The Teller free porn video

It all started in the seventies. It may not be completely fair, but I blame Richard M. Nixon for it. Well why not? We blamed him for everything else, so why not for my crossdressing? It was the spring of '71 and I had just graduated with a financial degree. I was young and hopeful and sure I would soon be a member of some prestigious firm and living the high life. Fancy suits, attractive women, sleek, powerful cars and weekends at the yacht club or golfing with the elite. I suppose a 22 year old could be forgiven for such fantasies, I had grown up believing that hard work and a good education would bring you the good life. So what happened when I got that coveted degree? Nixon declared price controls, everybody stopped hiring and the economy continued to tank. After the high of graduation I kept my apartment when my roommates left, thinking I would soon have a job and could afford it by myself. I had grown to like Buffalo NY, and I don't want to hear any cracks about snowstorms and such. I loved the area I lived in, there were plenty of things to see and do and Niagara Falls was only a short ride away. I couldn't think of a better place to settle down. But interviews were few, my school loans were now due and the rent was past due. I had been gradually lowering my sights in submitting applications and if Burger King had been around back then I just might have been happy to ask "Do you want fries with that?" When the call came from the bank inquiring if I was still seeking employment it was a cause for celebration, if you call buying a cup of coffee at the diner a celebration. I had been living on instant to save money for some time. I sprang for a haircut, put on my best suit and took the bus to the interview. Hope once again a part of my life; I was going to be able to use my hard won degree after all!. I found my way up to the proper office and sat in a nondescript institutional chair until my name was called. The man behind the desk (this was before women sat behind desks at banks, remember) questioned me and it didn't take long to realize the interview was not for an executive's position but for that of a bank teller. A bank teller? You have to be the right age to remember when bank tellers were exclusively women. My grandfather would remember when only men were intelligent enough to be able to count money for a bank. By the time I grew up the industry had realized you could pay women a whole lot less to count money than you had to pay a man, why with a man's supervision they might even do it right! Women's lib was something I had encountered at college, but I didn't really think much about it. It was just the way it was, the way my professors had told me so and the that was the way it looked whenever I stood in line at the bank. Perhaps the early manifestations of women's lib had something to do with the lack women willing to be paid diddly squat while handling tens of thousands of dollars each day, but here I was being offered a woman's job. I wanted to be incensed, I wanted to tell this man that I was a college graduate and such a position was below my dignity. I wanted to, but I also wanted to have a place to live and food to eat. Back then the term 'homelessness' had not gained currency, but it was a very real fear when the money was running out. So I took the job. The pay wasn't what I had been expecting, but back then it was enough to live decently once I negotiated a reasonable school loan payment.. The next morning I put on my suit and took the bus to the branch bank where I would be working. At that time and place there was a rigid dress code for people who worked in the banking industry. Men always wore dark suits and conservative ties, women always wore white blouses and black skirts. If the institution was particularly liberal maybe the women could wear black slacks. The word 'paternalistic' comes to mind; it was a time when your employer could control your life and was expected to do so. The work wasn't hard, it took a little while to learn their system and master their paperwork, and I mean real paper with pencils and pens; computers were pretty much science fiction at that level of business. I had been amazed to see a battery powered calculator in the electronics store recently. It cost half a week's salary and didn't even have a 'Cancel Entry' button. The adding machines were huge, mechanical behemoths that clattered and clacked when you pulled this big handle and the venerable IBM Selectric typewriter was still a bit of a novelty. Telephones were big, black clunky things with round dials that went 'Whirrr'. You could get Touch Tone in some places, but Ma Bell actually charged you extra for it. Cell phones? Surely you jest! In other words, it was the Stone Ages. It was the people part of the job that was difficult. It was a very small branch, not even an assistant manager. I was the only male behind the teller line, outnumbered 8 to 1 by women (most tellers were part timers, only 2 of us were full time). I was feeling ashamed to be doing a woman's job and my coworkers were not sure how to treat me. Was I a management spy? A wimp? I now realize that I must have put a very big crimp in the lunchroom conversation for a while, having a man present changed things considerably. It took a couple of weeks before I felt comfortable there. The fact that I was brown bagging it actually helped since I obviously was not one of the male elite. The Manager NEVER ate in the lunchroom, that was for the employees. He had lunch at one of the numerous nearby restaurants, and he wasn't limited to a half hour in rotation, either. I usually ended up paired with Susan and either Linda or Dorothy, depending on the day and who was working. I just listened at first, I really didn't know what to say. As they got used to me they relaxed and I learned far more than I wanted to know about hairdressers, motherhood and boyfriends. It was lucky I had a three year old niece, so I could at least contribute a story or two about how cute she was. I took a good bit of kidding as we got to know each other, my suit and tie being a favorite topic. The girls had a healthy disrespect for the paternalistic power structure of the bank, and I came to agree heartily with them as I experienced it. It was my first real job, I had yet to learn about office politics, coping with insane policies form on high and crazy people in general. To my complete surprise I found out that the women disliked their "Bank Uniform" as much as I was coming to dislike to wearing a suit all the time. I gradually came to realize that the white-blouse-and-black-skirt dictum had become a shorthand way of railing against the blatant sexism of the bank, and my suit simply reminded me that I was not part of the elite but expected to dress as if I was. The pay was adequate if you didn't have a family to support, but respect was non-existent. At the same time we handled a great deal of cash each day and were expected to keep our customers happy while accounting for every single penny. Then there was Mr. Baldino, the bank manager, invariably called Old Baldy when he couldn't hear. He was from the old school: rotund, avuncular and with an ever-present cigar. His opinion of me bordered on open contempt, I'm sure he thought I was homosexual because no real man would stoop so low as to take a job as a teller. It was my great good fortune that I seldom had to deal with him directly, policy came through Susan, the head teller. One memorable day Old Baldy came over to the line and asked me for some forms. "Ellie - I need form 123xyz." He snapped. I gave him the forms almost before I realized that he had unconsciously (I think) shortened Elliot to the feminine form of my name. The