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Author's note: As with all my stories this one contains scenes of an explicit sexual nature, deals with transvestism and has a strong homosexual theme. So if you are too young, not allowed or offended by such matter, then please leave. You have been warned. B.G. Weekend Woman ? by: Belle Gordon Prologue My name is Doctor Victor Burnley, MD. I am a well-respected member of the community, serving on school and hospital management boards; I am chairman of several charities and hold many other high profile positions. I'm thirty-eight years old and a partner in a small general medical practice with Doctor Vivienne Saltly. We employ a secretary cum receptionist cum nurse; a most efficient woman named Mrs. Whitstable. I make a very comfortable living, drive an expensive BMW and want for very little. An enviable position, you might say. I am the epitome of sobriety, decorum and respectability. But I have a secret. A secret I am terrified will be discovered and one I find increasing difficult to hide. Like Mr. Stevenson's famous fictional character I am living a dual existence. That of the respected male doctor during the week and at the weekends I become an attractive woman, with a separate personality. I am of course, a transvestite and have been for as long as I can remember. I have been crossdressing since I was at least eight years old, although at that age I didn't know what transvestism was, I was simply playing dress up with my sister. Now the compulsion to dress and live as a woman is becoming overwhelming and I'm afraid I am heading for ruin. What follows is an account of how I came to be enmeshed in the situation I now find myself. The series of events that have led me inexorably to the pickle I'm now in. I am not, I hasten to add a victim of circumstances. Most of the events described are of my own making and I willingly and happily entered into them. But I wonder - if I had foreseen the outcome would I have followed the same course? Chapter One At 5.30 I saw my last patient, (a middle aged man with raised cholesterol level) and wrote out the last prescription for the day, (Lipostat 40mg. for three months). I sat back in my chair, relaxed, and finally allowed myself to feel the excitement that I'd been suppressing all day. For today was Friday, the start of a long weekend and I intended to indulge myself. This morning's post had brought the parcel I'd been anticipating and I couldn't wait to get home to open it. It contained (I hoped) among other items, a slinky, black cocktail dress in crepe-de-chine with a silver thread detail, a pair of black patent leather evening sandals and a royal blue pashmina shawl. The previous evening I'd waxed my legs and underarms, and removed any remaining body hair with a depilatory cream in the shower. I'd washed and conditioned my hair, then blow-dried it into as feminine a style as my shortish hair would allow. I'd painted my toenails and manicured my fingernails but hadn't yet applied any colour. A doctor is expected to have clean, cared for nails, and mine were. They were longer than normal and well-shaped, but not too long as to raise an eyebrow. This was as much as I dare do in preparation for becoming a weekend woman. The male line in my family all have been cursed (or blessed) with a gene that produces men of small stature, slight frame, and in some cases a hairless body. It is similar to Klinefelter's syndrome in that the men are prone to gynacomastia but with no lessening of sexual virility, although there is occasional infertility. So far as I know the family has never produced any muscle bound he-men and I was no exception. I have a soft, very white body with narrow shoulders, slim hips and long straight legs. My hands and feet are small, (I take a size 5 shoe) and my facial features are very feminine. My nose is straight and thin but my lips are full and fleshy. I have small ears and fine fair hair. At age 11 I began to grow breasts and they have continued slowly developing ever since. Although quite small (I'm a 34B) they are unmistakably female breasts with large sensitive nipples. At first they acutely embarrassed me, but gradually I accepted the fact and now love them. School changing rooms would have been a problem had I not been permanently excused games and P.E. because of a predisposition to asthma. Early photographs of my father, who had been killed on active service, showed that he also was very small. (He just barely reached the army's minimum height requirements). In a faded sepia photograph of my grandparents, my grandfather looked more like my grandmother's son than her husband. I was smaller than most women, for which I suffered throughout my childhood, schooling and college years. Only now that I'm a qualified GP and a man of some standing in the community have the taunts and teasing ceased. (At least to my face.) Never the less, I dress to look older than I am. I habitually wear tweed three piece suits, with check vyella shirts and wool ties. I affect heavy horn-rimmed spectacles in an attempt to make my face look maturer, and have occasionally used a false moustache when traveling or attending conferences. My mind was pre-occupied with what accessories I would wear with my new dress when I realised that Mrs. Whitstable had her head in the door and was saying something to me. "I'm sorry?" I said. "Your sister's on the telephone," she repeated in a somewhat exasperated tone. Margaret was two years older that me and since early childhood it was she who looked after me, made the everyday decisions and told me what to do. After my father's death, mother worked full time, as well as evenings and weekends, to support us, so it was natural that she assumed the role of my surrogate mother. Margaret always ensured that I washed and was dressed in clean clothes. She made sure I ate regular meals and also took upon herself the role of disciplinarian whenever she thought I needed punishment. So I unconsciously sat up straight and mentally pulled myself together before I picked up the phone. "Hello, Mags," I said. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that. My name is Margaret," she snapped. "Why were you so long picking up the phone?" "I'm sorry, Margaret," I stammered, "I was seeing a patient." "You're lying. Mrs. Whitstable said your last patient left ten minutes ago." Despite myself I was becoming aroused. Whenever Margaret was cross with me or humiliated me I got an erection. Since I was a child Margaret took a perverse delight in embarrassing me. She would regularly reduce me to tears with her cruel jibes. She would keep badgering me 'til I confessed to whatever crime, real or imagined, she accused me of. But that was never enough, I then had to describe in graphic detail the supposed sin. She always saved her tormenting for when we were alone so mother was never aware of it. I vividly remember an occasion she had dressed me in her clothes. It had started out as a game one wet Sunday afternoon. We pretended to be a mother and daughter out shopping in fancy stores. I had to try on the different dresses and underwear she said I needed for a forthcoming society ball. The feel of her soft silky garments on my skin and the strangeness of the unfamiliar clothes had a disturbing effect on me. To my shame I became incredibly hard. She soon noticed the bulge in the front of the dress. "What's this?" she demanded to know, swatting the tip with her hand. "I'm sorry, Mags, I don't know why it's happening" "Yes you do!" she screamed, "It's because you like to wear girl's clothes, isn't it?" I nodded my head, - yes. I was afraid to deny it. "Then tell me." "I like wearing girl's clothes," I whispered. "And?" "It excites me to wear girl's clothes." "Go on." I wasn't sure what she wanted me to say. "I wish I was a girl and could wear