportions I had never achieved before! My hand went down to the front of the briefs and I began to massage the stiff little rod that stood firm tenting out the much more flimsy fabric. I was, of course, by now used to attaining an erection. Watching my sister's naked body as she bathed and showered had initiated me into that pleasure. And I was already learning the intricacies of masturbation, but so far I'd never achieved a climax - although some of my school mates boasted of regularly doing so. On an impulse, I stripped off my shirt this time before I strutted in front of the mirror. Again, I carefully removed, folded and replaced the pretty briefs, before I made my final selection, a pair of pale green nylon panties that consisted of a virtually transparent lacy net of delicate nylon threads stretched between individual nylon panels cut as silky soft leaves. There was no apparent gusset in the panties - only a narrow band of the transparent lacy net. It occurred to me as I pulled the delicate network up around my flanks that anyone able to get a look up my sister's skirt whilst she was wearing them would get a largely uninterrupted view of her slit. As soon as the ultra feminine panties settled around my pecker I knew this was what I'd anticipated when I set out to wear Susan's knickers! Without any conscious action on my part, I found myself frantically rubbing at my still greater erection through the almost non-existent material that clung to it like gossamer. Regardless of the disruption to the panties, I persisted until, for the first time ever, I felt a hot sensation well up in my stomach, in my loins, in my cock, that burst out of me in what then I thought of as a never ending fountain, that spent and spent itself into my sister's underwear! Even after saturating and soiling the panties in that way, I couldn't resist parading around the room, studying my reflection, my now deflated little manhood modestly contained but clearly visible in the transparent, delicacy of the knickers. My heart was full! Not only had I dared to invade my sister's privacy and usurp her female privileges, wearing her knickers, but I'd experienced my first climax, into the bargain! As my emotions moderated I was suddenly faced with a new problem. I couldn't return Susan's panties to the draw in that state. For a while I contemplated discarding them in the dirty linen basket just as they were. But I knew that that wouldn't answer either. The sticky starchy mess of my climax would remain apparent and arouse my mother into questions that would lead back to me. After some thought, I removed the panties and wiped myself down with a handful of tissues that I flushed down the toilet. Then. I poured a basin full of hot water and washed the panties to the best of my ability, wringing them out by hand as thoroughly as I could once I'd finished. Finally, I plugged in Susan's hair dryer full blast and dried them. Only then, I discarded them deep in the linen basket, hoping that both my sister and my mother would assume that they'd been worn and left for washing in the normal way of things. In the process of burying them in the basket, I found another pair of Susan's school knickers, I assumed abandoned as dirty but not much soiled to my inspection. On a whim, recalling the slight disappointment I had experienced when I'd found her school knickers to feel not so very different from my own, and as I was still naked, I pulled them on snug and tight around me. Guessing that my mother was unlikely to do any washing on her return that evening, and wouldn't dream of doing any washing on the next day, Sunday, I felt that there was a fair chance that I would be able to wear the knickers under my own cloths for the rest of that day without much danger of them being identified as such - and perhaps in bed over night - and still sneak them back into the basket on Sunday morning without my sister or my mother noticing. Both my assumptions proved correct. Neither my sister nor my mother queried the presence of the gossamer panties in the wash, and I was able to return the school knickers before any more laundry was done. And, even if it did feel as though I had a pair of my own underpants on, I spent an exciting evening in the presence of my family wearing my sister's knickers under my jeans and an exciting night wearing them to bed! Not that, looking back, there was ever any real prospect of my secret being discovered. Visiting my sister's room and appropriating her intimate wardrobe quickly became an obsession with me. Every opportunity I had, I encouraged my family to leave me alone in the house often under the guise of pressing study or homework, in order that I could wear her knickers. For some time, after that first experiment, I concentrated on taking and wearing her leisure panties - the delicate nylon ones she chose and bought herself. In my still childish manner I categorised her knickers into three groups: 'heavy duty knickers', her school knickers; 'pretty knickers', her best; and, 'sexy knickers', her choice; and it was the last set that fascinated me - clinging to my now developing masculinity, exciting and arousing me in the manner it did. Then, I began to add additional items of her dress. It started with me trying on a pair of black tights ['pantyhose' to you, our American Cousins!] over a pair of lacy, diaphanous white panties. But, somehow, I didn't find this very satisfactory. Looking back, I know it was the tights. Quite early on I came to regard this item of female apparel as singularly uninteresting, unappealing and 'unsexy'! I found I had far more fun putting on first a pair of white ankle socks, with my school knickers [by then I regarded them as 'my knickers', not my sister's!], then a plaid school skirt the background colour of which was the same pale lilac-tan as my knickers, although quite which tartan it is I've no idea. The first time I did that, I sat on the end of my sister's bed regarding my reflection in the mirror, and became slightly disturbed. It was almost as if I expected this slight, blond headed, bare chested schoolgirl who regarded me to suddenly sprout little budding breasts and pert nipples. Almost embarrassed at the vision, I sought and put on one of my sister's plain cotton school bras', again in pale lilac-tan to match my knickers - clipping it up with difficulty and padding the cups with cotton wool pads in a slightly lopsided manner that first time - with a white school blouse and a plaid school tie. After adjusting my new bust line a little, I now regarded the completed image of the school girl in front of me with astonishment, awe and growing delight. The skirt and knickers combined were more than enough to control and disguise the raging 'hard on' that had ensued. For the first time, rather than just illicitly 'wearing my sister's knickers', I felt as though I had transformed myself into a girl - or, rather, into