Three Months In Paris free porn video

I am 67 years old. My loving wife of oh, so many years, died last year. She loved me so much. And I her. She even tolerated a few quirks of mine. Believe it or not, I am have been a closet cross dresser throughout our whole marriage. I think she guessed, but never said a word. I was too chicken to come out in the open with her. But she knew. After many years we found out that our best sex was when we both played around with a lipstick. Not sure how it started but at first she would tease me by sexily doing her lips while we lay in bed next to each other. Then she found out that my arousal was highest when she playfully slid the lipstick, direct from the tube, over my lips. Then, since she was a teacher, I coaxed her into teaching me, poor dumb, clumsy, man that I was, to use the lipstick on myself. She giggled and got quite aroused as I learned to control the tube. At first my "lessons" were confined to laying next to her and her giving instructions as I lay there with my head on the pillows and without a mirror to help the process. Then one morning as we lay there in each other's arms she took her lipstick and handed it to me and said "Go into the bathroom and use the lights and the mirror and show me how well you have learned your lessons. Come back to me when you think your lips are perfect." I clumsily took the tube and walked uncertainly into the bathroom. I turned the lights on and went to the mirror. The first time it may have been 10 minutes before I came back to her. I climbed back into bed and turned my face to her. She looked long and hard at my face and at me. Finally she said "Not bad, sexy boy, I will give you a C +. But you will have to have a lot more practice and several exams before I am able to give you an A" She was never interested, not that I asked, in any other playing or dressing, other than our lipstick classes. Occasionally I would slip her bra off as we were laying there and casually and loosely arrange the cups over my breasts. She never said a word but would caress my breasts with her hand thru the cups. She never made to put the bra on me and I never pressed that she would. But we would lay there like that for a long time. It was nice. That was the extent of my wife's desires and knowledge in the area of cross dressing. And for many many years we were happy with our sex lives. Now my long suffering wife is no longer with me. I am retired and comfortably well off money wise. My children were very concerned at first but I recovered very well and they have their own lives to live and families to raise. They both live in very distant cities. They wanted me to come live with them but I did not want to put that burden on them. Besides I was still healthy and may have things which I wanted to do. It had been a year since my wife's death. I told the kids that I wanted to get away for awhile. That I needed time to rethink my life after their mother died. They were surprised when I told them that I had rented a small apartment in Paris for the months of August, September and October. After expressing some concern they said go for it and have fun. I did. I still had thoughts that I may want to really do something a little more adventurous than lipstick lessons. (I did eventually earn an A) After the funeral I followed my wife's wishes to let my hair grow long once again. For years I had worn my hair very short and easy to care for. A few months before my wife died she asked me to grow my hair into a longer style. I think she was thinking of how I looked in our younger days. So by the time came to fly to Paris my hair was fashionably unkempt enough that I was able to achieve a reasonable ponytail when the mood struck me. About six months after her death I really started to think long and hard about what I wanted out of my life now that I was on my own. The thought occurred to me that I could do what I damn well wanted to do. As I twisted my newly long hair with my fingers into a barrel curl at my temple it came to me that my options as to cross dressing were no longer limited to lipstick lessons and lipstick final exams. So Paris came into my mind as an excellent place for a new me to venture forth. I decided that those three months in Paris were not going to be a redo of what the past 40 some years had been. I would not be living in Paris. Wendy would. Wendy had waited in the wings for too long. I thought about what clothes I would take to Paris with me. My suitcases would be quite different from what the usual 67 year old man would pack. I would not fly to Paris as Wendy. I was not ready for that step yet. But I would not take too many male clothes with me. Just enough for the flight and maybe some male clothes for a few days. Though I hoped I would be Wendy basically from the first morning in Paris. I started frequenting Goodwill stores and second hand stores, building a starting wardrobe of Laura Ashley and Talbot cast offs which still were good enough for a 67 year old matron on the