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Meeting Millie By Emily Ross Prologue Robbie Anderson was an ordinary kind of guy. He was a senior accountant in one of Northbury's leading accountancy practices. He enjoyed the benefits of a good salary, living in a smart part of town with his lovely wife, Helen. He drove a new BMW and every year he and Helen holidayed in exotic places like the Caribbean or the Maldives. In his early thirties, he was good looking, hard working, charming and ambitious. He expected to be offered a partnership in the accountancy firm in the next twelve months or so. Life seemed good to him. He was liked and respected by everyone he met. He was one of the first in to work each morning and one of the last to leave the bar after an evening of socialising. He was into many sports; playing a bit of rugby, going regularly to the gym and joining a swimming club. In short he was a man's man. Most of the time. Just occasionally Robbie liked to show off his feminine side. He liked to slip into something short and sexy, put on make-up and a wig and turn into Tracy Carter, his female alter ego. He liked satin underwear, short skirts, high heels and tight tops, which he kept in the spare room. Only Helen knew of these predilections. She'd been surprised when he confessed to her one night - he was so masculine, so one of the lads. She wasn't happy that her husband often wanted to slip into a dress. However she recognised that it was something he had to do and she was prepared to tolerate it as long as she didn't have to meet Tracy. Robbie would have been mortified if any of his rugby colleagues had so much as an inkling about the existence of Tracy. The exercise at the gym kept his body slim. His swimming training explained the shaven body although Robbie rarely actually participated in any races. It was just a useful excuse in case anyone noticed. Chapter 1 - She wants to meet me "She wants to meet me," Robbie announced one Monday over dinner. "Who?" his wife Helen replied. "Millie." Robbie said, a little nervously. He was always apprehensive when he talked to his wife about his crossdressing hobby. "Millie? Oh I remember - that little pantyboy that you've been e- mailing wants to meet you." Helen knew perfectly well who 'Millie' was. She just wasn't very keen on Robbie corresponding with another crossdresser. Somehow she felt threatened. "Yes she does," said Robbie. "And you'd like to?" "I didn't say that," Robbie denied. "But you wouldn't be bringing up the subject unless you were interested," Helen said. "I suppose I wouldn't," Robbie admitted. "So you are interested in meeting Millie?" "Yes." "And would I be right in supposing that your pantyboy friend would like to meet Tracy rather than Robbie?" Robbie nodded, looking a little guilty. He nibbled a small mouthful of his food. His stomach was in knots. "And where would you meet?" Helen asked. "At her house. She's invited me round on Saturday." "Wait a moment. How do you know Millie's genuine? How do you know Millie's not a white slaver who will kidnap you and ship you off to a she-male brothel in Brazil? You'll never be seen in Northbury again." Robbie shuddered involuntarily. "Or maybe your correspondent has invited half a dozen mates round to join in a pantyboy gang rape," Helen suggested. Robbie shuddered again and studied his wife's face. She was joking wasn't she? She wasn't smiling, she was serious. "Of course, Millie's genuine. She's just a crossdresser like me." "How do you know?" asked Helen. "She's sent me photos." "And how do you know that they're photos of Millie? They could be photos of anybody, downloaded from the web. After all there are hundreds of sissy sites on the web. I bet that they're not genuine photos of Millie." "Of course they are," Robbie insisted. "And have you sent any photos to Millie?" Helen asked. "Well yes, I've sent one photo - I've only got one photo of Tracy." "Not that one I took of you on the sofa?" "Yes." "You're a bigger fool than I thought you were, Robbie." "Why?" "In that photo you're wearing a tiny micro-skirt. Your little white satin panties are showing. You look like a right slut. No wonder Millie wants to meet you. If you go, you'd better take some KY jelly with you. There'll be blokes queuing up to fuck that little sissy hole of yours." "You're being ridiculous," Robbie maintained. "Just suppose that you liked sex with pantyboys. What would you do? You'd pretend to be a pantyboy yourself and ingratiate yourself with one - preferably one who's a slut in a skirt short that is so short that it reveals everything." Robbie groaned. "You'd be all friendly and invite the little sweetie over to your place. The pantyboy would be handcuffed on arrival and raped. Repeatedly." "Look it's not like that," Robbie pleaded. "She's kind, helpful and very friendly." "Yes, that's what they always say at murder trials. 'He was a good neighbour.' 'She looked after my cat.' 'I never thought he was an axe- murderer.' 'She kept herself to herself.'" "You're joking," Robbie said. "I'm deadly serious. You're not going. Okay?" "Okay." "Oh, darling, don't look so down. Why don't you go and pretty yourself up?" Robbie nodded, got up and went upstairs to change into Tracy. Chapter 2 - Can I invite her round here? "Can I invite her round here?" Robbie asked Helen the next evening. "Invite who?" "Millie," Robbie replied. "Your little pantyboy friend?" Robbie nodded. He wished that Helen didn't keep referring to Millie as his little pantyboy friend but he decided not to make any comment. "And what would I do? If you had a visitor I mean," asked Helen. "That's up to you. You could stay in or go out." "I'd have to go out. You know I don't like meeting Tracy. If I stayed here, you'd probably expect me to make you coffee and wait on you. Maybe you'd like me to wear that French maid's uniform of yours." Helen was joking but Robbie liked the idea. "You'd look very nice." "Don't be ridiculous. Anyway I couldn't stay here with you two pantyboys. I'd feel a right gooseberry." "Oh come on, Helen," said Robbie. "You know it's not like that." "How do I know it's not like that? You seem very keen to meet Millie. How do I know there's nothing sexual in it?" Helen asked sounding rather annoyed. Robbie tried to calm his wife. "You know I could never be unfaithful to you, darling." Helen wasn't reassured. She didn't like the idea of 'Tracy', let alone the presence of another 'woman'. "Well why are you so keen to meet the little pantyboy?" "Because we have so much in common. We're both crossdressers. Neither of us has been out in public