Tanya finds a girlfriend pt3
- 4 years ago
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Tanya Finds A Girlfriend free porn video
As Carlo went home that evening to his empty flat, he reflected on the
events of the previous few weeks. The new owner, Tanya, seemed to be
very nice, and so attractive too, in a fairly stern sort of way. The
fact that Mrs. Foster had decided to sell had not really been a
surprise, but it had been unsettling nonetheless. Carlo had fallen into
an easy, unchallenging routine since the death of his mother, and the
work in the shop had not only provided sufficient income to pay his
bills, but had also been the focus of his growing obsession with female
clothing and all the things that went with it.
Now that he thought about it, he had changed the shop dramatically from
the family shoe shop he had started to work for seven years before.
Though the changes had been gradual, sometimes almost imperceptible, the
overall difference was immense. Since the death of Mr Foster, there had
been some change almost every week, almost always initiated by Carlo.
Now the shop was a chic ladies boutique, still focussing mainly on
footwear and hosiery, but also with a distinct line in ladies dresses,
and separates, and the kind of upmarket make-up and accessories that
weren't available elsewhere locally, otherwise requiring a trip into
Manchester.
He sighed as he thought of the amount of stock he had bought for
himself, and wondered again if his always unseen "girlfriend" would have
been sufficient an invention to satisfy Mr Foster had he still been
around. Still, he had always been scrupulously honest with his staff
purchases. Even with the discounts, Mrs Foster had done well out of him,
as he had dipped into the funds left him by his mother to satisfy his
thirst for all the feminine items he had purchased.
Christmas Eve shouldn't be a time for going home alone, he thought,
stepping off the bus to face the fine cold drizzle misting the still air
in his street. Not that it bothered him. He smiled then, thinking how
anyone visiting him that evening would get a real shock. He bore his
Christmas presents in a couple of capacious carrier bags, and he was
going to give them to Carol as soon as he got himself ready this
evening.
Carol was Carlo's girlfriend. More correctly, Carol was the girlfriend
Carlo would have had, if he had a girlfriend. Even more accurately,
Carol was the girlfriend Carlo would have liked to be, if he could be
someone else's girlfriend.
Carlo was a transvestite. Aged twenty-two, and a virgin, for the past
nine years he had had a fascination for all things feminine. This was
fostered initially by his mother's style and flair with clothes and make
up, and by the lonely nights at home when she was out with yet another
boyfriend, and later by his exploration of the vast wardrobe left after
her untimely death.
He dropped his bags and locked the flat door, flicking on the light in
his lobby.
Moving with practised ease, he walked through the flat, making coffee
and a sandwich, putting away his purchases. On these evenings, most
evenings in fact, he used Carol's bedroom, separate and entirely
different from Carlo's. Tonight was no exception, and it was Carol's
bedroom that was the focus of his attention.
The flat was decorated very plainly, the kind of plain that took a lot
of money - and taste - to achieve. That had been his mother's doing. The
source of her money had always been a mystery to Carlo, and he had given
up wondering. During the many meetings with solicitors after his
mother's death, he had learned only enough to confirm what he had
suspected, that Mother's family was obviously very wealthy. They had
gone to great lengths to ensure that, while she and Carlo were amply
provided for, that there would never be any directly traceable route to
the money. The legal types had hinted that it was Carlo's illegitimate
birth (to an English father?) that had caused the rift. Whatever, Carlo
thought, it meant he never had to worry about money again, and had a
protected permanent income, whatever happened.
He walked naked from his bedroom, plain, almost Spartan. Throwing open
the door to Carol's bedroom, he swelled with pride. This room was in
marked contrast to the rest of the flat, and had been all his doing. The
dressing table, the wardrobes, two, both large doubles, the chests of
drawers, three, all tall, were finished in the cream with gold filigree
much loved by older middle class Italians, (some reverting to type there
perhaps, Carlo had often mused). The bed was sumptuously appointed, with
delicate silken drapes in pale gold and huge, similarly covered, plump
pillows and cushions. Across it was strewn a richly lacy black negligee,
a matching robe that supported even more flounces and layers of foamy
lace. A pair of red high wedge-heeled, marabou-trimmed mules lay
discarded on the floor alongside.
Pulling on the lacy black confection of a robe, and slipping his scarlet
varnished toes into the open-toed mules, Carol - for already it was she
- swayed out of the room to run a bath. A little later, already hairless
again below the neck, her depilation routine completed for another few
days, she slid into the deeply perfumed water and began reflecting again
on the last few weeks.