intriguing streets of Paris. I didn't go into slacks too much, basically not at all. I was interested in skirts and well cut blouses and (Thank God) I found the LBD that could start me off nicely in Paris. Goodwill stores supplied many attractive print sundresses and the little pearl button sweaters I needed to throw over my bare shoulders. I got to know the nice ladies at Payless Shoes very well. I always went as a man but went straight to the size 9 1/2 pumps and had no hesitation in trying them on over the knee hi's I was wearing under my jeans. My biggest purchase at Payless were some wondrous calf length three inch heeled black leather boots which were kickass with my mid calf length denim cowgirl skirt. My LBD was adequately accessorized with a pair of 4 inch patent pumps with a silver heart of each vamp. My underthings were easy to take care of out of all the online sites which were happy to send me anything I wanted. And to accept a return if I misjudged the actual size of my cute little breasts. As I sit here writing this memoir I am wearing my basic 38B Flower Bali Underwire white bra. If you could see me you would applaud that I am filling every square inch of those soft B-cups with good ole ME. That is how I want to be. Just me. (Well maybe a little padding when a blouse really could use some cleavage.) But never a D-cup. I am not that kind of woman. About the only thing the online sites did not supply me with was the much desired under- bust corset I spent a fortune on to have made for my figure alone. Since I was going to Paris in late summer I was not too concerned about coats or anything heavy. If the weather changed Paris had more than enough places for a naive American woman to spend her money. I have a very nice MaryKay lady who has never condescended to me or laughed at my needs. She and I have come up with quite a pallet of cosmetics for Wendy. Obviously lipstick figures very prominently in the tubes and jars I am taking with me. I have been told that Paris also has a place or two which would sell Mademoiselle any kind of paint she would desire. I couldn't travel to Paris just as me. Even though I could not fly as Wendy, Wendy went two days before take off and had a pedi and a mani. Candy Apple red on the toes and clear polish on the fingers. I just had to. So, I telephoned goodbyes to the kids, packed my bags with a pair of slacks and a couple shirts and a whole lot of blouses and skirts and makeup and pretty frilly things and it was off to Paris for me and Wendy. I loved showing my ID at the airport, being sure that my polished nails were front and center. I had been growing my nails in preparation of this venture and the nail salon did a wonderful job of rounding my nails into a very feminine shape which reached about 1/4 inch past the tips of my fingers. Even without color polish they were a woman's nails. As I was getting my boarding pass the young lady noticed my nails and complimented me as being a man who took wonderful care of his nails. I planned to take even better care of them in a few days. I splurged and flew First Class. I thought Wendy should be treated to the best. As I sit here snug and proud in this bra I think that maybe I should have flown as Wendy. It would have been so pleasant having my rounded breasts strain the seams of a satin blouse as I was being served champagne but First Class was nice for old me, so I shouldn't complain. My fingernails did look nice holding that champagne flute and smiling at the hostess who had shorter nails than I did. She was jealous. I have always wondered why a Non - Stop flight actually stops when you get there. I guess that is a good thing, just a silly name. The flight landed in the very early morning hours, Paris time. Just about bedtime where I come from. So this is bad. The first thing you want to do in Paris is hop in bed and ............Sleep (what did you think I was going to say?) When the cab arrived at my new home ( I already had the key sent to me before I left) that is just what I did. I went to bed for several hours. I did, of course, unpack so that the first bedtime in Paris found me all comfy in the sweetest bra bust satin night gown you have ever seen. I slept like a baby. A little pink sissy baby. So after several hours cuddling my satin encased breasts in my new strange bed, I awoke and jumped into the shower. Knowing that when I came out of the shower I had some very fun decisions to make about what to wear on my first night of Wendy In Paris. For some reason when I unpacked I seem to have lost all my old male clothes somewhere in the back of all the closets. Pity. As I was standing in the shower, looking down at the brilliant shine of my candy apple red toes, it hit me that when I dried off the next step would be a panty and a bra and three months of Wendy. I was in bliss. So panty and bra it was and I plonked myself down at the makeup vanity and made my wife proud. Her lessons were all that I needed. For the first night just a light makeup base and some blusher