dressed. We'd both like to explore our feminine sides a little more. There is so much that we can learn from each other about clothes, makeup, deportment, about... relationships." "There you are. Explore your feminine sides a little more. Learn about relationships. You'll jump straight into bed with one another." Robbie shook his head. "No. I'm not interested in the sexual side. I want someone to talk to, someone who understands what I go through. It's not easy being a crossdresser, you know." Helen was tempted to say that it was easy. You just put on some women's clothes, a wig, high heels and a bit of slap. However she thought better of it. She knew it wouldn't help the situation. "You could talk to me," Helen suggested. "You don't understand. And there really would be nothing sexual between Millie and me. That's why I said you could stay here," continued Robbie. "And I said I don't want to stay here with you two pantyboys billing and cooing to each other like a pair of lovebirds. I'd be forced out of my own house." A look between disgust and despair came over Helen's face. Robbie stood up and walked over to his wife. He sat next to her on the sofa and stroked Helen's hair. A small tear dribbled down Helen's cheek. "I won't be forced out of my home by a couple of pantyboys. Anyway I think you'd be very unwise telling Millie your address. Nothing will be private. Your name's on the electoral register. Your secret will be out. Millie could easily find out that you're an accountant, a magistrate and a member of the Round Table. You could be blackmailed. What would happen at work if they find out you are a pantyboy. It would be much better if you were able to stay anonymous." Robbie nodded in agreement. He knew that Helen was right. He was mad even to think of inviting Millie into his home. "You're right, Helen. I won't invite her here. Oh I'm so stressed. Would you mind if I went and prettied myself up?" "No, darling." Robbie got up and went upstairs to change into Tracy. Chapter 3 - I've got another idea "I've got another idea," Robbie said the following night, as they got ready for bed. "About meeting your pantyboy friend?" "Yes. About meeting Millie. If you won't let me go to her house and you won't let me invite her round here, it's time for plan C. We could meet on neutral territory." "Oh yes," said Helen sarcastically, "I can see it now. You arrange to meet in a country pub. You arrive on time, totter up to the bar in your high heels and order a cr?me de menthe. Ignoring the stares from the curious regulars you sit in the corner and wait. And wait and wait and wait. What happens if the little pantyboy stands you up?" "Well I wasn't thinking of going anywhere as public as a pub," said Robbie. "Well what were you thinking of?" Robbie looked at Helen a little apprehensively. He was wondering how his suggestion would be received. "I was thinking of going to a hotel. I'd book adjoining rooms for the night. We'd both arrive separately in the early evening - say five to six. To avoid seeing each other in drab we'd arrange to arrive, say, half an hour apart. Then we'd both get dressed. When I'm ready I'd ring her on her mobile to make sure she's ready too. Then I'd go into her room. We'd order a meal from room service, which they leave outside the door. Then we eat the meal together." "Before you spend the evening shagging each other silly," Helen said. "Before we spend the evening talking about our experiences," Robbie corrected her. "It will be a bit expensive won't it? Don't you think you already spend too much on your hobby, keeping two wardrobes of clothes? I know that you have a good job but I thought we were saving up to start a family." Robbie said nothing. "Well can't your pantyboy friend pay? At least Millie can pay half? Where does your little pantyboy friend work?" "I don't know. All she said in her introductory e-mail was that she worked in the catering industry. That could mean a lot of things. She might work behind a bar. She might own a hotel or a restaurant." "And what did you tell her about yourself? That you're an accountant, a magistrate and a member of the Round Table?" "Of course not," said Robbie. "I said that I work in fashion design." "You liar," said Helen. "Liar, liar, bum's on fire." "Well it's partly true. I design Tracy's clothes." "Some of them. Look I think Plan C is the best so far but I'm still not sure. Let me think about it." Chapter 4 - I've got a better idea "I've got a better idea," said Helen the following evening as she and Robbie sat down to at dinner. "About what?" Robbie asked. "You know what. About you meeting your little pantyboy friend." "Millie?" "Yes, Millie. Booking a couple of hotel rooms might be more discrete but it will be expensive - particularly if you two pantyboys don't hit it off together. You really are spending enough money on your hobby as it is. Have you worked out how much you spent on the boots you bought last month, the new dress, the pink undies and not forgetting those white stilettos?" "We can afford it," said Robbie. "Maybe we can, but if you're spending money on a hotel, I'd prefer it to be to take me for a romantic weekend." Robbie looked a little disappointed. "But I tell you what," Helen went on, "if you and your little pantyboy friend agree to my Plan D and you get on all right, I won't object if you want to invite Millie here one evening." "Why the sudden change of heart?" "Well I've just been thinking today. I realise how much this all means to you. The last three nights you've not been interested in sex with me at all. I'm as horny as a bitch on heat and you're not even remotely interested. Either you're totally stressed out or you can't stop thinking about meeting Millie all the time. I think that unless you meet Millie, we'll never have sex again." 