these lovely clothes all the time," I blurted. "If you want to be a girl," she said, "you will have to get rid of that thing," giving my throbbing member another swipe. "Stand on the bed," she ordered. I did as she said, not knowing what to expect. "Raise your skirt," she said, "and lower your panties to your knees." I obeyed with trembling hands becoming more excited at the prospect of exposing myself to her. I was blushing beet red when my penis flipped out of the panties. "Now, Miss Vickie," she sneered, "play with it. Stroke it up and down 'til you cum." She sat in a chair opposite, watching closely, as I slowly grasped my cock and began to masturbate. I had already discovered the pleasures of masturbation and ejaculation, but had never done it in anyone else's presence before, least of all my own sister. I vaguely noticed through my mounting excitement, that her breathing was becoming faster and that she had crossed her legs and was swinging them together. In a very short time I ejaculated. My spunk spurted in a graceful arc landing on the linoleum between her feet. It was the most intense climax I'd so far experienced and produced more semen than ever before in my short life. My legs seemed unable to support my weight and I collapsed backwards onto the bed. Sperm continued to pulse from my cock and dribble over my gripping fingers, onto my balls and thighs. "Come here, you disgusting pig!" I heard her shout. "On your knees, right here." She was pointing to a spot between her feet. As I approached her I noticed that her face was flushed and she continued to rub her thighs together. "Now clean up your filthy mess," she ordered. "Suck if off your fingers, and what's run down your legs, then lick up every drop from the floor." I, of course, obeyed her to the letter. As my tongue licked up the last trace from the floor, she suddenly stood and left without saying another word. That was the first of many times she forced me to masturbate in front of her whilst wearing her clothes. Each time I had to tell her how much I loved to dress up and how I longed to be a girl. She never once touched herself in my presence, nor allowed any other sexual contact. Only when I left home for college was I finally free of her cruelty. However, after all those years of conditioning she was still able to inspire fear and obedience in me. "Now pay attention, Victor," she barked. "I have to go away for some time, probably several months, so I want you to look after Pattie for the summer while I'm away." Pattie was her son Patrick whom she'd borne 17 years ago after an affair with a man I never knew. I only ever saw the boy occasionally, and since he'd been packed off to boarding school at age 14, hardly at all. We were virtual strangers. "But Margaret," I protested, "I can't possibly look after him. I have work to do and am away a lot. And there's not a lot of room." "Nonsense! You have plenty of room in that great big house of yours. He'll be no trouble. He's able to look after himself. Now, I'll drop him off in an hour." And that was it. No more discussion. As always I was simply expected to adjust my life to suit her. My mind was frantically looking for ways to keep my precious weekends free. He would just have to jolly well look after himself as I had other plans. Chapter Two About a year and a half ago an elderly woman patient of mine died. She'd lived alone, and so far as I knew had no family. I became very fond of her and during her short illness I'd kept her company. I would spend evenings with her, watching television, playing cards (she was a demon at gin rummy) or just talking. She loved to reminisce about the old times and I found her stories fascinating. She had lived an exciting and eventful life, having at various times lived in India as nanny to a Maharaja's son, had had a torrid affair with a tobacco planter in Rhodesia and herded camels in Australia's Nullarbor Plain. Whether her stories were true or the romancing of an old woman I could not tell, but they were entertaining and helped her get through her suffering. How she came to be living here I never discovered, as she died before we got to that chapter of her life. So it was a great surprise that about two weeks after her funeral I received a letter. It was from a firm of solicitors informing me that according to the instructions in the will of the late Mrs. Violet Clapham I had been bequeathed a cottage from her estate. I was shocked because I had no knowledge that she owned property other that the house she lived in. I phoned immediately and was assured that there was no mistake and that if I cared to call to their offices the legal details could be completed and I would receive the deed and keys to the property. The next weekend, following directions the lawyers had given me I drove my car into the heart of the Cotswolds looking for my new house. I found it eventually, nestled in a grove of trees, surrounded by rolling pastures and overlooking the beautiful vale of Evesham. The house was full of antique pieces of furniture, was very chintzy, and quite obviously had been the home of a woman. As I walked from room to room a plan began to form in my mind. The more I thought about it the more possibilities I saw, and the more excited I became at the prospect. As no one other than the lawyers knew of its existence or whereabouts it would make the perfect retreat. Through out the following week my mind was pre-occupied with plans for my second home and my second identity. I couldn't wait to get away and start things moving. At the first opportunity I loaded up the car with all the things I wanted to move, a computer, books, some kitchen stuff and of course all my femme wardrobe. It was a relief to have the clothing gone as I'd accumulated a large amount of items by this time, and I was constantly worried that someone would discover them and I'd be exposed as a crossdresser, or worse, blackmailed. I decided from the very beginning, that as it had been a woman's home it would remain so. There would be no trace of masculinity allowed. To this end, whenever I visited for even one night, I stripped off all my male clothing and locked them in the car before entering the house naked and dressing en-femme. It was possible to do this as the garage was attached to the house by a connecting door. It was wonderful to spend an entire weekend and sometimes longer completely crossdressed and not have the fear that a patient or someone would knock at my door. I went on a mail order buying spree. I ordered lingerie from Victoria's Secret and Janet Reager, shoes and dresses from various catalogues, accessories and cosmetics from magazines and newspapers. I developed a routine as the weekend approached. Thursday evenings I'd devout to my body. Leg waxing, hair removal, nail care, shampoo and conditioning, eyebrow plucking, and the occasional face pack. On Fridays, as soon as possible I'd leave for 'Ablefield' (for such was the name of the house). I'd keep strict control over my thoughts and feelings during the week but as soon as I headed the car towards Oxfordshire my penis began to harden in anticipation of the thrills and delights ahead. For four consecutive weekends I saw not another soul. I lived the complete life of a woman. It was wonderful to awaken in the morning, wander down to my kitchen and make tea then sit on the terrace in my nightie. Some days I'd wear only a bra and panties with perhaps a negligee. On others I'd dress in several different outfits, changing clothes every couple of hours. I became a bit of a slob. The novelty of carelessly leaving items of clothing such as underwear, stockings, dresses, and shoes lying wherever they fell, was intoxicating. It was thrilling to see my lacy bras and flimsy panties hanging on the washing line for the entire world to see. On one hot Saturday afternoon