and a quick coating of a light grey eyeshadow and a deft stroke of the mascara wand and I was ready to take my wife's final exam. A shimmering pink lipstick and a sparkling gloss. A plus if I ever saw one. It seemed to be rather warm in the early Paris evening. So I dressed appropriately. White satin panties and a white Flower Bali bra (38B) and some nude sheer thigh-hi's. A white rayon half slip under a swishy ankle length pastel pink silk floral skirt with canvas and straw three inch high wedgies took care of the bottom of Wendy. The top took a muted pink cammie covered by a white sateen sleeveless tailored blouse which showed the cammie and the bra underneath it too. A simple pink ribbon band at the throat with an ivory cameo at the center of my throat. Matching cameo earrings and several bangles on each wrist were added. I did nothing too special to my hair. That would come soon enough. I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and left my bangs fall on my forehead. I tied a matching pink ribbon onto the base of my ponytail, sprayed a little Chanel behind the ears and on the wrists and down my cleavage, blew a kiss to the mirror, picked up my purse (you would be amazed at what is in my purse) and off Wendy went on her first night as a woman in Paris. My apartment was in a small courtyard off the Rue Jacob only a short stroll from Le Deux Magots and Eglise St. Germain. The apartment opens directly onto the courtyard and then into Rue Jacob. I flipped my ponytail and opened the door and stepped into the warm Parisian evening with my breasts pushed out and my wedgies clunking on the stone of the courtyard. It was only around five in the late afternoon. Much too early for a true Parisian to even think about having her dinner. So a stroll around the neighborhood was in order. I particularly wanted to search out nearby and appropriate nail salons and salons de coiffure. I had a lot of business to turn their way. But I wanted just the right kind of salon. A salon which would know how to care for a 67 year old wealthy Madame who wants to make up for lost time in the woman field. No teeny bopper, orange streaked hair, salon. Not even a salon for fast paced business women, more intent on what is in than on what is classic and feminine. I wanted a hair salon, and a nail salon, and what is unique to Paris, a makeup salon, that would take me over and realize that the set is more important than a purple streak. I wanted Wendy to wear makeup that made her look like a woman not a clown. No pictures on my nails. Just several coats of scarlet polish on a rounded nail which would have made Princess Grace proud. This was a Monday night. I wanted my hair (MY HAIR) done by Wednesday. No more ponytails. I wanted a wash and roller set and coiffure de elegance. I didn't come to Paris to be a drag queen or a sissy. I wanted to be a woman. And since my wife gave me a A in lipstick I knew I could be one. My ponytail and my makeup and my fashion statement must have been working. No one gave me any questioning glances. Maybe even a glance of interest or approval came Wendy's way. I was a nice looking older woman strolling the early evening streets of St. Germain. There was a slight breeze wafting off the Seine, down Rue de Seine and into Rue de Buci. I so enjoyed the gentle sway of my long skirt and the welcome breath of air on my cleavage. I window shopped as I walked. YSL, Prada, Dior, Chanel, Bon Marche all at my feet. It was wonderful to look into the shop windows and admire the dresses or the lingerie and not worry that someone would think it strange that a man was looking so intently at such things. I was a woman who could gawk as long as she wanted at a brassiere clad manikin. I could buy the damn brassiere. I could wear the damn brassiere. I walked and I looked and I loved it. I had been a 67 year old man sitting in front of the boob tube watching any sport that happened to be on. Just a few days ago. Now I was a woman walking thru the streets of the Left Bank with only the care of where to eat and where to find just the right salon for my 67 year old hair. I saw several likely salons in my walking. I was particularly drawn to the Salon de Coiffure - Renee Garnier. A simple classic shop window opening, with no shame, to reveal a bank of stainless steel torpedo shaped salon dryers. Dryers which faced the window with no pretense of being anything but what they were - an instrument to make women beautiful. Behind the dryers I could see several stations, each with an elegant salon chair in front of a combination wash station and cosmetic vanity with Hollywood make up lights around each mirror. I knew at a glance that this place was a no nonsense salon. You, me, Wendy came there to be made beautiful. A beauty which no teeny bopper could begin to understand. Women left this salon with ruby lips and shadowed eyes under a hair do which left no question as to the gender of it's bearer. I wanted to be that woman. Luckily only a few doors down from this salon was