the semblance of one! Somehow I knew that I would work at perfecting the illusion until I could go about dressed as a girl - or a woman as I grew older - without anyone being aware of the reality. I don't think, even then, that I wanted to actually become a female. No, I was delighted with the prospect that I could look like a girl, and wear girls cloths, but I was quite happy to remain masculine underneath - relishing the thought that, as I did so, I was hopefully deceiving those around me. Only I would know the secret that I had hidden inside my knickers. Still on that first occasion, still dressed as a schoolgirl, I went down to my parents room to retrieve my fathers Polaroid camera and took some shots of myself, in the mirror. Two fully dressed and two with my skirt, tie and blouse discarded, dressed only in padded out bra', knickers and socks. I still have those photographs - laminated soon after I took them during an 'after school visit' to the school library. My face is of course hidden by the camera, but there is no mistaking the slim form of what appears to be a young schoolgirl regarding the lens, even though there is a definite lump in the front of the knickers of the poses 'sans skirt'. I tried dressing myself in some of my sister's best cloths - a demure skirt and jacket over a fancy, frilly fronted blouse, with a pair of my sister's more delicate cotton briefs and matching bra', padded as before with cotton wool, with tights and a delicate cotton half slip - but although I liked the image I managed to produce, and although, I liked the feel of my nylon clad inner thighs rubbing together, still I wasn't happy with the feelings her cloths roused, or failed to rouse, in me. It wasn't until, in a moment of inspiration, I abandoned the tights and put on a pair of knee length white socks that I again realised that it was the tights that spoiled the illusion for me. Somehow the feel of them over my knickers, tight around my body, isolating me from the touch of the rest of my feminine cloths, I found most off putting. Once I understood that, I found as much pleasure in dressing as a demure 'Sunday girl' as I did in dressing as a schoolgirl. And from then on I began to study my sister and mother more closely, trying to understand and to perfect, when dressed as a girl, feminine characteristics - ways of moving, sitting, speaking, dressing my hair and, later, making-up my face. Chapter II - Practising - developing the art. It was about eighteen months later that I realised that there had been a change in my sister's wardrobe. Firstly, I began to notice that there were no longer any tights in the laundry. I already knew that neither my mother nor our Aunt Holly, our mother's youngest sister who now lived with us, wore them - both wore stockings and suspender-belts ['garter-belts' to you, A.Cs.!]. Then, from my eyrie, I became aware that my sister too had altered her habits. Alone in the house one afternoon in early September near the end of the summer holiday, after assuring myself that the house was secure, I went into my sister's room to investigate her change in lingerie. Sure enough she too, probably prompted by Aunt Holly's example, had acquired a supply of suspender-belts and stockings. Her, to me, depressing and despised tights had all disappeared! Susan had purchase several new sets of delicate nylon underwear that now all comprised fragile, lacy suspender-belts in addition to matching panties and bras' - some complete with slips or half-slips. This had even permeated into her 'pretty knickers' underwear, where delicately trimmed cotton suspender- belts now joined her pretty cotton briefs and bras' in the draw. As I knew I would, I stripped off my cloths in preparation to trying on this new delight. That summer had been a traumatic one for our family. My father, a gifted linguist, had secured a translators job with the European Parliament, in Brussels, early in the previous spring leaving Susan, myself and our mother to complete the school year before following him out for the summer holiday. By then he had met and fallen in love with a young Dutch woman, a Graduate of Erasmus University, and had 'left' our mother to live with her. "That fucking Dutch floozy!" she screamed down the telephone at him when he broke the news, it was the first time we'd ever heard her wear, "just because she shakes her tits or her cunt at you like a bitch on heat, you have to go running after her! Why do all men have to think with their pricks! You should have kept it in your trousers! You could at most have had a quick 'whip it in, whip it out and wipe it'! I'd never have known. Or if I did find out I'd probably have got over it! She's barely half your age! Not much older than Susan! Well, you'll pay for it, literally and figuratively! And don't come crying back to me, you bastard, when she's had enough of you and flings you over for another so called man!" In fact Heneke was then twenty three, Susan sixteen-and-three-quarters and our mother not quite forty, with our father six months her junior. I had had my fourteenth birthday early in the summer, just as the trauma of our parents split had broken. The split left our mother extremely bitter and ill disposed to all men - our father in particular. By the end of the summer things where only just beginning to assume some semblance of stability. During the summer, too, Aunt Holly, at just turned twenty five, had taken a job as Archivist and Assistant Curator with the local museum and had moved in with us at our mother's invitation 'just for a while at least, until you have a chance to look around'. She'd moved in about four weeks previously. This had meant a further disruption to the household. I had cheerfully vacated my bedroom in her favour and had transported myself upstairs into the attic, into the back room that looked down across the valley over the river and the railway and into the City skyline from the west. The room also, incidentally, was the one that had the view over the bathroom roof and through the clear skylight! The other attic room in the front of the house became the sole 'junk room'. Our mother, as was her family previously, is an inveterate hoarder of 'things' - including discarded cloths. In helping her to move my things upstairs I realised that there were already three steamer trunks full of these discards, two female one male, amongst the rest of the various items crammed into the room. "Pity," my mother mused, "this room's full. I was hoping to bring some of Susan's 'cast-offs' up here. She's going to need more room for her new things in her own room." My ears pricked up. Susan was about to start in the lower sixth at her school, in preparation for A-levels at the end of the following school year, two Summers away, and as such her obligation to wear school uniform would much diminish. Although still required to wear a plaid skirt it was, for the sixth form girls, far