'Never?' thought Robbie. "You're exaggerating, Helen, but I'm glad you want to help. Now what's your idea?" "I'll help you but you must promise to tell me all about it afterwards." "Okay. Okay. I promise." "Right, it goes like this. On Saturday evening you get prettied up. At 7.30 you go out to your car - it will be dark by then so the neighbours won't see you. You drive into town. I follow in my car. We both go into a car park - perhaps the one by Tesco's. You park at the edge of the car park. I park about 30 yards behind you - somewhere from where I've got a good view of you." Robbie nodded his head. "When you're in position you ring your pantyboy friend on your mobile. Millie drives down to the car park and parks next to you." "That's a clever idea," said Robbie. "Then Millie gets into your car and you can lock all the doors so that you have some privacy." Robbie was excited by the idea. He really was going to meet Millie. "But what are you doing? Spying on me? Making sure that we don't do anything we shouldn't?" "No, I'm there to protect you. In case Millie isn't genuine. If anything goes wrong you can jump out of your car and run to mine. It gives you an escape route." "Thank you for thinking of me like that. But you're still spying on me." "Not at all. After ten minutes or so, I will know if Millie is genuine. If so I will leave. I might even do some shopping!" "It's a great idea, Helen, but my car is too conspicuous. Perhaps I can have your car and you take the BMW. Okay?" "Sure." "I'll go and send Millie an e-mail suggesting your idea to her," Robbie beamed. "Not so fast," said Robbie's wife. "Now what?" asked Robbie. Chapter 5 - What are you going to wear? "What are you going to wear when you meet your pantyboy friend?" asked Helen. 'Only a woman would ask a question like that,' thought Robbie. "What am I going to wear? I don't know," he said. "A skirt and blouse, I suppose." "Which skirt and blouse?" "I don't know. Whatever I feel like at the time." "Oh, Robbie, you are useless. If you are going to dress like a woman, you've got to think like a woman. A woman going out for a first date on a Saturday night would spend days planning what to wear. She'd decide exactly what the occasion demanded, make sure it was all washed and ironed ready for the big night." "It's not a date," said Robbie dumbly. "Now, I think it would be a good idea for you to go upstairs and put on whatever you think you will wear to meet Millie on Saturday. Don't bother about the makeup but do put on a wig. And put on everything - that includes undies, jewellery and shoes. Okay?" "Okay." Robbie slipped soundlessly away to go upstairs and turn into Tracy. 'This won't take five minutes,' he thought. He was wrong, of course. As any woman knows, deciding what to wear involves a succession of putting clothes on and taking them off again. Tracy swore that she'd tried her denim mini skirt on five times before she eventually rejected it as too short. That was the problem. Virtually every skirt she possessed was barely twelve inches long. She just had a thing for short skirts. Changing her skirt meant changing her blouse. Changing her blouse meant that she had to change her bra. First white, then black, then white again. Eventually she settled on a black, pleated skirt (short but not obscene), black tights, a pale pink blouse and matching cardigan. She slipped into her black stilettos and put on her blonde wig. Even with no make-up the reflection she saw in the mirror was very feminine. The finishing touches were a ladies' watch, a bracelet, an anklet, clip on earrings and a necklace. 'I look okay,' she said to herself. 'No. I look better than okay.' "You can't go out on your first date dressed like that!" Helen announced when Tracy reappeared. "It's not a date," insisted Tracy. "Well, whatever it is, you can't go out on dressed like that. That skirt's much too short. It'll send Millie all the wrong messages. It has slut written all over it. If you wear that skirt, you won't come home with your virginity in tact." Tracy gulped. Helen was joking, right? No she wasn't. "It's the longest skirt I've got," Tracy said, defending herself. "Well can I suggest that you're more conservative when you go shopping for skirts? Anyway you've got plenty of time to buy one. Perhaps tomorrow lunchtime." Tracy suddenly felt anxious. Robbie didn't do his femme shopping in Northbury. Too dangerous. He might be seen by one of his secretaries or somebody from the Round Table. "I noticed you were buying a miniskirt last week, Anderson, old chap. Didn't think it was your colour..." "Maybe I could borrow one of yours," suggested Tracy. Helen hesitated. "What about that nice black knee-length pencil skirt?" Tracy suggested. "You never wear it nowadays. Can I borrow it? Pretty please." Helen thought for a minute. It was true that she rarely wore it. "It'll never fit you." "Want to bet?" asked Tracy. She knew it fitted her. She'd worn it dozens of times before when Helen was out. It was terribly sexy. Although knee length, it was tight and had the habit of riding up when she sat down to reveal a lot of thigh. Still it couldn't reveal as much as the pleated skirt she was wearing now. "Oh, go and put it on," urged Helen. Tracy slipped away as her wife called out after her. "And find some flatter shoes. You'll never be able to drive in those. And keep the tights on. Don't even think of wearing stockings on your first date." When Tracy returned she was wearing the afore-mentioned pencil skirt. It was much less revealing as long as Tracy remained standing. It occurred to Tracy that she would be sitting in the car but she didn't say anything. Neither did Helen. Tracy had changed into some kitten heel shoes that she had bought recently over the Internet. They were still not broken in and Tracy wondered if she could wear them all evening. Still she could kick them off in the car. Millie wouldn't mind. She kept those shoes on for the rest of the evening. They weren't too bad. "Okay," said Helen later, "you've passed the 'What will you wear test.' Now you can email your little pantyboy friend with the arrangements." Tracy slipped into the study and fired up the computer. Seconds later an email was winging its electronic way to Millie. Tracy didn't say anything about Helen acting as lookout, of course. Later that evening Millie replied accepting the arrangements. When Robbie and Helen went to bed that night for the first time in ages they had wonderful, uncomplicated, stress-free, hassle-free sex. Chapter 6 - That's much better "That's much better," said Helen. It was Friday night and Helen was giving Tracy some last minute tips on how to act like a woman. "If you sit like that, Tracy, nobody would be able to tell you are a man. That's it. Don't slouch, cross your legs, smooth your skirt down." Tracy was dressed in the outfit she was going to wear the next evening - Helen's black pencil skirt, a pale pink blouse and cardigan, black stilettos, jewellery, a handbag, blonde wig and a little makeup. She also wore black tights. She hadn't told Helen but the following day she planned to wear stockings - they're so feminine. "What do you know about Millie?" asked Helen. "Not much. I told you that she works in the catering industry. Mid- thirties. She's married but separated. No kids." "Was her separation anything to do with Millie being a pantyboy?" "I don't