others hadn't missed it, and from that day foreword I was Ellie. Oddly enough, this cemented my relationship with my co-workers. I had become an "Honorary Woman", one of the group by rite of passage and this pleased me very much. I realized I had abandoned my shame at being a man in a woman's job - my sex had nothing to do with my performance. Being 'one of the girls' was quite an education. In college there had been some pretty raunchy conversations, which always made me a bit nervous since I had never gotten past what was called 'heavy petting' in those days. The conversations in the lunchroom were far more explicit than anything in college, but there was a completely different tone. Instead of boasting of their conquests, my girlfriends at the bank shared their intimate times with each other. I distinctly remember the conversation after Barbara's first anniversary. "So where did you go?" "The Inn of 10,000 delights. Of course with Sammy it made 10,001" "Sammy only delighted you once? I would have thought he could manage at least a second time on your anniversary. "Well if you're going to count each time it would be hmmm.... 10,000 and six or seven. If you count how many times I came then that's something else. Have you ever made love in a Japanese Tea House?" "I take it you did." "We did. It was beautiful, it's built right over this little stream and has glass in the floors so you can watch the water. Sammy took me right there and we left puddles on the glass." "I hope you cleaned them up." "Of course, we aren't philistines. Sammy cleaned them up right after he licked me clean." "I want to borrow Sammy for my anniversary. My George just falls asleep after he comes and I practically have to sit on his face to get him to lick me. He has a different opinion of me sucking him off, however." "You need to do some consciousness raising next time you do some do some cock raising. My Sammy always makes sure I get off before he comes in. The seats in the gazebo by the lake were just the perfect height for Sammy when he was kneeling. You wouldn't believe how exciting it is to make love out where you might get caught! I think he was inspired by the big statue of a stallion up there." "Sounds like you didn't need much inspiration. You going to put in for maternity leave about six months from now?" "Don't I wish, but I'm on the pill. Sammy has always been a gentleman, he used a rubber the first time he came into me even after I told him I was safe. It took forever to convince him it was OK to leave it off." "Sounds like he took it to heart over the weekend." "Honey, it wasn't my heart he was aiming for. I practically had to wear a pad to keep his cum from dripping out of me." I think that partly they were wondering how I would take the conversation, but I think it shows the trust these women had in me that they would include me. I deliberately didn't identify who said what, because I was an active participant. It was at times like this I felt very much 'one of the girls'. I gradually became an advocate for women's lib. I found myself in the same boat as many women as, day after day, I grew to chafe at the paternalistic attitude of the manager, the Suits from the main office and some of our customers. There were even those that treated me with an additional dose of contempt for being a man in a woman's position. I had to agree there was something wrong with the way we, as a society, treated people, both on and off the job. So it seemed somewhat hypocritical on my part as, wet behind the ears and very unsure of myself, I grew very horny watching my coworkers. I was still a virgin, not too unusual for those days, and had broken up with my last girlfriend quite some time ago. Nothing had clicked since then. Now I found myself in the exclusive company of woman for my entire working day, and 5 of them young and certainly worth looking at. The standards of the job dictated they were always carefully made up and showed a considerable amount of slapely bare leg. Then there those white blouses. Most of the older women wore a more opaque fabric and tended to wear some undergarment that blurred the outlines of their brassieres, but the younger women seemed to be in a conspiracy to keep me salivating all day long. Those thin, white shells showed the outlines of their bras so clearly I wanted to cry. Several of them were quite well endowed and I was endlessly fascinated by their breasts as they moved around the workspace. I tried not to stare too openly, but it was hard. Eventually I found myself drawn to the back view, captivated by the great variety of styles in brassieres. Watching their backs was safe, I didn't have to worry about insulting them. I studied the elegant, sweeping curve of the bra band as it caressed their bodies, some practically straight across, others gracefully arching, balanced by the straps that flowed over their shoulders. For some reason the material on the back of those white blouses always provided a clearer view of the bra than the front. I could see details of the fabric, even the stitching that were not obvious from the front. Sadly, bank policy precluded excessive ornamentation on the cups, mustn't offend the customers by drawing undue attention to the breasts, you know. Add to this that the job was often boring; in the banking business there are often long stretches of time where there are no customers, so I had ample time for my bra watching. --- Susan was the first one to wear a front closing bra to work. She was one of those impossibly tall and slim women who seem to float over the ground rather than walk. She seemed to be as old as my grandmother (She was really all of 50, but it seemed to be a lot older to me at the time) , but her every movement was exquisitely graceful, her long arms and fine hands always moving in time with her speech. She wore her graying hair long and had the figure of a woman in her twenties. I wondered what she wore when she wasn't working at the bank, I was willing to bet it wasn't some shapeless housedress. In any case, she was certainly worth looking at and she didn't wear one of those almost opaque blouses, either. I instantly noticed the lack of clasps on her back, the uninterrupted line of the band as crossed her slim back. I wanted to examine the hooks that had to be on the front, but the deep valley of her breasts made them invisible under her blouse. I don't know why this so fascinated me, why I had such an overwhelming urge to see the front of her bra, but I wanted to know with a passion. That unbroken line haunted my dreams that night, and visions of her shapely breasts filled my slumber I was tremendously disappointed when she wore a normal bra the next day. On Friday she wore a front closing bra once again. Not the same one, there were subtle differences; the band was a bit thicker and the straps were sewn closer to the middle, changing the angle at which they sloped to her shoulders. Once again I was unable to see any detail on the front, her modesty protected by fabric and her substantial cleavage. I hate it when my curiosity is stifled. So that's how I came to visit the intimates department of the Adam, Meldrum & Anderson Company, downtown Buffalo's major department store. I had been working long enough I had some money in my pocket and frankly, I had nothing else worth doing with my time just then. I had some half formed idea of sneaking a peek at one of the mannequins to see how the hooks were put together. I had seen mannequins from afar attired only in bras and panties, now I wanted to have a closer look. By the time I rode the elevator to the 3rd floor of AM&As I was regretting my impulsive decision. How could I go and wander around the lady's wear department as if I belonged there