more fashionably cut and accompanied by a far more feminine blouse, and 'reasonably sensible' court shoes. The rest would be up to her - underwear, stockings, even minimal make-up and some plain jewelry. "There's an additional cupboard in my room I won't need," I piped up, in as studied and thoughtful manner as I could contrive trying to keep the excitement out of my voice, "we could put them in there, I suppose. After all, it's a biggish room, with a fair amount of storage. It wouldn't be much in my way." So it was settled, and the empty 'tallboy' in my room became the repository for my sister's discarded school cloths including all of her 'heavy duty knickers' and plain school bras' and socks, a fair proportion of her 'pretty knickers' and best cloths, and even some of the 'sexy knickers' and other leisure wear that she considered she'd grown out of. I now had a supply of her cloths 'on tap', and in the next room two trunks full of previously unsuspected delights. Of course, I'd wasted little time in adding Aunt Holly to my spying regime. Again, I hadn't been able to find any reference to 'uncovering your aunt's nakedness' and, in any case, with the defection of our father the degree of piety in our house had greatly diminished. Aunt Holly in the bath, or shower, was a revelation. Slimmer and shorter than either Susan or my mother, she is more like me - if a woman can look like what was then a still developing boy and is now a fully developed though admittedly short slim man - particularly in the colour of her blond hair, blue eyes, fair pink skin and fresh faced complexion. Although her breasts are small and tight, her nipples are far bigger than either my sister's or my mother's, and their aureole are much wider and more pronounced. Her pubis was, and remains, clean shaven. The first time I saw her shave herself I watched with utter fascination as she carefully washed the whole of her pudenda, over her mound and between her thighs, applied shaving cream and wielded a razor in as expert a manner as I had ever seen my father, as he shaved his face. She was also the first woman I ever saw masturbate. Until I saw her playing with her own nipples and massaging the totally exposed lips of her sex - rubbing at the entry, thrusting her fingers inside and pulling and working at her clitty, to bring herself to a shuddering, gasping climax - I didn't even know women could masturbate! Such an exhibition prompted me to perform the same service on myself, of course, tugging and stroking at my cock, inside a pair of the gossamer lacy panties I now habitually pulled on under my shirt tails when I spied on my sister or my aunt from my eyrie - with the added spice that I was wearing knickers whilst some, at least, of the rest of the family were in the house - until I came in great spurts in unison with her own orgasm. My 'little pecker', incidentally, had become my 'cock' from the first time I achieved a climax. Being addicted to masturbation, Aunt Holly spent a lot of time in the bathroom with her legs apart, giving me far better opportunities to study the exciting slit between her thighs - it's shape and form, the way the lips engorged and parted, as she played with herself until, on occasions, the rigid little stalk of her erect clitty was visible between the swollen lips and busy fingers - particularly as she was shaven. Almost despising myself for doing so, but nevertheless doing so, I even spied on her when she went to use the loo! There, too, she loved to play with herself and pleasure herself and it was then, more than in the bath, that I could study the excitement contained between her spread legs. Curiosity getting the better of me, I also began to watch my sister on the loo. And it was there that she demonstrated that she too was no stranger to self gratification. One difference between the two was, however, apparent from the first. Although my sister had taken to wearing nylon panties and tights all the time, once she had graduated to the higher echelons of her school, and had suddenly and excitingly abandoning tights for suspenders and stockings, Aunt Holly always wore suspenders and stockings but she never wore knickers of any kind! Not even when she was 'on', accepting that this meant more frequent changes of tampon than would otherwise be strictly necessary. Aunt Holly was and still is, habitually knickerless! So now I was determined to try the effect of my sister's changes in her lingerie for myself. Additionally, I was curious as to what it might feel like to be dressed as a woman but to be knickerless like my aunt. The set of underwear I had selected was a delicate set of virtually transparent, lacy pale blue nylon - suspender-belt, panties, bra' and full length slip - which I supplemented with a pair of darker blue nylon stockings. Having watched my sister at her toilet, I knew the panties had to go after the suspender-belt. How else could she slip them down over her thighs to go to the loo? I spent some time fitting the belt around myself, around my buttocks and flanks, and even longer first adjusting the suspender straps to the length required then attaching the suspender clips to the tops of my stockings [immediately 'my stockings'!] but in the end I achieved it. The gossamer touch of the belt around me, together with the silky nylon sheen of stockings encasing my legs but stopping short on my thighs, and the strips of satin ribbon stretched taught between the belt and my stocking tops, was magic. My cock thrusting out stiff before me did little to dispel the feminine image that confronted me in the mirror. That image was enhanced still further when, expertly now, I fastened the bra' around me and padded out the cups with the two flesh coloured pads I had made, stuffing two little potpourri bags I found in a draw in the lounge with birdseed to give what I then supposed would be a realistic feel. Again I stopped to admire the image that confronted me, before I lifted the panties off the bed and bent forward to step into them and pull them to tent around my rigid rod with the transparent blue tracery of the delicate lacy nylon. The sight that greeted me took my breath away, and I felt impelled to go into our parents room for more photographs. I took the slip with me so that, after I'd taken a couple of shots of myself in panties, bra', suspenders and stockings, I could slip that on too and take some more shots with the delicate nylon skirt also lumped over my still straining cock. It was then I remembered my other intention to mimic my aunt, and removed my panties to let the fragile slip subside around my genitalia, my buttocks and my flanks that I became starkly aware of how the feather light movement of the delicate material, dragging loosely across my skin - across my naked flanks, my buttocks, my thighs and, particularly, my cock - created it's own electric reaction on the charged nerve ends of my flesh. Without