know. Millie hasn't said as much but reading between the lines I think it might have been. Some women aren't as tolerant as you are, darling," said Tracy. "As stupid you mean. What does Millie look like? You've seen some photos. Give me a description," said Helen curious. "Well I've not had much to go on. Slim, dark hair. A liking for short skirts and too much makeup - nothing unusual for a tranny." "Attractive?" "Not unattractive. Quite feminine, but photos can be deceptive. In the right light even a Russian shot putter could be attractive." Helen smiled. "Are you nervous? About tomorrow I mean." "What do you think?" "Well I think you're trying hard to keep calm but I think that underneath you're a nervous as a kitten." "You're right," said Tracy. "I'm shitting myself. What have I done arranging to meet up with Millie like this? I must be crazy." "Of course you're crazy. You're a man in a skirt, blouse, bra and fake boobs, make-up and a wig. The first sign of insanity. You could pull out. Send Millie an email now saying you can't go through with it." "Then I'd be even more of a mental wreck. No I've made the arrangements and I'm determined to see it through even if it kills me," said Tracy. "It may do that," said Helen. "Look, darling," she went on, "we've done everything we can to keep your identity private. I'll be there to keep an eye on you. Now what shall we do this evening? Shall we go to the pub?" "With me dressed like this?" "You can change back to Robbie, if you like. Or maybe we can play a game? Or watch a video? I taped a film on Sky last week. Will you watch it with me? It's a bit of a chick flick." "Well that's appropriate with me dressed like this." Anything to take her mind off the worry of the impending meeting. Soon the tape was playing and Helen and Tracy forgot all their worries. They both forgot about Millie, the meeting, what Tracy would wear, how Helen would watch over them, the fact that Tracy was really a man in lingerie, a skirt, blouse, women's shoes, a wig, jewellery and makeup. Chapter 7 - How do I look? "How do I look?" Tracy asked Helen. It was six fifteen on Saturday evening. Exactly the opposite of most women who are nearly always late and rushing around looking for an earring at the last minute, Tracy was ready an hour early. But then she had spent the last four hours getting ready. She'd taken a luxuriant bath, shaved her body, put on her silky undies, a girdle to keep her stomach in and stockings, dressed in the planned outfit of pencil skirt and pink blouse and cardigan and black court shoes, plucked her eyebrows a little, painted her nails, spent an age over getting her make-up right, put on her blonde wig and sprayed it with virtually a can of hair spray and dabbed a little perfume on her neck. Despite all this she was still an hour early. She did a twirl for her wife. "I hate to say this," said Helen, "but you look fantastic! You'll have to show me how you do that with your hair. That skirt really suits you; I don't suppose you'll want to give it back. It really sets off your legs. Are those tights or stockings?" "Stockings," Tracy answered with a guilty look. "I thought so. Anyway, darling, you look stunning. Gorgeous. I only wish I could look as good." "Don't be ridiculous," Tracy answered. "I don't look one quarter as good as you." "No really," Helen replied. "You're dressed up to the nines for a date and I'll be here on my own in a baggy sweatshirt, old jeans and no make-up." "You could wear a skirt too. You could borrow one of mine if you like." "Maybe," said Helen. "Maybe, another day. Now what coat are you wearing?" "I'd hoped I could borrow that long black one of yours." "Of course, you can, darling. That's a good idea. It can be quite chilly in the evening at this time of year." Tracy looked at her delicate ladies' watch. "We've got plenty of time," said her wife. "I know, I was just wondering what I could do for the next hour." "Well you ought to have something to eat. Shall I cook you something?" "I couldn't eat anything," Tracy admitted. "Nerves?" "Yeah. My stomach is full of butterflies. I only went to the loo five minutes ago and I'll need to go again in a minute. I'm always a little nervous before I get dressed but today I've been petrified." "Do you want a drink? You know, Dutch courage." "No thanks, Helen. Don't forget we've both got to drive. I don't want to be stopped and have t explain to a copper why I'm wearing a skirt." "Okay, so why don't you just sit here and read a book or a magazine for a while? Just sit still, you don't want to spoil your hair or make-up. I'll find you one of my women's magazines. Okay?" "Yeah," said Tracy. She liked looking at her wife's women's mags, reading about fashions and make-up. Helen went to fetch the magazine as Tracy swept her tight skirt underneath her and sat down on the sofa. The skirt rode up a little revealing three or four inches of Tracy's thighs. 'It is long enough, isn't it?' thought Tracy. Still it's too late now. It's not indecently short like that pleated skirt of mine. She tugged the hem downwards but it made no difference. 'Perhaps I can cover my knees with that coat,' Tracy thought hopefully. 'My girdle is a bit tight. I hope it doesn't dig in.' It was a long time since she had felt this nervous. Not even on her wedding day or when she took her driving test. She glanced again at the watch on her left wrist. 6.20. She checked the second hand to make sure the watch was still working. It seemed to be going so slowly. She had an itch on her cheek. She didn't dare scratch it for fear of ruining her make-up. This dressing as a girl business was difficult. Helen returned with two magazines. Tracy took them and read them carefully, slowly and deliberately. Time passed quickly and the next thing she could remember was Helen saying, "Come on, it's ten past." Tracy paid her final visit to the loo. Then she checked her make-up for the last time. She went into the hall and put on Helen's long coat as planned and picked up her small black leather handbag. "Just check you've got everything," Helen suggested. Tracy had checked and double checked the contents of her handbag half a dozen times already this afternoon but she checked again. "Car keys?" said Helen. "Yes." "House keys?" "Yes." "Mobile phone?" "Yes." "Make up?" "Yes." "Comb?" "Yes." "Tissues?" "Yes." "Purse?" "Yes." "Condoms?" "Don't be silly, Helen." "Ready?" Tracy took a deep breath. "Yes." "Okay, Let's roll." Helen went over to Tracy and kissed her on the lips lightly so as not to smudge Tracy's lipstick. It was the first time Helen had kissed Tracy. "Good luck, Tracy." "Thanks." Helen opened the front door. The two women slipped outside and Helen closed and locked the front door. Apparently nervouslessly Tracy walked to her wife's car as planned while Helen went to the BMW. 