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HOW HUMILIATING I had been married about four years when my life changed literally overnight. I have had, for as long as I could remember, a bit of a thing about cross-dressing; nothing extreme, just that I always made a point of reading any newspaper articles about people who cross-dressed and I remember, as a teenager, experiencing erections in the cinema whenever the film plot required a male actor to don a dress. I can't count the number of times I saw "Tootsie"! But that was as far as it went; I never tried wearing any of my Mum's clothes - I fact I don't think I would have dared, she was one strict lady! Anyway, as I grew up and my hormones settled down, my interest in cross- dressing seemed to diminish and I thought it was just a growing-up phase I had gone through. Then I started dating girls and found that I spent as much time admiring their clothes as I did trying to get them to take them off! Eventually I met Sandra; we fell in love; and married. Living constantly with a woman inevitably resulted in my becoming much more intimately acquainted with female under-pinnings and the like. We are a modern couple; we both have demanding jobs, so share domestic tasks between us. It therefore happened that one day I was at home taking care of the laundry whilst Sandra was out seeing a client. As I sorted the dirty clothes into piles of "whites", "light colours", and "darks", I found myself pausing with a pair of Sandra's knickers in my hand. They were so light and delicate; totally unlike my boring old boxers. I felt an irresistible urge to try them on; so I didn't resist, I slipped off my trousers and underpants and stepped, somewhat nervously, into the black and gold, bikini pants. They felt so flimsy as I pulled them up; I had to tuck my penis back between my legs in order to get them into place - but I'm not the most well endowed man in the world, so that wasn't too much of a problem! Having overcome the first hurdle, I wanted more and rummaged, excitedly, through the laundry until I found a pair of tights. I had seen Sandra putting on hose often enough to know I had to gather the legs before trying to put them on. The sensation as I rolled the filmy nylon up my legs was amazing; I could feel my prick starting to harden. Needless to say it wasn't long before I came - spectacularly - inside my wife's underwear! My feeling of elation was short lived and quickly replaced with a sense of shame and guilt. I hurriedly removed the soiled garments and put them in the washing machine. I tried to put the experience out of my mind but, as you might expect, this proved impossible to achieve. I wanted to recreate that thrill and, as soon as another opportunity presented itself, I was back rummaging through the laundry basket for more of Sandra's dirty clothes. On this second occasion I found a matching bra and panty set in navy blue and quickly put the panties on. I so wanted to experience what wearing a bra feels like and slipped my arms through the straps. Now whilst I am quite slightly built, I am bigger than Sandra so the bra was really too small. However with a lot of stretching and tugging I finally managed to do up the fastenings by turning the bra the wrong way round. I then struggled to tug it round my body and get my arms back through the straps. I did it but the bra cut into my chest and interfered with my breathing. Still I had managed to get it on and I was now standing in our bathroom clad only in a bra and panty set! I located a pair of tights, which I donned, and then spotted a white slip peeking out from under another pile of clothes. Again it was a tight fit but I managed to squeeze into it. The sensation of nylon swirling round my thighs and brushing against my stockings was dreamy. I quickly balled up some dirty socks and pushed them into the bra cups to give the impression that I had a bosom. Having got so far I wanted to go the whole hog and rushed into our bedroom and started rummaging through Sandra's wardrobe. Eventually I found a simple black dress that had been pushed to one side as it was old and dated from the time before she had lost weight. It was made of a slightly stretchy material and I was able to pull it over my head and wriggle it down my body. I found a pair of black sling-black shoes that I could just cram on my feet and, finally, stood breathless in front of a full-length mirror looking at the reflection of me dressed as a woman for the first time ever. I knew instantly that it would not be the last! OK, I looked nothing like a woman; I was a bloke in a frock. No make-up; short, masculine hair; no jewellery; and no figure! But it felt wonderful. Funnily enough, on this occasion I didn't get sexually excited. In some odd way it seemed "right" to be wearing these clothes and I felt calm and at peace. I didn't dare risk wearing them for too long in case Sandra came home unexpectedly or a neighbour called at the door. So, reluctantly, I slowly removed my borrowed finery and returned the dress and shoes to the closet. The underclothes joined my piles of washing and, in due cause, took their turn in the washing machine. Having started cross-dressing, I didn't want to stop and seized every opportunity of Sandra going out to try on her clothes. I consciously dieted so as to lose a bit of flab and hence be able to get into more of Sandra's things. It was too good to last. One evening I got home from work later