question I knew why my aunt liked to walk around knickerless! But, somehow, it didn't seem quite right that I, a boy, should dress as a girl yet not wear that most intimate of feminine garments - knickers! I sat on the bed, my panties in my hands, and thought about the problem. Then, inspiration! Returning to my sister's room I searched her 'sexy knickers' draw carefully until I found what I had half remembered finding there before, a pair of delicate lacy pale blue nylon panties that in my untutored eyes matched the rest of the underwear I was wearing but were far more skimpy than the pair I had originally selected. They were cut so high on the hip, back and front, that the lacy band across my hips was more shallow than the suspender-belt I had on. The front and back panels of the panties consisted of delicate lace triangles, that passed in a vee between my legs, becoming a tiny slither of lace under my perineum. Even before I put them on I knew the tiny fragments of lace could never contain my cock or the sac of my testicles. I knew these would hang out exposed to one side or the other. And so it proved. But now I had the best of both worlds. I was wearing knickers, but knickers so skimpy that my cock and my 'knackers' hung out to be caressed by the soft gossamer touch of the slip, with my buttocks and flanks exposed to the same caress. Already I had to be careful that my pre-cum didn't stain the skirt of the slip. I lifted the skirt and sat on the bed - legs apart much as I'd seen my sister and my aunt sitting on the loo whilst masturbating except that, unlike my sister, I kept my knickers on, so that as I wanked myself I could admire the soft light blue lacy triangle that barely covered my pubis and left my masculinity free - and brought myself off into a handful of tissues making sure that I collected all my spend and wiped myself carefully and thoroughly before I allowed the slip to fall back into place. Then I thought again, and removed the slip to take some further shots of myself with my skimpy knickers on and my cock and my still rather immature testicles hanging free. As before I laminated the photographs using the school library's laminator, once the school was open again. Only this time I had to be doubly careful no one saw me. Pictures of a young boy dressed in his sister's school cloths could just about be passed off as bit of a joke. Pictures of the same boy in undeniably sexy lingerie would be another matter. And I had to store those pictures and their predecessors very carefully away from 'prying eyes'. Shortly after the term started, I think on the following weekend, I had the opportunity to examine the contents of the trunks in the next attic room. On an early autumn afternoon I was alone in the house and expected to remain so for at least three hours. Removing my own cloths, I dressed myself in some of Susan's discarded cloths - delicate cotton briefs and matching bra' from her 'best knickers' range the bra' padded, as usual now, with the breast forms I had made, together with one of her delicate cotton suspender-belts, stockings and a fancy little satin blouse but, on this occasion [why? I can't remember], I didn't put either a slip, half slip or a skirt on, preferring to leave my nylon clad legs and panty clad pudenda free - and moved into the next attic room. The first of the two trunks dedicated to the female side of the family proved to hold outer wear ranging from soon after the first world war up to some ten years before I was born: long fur trimmed coats; cloche hats; tiny short skirted 'flapper's' dresses; war time 'utility' skirts, blouses and jackets; a few elegant long swept skirted evening dresses; 'new look' length skirts and dresses; and a variety of school 'gym slips' and tunics with their corresponding hats blouses and blazers. Packed underneath these was a collection of shoes, boots and slippers to go with them. The other trunk held an even greater treasury, in my eyes at least, the appropriate underwear: a dazzling array of silk and satin knickers, chemises and camisoles; silk and nylon stockings; garters and suspender-belts; slips petticoats and half slips - from the early twenties up to the frilled 'rah rah' petticoats and frilled panties of the late fifties; interlock cotton and linen school knickers, liberty bodices and early bras'; corsets; lisle stockings; and several boned, lace trimmed, suspender-hung bustier's. I was so much in my element that I didn't know where to start. I know that, skirtless as I was, my erection easily deformed the front of my delicate cotton briefs, on the front of which a gradually increasing damp patch swiftly formed. Throughout the rest of that term I tried on the cloths in as systematic manner as I could, nearly always dressing as a either a demure 'Sunday- best girl', a 'floozy' or a 'society girl', as the mood or the fancy took me, and even occasionally a schoolgirl although this had palled somewhat since I'd discovered the delights of Susan's change in lingerie. I tried to explore the whole of the wardrobe, dressing to suit each era - as near as I could match the various cloths. The greatest thrill I had, at that time, was putting on and parading about my attic domain dressed in lace trimmed, silk French knickers with a matching, lace trimmed silk camisole, silk stockings held up by garters [not a suspender-belt! Real broad banded, frilly, lacy, elastic garters that fitted around my thighs holding my stocking-tops in place with a surprisingly firm grip], with my face made-up, a string of beads around my neck, a silk scarf headband, and 'button over' shoes, in as exact a copy as I could contrive of an illustration I found tucked into a pocket in the side of the 'underwear' trunk - apparently featuring the very similar silk lingerie to that which I was wearing. Again, the Polaroid camera came into play, and I still have laminated pictures of myself so dressed with my erection sticking out stiffly, lifting my loose knicker leg, the lace hem of which rests across the solid shaft of my cock, part the way along, like a fringe. I came back to that costume time and time again, often finishing a session dressed in that way no matter what other outfits I had tried on or cannibalised from the two trunks and from the wardrobe full of my sisters discarded cloths that now resided in my room. Another problem soon arose, which I had to solve well before the end of that term. Whilst I was able, or content, to raid my sister's draws for the cloths I wanted, laundry was easy. I seldom wore the same cloths twice between the natural washing cycle established by my sister's own use of her cloths, although I sometimes used to amuse myself by imagining that the knickers she was wearing on a particular day where those I had secretly worn on the previous occasion when I had cross- dressed and wanked in, although not now 'into'. Now the cloths, and particularly the