when I clearly didn't? Maybe the manager was right and I was a homosexual, why else would I meekly accept being called Ellie? I was acutely aware that I had never gotten a girl in my bed and that must mean something. Now I here was playing Peeping Tom in the lingerie department. The bell dinged and the door opened onto a fairyland of white lace and smooth fabrics. The rainbow of colors we take for granted in our underwear had not yet become common, but white was good enough for me. I was immediately lost, not sure where to go among all these arcane and forbidden garments. I spotted a mannequin wearing a bra and stumbled in that direction. It was just an ordinary bra, if such a pedestrian word could be applied to the marvelous garments that so attracted me. Fading into the distance behind me were racks of bras hanging one over another. Only my nervousness in invading foreign territory kept me from rushing down the rows and fingering them to see what they felt like. I hadn't felt like this since I stood in front of the penny candy counter as a small child. "Can I help you?" I started. My tongue was tied and I couldn't think of what to say for a very long moment. The saleswoman was about my age, a blond with a pleasant smile who seemed unfazed to find a man in her territory. "Uh, I'm looking for a bra for my... girlfriend." I finished lamely. I had almost said wife in order to establish my legitimacy in this feminine bastion, but without a ring on my hand that would have been a transparent lie. "Is this for a special occasion?" "Yes... Sure." My God, what had I gotten into? "Do you know her size?" Size? She didn't exist, let alone have a size. I had to say something or this woman would realize I was a pervert who just wanted to ogle the bras. "Uh 32." That was the number on the tag nearest me, what was I going to say? "And do you know her cup size?" "Cup size?" This was too much! She smiled at me, shemust have heard this kind of thing before. "Don't worry, Sir, you're not the first man who wanted something special for his lady who didn't know her size. I'm sure we'll find something she'll like." Sir? I was too young to be called sir, but I started to feel a little better. "Bras come with different cup sizes because women have different size breasts, as I'm sure you have noticed." She winked at me! "This mannequin has a C cup, and the one over there is an A cup. The letters go up with bust size, A, B C D, then for some reason nobody's figured out they go to DD then DDD, which is as large as we carry here." I couldn't believe I was standing here in public discussing breast sizes with a woman I had just met moments before. "There's some leeway in the sizes, so you don't have to be perfect. I'm sure you've noticed how well endowed your lady is." She winked again. In desperation I pictured Susan and decided she must be a C cup, so that's what I used, but my ordeal wasn't over. "Now, do you have any style in mind? You said this was for a special occasion. Perhaps something a bit daring and lacy?" "Um, she wanted one that fastens in the front." Well, that's why I had come here in the first place, wasn't it? "Of course! It's about time the men who design clothes took pity on us poor women. How would you like to have to fasten those hooks when you can't see them and can barely reach them?" Good Grief! Was I supposed to answer that question? I guess I wasn't because she blithely continued talking as she led me to a rack of boxes. Again I was disappointed, all I really had wanted was to look at the bra to satisfy my curiosity, but I certainly wasn't going to be opening boxes and pawing them in public. "We just started selling these recently. I'm sure your lady will appreciate the convenience. Lets see... Here we are - a 32C. Since this is a special occasion this one has some very nice lace on the cups." Millie (at least that's what her name tag read) handed me the box, on which a young woman was fastening (or unfastening if your mind runs that way) the last snap on the front of her bra. "Shall I ring it up for you or would you like to get something else for her, perhaps a blouse to wear with it?" Buy it? I had never even considered buying it, I was just window shopping! But how could I cheat this enthusiastic and personable woman of the sale she was so obviously trying to make? I didn't want her to know I was just trying to look at a bra because I was curious. I trailed in her wake a she took me to another set of racks. "Does you lady like flowers? We just received these new prints and they're proving very popular. Then we have some pastel stripes over here." "I think a simple white blouse would be best." Bank uniform, of course. What else did I know about women's clothes? "Certainly, Sir." On to another rack. I think this might do - just a touch of lace to compliment the bra. I hope your lady appreciates your kindness, she's going to look very fashionable when she receives her present!" Suddenly I was twelve years old again, standing on a corner at the County Fair. I had a ten dollar bill in my pocket for the rides, but the pichman's patter had caught my ear. Before he was through I had given up my ten dollar bill and gotten a cheap box of men's cologne in return, something completely useless. For just a few minutes I had been under his spell as he wove a net of words that snagged me and hauled me in. I had not intended to part with my money but before he was through I had given him every cent I had. It was a very disappointing day at the fair. Now, here I was again. This personable saleswoman was not trying to rip me off like the con man at the fair, in fact she was trying to be helpful so my imaginary lady would be pleased with me. Nonetheless, I parted with a substantial sum I had not intended to spend for something that was completely useless to me. I left the store with bag in hand and boarded the bus, certain that every soul on the vehicle knew just what was in that bag in my lap and trying not to feel like a complete fool. Arriving home I threw the bag into the closet in disgust and took a long, hot shower before reading myself into a stupor. How could I have been such a fool? --- Monday morning I put on my suit and headed for work. If I didn't keep on spending money on useless things I might be able to afford a car one of these days. The week dragged on, Susan wore only her regular bras on Monday and Tuesday, so there wasn't even that to keep my mind occupied. Wednesday dawned hot and humid, by 10:00 AM (remember banker's hours? That's when we started the day back then.) I was sweltering in my suit and tie. I was surreptitiously trying to wipe the sweat off me in the lunchroom before being seen by the customers when Jackie came in. "You look like you've been running a race, Ellie." "Yeah. With the heat out there I think even the tortoise could beat me in a race today." "Too bad. It's days like this I'm glad we women can wear a short sleeved blouse and not have to roast in a wool suit. Not that you don't look handsome in your suit, but whoever says women go to ridiculous lengths for fashion seems to have forgotten men's suits. I bet you'd like to be wearing a nice, lightweight blouse like mine just about now. Wouldn't that frost Old Baldy now, but he won't even let you take your jacket off." The manager was a stickler for "proper attire" in his employees. She turned to leave and I saw she was wearing a new front closing bra. Damn! Were these women trying to make me go mad? It didn't help that Susan, who started this whole mess, was wearing her front closer that day as well. I managed to keep my mind on business until 2:30, which was closing time on Wednesday. The bank followed the quaint old custom of closing early on Wednesdays. No one there could