than Sandra. She was upstairs, so I called out that I was home and that I would mix us a couple of drinks. I was busy doing this when Sandra walked into the room. I looked up and blanched as I saw she was holding one of her dresses in her hand and had an angry expression on her face. The dress she was holding was one I had tried on only a couple of days before. "This is going to have to stop Stephen," she started. "I know you have been wearing my clothes for some time now. You were always careful to put things back properly, but a woman always knows when someone else has been to her wardrobe. I don't have any trouble with you cross-dressing - in fact it is rather exciting in a kinky sort of way and it would have been nice if you had shared your fetish with me - but I will not have you ruining my things. Several of my bras are so stretched out of shape that I am going to have to throw them away and, now, when I pick up this dress that I was planning to wear tomorrow, I find the zip is broken." (I hadn't noticed that I must have broken the zip when I struggled to take the dress off.) "First thing tomorrow morning," Sandra continued, "I want you to go out and buy some clothes of your own. You will choose at least two sets of underwear; a packet of tights - large size, not the medium that I wear! - a dress; and a pair of shoes. You will make sure that you buy things that are correctly sized for you and, whilst you are about it, I want you to go to a specialist corsetry shop - I will give you the address - and get yourself fitted with a proper control garment to give you at least some semblance of a shape." I bushed with shame and embarrassment and tried to blurt out an apology, but Sandra would have none of it. "If you want to wear women's clothing; that is fine with me," she said. "In fact I insist on it. We need to see whether this is going to be a long term thing or just some passing fad. We can only find that out if you immerse yourself in femininity for a number of weeks." "OK," I responded, "I have to admit I am finding cross-dressing remarkably addictive and it is generous of you to indulge me. But you will have to help me buy suitable clothing; I have no idea of what dress size I need or even what size shoes I would need; and as for being fitted with a corset; I would just die of humiliation!" "No I won't help you," Sandra replied, to my shock and horror. "If you want to find out what it is like to be a woman, you need to do it properly and openly. You will just have to ask the assistants in the various shops for their help and advice. You are going to do this on your own." I begged and pleaded with her but to no avail; Sandra was adamant; I eventually I came to realise that if I wanted to retain any of her respect, I had no choice but to go along with her instructions. I hardly slept that night. There was no way I could go through with what Sandra was demanding of me, but equally, I couldn't see any way round what she was asking with forfeiting her love and respect. Eventually morning dawned and Sandra awoke. I gave her time to come round before speaking; "I'm really sorry about abusing your clothes" I started, "I promise I will never do it again and, in fact, having thought it through over night, I can see that this whole cross-dressing thing was a stupid flash-in-the-pan. I'm going to give it up entirely from now on. So I think we can make an end of the whole thing, don't you?" "No I don't" Sandra replied severely. "I don't think you realise just how deep seated these fetishes can be. You need to carry on and establish just how important dressing as a woman is to you. You WILL do as I told you last night and go shopping for female garments of your own today. Now go and make us both a cup of coffee." I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the kitchen. It was clear that Sandra was serious in her intent and I knew that for today at least, I would have to go along with her. Hopefully if I demonstrated my acceptance of her wishes and went and bought these clothes and then, later, showed her how ridiculous I look in a dress, we could laugh the whole thing off; I could forget my strange behaviour and we could get on with our lives as before. After coffee we both showered and dressed. I took care to select the manliest items from my wardrobe; no pink shirt or anything like that! Over breakfast Sandra reiterated the list of clothes she expected me to buy. "It is up to you which shops you patronise," she told me. "The only thing I am insisting on is that your first port of call is at Madam Lara's. This is the best corsetry shop in the area and they will make sure you are wearing a properly fitting corset before you try on any other clothes." Try on clothes - I hadn't even contemplated what shopping for female garments would entail; it sounded as though I was in for a long and humiliating day! After one final, futile plea to Sandra to call the whole thing off, I climbed, reluctantly, into my car and set off to Madam Lara's corsetry emporium. The shop was located on Montpellier Terrace in Cheltenham, our nearest large shopping centre. From the outside it was clear that madam Lara's was a very long established business. It had a fabulous Victorian fa?ade and it didn't look as though the window displays had altered much since that time either! An amazing variety of corsets, girdles, and other constrictive under-garments were on show in the windows. I peered nervously through