I lay on a lounger sunning myself. I wore only a light skirt over thin cotton panties and a bikini top. I must have dozed off because a voice suddenly gave me a start. "Excuse me Miss, could I get a drink of water please?" Standing at the wooden fence that surrounded the small lawn was a man of about 25, 6'4" tall, and very powerfully built. For a second I panicked, fearing all my worse nightmares were about to happen. But he smiled at me and I relaxed. After all he had called me 'Miss' so he obviously thought I was a woman. "Yes, of course," I said, "just a minute, I'll get you some." I jumped up from the lounger and dashed into the kitchen, forgetting to slip my feet into my sandals. Before I poured his drink I pulled a halter top over my bikini in an effort to make myself more decent and quickly adjusted my cock back between my legs. There was still a slight bulge but I didn't have time to put on a gaff. Filling a glass with water I walked out and was startled to see him sitting on a garden chair beside the sun bed. He stood up as I approached and towered over me. I handed the glass to him and as he took it his fingers momentarily enclosed mine. The touch was like an electric shock. How could the simple contact of his fingers on mine have such an effect? As I stood in his shadow and watched him drink the water in a single draft I couldn't help staring at his massive chest and bulging biceps. His shirt appeared too small for his torso and strained across his broad shoulders. The sleeves were rolled up to the top of his arms and the front was unbuttoned almost to his waist. His chest and arms were covered in a mat of black hair that was wet with sweat. Wiping his hand across his mouth he handed me the glass. "More?" I asked. He nodded. "Please." I fetched a second glass and also a Diet Coke for myself. "Thank you ma'am, I needed that," he said downing the second glass. "Sorry to impose on your privacy, but I been rounding up ewes and lambs all day and I'm parched. My name's Josh Stafford," he said holding out his hand for me to shake. My hand seemed tiny in his huge paw. Again the electric tingle from his touch. His hand was hard and surprisingly dry. "Pleased to meet you Josh, I'm Victor?ria, Vickie for short." I realised this was the first time I had used my femme name to anyone else. Only Margaret called me Vickie when she wished to humiliate me. "Please sit down and rest. You must be tired walking up and down these hills all day." "I am that, but I can't delay too long I've some sheep still to find." We chatted for a while and I found myself relaxing in his company. He clearly took me for the woman I pretended to be. He told me he lived with his aged father in a small farm across the valley. They struggled to make a living from breeding sheep and milking a few cows. Then he stood and announced he had to go. "Why don't you walk down to the village pub this evening and let me buy you a drink in return for your hospitality?" he asked. "I'll be in around ten. We could sit outside, they have a lovely beer garden by the stream." Without thinking of any consequences I said, "Thank you, Josh. I'd like that very much." Impulsively I reached out and touched his arm. It felt as hard as steel under my fingers and again I tingled. He smiled, "See you then. 'Bye Victoria," turned and left. As I watched him striding over the fields I realised I had an erection. Chapter Three What is happening to me? Why does the presence of this man excite me so? I'm sure I'm not gay. In fact although my experience with women is limited, the affairs I have had have been most satisfying. So why should this man make me feel like a nervous virgin? These thoughts raced around my head as I sat applying make-up and lipstick to my face. After much consideration I decided I would wear a conservative brown cord skirt and a maroon cashmere polo neck sweater. The sweater was tight fitting and showed off my small bust nicely, not too obvious, but you knew there was something there. I chose a pair of medium heeled shoes that would be easy to walk in. As my hair is necessarily short (although for a doctor some might think it too long) I covered it with a pink silk headscarf knotted at the back of my head. I emphasised my small ears with large hoop earrings. Margaret had pierced my ears many years ago as a torture and now the holes were barely discernible when unencumbered. I'd recently had my navel pierced and a diamond stud inserted for my own pleasure. As ten o'clock approached I almost lost my courage, jumped into my car, and drove home. This was to be my first public appearance dressed en- femme and I was extremely nervous. My hand trembled as I dabbed perfume behind my ears and onto my wrists. Taking my handbag and a deep breath, I stepped out from the safety and security of my cottage and into the unknown. I closed the door firmly behind me in a gesture that said no turning back. I walked the half-mile or so to the pub, my heels tapping in the quite summer air. There was still sufficient daylight to see quite clearly and I soon heard the sounds of voices coming from the inn. Josh was watching for me and came to meet me as I got the door. "Hello, Victoria. It's lovely to see you again. I'm glad you came. What would you like to drink?" His words tumbled out in a rush. "Come over here. I have a table where we can talk." "Hi, Josh. Good to see you too." You'd think we'd been parted for a month. "I'd like a white wine, please." He dashed off to get the drinks and I sat at the table. I was still a little nervous but as I looked round I saw that no one was taking any particular notice of me. I told myself to relax and not be so paranoid. After all, I looked like a woman. I acted and sounded like a woman, therefore, so far as anyone else was concerned, I was a woman. The time flew and by the time 'last orders' were called I was into my third glass of wine and was enjoying the company of this very attractive man. "Can I walk you home?" Josh asked. "Yes, I'd like that. I'm still a little afraid of the dark." We rose together and set off along the road. Josh put his arm protectively round my shoulders and I snuggled into him. When we arrived at my door Josh asked, "Can I see you again, Victoria?" "Yes if you like. I shall be here again next weekend." What was I saying? Making a date to see him again could only lead to trouble. But at this stage I didn't care. I only wanted to be with him, to be in his embrace as I was now. "Can I kiss you, Victoria?" "Yes please." NO! NO! NO! my mind screamed. What am I doing allowing a man to kiss me. But it was too late. His head bent down and his lips found mine. Softly at first, then with more urgency. To my shame I responded with equal passion. I felt his tongue enter my mouth and I accepted it with joy. We kissed for many minutes without parting. Never had I kissed like this before. My lips burned with passion and my tongue probed the depths of his mouth. I became aware of his hand caressing and squeezing my breast and I moaned as my nipple hardened. I felt him push his hips forward against me and was shocked to feel his massive rigid cock pressed into my stomach. I pulled away my lips and pushed my hands against his chest separating us. This was going too far and too fast. To have a man kiss me was one thing, but to have him get an erection over me was quite another. "Good night, Josh. I have to go," I gasped. I ducked out of his encircling arms, opened the door and dived inside. I leaned back against the door my head a whirl of emotions. My lips tingled from his kisses and my nipples ached. As if in a dream I lifted my skirt lowered my panties and grasped my throbbing cock. Before the sound of his footsteps had faded I ejaculated in a shattering climax that left me weak at the knees and my cum arcing across the hall floor. Which was why having