remember why, but that's the way it had always been done so that's the way we did it now. So, the picture of the dashing young executive, I left the bank. The picture faded a bit as I took off my tie, then unraveled completely as the heat and humidity struck. I slogged home on the bus, climbed the stairs and opened my door. I was soaked through and gladly threw off my coat. I was ready to pitch it in a corner but the realization that I only had so many suits made me hang it up properly. Once again I saw the bag sitting on the closet floor, but I wanted to shower so it was easy to ignore once again. I felt much cooler and more relaxed after sluicing the sweat off my body. This time I stood naked in front of the closet, trying to decide what would keep me the coolest. That damned bag was still there in the closet. I picked it up and emptied it out on the bed, tossed aside the catalog and other advertising and picked up the blouse. Giving in to the curiosity that had nagged me since I bought the things, I unbuttoned it and tried it on, but it was too small. Wasn't that the topper? All that money and it wouldn't fit me, so much for all that indecision and soul searching. I opened the box with the bra and examined the clasps on the front. The same as the ones on the back of a bra, only more of them - so much for the great mystery I had concocted in my mind. I repacked the bra, still in the silly little plastic bag it came in and decided it would be foolish to keep it. I could take them back and get my money back. It was something to do with my afternoon off, so why not. I put the things back in the bag and picked up the catalog. It was just like I remembered them from the time I was about 13 years old, when women in bras and panties were scandalous and cool to look at, at least before we discovered Jack's dad's stash of Playboys. The thrill was gone, however, I preferred the real thing, even if all I could do was look at her back and admire her bra straps. Pretty lame stuff, I had to admit. I was about to throw it out when I spotted the size chart. "How to find your size" - measure your chest size below the bust, add 2" (Why make it so complicated? Why not just use the actual size?) For cup size measure the widest point of the breasts, subtract the chest measurement and follow the chart. Well, why not? I didn't have a tape measure, that's why. I tried to roll a stick ruler around my body but it kept slipping. Using my keen brain I finally found a belt and marked where it overlapped and then measured the belt. 40 inches, which another size chart told me was a women's large blouse. No wonder the size small didn't come close to fitting. Going whole hog I consulted a third chart and found my skirt size. I wrote down the sizes, picked up the bag, made sure I had the receipt and went shopping. This time I didn't have that sinking feeling as the elevator opened, I was on slightly familiar territory. I actually felt relieved when I spotted Millie. She recognized me immediately and turned on her smile. "Hello again. I take it you guessed wrong on the sizes?" She eyed my bag. "Not to worry, it happens all the time. Good thing you bought one of the boxed bras, we're not supposed to take back lingerie if it has been worn, but if the package is sealed you're in luck." I handed her the bag and pulled out the list of sizes. She quickly exchanged the items. "I see you have a skirt size listed here, can I show you what we have?" Well, why not go the whole way, even if I had a hard time admitting I wanted to . "Yes. She works in a bank so I need a plain black skirt. Dress code, you know." "How boring! I'm glad I work in a place that encourages us to be fashionable. Well, at least you can't go wrong and pick something she doesn't like with a plain black skirt. Here, this is her size." She handed it to me and I placed it on the counter. "You know what. I bet she would appreciate a pair of pretty panties to wear under this boring old skirt. Her boss wouldn't know, but at least she would feel a little sexier if she was wearing something more interesting. I'm sure you would appreciate them, too." There was that wink again! She had done it again. I now owned two pairs of panties, one red and one green, shiny smooth and edged in lace. She wasn't done yet. Even as I picked up my bags she smiled and said "Maybe you can both come next time and you can find something a little more exciting for after work. We have some dynamite minis and a new line of tops to go with them. I'm sure you would both appreciate them!" I left before she sold me anything else. --- This time when I got home I didn't hide the bag in the closet, instead I spilled the contents out on the bed and immediately opened the box with the bra in it. It looked much the same, but was obviously bigger than the first one. I opened the bag and unfolded it. It was strangely light in my hands, its texture unlike anything I had ever handled before. I tugged on it and it stretched, then snapped back into place. I sat down on the bed and removed my shoes, then stripped until I was naked. I picked up the bra and tried to put it on, but it tangled and caught on my head as I tried to put my arms through the straps. Feeling like a prime fool I removed it and looked at it again. I finally noticed the straps had adjustments and they were fully pulled in, leaving no room for my arms. I played around a bit and figured how to slide the straps until they were fully extended and tried again. I put my hands into the straps and raised my arms, doing a little shimmy to try and get it to slide down. This time the band slipped behind my head and it settled into place. Awkwardly grasping the loose ends I pulled them in front of my chest and tried to hook them together, After a few frustrated tries I realized I had it on inside out, so I wiggled and contorted until I had it off and turned it around. Once again I slid the bra down my arms and settled it into place. This time when I pulled the loose ends together it snapped easily. The rush I felt when it was in place was amazing, unlike anything I had experienced. The bra encircling my body felt absolutely right, as if It was the last piece that made a puzzle had fallen inplace. I moved to the bathroom mirror and looked at myself, but the empty cups spoiled the illusion. What to do? I stuffed a handful of washcloths into the bra and it was better, but it was visibly lumpy. There had to be a better way, but right then I couldn't think of it. I became aware of an odd feeling on my left shoulder and realized the strap was twisted. I inserted a finger under it and snapped it into place. In the mirror I watched myself perform this exclusively feminine gesture as if I had done so all my life. Incredible! Now I was in a hurry to put on the rest of my new clothes. I had a hard time deciding on the red or green panties, but finally drew the green ones over my legs. I was a bit worried my masculine equipment wouldn't fit in to panties designed for a woman, but they felt comfortable around me as they settled into place. I immediately noticed how the fabric clung slightly to my buns, providing a delicious reminder that I was not wearing my ordinary cotton briefs. I quickly donned the blouse and skirt and returned to the mirror. Suddenly I knew why women preferred full length mirrors. I could only see a small part of my newly clothed body at a time in the small bathroom mirror. I tried to back up, but the room was too small. The side view showed my lumpy breasts and I couldn't turn far enough to see what the back of my blouse looked like, but it looked enough like a woman's figure to send thrills through my body. What I hadn't expected, if I had expected anything from this insane escapade, was the sexual