That he - Carlo - had dithered regarding the offer to purchase the shop
annoyed her now somewhat. They had the money after all, and had
virtually been running it alone for several years now. Carlo didn't
trust her though, to stay in the background, under control. Carol could
so easily take over. Carlo had dreamed about THAT enough times! If only
she looked a bit more real, a bit more believable, so she could pass, as
she now knew the expression to be. Then again, there were so many
regular customers, she could never come out and take over. Most of them
tolerated a male in the shop, though there had been some embarrassing
moments until he had a good changing booth fitted. But Carlo turning
into Carol overnight would cost the business, they both knew.
No, better by far this Mrs. Verity, this Tanya, should buy the shop. She
had already made it plain Carlo's employment was secure. Carol
remembered the moment and blushed involuntarily. Mrs Verity had been
talking to him in the little room they jokingly called the office. As
she re-assured him about his prospects, she had reached out, impetuously
perhaps, and squeezed his thigh. He had been wearing a teddy with
suspenders, fully-fashioned nylons and lacy frou-frou panties that day.
He always took great pains to ensure nothing showed from under his suit,
but hadn't allowed for someone - anyone, least of all his new female
boss - touching his upper thigh!
Had she noticed the ridge of the deeply ruffled suspender under her
palm? Or the way the trouser leg slipped and slid across the glossy
surface of the stocking? She had not shown a flicker. Carol remembered
looking instantly into her eyes. No, she hadn't noticed, and it had been
only the lightest, momentary touch. He had not made that mistake again.
Restricting himself to normal silk or satin panties under the suit from
then on, with a minimum of lace. And no slips or chemises. Certainly no
brassieres, even on these winter days when he had customarily hidden one
by wearing a thick knit jersey. Still, there were compensations. This
Mrs Verity was an exceptionally attractive woman. She was striking, to
say the least. Carol knew she must be over six feet tall in her
stockinged feet. Several inches taller than her. And she wasn't shy
about her shoes either. Carol loved shoes. One of the first things she
noticed about women. She hated that women, who all had the natural
attributes she longed for, wasted them. Crummy, scruffy shoes, dowdy
clothes, no make up, hair a mess. Mrs Verity - Tanya, she had several
times insisted - she wasn't like that. Carlo had met her perhaps a dozen
times now. Always immaculately turned out. Reminding him of one of those
cosmetic consultants on the counters of a big store in Manchester or
somewhere. LOTS of make up, obviously extremely expensive make-up, but
perfectly applied, and perfectly matched for coloration. Eyelashes
extremely long, curled and thick but smoothly separated with rich
mascara. Brows severely but expertly plucked, displaying that high
arching curve Carol so longed to have the nerve to form on her own.
Cheekbones - such cheekbones! - subtly blushed. Plump, luxurious and
sensual lips thick with effortless gloss. Her glossy, deep chestnut
hair, well beyond collar length, either loosely tousled in a casual
cloud, or pulled more severely, into a fat French pleat at the back,
loose tendrils drawing the eye to her always bejewelled ears, and
elegant neck.
Yes, she liked her shoes as well, did Tanya. Carol had never seen her in
any footwear without a high heel, despite her height. She was obviously
of the "If you've got it, flaunt it" school of thought on height as well
as on figure, looks and mostly everything actually! She had worn
everything, strappy sandals, black patent ankle boots, court shoes Carlo
could have sworn were Jimmy Choo, everything. Still, it stands to
reason, Carol thought, idly soaping a smooth, tanned calf; it was love
of shoes that kept him at the shop, why not Tanya too? Carol suspected
she had as many, if not more shoes herself. Fifty-seven pairs at the
last count, and never a sole had touched a pavement or street. She
longed to be able to walk outdoors in them with the easy self-assurance
of a woman like Mrs Verity.
She couldn't get the image of her, at the moment she first walked into
the shop, out of her mind. It had been a mild morning for a northern
England November, when she had appeared. This gorgeous woman, certainly
no more than thirty years of age, had walked in wearing one of those
lightweight belted Macs that are habitually covered with a myriad of
wrinkles. It was beige in colour, open, over a navy blue formal skirt
suit. When she had taken the Mac off, Carlo had seen that the short-
sleeved jacket was really a bolero, without lapels, and wide cut at it's
deep bustline, showing only a fairly flimsy lace edged chemise below.