Patrick to stay was going to be a problem. Chapter Four As she'd said on the telephone, they arrived within the hour. In the few years since I'd last seen him he'd blossomed into a stunning young person. His shear physical beauty was the first thing one noticed. He held his head erect on a slender neck. His skin was soft and flawless, his hair long and lustrous. He was an inch shorter that I am but with a similar build. His limbs were long and graceful. When he moved he seemed to float. He had clearly inherited the rogue gene that his ancestors and I carried, and the combination of this and his handsome good looks had produced this breathtakingly beautiful boy. "Now be sure to do what your Uncle Victor tells you. I don't want to hear any reports of naughtiness." Turning to me she said, "Victor I expect you to look after Pattie and not let him get into trouble. Here is the address I'll be staying at and the phone numbers. And make sure he cleans his teeth before bedtime." "Mummy, I'm not a child," he complained, but she ignored him. "So if that's everything, I'm off? Be good. Bye-bye." And she was gone. I told Mrs. Whitstable that I was taking the rest of the day off and to refer anything urgent to Dr. Saltly. "Come on, Patrick," I said with a sigh, "grab your bag and let's go get you sorted." We settled in together very easily. He was not a demanding boy and was happy in his own company. He was introverted and sensitive and would spend hours alone in his room. He occasionally went out and walked around the town exploring but he made no friends, nor made any attempts to make any. In the evenings we'd watch TV together or talk. One evening about two weeks after he'd arrived, I was sitting in my armchair ostensibly reading an article in The Lancet, but really trying to devise a way to get to 'Ablefield' for a weekend of crossdressing and to see Josh. The desire to immerse myself in femininity again was increasing so that I found myself constantly thinking about soft lingerie, the sensual feel of nylons and the pleasure of wearing a dress. "Uncle Victor, can I talk to you as a doctor?" he asked after a long silence. "Of course," I said, glancing up from my magazine. "What's the problem?" "I think I'm turning into a girl." That really got my attention. "What makes you think that?" I asked. "Well lots of things," he began, "For a start I'm nearly eighteen yet my voice still hasn't broken. I hardly ever need to shave, where other guys my age are growing beards already and I have virtually no hair on my body. People are always mistaking me for a girl, and," he hesitated, unsure whether to go on, "I'm starting to grow breasts." "And you're worried about this?" "Yes, of course I am," he snapped. "It's not normal for men to grow tits is it?" "It's not uncommon. Tell you what, why don't I examine you. Pop into my consulting room and take your clothes off. I'll get my bag from the car." When I returned he was sitting on my examining table, naked, his hand folded in his lap. I immediately saw his smallish, yet well developed breasts with their prominent nipples being squeezed together by his arms. I made a performance of listening to his lungs and heart. I took his blood pressure, checked his eyes and ears and tested his reflexes. "Everything's OK so far," I reassured him, "now sit back while I examine your breasts." He leaned back on his arms thrusting his chest forward as though proud of them. I took a breast in each hand and gently fondled them. His nipples began to harden and I squeezed them between my thumb and forefingers causing them to stand out. He moaned faintly and closed his eyes. "Does that hurt you when I do this?" I asked rolling his nipples in my fingers and caressing the soft flesh of his breasts. "No, it feels nice," he said. I glanced down a saw that his penis was erecting. He was starting to enjoy it. I was also becoming aroused; it was a very sensual experience caressing his small womanly breasts. Forcing myself to stop I cleared my throat and said, all business again. "I want to examine your testicles now, so lie back please." He lay on his back with his arms to his side. I reached and gently took his scrotum in my hand. His balls were large and well descended. I rolled them in my hand for a time enjoying the feel of his heavy bag. His penis was now fully erect, the foreskin drawn down revealing his swollen knob. My hand itched to grasp its hot length and stroke it but I resisted. My own cock was now trying to force its way out of my trousers and was painfully hard. The sight of this beautiful creature lying naked on my couch was more desirable than anything in my experience. "I'd like to do a sperm count, Pattie, which means you will have to masturbate 'til you cum and we collect your semen in this container." I paused for a second. Dare I say it? It was totally unprofessional but the urge was irresistible. "I think it would be best if I did it for you so that we don't make a mistake. Or you can do it yourself if you prefer," I added as an afterthought. I held my breath for what seemed like an age, praying he'd make the right choice. "I think you should do it for me please, Uncle Victor. You know what to do." "Of course I will. Now relax, close your eyes, play with your breasts if you like the feeling you get from them, and let me take care of everything." With trembling hands I reached forward, took his ball bag in one and enclosed my fingers round his burning shaft. It surprised me how hot and hard it was, before I remembered that this was the first erect penis, other than my own, that I'd ever handled. Squeezing his balls I slowly began stroking his shaft pushing the skin upwards covering the head then pulling it all the way down exposing the crown again. He sighed with pleasure rolling his palms over his hardened nipples then gripping them tightly. I was becoming more and more excited by the experience. I had to release my own throbbing organ or I'd explode. Letting go of his balls I reached down unzipped my pants and freed my rampant cock. I gripped it tightly and wanked furiously for a few moments. In a small corner of my conscience mind I asked myself, what am I doing? I could get struck off for doing this. Masturbating a naked seventeen- year-old boy, who was my own nephew under the pretence of a legitimate medical examination? And what was worse, I was excited to be doing it. Some compulsion had seized me and I was powerless to stop. Patrick was rolling his head, moaning loudly and thrusting his hips upward to meet my strokes when another overwhelming desire gripped me. Without a second's hesitation I bent forward and took the purple head of his prick into my mouth. I opened as wide as I could and let the entire length of his shaft slide into my throat. I gripped the base of his cock tightly to hold it upright, then began bobbing my head up and down fucking my mouth with his wonderful tool. I was producing a large amount of saliva, which lubricated his cock and ran over my hand. Soon I felt his thighs tensing and his shaft began to twitch indicating his approaching climax. His hips were bucking hard into my mouth as he squeezed and tortured his tits. "Ahggg! Ohhh yessss!! I'm comminnnnggg!!! Suck my cock you fuckerrrr!!!!" Torrents of hot sperm hit the back of my throat. I swallowed frantically, gulping down the rich harvest of his testicles. The taste was intoxicating. I wanted more. I sucked every last drop from his pulsing member. At the same instant that Patrick exploded into my mouth my own orgasm erupted brought about by my rapidly wanking hand. I continued to suck his dick, rolling it around with my tongue 'til finally it lost its rigidity. I kept it in my mouth sucking on it as if it were a delicate sweetmeat. As my awareness slowly returned I felt a hand stroking my hair. Turning my head to the side I saw that