stimulation. After a few minutes I realized I was hard and my penis was straining against my panties in reaction to the clothing. I tried to ignore it, but eventually I lay on the bed and relieved myself. It was one of the most intense orgasms I had ever felt and I lay half asleep on the bed afterward for some time. When I revived the first thing I was aware of was the swell of my washcloth filled breasts when I opened my eyes and a wave of well being washed over me almost as intense as my orgasm.. I glanced at the clock and discovered it was just past eight, the day had passed in what seemed like mere minutes. I arose and cleaned myself off, changing into my red panties and rinsing the green ones. It was a good thing the saleswoman had talked me into two pairs after all. I made my supper and watched some TV, nothing special but acutely aware of my 'bank uniform'. When Johnny Carson came on I knew I had to get some sleep, but I just couldn't take off the bra. My pajamas were a bit tight over my fake breasts, but they fit well enough. I slept well, but each time I aroused a bit from slumber I was aware of the bra around me, and it's comforting presence lulled me back to sleep. The next morning I reluctantly removed my bra and put on my suit. The day was a complete drag, every time I saw Susan wearing her front closing bra it reminded me of yesterday's adventure. When I finally made it home I immediately exchanged my male bank uniform for the female version and once again spent the night dressed up. The next morning I started to unhook my bra and it dawned on me that underneath my suit it would be completely invisible. Feeling like an explorer setting out on a monumental adventure I locked the door to the apartment and walked down the street to the bus stop still wearing my bra. This time the sight of my bra clad coworkers reminded me that I was wearing a bra of my own. It was obvious that no one noticed, just as I had expected, but I was deliciously aware of the warmth and tightness around my chest all during that day. Screw you, Old Baldy, Ellie's wearing a bra just like the other girls! Hell, I had been invited to Billy Jean's baby shower and was the only guy there, but nobody cared. I had a good time, too. Arriving home that afternoon, I was about to change into my preferred uniform when my nose informed me that after wearing my bra for three days running it was in need of washing. For that matter the rest of my clothes were piling up, so I put on my shorts and T-shirt and filled the washers in the basement, getting a little thrill when I tossed in the bra and panties with my regular clothes. I plunked a handful of quarters into the slots and went upstairs. Friday night and nothing to do, not even the clothes I wanted to wear. Well, it was payday, why not expand my wardrobe? Wishing I had a car I boarded the buss and went downtown. I was disappointed that Mille was not there that evening, but with the confidence of the amateur I selected several new bras, even feeling proud of myself for realizing that if I purchased A cups for work there would be less empty cup to hide under my shirt. To my surprise I found that bras also came in black, so I splurged on one of those as well. I left the store with a supply of underwear sufficient for two weeks between washings, and when the saleswoman gave me a very funny look I didn't even care. I began to realize how lucky it was that I had met Millie on my first outing. My purchases clutched in my lap I rode the bus homeward. The sun was setting and it was getting dark, and as I sat in the half light of the bus I suddenly realized just what I had been doing. I had just purchased enough women's underwear so I could wear them from now on. Instead of being exciting it now struck me as perverted. What had made me do such a thing. I cowered in my bus seat and my body shook with shame. I actually started crying, which convinced me all the more that I must have become a homosexual because no real man could have done what I had just done. I wanted to throw those shameful garments out the window of the bus, to disavow the life of perversion I seemed to have descended to. How could I face my parents or my friends knowing I was such a disgraceful creature? I wallowed in my shame as the city streets passed by, until I heard my stop called by the driver. I walked the two blocks home, threw my clothes into the dryer and locked myself into the apartment. The walk had cleared my head and I was starting to realize things weren't as bad as they had seemed a few minutes ago. I didn't have the words, or the concepts, needed to cope with what was happening to me. I was still confused, but my emotions were returning to normal. When I was in my early teens I had been faced with the normal curiosity about girls and sex and such. My parents were, frankly, so hung up about sex that it was a wonder they had any children. The subject was taboo in our family, but I wanted to know all about it, and what I had heard in the locker room just didn't make sense. My teacher that year had inculcated in me and the rest of my class one overriding dictum: If you want to know something the place to start is the library. So I went to the school library, proudly pulled open the card catalog (proud because I knew how to use it, that is) and looked for the word 'SEX'. Naturally I didn't find it, you could imagine what the parents of that era would do if the word had been openly used at school. I was disappointed, trying 'baby', 'procreation' (I knew that one from Sunday School, as in Be Fruitful and Multiply) and 'intercourse'. Still nothing, but I was determined. I eventually made it to the county library and with some surreptitious searching I located a book that I could understand. Naturally I didn't check it out, I was too embarrassed, but I hid in the back of the stacks and read avidly. By the end of the day I knew what I wanted, or at least I thought I did, and I became the locker room authority on sex for the next little while. So the next morning I hopefully approached the card catalog and immediately realized I had a problem. What was I trying to look up? I didn't even know if there was a word for it, and Men Wearing Women's Clothing wasn't the kind of thing you'd find in the card catalog. Well, you had to be crazy to want to do this sort of thing, so why not start with the Psychology section? Because I couldn't find anything there, that's why. Medicine? They had one book by a Magnus Hirschfeld that might have something, but the damn thing was written in German and was older than I was. Human Behavior? Fashion? Not one blessed word about anything connected to me wanting to wear women's clothes. OK, then there was no choice but to look up 'homosexual'. I didn't want to, but what else was there? Looking back from where I am today it seems downright silly to keep typing 'homosexual' out in full when 'gay' is so much easier to write, but at the time that simple shorthand wasn't around, or at least I hadn't heard of it. In any case, I had plenty of material to choose from, so much I had a problem trying to narrow it down. With the comfortable knowledge that the Librarian wouldn't publicly denounce me as a sexual deviate, I checked out several books. Having acquired the new word, "Transvestite", from the card for the German text I at least had a place to start. Over the next few days I read about homosexuality and thankfully realized I wasn't a homosexual. I was simply not interested in other men sexually. Women excited me, and so did their clothes. These days my fear seems almost silly, but in 1972 being gay was still a crime in much of America. As I read more on the subject I grew increasingly skeptical, there seemed to be little to back