underwear, I so passionately liked to dress in had a finite life between washes - and there was no way I could introduce them into the normal laundry process. I got over this by announcing one day to my sister's, mother's and aunt's astonishment that I thought it was about time I got used to doing my own washing and ironing, particularly if I was expected to go to University at some stage, and asking my somewhat bemused but nevertheless willing mother to teach me. I added simple sewing to the 'skills I ought to acquire', so that I was able to make necessary running repairs resulting from my use of the admittedly somewhat frail fabrics. From then on, I kept a strict record of what I had and hadn't worn, and dedicated one or two of my solitary session a month to my essential laundry and repairs - dressed, of course, in some of my adored female underwear as I did so. I even sometimes managed to sneak one or two less obvious items into my wash when the others were around. For the heavier outer garments, I relied on pressing with a damp cloth - as I had heard my father and grandfather describe the manner they had had to use to keep trousers and jackets, and uniforms, respectable. The private school I attended specialised in preparing boys for three or four professions - the church, law, medicine and the military. My talents, such as they were, were in artistic fields, art and design and theatre. As such I became a puzzle and something of a headache to my school masters But my talents certainly aided me in developing an expertise in make-up, and in mimicking feminine movement and behaviour. An expertise that has developed yet further as I've matured. By the time I completed my O-levels, I was accomplished at creating a feminine image for myself when dressed, based very much on my Aunt's manner of movement and make-up - but I had yet to venture into the outside world in my female persona. Chapter III - Exposure - the discovery of a secret passion. It was just after my sixteenth birthday, just after I had completed my exams, that my mother discovered my secret. Well, both of my secrets, and other secrets, too. As a sixteen year old I was, of course, conversant with the concept of lesbianism. There was a lot of largely misinformed speculation amongst my school fellows complete with sniggers and lascivious laughs, about the way in which two girls could make love - how they might mutually masturbate one another. Until one day one of the boys brought a magazine to school that his older brother had purchased during a trip to London, which quite openly portrayed a somewhat over endowed woman 'going down' on her female companion in a series of pictures that culminated in a shot of her tongue inside the other girl's cunt. This silenced at least some of the speculation. Only shortly afterwards I was to witness the act 'in the flesh', so to speak. I returned home early from school one afternoon a couple of days before the end of term, all exams having finished and one of the teachers having to go off at short notice to a domestic emergency, to hear the sound of the shower and the murmur of voices from the bathroom. Intrigued, I crept as quietly as I could up the stairs past the bathroom door, on up into the attic into my room to look cautiously down into the bathroom skylight. What I saw took my breath away for a moment. My sister and my aunt were both in the shower, both, of course, naked with their legs entwined, each with a hand caressing the others breast and playing with the rampant nipple, and my aunt's face upturned towards my somewhat taller sister's, their mouths glued together. I lost no time in shedding my school trousers and underpants and pulling on a pair of my sister's delicate, flimsy, lacy panties. I returned to the window just in time to witness my aunt kneeling in the shower tray to press her mouth into my sister's pudenda. My hand flew to the lump in my panties. Then, aghast at a sudden sound behind me, I turned to find my mother regarding me from my still open bedroom doorway - a look somewhere between embarrassment, anger and bewilderment on her face! What on earth are you doing?" she finally managed to stutter out. Then, before I could make any kind of answer, she crossed the room to see what I was looking at, to behold Susan, in her turn now kneeling to nuzzle Aunt Holly's shaven snatch. My mother sat abruptly on my bed and turned so pale I thought she was going to faint. So, I think, did she. But she managed to remain conscious - just! "Come downstairs with me," she ordered, when she regained her faculties. Then, "no! Leave them alone! You can stay dressed like that!" As I made to retrieve my trousers, at least, from the bed, I suppose to pull them on over my panties. Feeling more than slightly sick I followed her down the first flight of stairs to the landing outside the bathroom. My cock, trying to decide whether to increase it's rigidity or to retreat in self-defense, chose the latter option and deflated into a tiny ball, albeit still clearly definable through the almost transparent lacy femininity of my panties. We waited in silence outside the bathroom door until, after what seemed an age, the sound of the shower ceased, although not the murmur of voices, and after another age the door opened to allow my sister and aunt to step out both still stark naked and blithely wrapped in each other's arms. "Hmm!" Was my mother's greeting, "well, we all know what you two have been up to! Especially, our little girl here! Whom I caught spying on you, and enjoying herself in a somewhat predictable manner! Not so very much different in manner from that which you've been enjoying!" Susan and Aunt Holly were equally dumb struck. If I hadn't so obviously been caught 'in flagrante delicto' myself, I would have quite enjoyed their discomfort. As it was my mother had, deliberately it seemed to me, drawn their attention to my condition to ease their embarrassment. Of course, I had to admit to my two misdemeanours. But, even then, I managed to avoid telling the whole truth leaving them with the impression that I contented myself with only occasionally wearing a pair of Susan's knickers, not dressing up in full and dating only from the time her cloths were moved into my room. And by inferring that this was the first time I'd seen either of them in the bathroom. 