Patrick was leaning up on his elbows watching me licking the last remnants of cum from his cock and balls. "Did you get enough, Uncle?" he asked, smiling his heavenly smile. I was confused. Did he realise the full implications of what I had just done? Did he fully understand that his uncle had just given him a blowjob and swallowed the evidence? Seeing my embarrassment he giggled and said, "It's OK. The guys at school do it to each other all the time." "Yes, er, um," I stammered. "You better get dressed and we'll have a talk." Chapter Five Later, with my composure restored we sat together in my study. I poured myself a stiff whiskey and gave Pattie a Coke. I explained the history of the family's male line, the inherited gene, the similarity to Klinefelter's syndrome and the incidence of gynacomastia. It was not so uncommon for men to grow breasts I said, in fact about one in seventeen hundred do. I did not mention that it was possible to have them removed with liposuction or surgery. As I talked an idea was evolving in my mind. A scheme that would need careful planning but with a little skill I could turn Patrick's problem to my advantage. I would have to work slowly and ensure that he willingly complied with each step. If he thought he was turning into a girl then I'd help him to do just that. "But it is so embarrassing having breasts," he said. "Not if you wear the appropriate clothing." "How do you mean?" he wanted to know. "I'll show you later. But first we have to do something about them. They are very well formed and a nice size for your frame. Actually they are very attractive. When did you first notice them growing?" "About a year ago my nipples started to itch and get sore under my shirt. They were very tender. Then they began to enlarge and protrude, and the whole thing started to swell. I tried to tell Mummy but she just said I was imagining it." "Do they still get sore?" He nodded 'yes'. "I have some cream that you must use." I rooted in a cabinet and produced a small plastic tub of Oestradiolese, a hormonal breast enlargement cream. "Here you are, I'll get more tomorrow. Now slip off your shirt and I'll show you what to do." He did as I asked, showing no reluctance. I scooped out a large dollop of the cream and smeared it over my palms, then massaged it into first one then the other of his breasts. I made sure that it was all absorbed by his skin. "You must do this three times a day making sure to work it well in over the whole area of the breasts. Now finish your drink and off to bed. And remember to clean your teeth," I jokingly admonished, mimicking his mother. The next evening when I returned to the house, I found Patrick cooking the evening meal. He'd started do this and generally looking after the house, because he said, it was payment for having him to stay. He had also taken over the laundry and ironing duties. After we'd eaten and he'd cleared away the dishes he came and joined me in my drawing room. "Did you use the cream today?" I asked. "Yes, I did." "Good. I have some more for you, a larger tub. Tell me when it's nearly gone and I'll get more. You must keep up the treatment for at least three months. I have something else for you too," I said. I handed him a rectangular flat box. He opened it and moved aside the tissue paper. Inside were a bra, garter belt and panties set. Made by Gossard, they were mauve silk overlaid with lace and dainty embroidered roses. The bra was a half-cup, underwired and front fastening. I'd ordered them before he'd arrived and had been looked forward to wearing them the next time I visited my cottage. He held the flimsy items up in each hand, not quite sure what they were or what to do with them. He looked at me with a questioning expression. "I told you yesterday that you will have to wear appropriate clothing. Well you can start with those. Your breasts will require proper support or they will sag and look awful. Take off your shirt and I'll help you put the bra on." He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. I took the bra and helped him put it on. I clipped it together and adjusted the straps. He settled his breasts into the cups. The underwiring produced a very impressive cleavage, lifting and pressing together his small breasts. "Does that feel better?" I asked. "Oh yes, Uncle Victor. It feels so much more comfortable." "Good. I knew it would. Here you might as well wear these too, they are part of the set." I handed him the panties. "You won't need the suspender belt unless you want to wear stockings?" He dropped his trousers and boxers then slid the panties up his legs. I noticed his cock was beginning to swell as he tucked it into the tiny garment. As was mine. The sight of this beautiful boy dressed in lacy bra and panties was exquisitely exciting. "Aren't they much nicer to wear than your ugly, rough boxer shorts? You must throw them all away tomorrow and I'll get you some more pretty panties. You needn't put your clothes back on if you don't want to. You can stay like that 'til bedtime if you wish." He was happy to stay as he was. He sat in his chair with his legs folded under himself, watching television 'til bedtime. "I'm off to bed now, Uncle Victor," he announced as the news bulletin finished. He rose and stretched his arms above his head. "Good night." "No good night kiss for your Uncle?" I asked. He came to my chair, leaned forward and softly touched his lips against mine. "Good night, Pattie" I said. I watched his departing back, his perfect buttocks rolling suggestively, split by the thong of his panties. My cock twitched painfully. "Oh by the way," I said, as he left the room. "The sperm count didn't work. We shall have to do it again." "OK. No problem," he giggled. Chapter Six The following evening after we had eaten and I was ensconced in my favourite armchair with a large whisky, Pattie announced he was going to have a long soak in the bath. "Before you go," I said, "I've bought you a couple more sets of undies. They're in the hall." "Oh thanks, Uncle," he said and rushed out to get them. He came back tearing open the packet. "Ooh. They're lovely and so pretty. Thank you so much." "Now you must always hand wash the ones you take off every night and hang them in the bathroom to dry." This was going to be easier than I thought. Last night he'd not been averse to wearing ladies lingerie and by his eagerness to see what I'd brought him tonight, he much preferred it. He reappeared later smelling of roses, wearing a new bra and panty and drying his hair with a towel. Flopping in an armchair he began brushing out his damp hair and combing it. He looked lovely and I again felt the stirring in my loins. I asked myself yet again: what is happening to me? Until a few weeks ago I considered myself, a sober pillar of the local community, a respected doctor, a member of the Rotarians and the golf club. I thought myself one hundred percent heterosexual. I had come to accept my transvestism, as a harmless diversion. Now I am becoming obsessed with this enchanting boy, my own nephew, whom my sister has entrusted to my guardianship and whom I am scheming to turn into a girl. I've already fondled him intimately, masturbated and fellated him. And to my shame am longing to do so again. My obsession with him is growing by the day, I dream about his lithe young body with his pert breasts and erect penis and long to hold him in my arms, kiss, and caress him. I yearn to take him to my bed and make love to him. I know these are the feelings and thoughts of a pervert, but I am powerless to resist his charms. "Your hair is getting very long," I said, "don't you think you should get it trimmed?" "Oh please no, Uncle Victor. I hate going to the barbers. They always make such a mess of it. They only seem to know one style and they always cut it too short." "Umm. I see." I gave the