up the idea that homosexuality was a mental disease, and the so called experts varied wildly in their opinions. I had yet to become aware of the nascent Gay Rights movement, but when it became public I found myself supporting them in their quest for justice. Even if I wasn't a homosexual, I could certainly sympathize with their isolation and frustration. Once I had discovered what a bra felt like it was as if a light had been turned on - I threw out my male underwear and never looked back. I still didn't understand why I felt so good wearing them, but from that day forward I always wore a bra and panties under my suit. Once a bra and panties became my usual attire it wasn't much of a step to pantyhose. The first time I shaved my legs was awkward and difficult, but within a few weeks it had become a normal part of my bath time ritual. Millie, who now called me Elliot instead of 'Sir', helped me find some black tights that I could wear during the day as long as I was careful not to stretch my legs out where anyone else could see them, and I changed to shears when I put on my other uniform. I liked the look of my legs in my newly purchased full length mirror, but still wished I didn't have such lumpy breasts. The job market still sucked so I remained a lowly teller, but both to spite Old Baldy and to enhance my image in the mirror as Ellie I let my hair start to grow again. The bank had an absolute rule that men must be clean shaven, but oddly enough they didn't have a policy on the length of men's hair, so I made sure my hair was always neat and well brushed as it continued to grow. When it got long enough to gather into a pony tail I treated myself to several pretty hair ornaments to wear at home. Too bad I couldn't wear them at the office, but I think Old Baldy would have flipped. But the winds of change were blowing. Two forces converged to change my life radically: Women's Lib became a more potent force outside the campus and the government changed the banking regulations. An unlikely combination, to be sure, but highly potent. The change in regulations had big banks gobbling up small banks to produce humongous banking chains. It seemed like the sign on the corner bank changed every few months as the big fish ate the small fish. One day, after I had been at the bank about a year, Old Baldy called a meeting and informed us we were now a branch of a well known New York City bank. For us lowly types it was a good thing, at least those of us who were lucky enough to work at a branch that wasn't closed. The pay improved a bit and the benefits were better, but Old Baldy soon discovered the new owners had a different way of doing business. He fought for a while, but within a couple of months he retired rather than change his ways. --- She came in just before closing time on the day of Old Baldy's retirement party. Knowing that free food and drinks awaited us we were eager to close, but naturally one last customer had to breeze in. She wore a simple black dress, but it's hem stopped several inches higher than the dress code would have allowed us tellers. It may have been black, but the bright red scarf around her neck, gold hoop earrings (obviously pierced ears) and jangling bracelets on her arm showed the woman had style. She moved with style and projected an aura of confidence and grace even across the bank lobby. Old Baldy began the usual father-knows-best patter he used with women. We were all watching casually but when his face started to turn red we knew something was up. He picked up his phone and spoke forcefully to whoever was on the other end, then slammed down the receiver. By now we were all watching intently while trying to look like we were working. The woman sat there and didn't look disturbed as he concluded his conversation. Old Baldy arose and strode to the door and, inserting his key, he locked it. This was very unusual, such menial tasks were normally left to us tellers. I had the feeling of a lab rat when the cover of the cage is snapped in place: trapped and no way to get out. "Ladies, may I have your attention." Not a request although phrased that way. I had long since become accustomed to being included as one of the ladies. "It appears that Miss Veraz here has been appointed as the manager of this branch upon my retirement." "That's Ms., if you please, but call me Deborah." He nearly expired on the spot. Obviously the main office hadn't made her identity known to him before she showed up. "Well people", she continued, "What say you finish up so we can get to know each other and wish Mr. Baldino a happy retirement?" Turning to him she said "Maybe we can go over the paperwork and you can show me where things are while they cash out." Old Baldy didn't look too pleased at the way she took over from him, but in another 20 minutes he would be history. --- The retirement party was more fun than anyone expected. The contrast between Deborah and Old Baldy was striking, She found time to talk to each of us for at least a few minutes, and she seemed genuinely interested in us. Her request for dark beer took the bartender by surprise, that wasn't so common back then, especially for a woman. She drank the first swallow with obvious relish and then toasted Old Baldy. "Ladies and Gentlemen: A toast to a gentleman of the old school! May he thrive in retirement as our bank thrives without him!" Now just how did she mean that? No matter, we drank anyway. The beer was free, or in my case the wine. I never did have much of a taste for beer and in the occasional after work outing with my co-workers I had developed a taste for white wine. Good old Ellie was just one of the girls, you know. With both my new and old bosses, not to mention assorted Suits from the main office present I limited myself to only two glasses of wine. I wasn't going to make a fool of myself in such company if I could help it. Toward the end of the party I found myself alone with my thoughts when the rest of my table went to "powder their noses". After a while I became aware that I was no longer alone. "Hi." It was Deborah. "I've been hearing the others call you 'Ellie' I hope that's not one of those atrocious nicknames some people get saddled with." "It started with a slip of the tongue one day when Old... Mr. Baldino was in a hurry, but I don't really mind it. My mother named me Elliot but behind the counter I'm just one of the girls." "And of course Old Baldy didn't bother to ask if it bothered you. Don't look so shocked, you tellers aren't the only ones who call him that, and you're not the only one in the world stuck with a nickname you could do without. Do me a favor, when you guys come up with one for me, let me know what it is. I'm kind of curious if it will be any better than the others I've been stuck with." "I don't know. I suspect that being our first woman manager it might be something unfortunate." "Worse than 'The Old Bitch'? I got that one when I became an assistant manager last year. I resented it at first because I'm not that old." "So what about the other part?" "I can be a bitch at times, but only with people that deserve it. I think you can appreciate how difficult it is to do a job traditionally reserved for the other sex, can't you Ellie?" "Well, it's not that bad. It's not the job I wanted when I graduated but with the job market the way it is I'm not complaining. Actually it can be kind of fun being 'one of the girls'." She blinked in surprise. "I just wish I could be 'one of the boys' as easily. There are darn few men in this business that will admit a woman can do the job as well as they can. I'll try to keep that in mind in working with you." "Thank you, Deborah." It was an effort to use her first name, but that's what she wanted. "I have no doubt