'Damage limitation', I thought of it. I succeeded so well in creating the impressions that I intended that my punishment when it was decided confirmed me in the way I had been progressing and resulted in my final transformation into a style of life that I had only dreamed and fantasised about, in my most extravagant moments, when I was luxuriating in the feel of the soft feminine cloths around my body. But first my sister and my aunt, too, had to confess that their relationship had grown over a period and that they now considered themselves established lovers. I think my mother must have been aware of her sister's predilections for some years, and her bitterness towards our father was still extreme colouring her views of the masculine side of creation in very poor lights. Certainly, she made very little demur when Susan and Aunt Holly finished by announcing that they had decided that from then on they intended to share a room. And when my aunt suggested a form of punishment for me both my sister and my mother concurred - readily. It was I'm sure my mother's anger at my father, my aunt's contempt of men in general and my sister's sudden realisation that boys and men were not indispensable to her, either socially or sexually, that lead to their united desire to humiliate me - as they thought. "If our little girl here want's to find out what it's like to be a big girl, I think we should help her. Why not turn her ??sorry, him into a girl for a while? After all, the school holidays start in two days time, we could easily contact the school saying that he won't be back, and he could start life tonight as a girl and spend the rest of the summer finding out what being a female entails." I tried not to show how very delighted I would be to undergo the transformation. For some time now, the urge to present myself in public as a girl - but a girl with a massive secret hidden in her knickers - had grown and grown to the extent of becoming almost overwhelming. I knew that, if my secret hadn't been discovered, I would have been compelled by my own desires to try the experiment. And I was pretty sure I would have carried it off too, with the practice I'd had in female deportment and make-up. Now, of course, I would have to suppress any expertise I had, at least whilst I was with my sister, my aunt or my mother. It would never do to let them suspect that I was in any way used to 'being a girl'. Or that I was secretly reveling in the idea of an enforced feminism, I had to hide my fixation with female clothing until such time as they believed it stemmed from their decision. So I expressed a contrary feeling in no uncertain terms, even to the extent of pleading and whimpering, and promising to stop. I'm glad to say that all my protestations brought about the result I'd hoped. The more I resisted the more all three of them relished the prospect and turned stony faces to my pleas. It was my sister who suggested that I should take over the whole of her discarded wardrobe, that already resided in my room. "After all," she said, "that's where he already started, in trying on my knickers. And we can always get him some more cloths of his own if he runs out. But we'd better be careful not to allow him to fall into the temptation of reverting to his own cloths when we're not around. We'd better take his cloths away and put them somewhere where he can't get at them." "Well, there's quite a lot of empty storage space in the basement of the museum," it was Aunt Holly's turn to have a brain wave, "I'm sure we could leave them there okay, without any body noticing, or caring if they did notice. Especially if I explained that they were there to keep our little girl from straying from the path we're setting her! In fact, I've got a key to the basement here. We could pack up his cloths now and take them up there this evening." I didn't dare to say that, with or without their orders, my cloths would be safe wherever they put them! Even if they left them in my own room! The last thing I'd want to do was to change back into a boy once they'd decided that I was to be a girl for the duration. But it was the last thing I could say. So, again I protested and fussed, and whined and sniveled, and again their determination increased. And I was lead upstairs by my mother, to dress 'appropriately' whilst Susan and Aunt Holly hurried away to dress at last - they had remained naked throughout the discussion and the confessions. Upstairs, my mother decided that it would be more appropriated for me to move through some of the stages of female development before I could be regarded as a young adolescent woman. She bade me, somewhat sternly, "take off those fancy knickers, and the rest of your cloths whilst I decide what would be suitable for your first outing." Meekly I obeyed, and I was still stood naked as she mused in front of the wardrobe when my sister and my aunt re-joined us to assist the process. Finally, after some deliberation, they made their decision and handed me one of Susan's school uniforms - plaid skirt, lilac- tan knickers, white blouse, white cotton ankle socks and after further deliberation and discussion, to which I dared not contribute in case I gave myself away, a plain lilac-tan cotton bra'. My sister helped me into her cloths, stooping to hold out her knickers for me to step into and fastening the bra' around me. Of course, I didn't dare demonstrate my expertise in fastening that around me, then padding out the bra' with another pair of socks to provide me with a small, but perceptible, bust-line. She allowed me to put on the blouse and skirt myself but checked to ensure the skirt was fastened properly, before she supplied socks and a pair of simple 'schoolgirl' sandals. Aunt Holly then took over to dress my hair in as feminine a manner as possible, before they all three stood back to critically view the result. I stood there with as sullen and tearful expression on my face as I could manage, whilst in reality I glowed inwardly - even mentally comparing their attempts at achieving a pair of breasts for me, unfavourably with my own. "Not bad," my aunt breathed. "He ??er, she could almost be a natural." Then turning towards my mother and my sister, "meet 'Veronica'. Ronald has gone to visit his father for the summer, and our dear niece 'Ronnie', your cousin," this to Susan, "from Norfolk has come to stay with us." So Ronald departed, never to return home again, and Veronica, or 'Ronnie', came to stay. For nearly two years now, since Aunt Holly had come to live with us and my sister had abandoned tights in favour of stockings and suspenders, I had rarely dressed as a schoolgirl, preferring the silky, clinging, brush of loose, soft feminine fabrics - satin, silk, and nylon lace - across and around my body. Suddenly, I felt myself tremendously aroused by the feel of the plain cotton bra' straps, the tug of the short, pleated school skirt and, most of all, the snug fit of the simple, heavy cotton knickers around my buttocks and flanks, and around my far more mature and now rapidly thickening and stiffening cock. Luckily my arousal was, as before, disguised by the weight of my knickers and skirt - the knickers alone clamping my rapidly developing erection against my stomach. Looking back I think it was some kind of association of ideas and experience. The first knickers I'd ever put on were a pair of Susan's school knickers The first time I'd dressed completely as a girl was as a schoolgirl. Now I was dressed as a schoolgirl again, including