'Please start and don't break down on me,' Helen whispered to herself as she started the engine. Calmly she turned the key and the engine fired. She reversed out of the drive and waited for Helen to follow. She headed for Tesco's and parked as planned in a remote part of the car park. She parked and locked all the car doors - just in case. She was five minutes early. She could see Helen and the BMW in the rear view mirror about five rows back. She turned on the car's interior light and found her mobile phone in her handbag. She found Millie in the address book and pressed the green button. "Hello," she heard at the other end. "Millie?" Tracy said in her girliest voice. "It's Tracy." "Hi, Tracy." "I'm in the car park as planned. Are you coming?" "You bet. I'll be there in less than ten minutes." Tracy rang off, put the mobile phone back in her bag and put the bag on the floor by her feet. She rearranged the coat so that it covered her knees. In the darkness and with only the interior light of the car she checked her make-up in the driving mirror. She couldn't really tell if it as okay. Still that meant Millie couldn't tell either. She checked her watch. Five minutes had passed since her phone call. She'd be here soon. She heard the sound of an engine. A car was approaching. 'I hope that's her.' The car parked next to Tracy's. Tracy could just about make out in the darkness that the driver appeared to be a woman. Her phone rang. "Hello, Millie?" she said as she answered "Yes, Tracy. Am I parked next to you?" "Yes." The phone went dead and the driver's door of the newly arrived car opened. Tracy unlocked the passenger door. It opened and Millie got in. Chapter 8 - Hi, I'm Millie "Hi, I'm Millie." "I'm Tracy." Tracy pressed the button on the dashboard to relock the car's doors making a heavy clunking sound. Tracy looked at her new friend closely, studying her face, her clothes, her deportment. Millie was looking back intently. Neither girl said anything. Neither girl knew what to say. Tracy was relieved to see that Millie looked like the pictures she had been sent. If anything she was a little prettier, a little more feminine. As far as Tracy could make out in the darkness her make-up was subtle and natural. Like Tracy, she wore a black skirt - around knee length, not too short. As she sat in the passenger seat it rose up to reveal a little of her thighs. 'Nice legs,' thought Tracy. "Hi," she said belatedly and offered her hand. Millie took it in a light handshake and then unexpectedly leaned over to Tracy and gave her a little kiss on the cheek. It all seemed so natural. Like two girl friends meeting after a long time. "I love that perfume." "Thanks," said Tracy who was suddenly aware that she was no longer nervous and that the presence of her friend was turning her on. There was a little bulge in her panties. Fortunately it was dark and any bulge was hidden by the coat but in that tight skirt a bulge might show. "I'm so glad you came." "So am I. I wanted to talk to someone about my dressing. Someone who knew how I felt," said Millie. "Nikki - my wife - couldn't understand why an apparently normal heterosexual guy like me should want to wear a dress, make-up and high heels. I can't understand it myself - it's just something I do. I can't explain it." "Nor can I. It's impossible to explain," Tracy replied. "My wife Helen's not exactly keen on my hobby either. She tolerates it as long as I dress when she's not around." "So why do we put ourselves through it? The risk of being found out by our friends and humiliated. The shame of going into a women's clothes shop and buying a pair of women's panties or a skirt." "I know. The incredible risk we've both taken tonight of going out dressed to meet a stranger. We must both be mad." Millie laughed. 'She has a nice smile,' thought Tracy. "Mad as a March hare," she said. "But it's the risk that I find exciting. Like a rock climber or a parachutist. The risk adds to the fun. If men wearing dresses was 'normal' I don't think I'd do it!" "Where do get your clothes?" Millie asked. Once the conversation had started it was easy to continue. They had so much in common and so much to talk about. They chatted about clothes, about how easy it was to ladder tights, about how they removed their body hair, shopping for girly items, their wives' attitudes and websites they frequented. Time flew by. Helen, realising that all was well and having noted down the number of Millie's car, got out and went into the supermarket to do her shopping. Tracy noticed her walk away in the rear view mirror. She felt a little relieved. No longer was she being watched. No longer was she being spied on. "So how did you wife find out?" asked Millie. "I told her. After we were married. I felt I had to. What about you?" "I had to confess in the end. I was careless. I left a blouse lying around. My wife found it and suspected I was having an affair. I had to tell her. She couldn't take it and left me. We were trying to start a family, Nikki said that she didn't want to bring up children in the house of a pervert." "Oh, ouch," sympathised Tracy. "I know. She went back to her mother's. I guess it would have happened anyway." Tracy reached out and took hold of Millie's hand. It was so easy, so natural. Not once did she think that she was holding hands with a man. She held the hand tight, examining it. Millie's nails were painted deep red. She had nice feminine hands. "Perhaps we should get in the back," Millie suggested. "It would be more... comfortable." "Good idea," said Tracy agreeing. She unlocked the car's doors and the two of them got out, opened the rear doors and climbed in. They sat next to each other, very close. Their legs were practically touching. Once or twice they did touch. 'Was that an accident?' wondered Tracy. Millie put out her hand and pushed Tracy's coat away from her legs, revealing her thighs. She put her hand on Tracy's knee, her well- manicured, soft, warm hand with scarlet nails. Tracy said nothing. She liked Millie's hand on her knee. Where would this lead? Millie's hand was progressing up Tracy's leg. It was between her thighs just under the hem of her skirt. "You don't mind?" asked Millie looking into Tracy's eyes. "No. I love it." Then it happened. The Rubicon was crossed. Their lips met in a passionate kiss. Their heads swayed as their tongues jostled for position, finding the most contact. Under their skirts they were both as hard as rocks. The kiss was as exciting, as passionate and as caring as any kiss that Robbie had shared with Helen. For Millie, the kiss exposed the frustrations of a broken marriage and the life of a singleton. The kiss went on and on. Across the car park Helen was putting the shopping in the boot of the car. She could just make out the silhouettes of two heads moving rhythmically together. 