that you're about twice as talented as any other candidates if the people upstairs gave you Old Baldy's job. And that isn't brownnosing, it has to be true or you wouldn't be here." "Well, you'll find out, but I happen to think it's true. Her hand covered mine briefly, a very pleasant sensation. "I suppose you've had it up to here being a teller. Rather the opposite of my case, I would think. I doubt Old Baldy showed much respect for the women in his employ." "I don't think it's that simple. It's not so much disrespect for us as women, but he thinks of the world in 'Us and Them' terms. He's the upper class and has it made, the lower classes are there to work for him and if women are mostly in the lower classes it doesn't strike him as unusual. I noticed that attitude was prevalent in my professors at school, but it didn't mean much until I took this job. I'm sure he thinks he treats us gallantly and is a gentleman at all times. Perhaps he's right - if you look at it on his terms." "Very perceptive, I think you may be right. In any case, I think you'll notice some changes now that I'm at the office. By the way, did you realize that you included yourself with the other women? I think you must be a very unusual young man to be so empathetic." "Well, I told you I was just one of the girls! Seriously, I have come to appreciate the way women are mistreated by so many men. I see it in the customers all the time. It's funny. Some of them avoid me because I'm a man in a woman's job and others avoid the women if I'm visible because they think a man could do a better job. I can't tell you how many times a customer has turned to me when one of the women tells them something they don't like. They assume because I'm a man I can override her and make them happy." "Just wait until the first time I turn down someone for a loan. You can bet they'll blame it on me because I'm a woman. You develop a shell after a while, but it still bothers me." Our conversation was interrupted just then as the ladies came back. I couldn't notice any more powder on their noses than when they left, but who was I to say? Deborah stayed at our table for some time and the conversation was lively and interesting, she had a way of drawing people out of their self-imposed limits and connecting with them. --- Monday morning, the first day with our new manager. In her honor I had decided to wear my newest bra under my suit, a sexy, lacy thing with matching panties. By this time I had gone long past the bank uniform and was acquiring a nice little wardrobe. I spent most of my evenings dressed up and much of my weekend. At first I had spent just about all my time dressed up, but after a while I found there were other things in life and resumed a slightly more balanced existence. Shortly after we opened Deborah called me into her office and asked for some help. "I hate to start off the week with a sexist stereotype, but I would appreciate it if you could dispose of some magazines Old Baldy left behind." She pointed to a pile of Playboys on her desk. "I suppose he thought it would shock me or something if he left them behind." She picked up the top one and flipped it open, letting the centerfold drop down. "Hmmm. Not bad, I bet with the right airbrush I could look like that." She turned it so I could see. I didn't know what to say. Hell, I was completely flummoxed. I had never before had a woman look at naked pictures in my presence, and here was my new boss showing me a Playboy! My reaction must have been plain. "I'm sorry, Ellie, I didn't intend to embarrass you. It just seems so like the Old Boys to think I would get upset about this. I was rather hoping for a secret bottle of whiskey in the drawer so we could all finish it off at lunch, but he must have kept his booze. If you want to keep them feel free, otherwise chuck 'em in the trash bin for me, will you?" I ended up putting them in my car. I hadn't really looked at a Playboy since college. I enjoyed reading them (and looking), but not enough to spend my own money. What a way to start the week! The next surprise came at lunchtime. Susan and I had settled down and were unwrapping our sandwiches when Deborah came in. She greeted us cheerfully, sat down and opened her own brown bag. "I hope you don't mind if I join you for lunch." We accepted, what else could we do? Life was sure going to be different with Deborah around. It took all of five minutes to feel comfortable with her there and it wasn't long before both Susan and I looked foreword to lunch for more than a break from work. With Deborah there the conversation was stimulating and very enjoyable. It didn't take long for me to stop bringing the paper to work to read at lunch. That night at home I took time to dress up and settled down to watch TV, which was disgusting. I had to laugh at myself as I settled down to read my stash of playboys wearing a long brown skirt and printed blouse. Would you believe I actually pictured some of those pretty, naked girls wearing a sexy bra? I spent a long time laughing at myself that evening. Once again my life was changed by something completely unexpected. Buried in one of those magazines was a little mention of something called Tri-Ess. Fantastic! Other men who liked to wear women's clothes. I wasted no time in writing to the address and waited a few weeks, anxiously checking my mailbox each day. When the answer came I was torn between opening the package immediately or changing into a suitable costume for reading it. I swallowed my impatience and dressed up. Settling down in the living room chair I carefully smoothed my skirt and tore open the bulky envelope. In it was a form letter thanking me for my interest and a copy of a magazine for transvestites. I eagerly read it from cover to cover, and was so excited I didn't know what to do. I filled in the membership form and ordered a book by Virginia Prince, but what had so excited me was an offer for a kit to make breast forms. I had no real idea such things existed until I read that magazine. Now I had the answer to my lumpy, washcloth filled bras. The wait seemed like ages, although it was only a few days. This time there was no conflict, I put on my prettiest bra, slid the stockings over my legs and fastened them to the garters and put on my panties. No outer clothes yet, my new breasts would come first! The package contained two oddly shaped clear plastic bags, a bottle of liquid and instructions. I felt like a kid with a chemistry set, but I filled the bags and in a few minutes the liquid thickened and felt like what I imagined a real breast would feel like. I excitedly slipped them into my bra cups and behold: smooth lines, no lumps and bumps. And the feeling - these forms had weight to them, I could feel them tugging the straps of my bra! I had tits that bounced, that shook and wiggled when I moved! When I put on my dress the outline was far more like a real woman's. I relaxed in the chair to read my new book, but the weight of my breasts kept distracting me for some time. Eventually I grew used to them as I read about Virginia Prince. Such amazing adventures, and from the pictures it was impossible to tell this was a man. Oddly enough, in all the time I had been dressing up, I had never felt inclined to try makeup or wigs or anything to complete the illusion. I was satisfied with how the clothes felt, how good they made me feel. Could I do as well as Virginia? I didn't think so, I knew nothing about makeup and had no one to teach me. Besides, I knew I could never leave the house dressed up. It was unthinkable, so of course I started to think about it. Tri-Ess was my passport to a whole new world. I wrote to people in the list, subscribed to other magazines I found there. I was giddy