wearing school knickers, at the direction of my mother, my aunt and my sister, preparatory to going out as a girl for the first time. Now, too, my masculinity was far more developed and the pressure of the knickers on it was far more pronounced. An incredible surge of excitement overcame me, as I longed to get out of the house and try my deception on other people, an excitement that I managed to control and hide under a sullen, nervous and uncooperative exterior. From that time on, it has remained my occasional delight to present myself as a high school girl - dressed appropriately. The feel of my cock held flat against my stomach under the constriction of a pair of slightly tight, snug school knickers is as much a 'turn on' as feeling the silky brush of feather weight silken lace across my shaft. Even now, eighteen years later, I can pass equally as a young pubescent schoolgirl in my schoolgirl knickers, or as a sophisticated adult woman in my lacy silk, satin or nylon panties. Chapter IV - Consequences - coming to terms with the reality. Under the supervision of my sister and my aunt, I spent the first part of the remainder of the evening packing all my own [masculine] cloths into the two steamer trunk from the other attic that had, previously, been dedicated to the outer feminine garments. Those, my mother now decided, could now be transferred to the tallboy in my room the previous contents of which, could, in turn, now be transferred into my draws and wardrobe - as these, my sister's discarded cloths, were to become, instantly, my everyday wear! I was thankful that the main task of packing fell to me as this enabled me to ensure that the breast forms I now habitually wore to 'pad out' my bra' remained secreted in their hiding place amongst my previous school books and paraphernalia. I had progressed beyond the potpourri bags filled with bird seed. Since I'd become a proficient 'needle-woman' I'd made up several pairs of false breasts of flesh pink muslin, still packed with millet, with the fronts gathered into definable nipples that filled my bra' cups whist relying on the cups for shape. Packing completed, I was now required to assist the two of them in maneuvering that trunk, with the third trunk from the other attic that contained masculine wear, down and into the back of my aunt's car - a large Volvo estate. For the first time in my life, although certainly not for the last, I was outside the house dressed as a girl albeit, so far, only in the driveway in the side of the house. It was a thrilling, exciting, uplifting, daunting moment. I suddenly felt as though all my outer cloths had become not exactly transparent, but translucent enough for anyone looking at me to be aware of the feminine nature of my costume but still to be able to discern the straining masculinity that pressed against my stomach, held in place by the confines of my knickers. It was a long time before that initial reaction to 'stepping out' in my new persona diminished. Aunt Holly was just about to drive off with Susan, myself and the trunks in the car, when Susan cried out to her to stop. "We can't let 'Ronnie' go into town in that skirt," she said. "There's almost bound to be a few of the girls about, on a lovely evening like this, and they'll be curious as to who she is, what form she's in, and things like that. It'd be a pity if she was found out on her first outing. And got herself, and us, into trouble for wearing a uniform she's not entitled to. The rest won't matter of course. Blouse, socks, sandals, even her knickers and bra' could come from anywhere. But that skirt's a bit obvious. She'll have to change. Come on," she turned to me, "give me that skirt! Quickly!" She added, as I hesitated to take it off there and then. Then, as I reluctantly and rather sheepishly complied, "stay here the two of you!" And she dashed back into the house carrying my skirt with her and leaving me in my knickers in the back of the car. It seemed an age, but it was only a short time I suppose before she returned with a plain lilac mini-skirt, a shade or two darker than my knickers, that she thrust into my hands, and into which I had to climb awkwardly as my aunt restarted the car to enter the road to drive into town to the side door of the museum. At the museum the feeling of vulnerability intensified to such a degree that, firstly, my arousal incredibly increased to the extent that I was sure my erection was now disfiguring the set of my skirt front and, secondly, I was in grave danger of peeing myself! Susan was quite correct, there were one or two of her fellow pupils amongst the several passers-by. Two of her own classmates in fact, one with her younger sister Lorraine, about four months older than me, whom I knew slightly already, and in whose class, or at least whose year, I would have been - had I really been a girl, in attendance at their school! Naturally, they approached us and, naturally, engaged Susan in conversation. I was introduced as 'Ronnie, my cousin from Norfolk.' "Golly! She's so like your brother!" the younger girl commented. "Yes," agreed my sister, "We've often said, in the family, 'dress my brother in a skirt and a pair of knickers, and give him a pair of false boobs, and he could easily pass as Ronnie'!" I had to join in the general laughter that ensued as my aunt unfastened the door of the museum. The other three girls helped us to lug the two trunks out of the car and down into the basement. All the time I was trying not to wet myself. Aunt Holly noticed my agitation, guessed my discomfort and came to my rescue pointing out the 'ladies', into which I bolted followed by Lorraine and it was only by a miracle that I remembered to sit down on the loo to pee, and not to direct a noisy stream into the pan from a standing position. Carefully adjusting my knickers and skirt, and re-packing my cock as comfortably as I could against my stomach, I left the cubicle at the same time Lorraine left hers, to wash our hands and return outside in the corridor. There my aunt, my sister and her two classmates had agreed that we should, all six of us, join forces for the rest of the evening. "I'll just 'phone Marcia," my aunt said, referring to our mother, "and tell her where we are. After all, I've got the car here. I'll park it in the museum car-park and we can get back easily, later." We spent the evening walking down the hill to the river front and visited two or three of the waterfront pubs, mostly sitting out at the tables - along with several dozen other young people, of both sexes. We were not the only ostensibly 'all female' group there, and there were a few 'all male' groups as well. Aunt Holly, as the driver, refrained from all but a minimum alcoholic intake and she ensured that I, and Lorraine, also kept within strict limits. The three older girls, all now well past eighteen, she left to their own devices. But she was, and still is, a