'Tut, tut,' she thought. 'And he's got no condoms.' She climbed in her car and unseen drove away. The kiss ended and without asking Millie started to undo the buttons on Tracy's blouse revealing the silky cream chemise she wore underneath. Millie stroked Tracy's body through the silk. Tracy put her arm around Millie and pulled her closer towards her. "Oh, Tracy, you are gorgeous," said Millie. Now she was feeling up Tracy's skirt again. Further up and further up. Now she was feeling Tracy's matching cream silk panties. They were kissing again. Tracy couldn't remember ever being so turned on. Tracy remembered telling her wife that she was not interested in the sexual side. And now Millie had pulled her panties down a little and was stroking her penis. Tracy began to be a little frightened. Suppose Millie asked her to reciprocate. She wasn't ready to stroke a penis herself, yet. It had all happened so quickly. They had got carried away. "Do you want me to go down on you?" asked Millie 'Down on me?' Tracy wondered what her friend had meant. Then it became clear what she was offering. "I'm not that sort of girl," Tracy said. "I mean, I don't believe in having sex on the first night." "I quite understand," said Millie. After that they were not so passionate, but they continued to kiss and cuddle. Afterwards Tracy couldn't describe what they did in the two hours or so that she and Millie were in the back of the car. It was a blur. Around ten o'clock it was getting cold and they agreed it was time to go home but not before agreeing to meet again at the same time and place on Monday. After a long, lingering farewell kiss, Millie climbed out of the car and got into her own car. Tracy got back in the driver's seat. In the mirror she checked her smudged makeup and tousled hair. It was too dark to fix it now. She'd have to go home and hope that she could slip in without Helen seeing. She started the engine, turned on the lights and headed for home. Chapter 9 - Look what the cat's dragged in "Look what the cat's dragged in." Tracy slipping into the house without Helen seeing was about as likely as a snowball surviving for a few hours in hell. Helen was there in the hall as her feminised husband entered though the front door. 'Oh shit,' thought Tracy. "Well you've obviously had a good time. Come and tell me about it." Tracy followed as Helen led her into the lounge and indicated that she sit next to her wife on the sofa. "Drink?" Tracy nodded and Helen poured two large slugs of brandy into two glasses. She'd obviously been expecting Tracy. Perhaps she would have waited up all night. She was wearing a negligee over a silk nightie. It was a lovely nightie; one of Robbie's favourites - he'd borrowed it on several occasions when Helen was away. Helen handed Tracy one of the glasses. "Cheers," said Helen. Without a murmur Tracy took a huge swig of the neat brandy. "Well, are you going to tell me? You promised remember. A few hours ago your hair looked perfect. Now it's a bush. What's left of your lipstick is smudged; two buttons on your blouse are undone, your skirt is all rucked up at the back and one of your stockings is laddered." 'Shit,' thought Tracy. 'I should have been more careful. I should have checked those buttons and smoothed out my skirt.' "I thought you told me that you were not interested in the sexual side. Have you got some explaining to do, girl?" Tracy fought to regain her composure. "Look I can explain everything," she said. "I've heard that before. What happened?" "Well everything went according to your plan. She got in the car. We chatted for a long while. I held her hand. Then we got closer..." "Then Millie fucked you." "No." "You fucked Millie?" "No." "You had oral sex?" "No." "You jerked each other off?" "No. Just let me finish. We didn't have sex. Who do you think I am? I said that there was nothing sexual in it and I could never be unfaithful to you, Helen. As I said we got closer. We got in the back of the car; we cuddled and kissed a little." "French kissed?" "Seeing as you asked. Yes we French kissed." "With tongues?" "Yes with tongues." "Ugh," said Helen, "and Millie undid your blouse." "Yes, she undid my blouse." "And Millie hitched up your skirt?" "Yes she hitched up my skirt a little." "So Millie could feel up your skirt?" "Yes, so she could feel my legs up my skirt?" "Darling, you said that there was nothing sexual in it, but you French kissed, you let Millie undo your blouse and feel up your skirt!" Helen didn't seem angry. She was more like a teacher explaining to a pupil where they had gone wrong than a wife admonishing a transgressing husband. "I'm sorry, darling, I got carried away. But we didn't have sex." "I can see that by the bulge in that tight skirt. If you'd had sex with your little pantyboy friend, there would be no way that your penis would be as big as that." For the first time Tracy was aware that she had a hard-on. Helen put out her arm and pulled her husband towards her. Their lips met in a little kiss. Then they kissed again and again. Then it turned into one long, long kiss. Helen lifted up the hem of Tracy's skirt and started massaging her thighs around the tops of her stockings. Tracy felt so hard that she felt she was about to burst. Her tongue waltzed with Helen's. Helen pulled down Tracy's panties and felt her hard, hard prick. Despite Tracy's feminised state she wanted her husband. Despite the fact that she pleasured herself with a vibrator when she had got home earlier that evening she was incredibly horny. Despite the fact that Tracy had been snogging a pantyboy she wanted her girly husband. More than ever. She pulled the skirt up around Tracy's waist. She pulled up her own nightie and climbed on top of Tracy. She speared herself on Tracy's stiff member. It was all over too quickly but the orgasm was magnificent. "Oh, honey," she said kissing Tracy again and again. "I love you. You can wear a skirt, suspenders, stockings, stilettos, a bra, panties, make-up, whatever. I don't care if you give me sex like that." "Oh, Helen," replied Tracy. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Chapter 10 - Can I invite Millie here on Wednesday? "Can I invite Millie here on Wednesday?" asked Robbie the next day. "This Wednesday?" Helen answered. "You promised that I could invite Millie over. Is it still on?" "Of course it is. I said you could. Do you want me to stay here?" "That's up to you, I guess," Robbie replied. "Next Wednesday night did you say?" Robbie nodded. "Yes, I'd like Millie to come here," Helen said. "I'd quite like to meet your new friend. I'm curious. Or you can go to Millie's house, if you'd prefer. But, Robbie, it's all on one condition. No sex. That's no oral sex, no anal sex, no sex at all. You said you could never be unfaithful to me. I don't mind you meeting Millie but I don't want our marriage threatened. Okay?" "Sure." Tracy and Millie met again in the car park on Monday evening. As they had both been at work all day, they didn't have nearly so much time to get ready. Coincidentally both of them wore shorter skirts and soon they were in the back seat snogging away again. Tracy's skirt was tenting and Millie put her hand on Tracy's leg and slid it upwards. "Millie," Tracy said, grateful that she wearing tights and not stockings, "I've got to get one thing straight before we start. We can meet, you can even come over to my house and I'm willing to go over to yours, but I must make one condition. No sex. My wife has been very good to me. She's even encouraged us meeting but I can't be unfaithful to her. Can we keep it Platonic?" Millie looked a little upset but replied, "Of course we can, darling Tracy. If that's what you want, that's what you shall get. It's different for you, I know. My wife has left me but I don't want you to risk your marriage. It's funny but Nikki is coming round to see me tomorrow. She rang me yesterday. I guess that she wants to talk about dividing up the assets. That shouldn't take long!" She leaned over and kissed her friend on the cheek. Despite the agreement to be Platonic they had an enjoyable evening. They kissed and cuddled, held hands and touched each other but neither risked going any further. When they parted they arranged for Millie to visit Tracy's house at eight o'clock on Wednesday. Helen was relieved when Tracy got home without messing up her makeup or dishevelling her clothes. She thought she could trust her husband but knew that sometimes people could get carried away. Tracy's calm and unruffled exterior was matched by her interior. She calmly told her wife all about the evening's events. Chapter 11 - How do I look? "How do I look?" Helen asked Tracy as she came downstairs. It was seven thirty on Wednesday evening. Helen had glammed herself up for the visit of Tracy's pantyboy friend. She had made up her face, perfected her hair and put on Tracy's French maid outfit. Tracy's jaw dropped as she saw what her wife was wearing. She was speechless. "Do you like it? The best thing about having a pantyboy for a husband is being able to borrow his clothes. I've wanted an excuse to try this dress on for ages." "You look fantastic," Tracy complimented her wife. "You don't look so bad yourself. Pink is such a lovely, girly colour." Under her make-up Tracy blushed. She was wearing a pink mini-skirt and pink top. Whereas Helen was wearing suspenders and black stockings, Tracy's skirt was too short for stockings and she wore nude tights, pink panties and pink stilettos. With her blonde wig and make-up she looked beautiful. At eight o'clock on the dot, the front door bell rang and the maid, Helen, went to answer it. Of course, it was Millie, who was a little shocked by the pretty woman who'd answered the door. "I'd love a maid's uniform like that," Millie thought, "I bet it's Tracy's!" "Come in, come in," said Helen. "You must be Millie. I'm Tracy's wife Helen." Millie entered the hallway, wearing a very, very short blue denim mini skirt, a stretchy pale blue top, nude tights and white stilettos. Tracy appeared and said hello. "Wow, Millie, you look fantastic," she said. "So do you. And Helen," said Millie admiring her hostess. "Come into the lounge," said Tracy. "Helen, please can you fix us drinks. What would you like, Millie?" "I'd love a vodka and lime, please." "Make that two vodka and limes please, Helen," said Tracy. The two pantyboys headed for the lounge while Helen headed for the kitchen. Tracy and Millie smoothed their short skirts underneath them as they sat down opposite each other, both desperately trying to avoid showing their panties. "How did you get on yesterday with Nikki," asked Tracy curiously. "Oh she was ill and couldn't come over," said Millie sounding a little relieved. Helen arrived with the drinks and both Millie and Tracy sat and sipped their vodkas slowly while Helen retreated to the kitchen. The two pantyboys chatted away easily for half an hour or so before their chat was interrupted by the warble of a mobile phone. "Oh, that's my mobile," said Millie. She picked up her handbag from the floor and ferreted inside until she found the phone. "It's Nikki," she said. She pressed a button and put the phone to her ear. "Hi, Nikki." "Yes." "Okay." "Yes." "Sure." "Okay. Bye." It was a brief conversation. Millie explained, "That was Nikki. She's insisted on seeing me tonight. She wants to see me at my place at nine o'clock." "Really?" "Yeah, I'll have to go." "But you've only just got here, Millie." "I've got to go, Tracy. She's my wife, remember." Tracy looked at her girly watch. "Nine o'clock? But it's twenty five to nine now. You haven't got time to get home and change out of your girly things in twenty five minutes!" "I guess I'll have to stay en femme." "Millie, don't be silly. Let's see what Helen has to say." Tracy stood up and went to the door. She called her wife who was still dressed in her maid uniform. "Yes, ma'am," said Helen. Tracy explained the situation. "And it's 8.37 already. You definitely haven't time to change. You could ring her back and put her off for an hour." "No, I've only just arranged it." "We could go with you. As a sort of protection," Helen suggested. "No. It's bad enough with one tranny, let alone with two." "I know," said Helen, "why don't I go? Give me your address and house keys and I'll go. I'll explain that you're unavailable." "She'll go nuts. A floozy dressed in a maid's uniform..." "I could change. I only need to take off this dress and apron..." "It's mad," said Millie. "I know but it might work," chipped in Tracy. "You don't want to meet Nikki. Helen and Nikki have a lot in common - both with trannies for husbands. She can just listen, find out what Nikki wants and then come back here." Five minutes