from finding there were others like me. Not that I had doubted it before, I didn't have the ego to think I was completely unique in the world, but I hadn't a clue about how to find anyone else. I was disappointed there wasn't a chapter near me, but for now I was happy just to make connections among my sisters. Just using that word gave me a thrill. --- Meanwhile at the bank things were continuing to change. Partly from the new owners advertising and partly from the efforts of Deborah we were getting busier. She had been there a few months when she came into the lunchroom with a very smug look on her face. "I just got a letter from the home office and guess what? The penguin look is now officially out!" "Huh?" I replied. "Not for you, silly. No more black and white for the women. It says here 'women associates are encouraged to wear fashionable attire as long as it is consistent with good taste and a businesslike atmosphere'. I called 'em up and confirmed that slacks are officially deemed to be in 'good taste'. You look disappointed, Ellie." "I'm a sexist pig. I like looking at legs." "You never had to wear a skirt and blow half your paycheck on nylons." If only she knew! "That's great, Deb." Susan cheered. "Don't worry Ellie, I'll wear a skirt once in a while just for you. My husband won't mind." "Neither will I" "Sexist pig." "Oink!" Well, Ellie, there's a surprise for you as well. The new advertising campaign is going to tout the casual atmosphere of the bank, which is why the penguin dress code is gone. You have just become a 'shirtsleeve banker', a casual yet authoritative guy who doesn't need to wear the suit coat to intimidate the customers. Go on! Take off your coat and let's see how you fit the image!" she bantered. Oh my God, what was I going to do? I knew damn well that my bra would be immediately visible through the thin white shirt I wore. "I'll wait until tomorrow so we can all adopt the new look at once." I demurred. It didn't work. "What's the matter, afraid to strip in front of two good looking broads?" Her voice grew bawdy. "Hell, we women have been doing it in front of men for years. Hey Susan - shall we stuff a dollar under his tie if he takes off his coat?" Susan started to hum "The Stripper". "Please, I can't right now. I don't want to shock you ladies," "It's nothing I ain't seen before. I'm a married woman with three boys, Ellie!" was Susan's response. "Well, I'm not married but you aren't going to shock me either." What was I going to do? "I don't think I could pass the 'consistent with good taste' part of your letter, Deb." "Give me a break, Ellie! Just take off the damn coat, already." Suddenly I made my decision. I had come to like these two women a great deal and I just had to hope they would understand. "On your heads be it, then. Just remember you asked me to do this!" I took off the suit coat and deliberately and slowly spun around. When I could again see their faces they were both struggling for composure. "Whenever you call me 'just one of the girls' it meant more than you knew." "You're wearing a bra!" exclaimed Susan. "And panties and tights. I'm a crossdresser, ladies. I had no intention of letting you know but you forced my hand. If I'm still employed I'll go into the bathroom and remove my bra so I can be a shirtsleeve banker." "Good grief Ellie, why would you want to wear a bra? "Because it feels good. Because it makes wearing this damn suit more bearable. Maybe because I'm out of my mind. I'm not sure I can give you a good answer, Susan." "I don't think the home office thought of this when they designed the advertising campaign. Why did I ever want to become a bank manager?". Deborah was shaking her head. "Because you're very good at it." I replied. "I'm sorry Deb, I didn't mean for anyone to know about this. Naturally I'll be presentable for the customers as of tomorrow." "I suppose a bra on a man does go past the 'businesslike atmosphere' they were trying to institute. I don't suppose you have a nice dress you can wear tomorrow?" "I have several nice dresses, but I'm not going to be wearing them outside my apartment any time soon." "You do?" Susan asked. "I just can't believe it!" "Sometimes I can't believe it myself. It did kind of sneak up on me, but for better or worse it's part of my life." "That's what I get for trying to make a joke. Deb responded. "Well Ellie, no one needs to know about this except us, do they Susan?" "Certainly, Deb." "Thank you. Thank you both!" "What you choose to wear is your business as far as I'm concerned. I do suppose the bra has to go because the customers can see it, but otherwise I don't care. Put you coat back on and enjoy the rest of the day. I'll try not to giggle too hard when I look at you." "You're a peach, Deb." "No, I'm a sucker, but I think you're sweet, Ellie. --- "Ellie?" Deb asked. It was several days after the incident in the lunchroom but nothing further had been said. I still felt unclothed without my suit coat, despite how much more comfortable it was without it. "Can you cover for me a while, I need to run over to the Post Office." "I guess so. What do I do?" "Just sit at my desk and look beautiful, just like I do." "I think I can handle that." "If anyone comes in just turn 'em upside down and shake all the money out of their pockets, but be nice about it. She left with a smile. So I sat at her desk and tried to look like a banker, shirtsleeves and all. I wondered if the hunk on the bank's TV ads had ever worn a bra and if he missed wearing it as much as I did. Funny how the officers in all those ads were big, strapping, middle aged males with a touch of gray in their hair, even if there were several female managers, not to mention many younger men, working for the bank. Some images die harder than others, I guess. I was able to open a savings account while Deb was gone, so I guess I had done my part to increase the bank's fortunes. It felt weird to go up to Barb and hand her the paperwork from the wrong side of the teller line. Oddly enough, I missed my suit coat for more than concealing my bras. I found myself wearing my topcoat more often, without the suit coat the chilly fall weather went right through my white shirt. They may have allowed the women to wear colors, but men had inherited the penguin look with their white shirts and dark suit pants. I toyed with getting a top hat and tails as a joke, but they were too expensive for a one time laugh. Then a notice appeared on the bulletin board. As part of the casual banking atmosphere that we were trying to promote, associates were encouraged to wear costumes for Halloween. So call it trite, berate me for using an ancient and hoary clich?, but you know damn well what costume I wanted to wear. I tried to ignore it, but that was not going to happen. The day the notice went up, Deb and Susan cornered me at lunch. "So are you going to let us see the other Ellie for Halloween?" Susan asked as soon as she sat down. "I'm about as real as I get right now." "You know what I mean." "Yeah. Look Susan, that Ellie has never left the apartment. She's a nice fantasy but she's not real." "Are you sure about that, Ellie?" Deb asked. "I don't want to pry into your personal life, but there must be a reason you do what you do." "My, the euphemisms are getting thick around here." I waved my hands theatrically. "You both know I like wearing women's clothes, but you are the only two people in this town who know that. Can you imagine what would happen if someone downtown found out about it?" "Why would they find out? Besides, if I gave you permission to wear your dress to work what could they do?" "Get apoplectic or homophobic and fire us both." "Not a chance! Fire their token female manager? What would that do to their ad