highly entertaining companion, putting the other three girls at their ease very early on, and ensuring that I was able to come to terms with my situation - on that first outing as a girl at least - without becoming the sole centre of attention, supposing as she did that my charade was one imposed on me against my wishes and my inclinations. And she managed to deflect, in as amiable a manner as possible, the attentions of several young man from our party. Altogether, I began to feel more sure of myself. But I had to be careful not to betray the excitement within me, as I nurtured the thought of the how our three companions, and the people around us would react to the discovery of the secret hidden inside my knickers. At the end of the evening, Aunt Holly offered to drive the other three girls home and four of us, myself Lorraine and Susan's two classmates crammed into the, admittedly wide, back seat of the Volvo. It was as Lorraine and her sister were preparing to climb out that Lorraine stumbled and inadvertently quite fiercely jabbing her hand into my lap, squeezing down through my skirt and knickers onto my cock, causing me to wince sharply and her to give me a rather startled but somewhat speculative look. The experiences of the evening didn't end there, either. Preparations for bed included Susan presenting me with a short, frilly nylon nightie and matching panties to wear to bed that night. As I lay there later, luxuriating in the feel of the diaphanous material around my body, gently and almost absentmindedly wanking my cock in the delicate nylon panties, I wondered why, apart from that first occasion when I'd worn a pair of Susan's school knickers throughout the evening and the night, I'd never thought of wearing any of her cloths to bed. Throughout the next few days, whilst Aunt Holly was at work, Susan supervised my wardrobe and my movements - initially taking me out into the town dressed in her school underwear under skirts and blouses much as on that first evening, then, as she could drive and had access to our mother's car, further afield to the coast, the moors or into the woods. On each occasion we lunched in some convenient caf?, pub or restaurant 'developing my skills at comporting myself in an appropriately lady-like manner', as she put it. In fact, although I did my best to disguise it, my confidence in my own ability to pass myself off as a young woman was increasing all the time. And I secretly hugged the thought to myself of the inevitable time when my three feminine dominators sent me out 'solo'. I pictured myself walking around the town somewhat brazenly, with a subtly exaggerated feminine sway, in a short skirt that reached only marginally below my stocking-tops with my cock nestled coyly inside my knickers. Always, when thinking about my first outing, I pictured myself wearing suspender-belt and stockings, with dainty delicate nylon panties. So far, when out with my sister or my aunt, I had only been allowed to wear ankle socks and school knickers. Then, on the evening of the third day, the Thursday, the first official day of the school holiday, during the evening meal, Aunt Holly announced that she had procured me a holiday job at the museum starting the following Monday. The job was to sketch museum exhibits for a School's Pack to be issued the following Spring, for ten-to-twelve year olds, designed to encourage them to undertake similar research on a wider scale, under their own auspices. The intended artist had broken his wrist only the previous day and the museum had had to find a replacement 'at short notice'. Much to my relief, as I had immediately feared that this would mean that my enforced feminisation would be severely curtailed, if not discontinued, Aunt Holly explained. "My suggestion that our niece Veronica undertake the task was greeted with relief, once I'd assured them of 'her' expertise. After all, if ten and twelve year olds are to be encouraged to sketch exhibits surely the work of a 'girl' only slightly older than themselves would be a good example. Oh! By the way! The artist was going to supply the text, too. After a couple of 'phone calls, I've managed to recruit someone for that job as well. It's our friend Lorraine. You'll be working pretty closely with her for the Summer." My second immediate reaction was to remember the pressure of Lorraine's hand, in the darkened rear interior of the Volvo, pressing down on my cock through my skirt and knickers. I coloured. My aunt noticed - of course. "What's the matter darling?" She chuckled, "afraid you'll not be able to keep it up for the whole of the holiday? If such a phrase is appropriate in the circumstances. Well, well. Little girls have to learn if they're going to be big girls, you know." Then, after a pause, as all three regarded my red face, "don't worry I'll be there to keep an eye on you. After all, it was you that started all this. And Susan tells us you're doing very well so far." It was my mother who spoke next. "If you're going to work," she said, "I think you should have some cloths of your own, rather than relying on your sister's wardrobe. You and I had better go shopping tomorrow." The rest of that evening, the night and the first part of the next morning passed in a fever of anticipation, as I contemplated owning some feminine cloths of my own, for the first time in my life - although I have to admit to a returning doubt as to my mothers intentions. Despite my aunt's confirmation that the museum staff were expecting a girl, did she really mean me to continue dressing as a girl? She had certainly subscribed with enthusiasm to aunt Holly's suggestion that I pass the Summer feminised. But with a job in the offing would she insist on me returning to my proper gender, during the daytime at least? I needn't have worried. It was she who led the other two into my room next morning and instructed me to return to the room naked after I'd showered, in order to measure me properly before we embarked on the expedition. After they'd measured my chest at thirty-two inches, the three of them embarked on a prolonged discussion regarding bra' size. My mother favoured thirty-four inch 'A' cup, my aunt thirty-six inch 'B' cup. In the end my sister and my aunt accepted my mother's view. "After all," my sister said, "the worse that can happen is his ?? er, her bra' straps will be a bit tight and that'll only serve to remind her that she is effectively a girl for the duration." 'And for a lot longer than that, if I've got anything to do with it', I added to myself. But I couldn't say so at this stage. I was still supposed to be dressing in this way, deliciously wrapping my cock in knickers, under protest. Similarly, my waist was measured at twenty-four inches, my hips at thirty-two. And I was measured at five feet five inches tall, with my inside leg at twenty-eight inches. "To assist in choosing stockings," my mother informed me, bluntly.