later, Helen, having changed out of the maid's dress and into a smart top, jacket and knee length skirt, was walking out to her car with Millie's address and house keys in her hand and Millie's instructions in her head. Chapter 12 - You must be Nikki. Come in. "You must be Nikki. Come in," said Helen as she answered the door. "Who are you? My husband's latest whore?" She came into the hall, a small well-dressed good-looking woman. "I'm Helen. I'm a friend of a friend and part of your husband's legal team." Helen liked the sound of that. She knew nothing about the law but she knew it would shut Nikki up. "He couldn't be here so he asked me to be here instead. Shall we sit down?" They both sat in the lounge. Helen held a notepad and pencil as if she was taking notes. "Now," she said, "What is it that you want from your husband? A divorce? A trial separation? A legal separation?" "I just don't know." "Is the crossdressing the problem?" Nikki nodded. "I love him to bits, I don't want to leave him; it's just that I don't like him in a dress. Why can't he just stop?" "He can't stop because he can't. It's a compulsion. Something he needs to do," said Helen. Nikki sniffed and tried to stop the tears. "It's a part of him," Helen continued. "You can't separate one from the other. It's either him with the dressing or nothing." "How come you know so much about it?" Nikki asked. "Because my husband is a crossdresser too," Helen replied matter of factly. "Your husband is a crossdresser too?" Nikki questioned. "Yes. My husband, Robbie, likes to dress up in a short skirt, high heels and too much make-up and call himself Tracy." "You're joking. You're just saying that to try and get my confidence." "Of course, I'm not joking, Nikki. Robbie is a pantyboy. He loves dressing as a French maid in lots of lace and a petticoat. I'm not thrilled by the idea but I'm prepared to put up with it. He's a very loving and caring husband. He's very sexy. He just likes to dress as Tracy occasionally. I'd prefer him not to. I can't pretend to understand why he does it. I don't think he understands either." "Nor do I," said Nikki. "It can be really annoying to find he's used up all my make-up remover or lost my lipstick; that he's wearing the very pair of panties that I wanted to wear today, that he's got a mark on my blouse, that he's laddered a pair of my tights. But I tolerate it. I married him for better or worse and it's my duty as his wife to stick by him. Anyway I can steal his panties and his make-up." "I still think you're just making this up to wheedle yourself into my confidence." "Nikki, honey, there are thousands of CDs out there, most of them have wives who knew nothing of their predilections when they got married. That includes you and it includes me." "And do you think I've been too hard on him, walking out on him when I found out he likes wearing skirts?" "As a matter-of-fact, I do," said Helen. "Talk to him about it. Compromise. Meet him halfway. Set parameters. Agree what he can do and what he can't do." "I suppose I think it's an insult to me as a woman. That he doesn't need me, he needs some tarty caricature in a short skirt and high heels. That wearing a dress turns him on more than I do." "Tell me about it. Do you think that I haven't been there, too?" Helen asked. "How do you think he feels? Guilt, shame, remorse, fear of being found out. Have you ever seen him dressed as Millie?" "Millie. Is that what he calls himself? Or is it herself?" said Nikki. "No, I've not. I don't want to. Do you think I should?" "It's not easy for him and he needs the support of the person who is closest to him." "You're right, Helen. But he'd never have me back now." "He would, Nikki. I know he would. He told me today. I know. He really wants to talk to you. He really wants your marriage to work. He wants to get back together with you. He'd like to see you. Tonight." "Tonight? Where is he?" "Round my house." "Your house?" "Yes, with my husband." Helen smiled. "Or to be more accurate, with Tracy." "And is he..." "Dressed as Millie? Yes. And very pretty she is too. Okay her skirt's too short and she's wearing too much make up. But so is Tracy. Perhaps that's where we could help. You know, give advice." "And you think we should go over to your place, Helen? Together?" "Yes, I do, Nikki, if you think it's okay to see your husband in a very, very short denim skirt, a pale blue top and white stilettos." "I've got to start some time. I bet that denim skirt is one of mine I lost last year. It was knee-length but perhaps he's taken the hem up. I just wonder. Excuse me a minute, Helen." Nikki got up and left the lounge. Ten minutes later she came down having changed. Now she wore a very short, pleated black skirt, black stilettos and a skin tight black top. She had over done her make-up but she looked fantastic. "What do you think, Helen? I found this skirt in his stash. I wouldn't normally be seen dead in anything as trashy as this. But there is no way that I'll be outshone by my husband. What's good for the goose is good for the gander." "You look great. I love that skirt and you've got great legs. Maybe you can persuade Millie to let you have it. Now I feel totally out of it in this long skirt." "It's not that long but I see what you mean. Do you want me to find something suitable for you to wear?" "Yes, please," said Helen. "Meanwhile I'll phone Tracy and tell her that we're coming over." Hardly had she put her phone away than Nikki returned with a short tartan skirt that Helen put on excitedly. "Should I redo my make-up?" she asked Nikki. "Why not?" Chapter 13 - Oh my God "Oh my God," said Millie as she opened the front door. "You look fantastic, Nikki." "Oh my God," said Nikki. "Are you Millie? You are so pretty." "I told you," said Helen. "Well go on in." Nikki stepped into the hall and went up to her husband. She gave him a big hug and a smack of a kiss on his bright red lips. "I'm sorry," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. "You've got nothing to apologise for," said Millie. Tracy came into the hall and gave Helen a big hug. "Wow," she said, "it looks like you were successful. And I love that tartan skirt. Where did you get it? Is it one of Millie's?" "It is," said Helen, "now come here you little pantyboy and give me a kiss." Tracy hugged her wife and their lips met in a lingering kiss. Helen's hand slipped under Tracy's pink mini-skirt and started feeling her ass through her pink panties. A stranger would have seen four women in very short skirts; happy, smiling and effervescent. 'All's well that ends well,' thought Tracy.