problem some thought then said, " I know a woman who's a professional hairdresser and makes house calls. She does the hair for some of my elderly patients who can't get out. What about if I ask her to drop by, give you a little trim, and maybe style it a bit? She's very good and I'm sure you'll be pleased with what she does." "OK. If you're sure she won't mess it up." I phoned Mrs. Kent and made an appointment for her to call the next afternoon. I asked her to do something nice with Pattie's hair and maybe a manicure as well. I was deliberately vague about his gender hoping that when she saw him she'd assume he was a girl and style his hair accordingly. I was correct. When I got home the following evening I was delighted with what she had achieved. Pattie's hair had been cut to just above his collar. She had layered it to give it more body and curled the sides into the neck. A thick fringe covered his forehead but his small ears were still visible. Blonde highlights finished off the style perfectly. "Hey, Pattie," I exclaimed when I first saw it, "that's lovely. She's done a wonderful job. Do you like it?" "Yes, I think it's great. It's not a bit too girlish is it?" "Absolutely not," I lied, for it was extremely feminine. "It suits you perfectly. You're a knock out." "And look," he said, holding up his spread fingers. "She did my nails too." His long elegant fingers were topped by almond shaped nails painted a soft pink. "Smashing, did she do your toes as well?" I asked. "No, I never thought about my toenails." "Ok, I'll do them for you, if you like. Slip off your jeans and socks." I was thrilled to see he was wearing a new pair of panties. He must have got rid of his boxers as I'd suggested because he obviously now preferred the more delicate garment. Sitting on a low stool in front of him I lifted one of his dainty feet into my lap and began applying paint of a similar colour. He never questioned how I happened to have a bottle of nail polish and I didn't tell him. When I'd finished the second foot I asked him what he thought. "Oh, Uncle Victor, they're lovely. He said holding his feet in the air and admiring my work. "It's a pity about your legs though." "What's wrong with them?" "All this ugly hair," I said. In fact it was only fine blonde hairs that were barely visible. "They would be so much nicer if it was removed. Why don't you let me wax them for you? I'm sure you'll love the nice smooth feeling when they're done." "Ok, if you like," he said eagerly. For the next hour I carefully applied the wax and removed every last hair from his shapely legs. He squealed when I pulled the first strip off but afterwards bit his lip and endured the ordeal manfully. When I'd finished I smoothed moisturising cream into his skin and asked him if he liked how it felt now. "It's wonderful. So smooth and soft." "Yes they are," I said. Here goes, I thought. "I wish my legs were as nice and soft as yours." "Do you? Then why don't I do the same for you?" I needed no second invitation. I removed my trousers and sat back in my cotton bikini briefs, (the nearest thing I could find to panties in male underwear) and placed my legs on the stool. I instructed him how to do it. After the many waxings my legs had received there was very little hair left and he was soon finished. Without being prompted he massaged moisturising cream into them, then painted my toenails the same shade as his own. All the attention being paid to my legs and feet had given me an erection, which my briefs were barely able to contain. I made no attempt to hide it and he couldn't fail to notice it when he massaged the moisturiser into my thighs. Sitting astride my legs he said, "I guess you like me doing this?" I could only nod. "Would you like me to help you?" I nodded again. I raised up my bottom and he slid the briefs down my legs. Taking a blob of moisturiser he spread it on his palms then took my shaft in both of his small hands and began massaging its length with the cream. I lay back in the chair and gave myself up to the exquisite sensations centred in my groin. I closed my eyes and concentrated on delaying the inevitable eruption for as long as possible. Feeling something new, I squinted open my eyes and beheld him leaning forward with his mouth enclosing the head of my cock. He sucked and rolled his tongue around as he continued to pump my shaft with his greasy hands. It was too much for me when he forced the tip of his tongue into the opening in my cockhead. I groaned and let go my discharge shooting a huge quantity of sperm into his mouth. He swallowed it bravely but was unable to take it all, some spilling out from the sides of his mouth and running over his busy fingers. He continued to suck my flaccid organ 'til I reached forward to his shoulder and raised his head up. With his hair framing his pretty face anyone would be excused from thinking that a beautiful young woman had just performed fellatio on a man. He smiled at me and asked, "Did you like that?" What a question? Does a pig like strawberries? "Ahhh, Pattie," I said, "it was wonderful. But you are naughty to do things like that to your uncle. It's wrong and we shouldn't do it. You must promise never to breathe a word of it to anyone." "Ok, I promise," he said promptly. Then smiling coquettishly he asked, "Do you want to test my sperm count again?" What could I say? We exchanged places. I removed his panties, knelt between his knees and took his beautiful tool into my mouth. For the second time in my life I held a male penis in my mouth and hands, but unlike the first time, which was hurried and guilt ridden, this time I revelled in the thrill of giving head. I licked and sucked the length of his shaft, gently squeezing his balls. He raised his legs and placed them over the arms of the chair exposing himself totally to my eager mouth. My hands cupped and caressed his perfect buns and my index finger found his pink rosette. With a slight pressure my finger entered his anus and I began to finger fuck his rear hole. I vaguely heard his moans and felt his hands holding my head. His hips started to buck, forcing his cock deep into my throat and his sphincter gripped my probing finger. I felt his balls contract and the next instant my mouth was flooded with his heavenly liquor. I greedily drank the ambrosia, gulping down every drop. I was disappointed when the spring dried up and there was no more to be had. After a while I sat back and looked up at the beautiful boy. I think I'm in love with him, I thought. Chapter Seven The next morning no mention was made about our sexual escapades. We conducted ourselves as though nothing untoward had happened. I left for the surgery as usual saying that I would probably be home late in the evening, as I had to attend a school management board meeting. Pattie had left a note for me when I returned, saying that he was taking a bath and that there was a salad in the fridge. I ate then poured myself a drink and read the evening newspaper. About an hour later the door opened and in walked a vision of loveliness. In a cloud of sweet smelling fragrance Pattie entered wearing a beautiful baby blue, ankle length satin neglig?e. A wide border of lace trimmed the hem and front. Underneath he wore a matching nightdress that ended at mid thigh. It also was trimmed with lace and had thin bootlace shoulder straps. His nipples protruded prominently through the bodice and his penis was faintly visible beneath the skirt. He looked sensational. I became immediately aroused and at the same time envious of his lovely outfit. "Wow!" I cried, "you look terrific. Absolutely wonderful. Wherever did you get it?" "Do you like it?" He struck a pose then did a twirl, the bottom of the neglig?e floating outward revealing his superb legs. "I found the most amazing shop," he began. "It's a charity thrift shop that