the glass door and breathed a sigh of relief when I observed that there were no other customers inside at present. I opened the door and stepped inside; a bell tinkled in the distance and a lady of about 35 came toward me. "Can I help you sir?" she enquired with a bright smile. "It's rather embarrassing," I muttered. "My wife wants me to buy a corset." "Of course sir," she replied. "Will that be a gentleman's corset or a lady's? We stock both kinds." "A lady's," I stammered, somehow managing to force the words from between my lips. "Not a problem sir. You would be surprised at the number of gentlemen customers we have who like to purchase female under-garments for their own use." So saying she ushered me towards the back of the shop. "Now if you will just remove your jumper and trousers in this changing room," she said, "I will take your measurements and bring you some different corsets for you to try." I did as she said and, having taken off my clothes, somewhat shamefacedly called out that I was ready. The woman came into the changing room. "I can see that you are finding this embarrassing," she said. "Is this your first time?" "It is," I confessed, "and I am finding this all very difficult." "Just relax," she responded. "My name is Anne and I can assure you that since I came to Madam Lara's I have served literally dozens of gentlemen customers. There is nothing to be embarrassed about; why shouldn't men enjoy the same delights as we women in the clothes they wear? A corset will not only help shape your figure; it will also help improve your posture and, by being so restrictive, will ensure you eat less and diet better!" Anne then proceeded to wrap a tape-measure around different parts of my torso and noted the resultant measurements on a little pad. "That's fine," she said. "You are very slight compared with many men I have seen in this changing room. I'll just go and find you a few corsets that I think will work for you." She hurried away and I nervously paced around the changing room. In a few short minutes Anne was back with an armful of corsets. "Let us start with a classic waist-cinch," she said. "I will need you to take off your shirt for this fitting." Reluctantly I removed my shirt and stood, clad only in my underpants and socks in front of her. Anne produced a black corset which she proceeded to wrap around my waist. "Women's waists are situated a little higher than men's," she announced, as she wrapped the garment around me, just underneath my ribs. She then demonstrated that she had a great future as a State Torturer! First off she fastened the busk at the front of the corset. This seemed a very simple action and I began to think that this might not too bad an experience after all. Then she started to tighten the laces at the back of the corset! It didn't take long for me to cry out as the breath was squeezed out of my lungs. "Stop; this is impossible," I cried. "I can't breathe." "Don't be such a wuzz," Anne responded, "this isn't tight; I can get your waist down at least another two inches!" She continued to tighten the laces as she had me hold onto a bar above the door to the changing cubicle. Eventually, just when I thought I could stand no more, she fastened off the laces. "There; quite a trim little waist if I do say so myself!" I gasped for breath. "How can I wear this all day?" I enquired. "I can't breathe properly, let alone bend or move!" "Take shallower breaths," Anne advised, "if you use the top part of your lungs, you will find that you soon get used to the constriction of the corset and, in a little while, you won't even notice you have got it on." Of course I didn't believe her, but she was right; after about 10 minutes I no longer thought I was about to die and although I couldn't bend easily, I was able to move around and breath quite normally. "I think we will let you become accustomed to this corset before we try any others," Anne mussed. "Are you planning to buy anything else today that I might be able to help you with?" Although I had felt terribly embarrassed entering the shop, Anne's quiet acceptance of the normality of my purchasing a female corset was starting to put me more at my ease. I therefore told her about my predicament and the fact that my wife was insisting I buy myself a complete set of female clothing. "I have to buy bra, knickers, tights, shoes, and a dress," I confessed, "and I am dreading it. I'm sure not all shop assistants will be as accepting as you." "Well I can't help you with everything," said Anne thoughtfully, "we are corsetry specialists and don't carry a full range of women's clothing. However, I might be able to help with your bra and knickers." She went off to the stockroom and soon returned carrying a black, long-line bra and a pair of "big pants". "These are control garments," she announced "so they will help with moulding your figure. Try this on first." She proffered me the bra and I slipped my arms through the straps. It was a front-fastening garment and Anne helped me do up the ten or so hooks-and- eyes that held it in place. She then tugged the bottom band down until it overlapped the top of my corset. "For future reference you need a 38 inch bra," she announced. "One advantage you cross-dressers have over us genetic women is that you can choose the size of your breasts; we have to settle for what nature gives us! In tour case, taking account of your height and build, I would suggest we try a C-cup." I looked