a nail salon which by looking into it's window (it was still early evening and the salon was very busy) I could see that well dressed women were having their manicure or pedicure done not by the ubiquitous young asian girl but rather by a professional staff of uniformed technicians who seemed to be all of a northern european origin. There were no polish bottles of garish greens and blues to be seen. Row upon row of reds and pinks of all hues established this as a serious place of womanly beauty. This was my kind of nail salon. Wendy would make as appointment for the following day right then and there. I opened the door and was greeted by the wonderful smells of a professional nail salon. I could just drink it in. This was to be my world for at least the next three months. I went to the reception desk and in my best (not so good) french requested a mid morning appointment for the following day. I requested an application of acrylic nails. The young blonde women behind the desk looked me over very carefully. Something must have caught her eye. Probably the voice or the bad french. "Mai oui, Madame, we will be happy to serve you at 10:30 tomorrow. Oh and I love that cameo. It is so sweet. So feminine. And YOU are a lovely woman. Till tomorrow then mon cher." I knew she knew that I was a man. And I loved the experience. I loved the interaction. Though she knew I was a man she treated me and would continue to treat me as a woman for as long as I acted as someone who respected womanhood and wanted to maintain a feminine persona. I have no problem with someone knowing I am a man as long as they treat me as the woman I want to be. It is even sometimes more fun if they know and you know they know. Everybody has a good time and you get a damn good manicure. Walking for a few hours in my wedgies signaled that I had better get a load off my feet even though that load was very feminine. The area around my new apartment had hundreds of restaurants and bistros. Le Petite Benoit caught my eye with inviting sidewalk tables. I plopped my purse down the only empty table I saw and claimed it in the name tired and foot sore women everywhere. Besides saving my feet, Le Petite Benoit gave me the chance to experience my first meal in Paris as a woman. As I bent to massage my feet I couldn't help but see the two mounds (small mounds) which created the lovely cleavage enhanced by my tailored sateen blouse. Nice! You sexy old lady, you! I took my compact from my purse and touched up my lips and powdered my nose and fluffed out my ponytail. Maybe soon I would have a real hair do to pat and pump up. The waiter finally came and we discussed in bad french and even worse english what would Madame like for dinner. Madame would like a shrimp salad (have to watch my figure now) and a Dubonnet with a twist. Monsieur Waiter took my order with a smile (a knowing smile, I do not know) and left me to watch Paris parade by my table. I enjoy watching people and in this instance I particularly watched the women moving through the evening. All kinds passed by. The young and the old. The happy and the sad. The beautiful and the not so much. I assessed that the outfit I had chosen for my first womanly evening in Paris was pretty much right on with the passing parade. Maybe a shorter skirt and pumps rather than wedgies but how's a guy to know all this. I was going to learn. Dinner was excellent and the wine was going to the top of my ponytailed head. It was time to get back to my apartment and rest up for the trails coming tomorrow. Those nail salons can wear a guy out. But before I left the restaurant I made the trip I had always imagined. I picked up my purse and went to the Ladies Room. The Ladies Room in an older Parisian restaurant is old and small. No matter how nice the food and how romantic the atmosphere the potty is still small. But I didn't care. It was the Ladies Room. When I went in, carefully and hesitantly, it was empty. I was alone to do what had to be done. Seated of course. But when I finished and straightened my skirt and adjusted my bra straps another women had come in to freshen her makeup. I stood next to her and washed my hands, being careful that she should see my polished nails. Then I reached into my purse, just as she was doing her lips, and took out my lipstick and used all the lessons my wife had drummed into me. I saw her eyes in the mirror follow my movements and I saw a flicker of question in her smile. Just as I was twisting my lipstick down into it's tube she put her hand on my shoulder, right on my bra straps, and asked me the name of the color I had put on my lips. I showed her the bottom of the tube and blew a lipsticked kiss to her as I put my purse on my shoulder and walked with my skirts flowing from the Ladies Room. I paid the bill and winked at the waiter and stepped back out into the Parisian night. I was getting tired. But the apartment was only two blocks away. As I walked those blocks there were other people, men and women around. But it suddenly