sells second hand clothes. It's run by a Mrs. Pettigrew and she is the sweetest lady. I just wandered in thinking that I might be able to find a bathrobe or dressing gown, as I don't have one. She asked me what I was looking for. I told her and she said she had the perfect thing for a lovely young lady like me. Before I could tell her I wasn't a girl she was back with this." He indicated what he was wearing. "She made such a fuss of me that I had bought it before I could explain the mix up. So, as I've paid for it I might as well wear it." I was not surprised she thought he was a girl. With his soft girlish features surrounded by his feminine hairstyle and long painted fingernails, anyone would. Although he wore loose shirts the swell of his bust could still be detected, and his unisex jeans hugged his rounded bottom. Over all he gave the impression of a Tom Boyish girl. "Well I must say, it suits you and if you don't mind me saying so you make a lovely young lady. Of course you must wear it. I am quite envious of you." "What? Do you mean that you'd like to wear something like this?" he asked in surprise. "Why not? It looks so comfortable and soft and sexy. Is it so strange for a man to want to wear nice things? You like wearing them, don't you?" "Yes, I have to admit that I do," he confirmed. "They do feel lovely against my skin, and if I'm honest I do feel sexy." "There you are then. QED. You must go back to this Mrs. Pettigrew and see if she has any nicer tops and slacks then those awful shirts and jeans you wear. And some better shoes that those dirty old trainers. I'll give you some money if you can't afford them." When I got home the next evening Pattie was working in the kitchen preparing our meal. He had his back to me and was wearing a silk, black and white striped blouse with a large Peter Pan collar. Grey woolen slacks that zipped up the back. On his feet were black patent shoes with a slight heel. Around his waist he'd tied an apron of starched white cotton with a frilly border. The slinky material of his blouse clung to his bust emphasising the gentle curve. He looked every inch the perfect young woman. He was so absorbed in what he was doing he hadn't heard me enter so I took advantage to admire him with rising desire. "Hello," I announced. He turned to me. "My, you do look nice, the perfect little housewife. I guess you visited Mrs. Pettigrew again?" "Hi, Uncle. She is so helpful. I've bought lots of things from her and they cost me very little. She made me try on lots of things in the shop and I wore these home. After we've eaten I'll show you what else I've got." I couldn't wait to see his new wardrobe. I yearned to dress too. It had been several weeks now since I had last given myself up to feminism and I longed to feel the soft caress of silky lingerie and feel the swish of a skirt around my stockinged legs, to feel the tight embrace of a bra's strap around my back and hear the click of high heels. I hated wearing the tight Lycra vest that was necessary to hide and flatten my breasts. When he had cleared away he brought in two large bags and began producing articles, which he held up for my approval. There were half a dozen blouses, two pair of tailored slacks, a pair of shorts, and a kilt. Finally he withdrew a scarlet velvet cocktail dress and held it to his front. "Pattie," I said. "You do realise that these are all women's clothes, don't you?" I thought we should establish for certain he knew exactly what he was doing, and not have some colossal embarrassment later. "Yes, I suppose they are," he conceded. "But I do love to wear them. You will let me won't you?" "If you want to, of course. But only a short while ago you were afraid you were turning into a girl. Wearing these clothes will make you into a girl." I wanted to be sure he fully understood the implications. "You will have to act like a girl and live like a girl. What will your mother say when she see what you've become?" "Oh I doubt if she will even notice," he pooh-poohed. "She is so involved with her own life she has very little time for me. Anyway I shall soon be eighteen and then I can do what I please." "Fair enough," I said. "I'll help you in every way I can of course. And, Pattie, you are much nicer as a girl. Now try on your new dress for me to see." "Oh thank you, Uncle Victor. I knew you would support me. Mrs. Pettigrew said I would have to wear this under the dress as my waist wasn't quite small enough." He pulled a black basque from the bag. "She called it a Merry Widow. Will you help me put it on? I'm not sure how it goes." I couldn't get to me feet quick enough and take the thing from his hands. He stripped down to his bra and panties. "You won't need your bra with this," I said. He reached behind his back and released the clasp, then slid the bra down his arms. The basque was a wonderfully sexy thing. Stiff, elasticised sides, with four parallel rows of hooks and eyes the length of the back. The bra cups were overlaid with lace as was the front panel and the bottom edge. The four suspenders had little red satin bows where they attached to the corset and a red ribbon was woven in and out of the bodice. I held it open and wrapped it around his torso. I settled his breasts into the cups, noticing as I did so that the ointment he was applying was starting to show some benefit. His breasts were definitely fuller and heavier. Starting with the outermost row of hooks I fastened them together. Once closed, I pulled the corset tighter, re-hooking the second row. Finally I managed to get the third row fastened. It was a struggle, but I had got his waist down by two or three inches. Not bad for the first time. "Did you get any stockings?" I asked. "No," he said. "I didn't think of them." "No matter. I think I have some, somewhere. Just a minute." I went to my room and returned with a brand new pair of honey gold, 15 denier nylons. "Do you know how to put them on?" I asked. He shook his head. I demonstrated how to roll them into a donut shaped circle, insert his toes and work them up his legs, finally attaching them tautly to the suspenders. He didn't ask how I happened to have a new pair of stockings in my room, nor how I was such an expert at donning them. I saw that his cock was hard in his panties. "I see you like wearing stockings." "Oh yes. They feel so nice on my smooth legs. It's incredible." "I know," I said simply. He didn't appear to attach any significance to the remark. "Now for the dress." I held it for him to step into then worked it up over the corset. The front of the dress was cut low exposing a good deal of cleavage and the upper slopes of his breasts. The bra straps were visible beneath the thin shoulder straps of the dress spoiling the look, so I quickly detached them from the corset. He slipped his feet into the strappy sandals the ever-thoughtful Mrs. Pettigrew had provided. I knelt and did up the tiny silver buckles at the sides of his ankles. He wasn't used to wearing 3" stiletto heels and he wobbled when he took a step, almost twisting his ankle. "You look wonderful," I said. "But there is something else we must do to make you totally beautiful." I opened a drawer and retrieved my make-up case. "A little touch of make-up to complete the transformation. I applied a little powder and rouge to his cheeks, darkened his long lashes with mascara, added just a hint of eye shadow, and finally a coral pink lipstick. The simple addition of a little cosmetic had a dramatic effect on his appearance. No longer was he an androgynous Tomboy now he was undoubtedly a beautiful young woman. I was shocked by the change. "I was going to give you this on your birthday, but I think you should have it now." I presented him with gilded box. "Happy eighteenth birthday." He opened it and gasped when he saw the contents. "Oh thank you so much Uncle. They're