Her generous and tanned cleavage, hinting at an expensively fitted
brassiere, showed at the slightest movement, for anyone who cared to
look. Her slender arms, unadorned, save an understated stainless steel
Rolex on her left wrist, and wedding and engagement rings on the same
hand, were tanned and blemish free. The skirt was severely belted by a
wide, elasticated belt similar to those Carlo had seen nurses wearing,
but deeper, at about five inches. It accentuated the woman's tiny waist,
in turn serving only to stress her gorgeously proportioned derriere. The
skirt, slit a couple of inches at the rear, ended, very tight, a
hobbling three inches or so above the knee - such knees! - forcing the
short, one-in-front-of-the-other leg movements that Carol practised
herself so fervently at home. The way her backside rolled so
effortlessly and sexily when he watched her leave that day, would be on
Carol's mind for a long, long time. Thirty-eight or nine, twenty-three,
thirty-seven, he reckoned. God! Was Carol falling in love?!
Leaving the bath and drying herself, Carol applied a light dusting of
perfumed talc, before slipping on the mules once more, donning her robe,
and returning to her boudoir. Christmas Eve, a Thursday, and no one to
see, nothing she had to do, until Tuesday. She had done all the
shopping, had plenty of provisions, and intended to have an entirely
"girlie" time over the four days holiday, without stepping outside once!
When Carlo went back to work, it would be with Tanya as his new boss.
She was awfully young to be a widow. She had told him. When she
explained why she was looking for a business. Another business actually.
She already ran a highly lucrative recruitment agency apparently. He
wondered whether it was her own effort that had built it, or her late
husband's. He sat at the dressing table, running the stockings - that
same pair he had been wearing that day - through his fingers, finding
the seams, pulling the seductive silkiness up his newly moisturised
legs.
She needed to keep busy, and the agency ran itself. He concluded it had
been the husband's thing. He was jealous. I AM getting interested in
this woman. He must have been some guy. They must have been very much in
love. Dead three years, she still feels it, obviously. Needs the
distraction, not the money. She said she had been in as a customer a few
times. He didn't remember, and knew he would have remembered. He
wondered what she'd think if she knew when she'd been in the shop, he'd
probably been in Manchester, his day off, searching for some item made
for a man who wants to dress as a woman. It would disgust her, he
thought, taking padded bra and matching thong panties from the top
drawer of the dresser. Just forget it babes, he thought, she's not
interested in a creep like you. Maybe, IF Carol wasn't around. You're
younger, sure, but good- looking, bright, and interested in the same
things perhaps, too.
Disconcerting how she always looked so deep in his eyes. He sometimes
wondered if she'd spotted a bit of make-up he'd missed. He still wasn't
great with make-up.
It was like she was reading his mind. She commented on his ponytail too.
He'd been growing his hair since his mother died. It was long now, very
long. He wished he had the nerve to get it cut and styled, so as to be
entirely feminine when he wanted.
Carol sighed again. No, Tanya wouldn't be interested in a cheap
transvestite like her. She would just have to become one of her
fantasies. That would be good actually, because the Carlo in Carol was
finding it a little disturbing that so many of their fantasies, the
masturbatory ones, seemed to centre on men these days. Carlo may have
been a virgin, but he was fairly sure he was a heterosexual virgin. But
this train of thought always confused them both too. If Carol was as
heterosexual as Carlo, wouldn't that mean Carol should desire men?
This succession of thoughts had taken Carol almost unconsciously through
the well-practised routine of backcombing and lacquering her brushed out
hair, in what she now realised was a fairly good approximation of Mrs
Verity's "casual" look, as Carol had dubbed it. A light touch of make-up
had been applied, and her fingers trembled as she slithered into the
yellow Lycra mini-dress she had bought in town at lunchtime. She noted
with satisfaction how it clung to her waist, narrowed by the viciously
tight basque she had donned. She turned to admire the effect in the full
length mirror, and was trying to decide what shoes to pair with this
new, gorgeous acquisition, when, startled, she heard the insistent buzz
of the entry-phone. Carol cursed in a fairly masculine sort of way,
knowing it would be another visitor for that business type on the second
floor, who seemed to have given the whole world his address - wrongly!
Slipping the nearest footwear, the red mules, on to her stockinged feet,
she marched to the door where the receiver was bracketed to the wall.
"Yes?" she snapped, "who are you after?"
Carol's knees buckled when she heard the clear and recognisable voice
say, "It's Tanya, Carlo, you'd better let me in, we have a lot to talk
about, and it's raining out here!"
Oprah
- 29.08.2022
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