occurred to me that I was an older single woman walking darkened streets in a strange, to me, city. I would have to think about that fact as I learned to live as a woman. I could be the target of a mugging or a sexual attack. I was a woman now and would have to bear what a woman bears just because of her sex. The evening had become somewhat cool and I wished I had put a cotton sweater into my purse. But I would learn. And I would learn what that purse could hold. I was soon back to my apartment and happily shucked my wedgies, unbuttoned the blouse, stepped out of the skirt, lifted off the cammie and removed (lovingly) my bra and panties. I stepped into a sleep panty and wrapped a silk dressing gown around me. I had to remove my makeup and brush out my hair from the tight ponytail. Even after cleaning off my makeup, I refreshed my lips. I love to sleep with lipstick on. Reminds me of my wife. I took off the gown and lowered a self bra scarlet satin teddy PJ over my head and plopped, not very sexily, onto the waiting bed and was in female dreamland faster than you can put a bra on. Even after only one partial day in Paris and as a woman, I had gotten into a routine. Get up, take my nightie off and step into the shower, shave carefully everywhere, face, legs, underarms. (Some Parisian women have the nasty habit of not shaving their underarms. Yuk! I will not be one of those women.) Dry myself, put my hair up in a towel to dry, step into a pair of panties and slip on the bra I have decided to wear that day. Pad into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a croissant. Then back to the boudoir for my make up and finally my dress. I had slept rather late for me and it was already 9:30 AM when I had finished my toilette. I had my nail appointment at 10:30 so I had a few minutes to appraise myself. I took my coffee and went out into the courtyard and found a nice bench to sit on. I demurely tucked my skirt and sat down with my ankles crossed in front of me. I dressed casually this morning for my nail appointment in a knee length pleated navy rayon skirt and a white silk sleeveless shell as a top. I had on a panty girdle and my bra, a seamless molded cup with a slight uplift, was clearly visible through the sheer shell. For ease of walking I chose a pair of basic 2 inch navy pumps. I had two inch silver hoops in my ears and a silver ladies Rolex on my wrist and I had brushed my hair back behind each ear and fastened it in place with silver barrettes. My bangs floated on my forehead. My makeup was quite simple, just blush and mascara and, of course, lipstick. I thought I was ready to meet a Scandinavian acrylic technician. But was I ready to meet my neighbor? A door opened across the courtyard and a woman who appeared to be in her mid-fifties came out dressed very similar (I was extremely pleased to see this) to me. She was also carrying a coffee cup and came toward me. "Bonjour, madame. We seem to be neighbors. J'appele Claudette." "Bonjour, Claudette, je suis Wendy. Je suis Amercan." "May I sit with you, Wendy?" "Of course." "You have just arrived, haven't you, Wendy?" "Early yesterday, complete with jet lag." "Well you look fine this morning. Have you plans for this morning?" "The first thing I did yesterday, after napping, was make an appointment at the nail salon down the street for 10:30 this morning. I had to do something with these nails." "Oh, you will adore that salon. They do great things for your hands. I go there all the time." "Tell me, Claudette, do you know anything about Salon de Coiffure - Renee Garnier?" "Oh, yes, Wendy. Tres bon! I go there and most of the fashionable ladies in the neighborhood do also. Ask for Silvia, she does fantastic sets. You almost want to wear the rollers home." "Well Claudette, it has been wonderful to meet you, I must be off in pursuit of beauty. Maybe we can do lunch or dinner sometime. I will be here for three months." "That would be lovely, Wendy! I am off also, to my corsetiere. She has delicious tortures planned for me. If you would like I will give you her name. In your three months you may feel the need for some foundation adjustment." "I already have one custom made underbust corset but I would think Parisian corsetieres may know a special thing or two about shaping this poor body. Thank you and have fun being laced!" "Oh, Wendy, don't forget to ask for Silvia. Do you know she also has a many men as clients too?" And with that Claudette was off to be laced and tied. Her last comment about male clients made me think that I really had to do something with my hair. Barrettes and ponytails were not accomplishing their mission. I really liked Claudette. Maybe I can have some real Girl Talk during these three months. I stood up, smoothed out my skirt and took my coffee cup back inside. I loved the lip print on the edge. A quick touch up of lipstick and I was off to have my nails done, really done. The same receptionist was behind the counter at the nail salon. "Bonjour, Madame Wendy! You are right on