beautiful." Inside were a pair of pearl earrings, a single strand pearl necklace, and a large single pearl navel ring. "Help me put it on, please." I took the necklace and fastened it behind his head. He posed in front of the mirror. "My ears are not pierced. He said, how can I wear these?" "I can pierce them for you if you like, or you can go to a jewelers tomorrow and get them done." "Will you do it for me please, Uncle. Now!" I got a ball of cotton wool and poured a small amount of Novocain onto it, then wiped his lobes, cleansing and numbing them. With a fine hypodermic needle I quickly punched holes in his ears and inserted the rings. "There you are. I'll do your navel later. Now stand up and let me get a good look at you." He stood, did a twirl, then started at his reflection in the cheval mirror. I could see from his expression that he was surprised by the amazing difference. I stood behind him, my hands stroking his naked upper arms, and gazed in awe at the breathtaking apparition. Glancing down I saw that his erection was tenting to front of his dress, spoiling the line. "We shall have to do something about this," I said, slowly rising his dress and lowering his panties. His freed cock twitched as I wrapped my fingers round his hot length and slowly masturbated him. We both stared at the extraordinary sight of a very beautiful young woman with an obscenely erect penis protruding from a tuft of pubic hair. In a very short time he leaned back against my chest and came. I deftly captured his sperm in the bowl of my hand and when he was drained I brought it to my mouth and lapped it all down. Tucking his soft cock between his legs and adjusting his panties, the dress now lay flat at his front giving no hint to the secret hidden beneath. "Now that you look so gorgeous, it'd be a pity not to show you off to other people. Let's go for a drive and get a drink somewhere." "Do you think I could get away with it? Being dressed as a girl? I've never been out in public before wearing a dress." "Of course you can. All the guys will be panting after you." We drove to another town where I felt sure we would not be recognised. I parked the car in a municipal car park and we walked along the high street looking in shop windows. It was a delicious thrill to walk the crowded pavements, being jostled by other pedestrians who were totally unaware that the beautiful woman whose hand I held was in fact a boy dressed in girl's clothing. Eventually we found an hotel that looked reasonably quiet. We sat together in a corner with our drinks and I couldn't resist the urge to give Pattie a kiss. My cock throbbed as our lips came together in this outrageous public display. If they only knew, I thought. To my chagrin I discovered that Pattie was a natural tease. He flirted outrageously with the bar staff, fluttering his lashes and smiling coyly. He would deliberately lean forward whenever a waiter was near revealing his cleavage, and he'd cross and uncross his legs exposing his thighs. I was quite jealous. On the way home he confessed that he got a buzz from, and was really turned on by the teasing. He loved all the attention he received from the men. Chapter Eight I had racked my brains trying to devise a way to get to 'Ablefield' for a weekend so that I could indulge my transvestite urges. (They were becoming unbearable, when I daily witnessed Patrick living full time as a girl.) I was reluctant to leave him on his own for the weekend in case someone discovered his identity, and I wasn't sure how he would take it if I simply told him I loved to crossdress, although I had dropped enough hints. So I finally decided on a fait accompli. "Pattie, how would you like to go away for the weekend to celebrate your birthday?" I asked. "I'd love to," he enthused, clapping his hands together in the girlish way he'd recently adopted. "Haven't had a holiday for a long time. Where shall we go?" "I know a place in the Cotswolds that you will love. There's also a very special person I'd like you to meet. We'll leave as soon as I finish my morning surgery tomorrow. Pack a bag with all your sexiest things and we shall have some fun. That evening I waxed my legs, shaved my underarms, and painted my toenails. I carefully shampooed and conditioned my hair then blow-dried it into the most feminine style my shortish hair would support. I would wear a surgical cap and gown to see my patients tomorrow. Something I often did. I manicured my fingernails and plucked my eyebrows then plastered my face with a moisturising toning pack. Patrick didn't comment on my bizarre appearance when he came for his goodnight kiss. I finally went to bed buzzing with excitement. The morning seemed to drag forever; the patients kept coming through the door of my consulting room. But at last I'd seen them all. I buzzed Mrs. Whitstable on the intercom and told her I was leaving and could not be contacted 'til Monday morning. I was irritated to find Pattie still in his nightie when I got home. "Come on, aren't you ready yet?" I called as I dashed upstairs to change. I tore off my clothes including the hateful Lycra vest, and put on a loose fitting tracksuit and trainers. Pattie wore a maroon blouse of polyester cotton and a skirt I had not seen before, so I guessed he'd visited Mrs. Pettigrew again. He was rapidly becoming her best customer. I envied the casual, confident way he wore women's clothes, as though he'd worn them all his life. I noticed too, that he only wore skirts or dresses now. I hadn't seen him in trousers since the evening he'd worn the cocktail dress. After an interminable journey made worse by motorway tailbacks as everyone attempted to leave the city at once, we finally arrived. Pattie had asked me several times who this special person was and each time I'd told him to wait and see. I had said that she was a woman, the same age as me, attractive and I was sure he would love her. I activated the automatic garage door, drove in and closed it behind us. For only the second time I entered my little cottage in male dress, (although the tracksuit was a woman's, being pink and white, it could be worn by either sex.) After I had shown Pattie round the house and garden, I suggested he made some tea and sit on the patio for a while as I had something important to do. Entering my bedroom I was thrilled to see all my lovely clothes hanging in closets and neatly folded in drawers as I had left them so many weeks ago. I made myself slow down and, as calmly as I could, I laid out on the bed exactly what I planned to wear. Since I'd decided on this course of action, I had given a great deal of thought to what outfit I should wear, and had mentally selected and rejected pretty well all of my clothes. Lingerie was easy. I had a brand new bra and panty set that I'd being dying to wear. I'd purchased it from an exclusive mail order boutique some time ago. The scarlet half-cup bra was underwired, and overlaid with black lace, and the matching silk panties were also trimmed with lace at the leg openings and front panel. A lacy garter belt would hold up my tan nylons, and a full fuchsia-pink satin slip, also trimmed with lace over the bust and round the scalloped hem, would complete my underwear. My dress had been a problem but I had finally decided on a silk shirt-waisted dress in coffee brown with large white polka dots, (similar to the one worn my Julia Roberts in the film 'Pretty Woman'.) Large lapels and front buttoning allowed me to expose a goodly amount of cleavage. White strappy sandals with three and half inch heel would complete the ensemble. Having assembled my clothes I sat at my vanity and applied my make-up. Over the years of crossdressing I have become quite skilled with paint and powders, but I never the less, took extra care to get it perfect. I painted my nails the same coral pink as my lipstick.