time. Clarise has just finished a full set and will be right with you. Oh, I love you're barrettes, they are so cute and sooooo feminine. Please have a seat at this station. Clarise will be simply love doing your nails." With that she left with what may have been a smirk on her lovely lips. And Clarise arrived. "So you are the lovely Wendy who Hilda told me so much about. You are quite lovely. I am going to be so proud to do your nails. What did you have in mind, mon cheri?" "I think it is time I had a full acrylic set. I will be here for at least three months and you can keep them in beautiful shape for me. A soft oval at the tip about 1/4 to 3/8ths past the finger tip. And to start with I would like you to match my polish to this lipstick. It is my favorite." I took my L'Oreal Rustic Rose lipstick out of my purse and opened it for her to see. "That is a lovely shade and I think really becomes a woman like you." "Let's get started!" Clarise took my hands and gave me feelings I have never experienced before. I felt totally a woman. The scents and the colors drugged me with a most intense sense of well being. She worked and I shuddered with joy. The chemicals built up on my finger tips and the shape took form. A woman's shape and length. The color flowed effortlessly over the extended size of new nails. "Oh, Clarise, they are beautiful! So elegant and fem! Thank you! You have a new customer. Next time I am sure I will need a pedicure too. I may have tired of the candy apple red by then." Clarise put me under the nail dryer and left to take care of other women. Hilda came over to inspect the finished product and gave me a big "Thumbs Up' and a conspiratorial wink. I was in heaven, girly heaven. After I left the nail salon I got a quick bite at a bistro a block away and then did some serious shopping. I knew that my Goodwill castoffs were not going to bear up to the fashion standards of the fashion capital of the world. I would ask Claudette to recommend a proper lingerie shop but till then I had a happy girl time buying blouses and skirts and dresses and even a swimsuit. I knew that each August the mayor of Paris had hundreds of tons of sand trucked in and spread on the banks of the Seine to create a beach for sand starved Parisians. Not much swimming but a lot of sun bathing. I wanted to get those so feminine tan lines. So the afternoon passed splendidly for a new woman. When I got back to the apartment there was a note tacked to my door. It was from Claudette asking me to call her and gave me her number. Well, this girlfriend thing may be happening faster than I had hoped for. "Hello, Claudette, this is Wendy. So nice to get your note. What can I do for you?" "Wendy, dear, I was thinking about you all day. I hope your nail appointment was satisfactory?" "I was thrilled with the place and the manicurist and my new nails. I couldn't be happier." "That's fantastic, Wendy! You deserve some nice new nails. How about we celebrate and have some dinner together? Put on a nice dress and some pearls and come over to my place at 8:00PM, OK?" "Sounds like two girls are going to have a great time! See you then." Pearls and a dress? Good thing I went shopping this afternoon. I may have not been a woman for long but I do have the dress for our girl's night out. I started preparing myself at 6:00PM. A quick shower, a panty girdle, a long line bra, a full slip, hose and 3 inch heels, followed by my new pastel yellow sleeveless bodice fitted shirtwaist brushed cotton dress with a flared full skirt. Large costume pearls at the neck and pearl drop earrings and my Rolex completed the ensemble. My nails shown brilliantly and my lipstick matched perfectly. I teased my man hair with a brush as best I could and sprayed what bulk I could into the sides and the top. A yellow rose hair pin set off the right side of my shining face. At 67 I was ready to have dinner as a girl with a girlfriend. "Oh my, Wendy, you look adorable! And your nails are to die for. I bet you can't wait to have Silvia to her magic on you tomorrow. Your hair does look nice tonight. Better than this morning. But I am sure that practice will make perfect. Here let me do something for you." Claudette went into her bedroom and came back with a round brush. She took the hair over my ears and rolled it very tight and slowly unwound the brush. My hair stood out a new two inches from where I had brushed it. The effect was stunning. My hair had body and elegantly framed my face. "Oh, Claudette, that is lovely. Thank you so much." "Wendy, we girls have to help each other. And I am sure you will learn that very quickly. Not that you haven't always been a helpful girl. A very special helpful girl. I looove your lipstick! Now let's go have a nice meal and get to know each other. I know I am going to like you." "And I am going to love being your girlfriend, Claudette. This is the happiest day of my life as a woman. _______________________________ Please enjoy and further adventures of Wendy in Paris will be coming soon.