down at the cups hanging limply on my chest. "Surely the size is irrelevant," I remarked, "at least until I can get back to my sock drawer and stuff them accordingly." "Not at all," Anne replied. "If your wife wants you to do this properly, there is no way you can use socks to create breasts. You are going to have to invest in some forms. It so happens that, because we get so many gentlemen customers, we do keep a few in stock." She produced two boxes. "Try these," she suggested "they are our most popular range." Opening one of the boxes, she revealed a silicon breast-form nestling in its protective packaging. Anne took it and slipped it into one of my bra cups - it was very cold and I gave an involuntary gasp. Anne laughed. "Don't worry it will soon warm to your skin temperature," she reassured me. She proceeded to put the second form in place and then tugged at my pectoral flesh until she had created an impression of cleavage. "Apart from the chest-hair, which will have to go, that isn't a bad bosom," she announced. I looked in the mirror; it really did appear that I now possessed my own breasts. "Put these on now," Anne requested, passing me the knickers. "These are made by a firm called Spanx and they really do help us women disguise the more unshapely parts of our anatomy!" I gingerly stepped into the knickers and, with a bit of a struggle and a few wriggles, managed to pull them up. "Of course you shouldn't really wear them over boxer shorts," Anne giggled "but until you buy them it is probably for the best." The waist band of the pants came almost up to the bottom of the bra and completely covered the corset. "This will hide all the laces and seams in your undergarments," Anne explained, "and ensure you display a smooth line under your dress." "You know, you really do have the makings of a shapely feminine figure," Anne said, critically eying me up and down. "With a little padding around your hips and bottom you could well make several real women envious! I think that the foundation garments you currently have on are the ones you ought to buy just now. They are among the least expensive of the various lines we carry. I could go on and show you all sorts of much fancier corsets and, who knows, one day you might be back to try them out, but, given the brief you have outlined for me, I think your wife will be impressed if you go back home with these." By now Anne's calm, reasonable approach that there was nothing in the least peculiar in a man buying female foundation garments had, to a large extent put me at my ease and I felt, in fairness, I should accept her considered advice. "Right then," I said, "I'll just take them off and then you can bag them up and I'll pay for them." "I suggest you keep them on," Anne replied. "Remember you still have to find yourself a dress and you won't get one that fits properly unless you are wearing the appropriate under-garments. Just slip your breast forms out and I'll put those in a bag for you; you can put them back in when you try on a dress." I did as she suggested and pulled on my shirt and trousers over my new bra and corset. ("My bra and corset," - before today I had never thought I would using a phrase like that!) Fortunately I was wearing a dark, check shirt and there was no visible sign of what I had on underneath and, once I had donned my jacket, the only thing that was slightly odd was that the belt on my trousers was pulled tight to its final notch and still my trousers were a little loose in the waist; Anne's lacing had pulled my tummy in that much! When Anne told me the cost of my purchases I blanched; it was much more than I had envisaged. Anne could see I was shocked; "Quality foundation garments never come cheap," she said, "and I promise you our prices are very competitive. You could save a bit by opting for foam breast forms rather than the silicon ones but I would honestly advise you that that would be a false economy. The foam ones are too light and just don't move properly with your body; they look false whereas the silicon ones are as close to the real thing as you can get - particularly if you glue them on and mask the edges with a little make-up." I sighed; nodded my head, and proffered my credit card. "I just hope Sandra thinks all this expense is worth while," I said, "it seems a great deal to pay if her only intention is to humiliate me!" "I'm sure she will love you in all your new finery," Anne replied. "Your wife sounds remarkably loving to me and I'm sure she is only forcing you through this process for your own good. Wait and see; I'm willing to bet that in a few weeks time you will be back here looking for a new corset to go with some wonderful new dress you have bought!" I smiled wanly, not at all convinced; but she had been so very helpful that I thanked her profusely before walking out through the door - my back somewhat straighter than when I had walked in; thanks to the corset! I walked down a couple of streets into the very centre of the shopping area. I had decided that my next port of call would be Marks and Spencer. If it was true that 75% of the women in Britain buy their underwear from M&S, I ought to be able to find the things I needed there. Also by self- selecting from the racks I should be able to avoid the embarrassment of having to ask for help from a sales assistant. Anne had told me that my bra size was 38C and that I needed size 12 - or medium - in knickers. In the event things did go relatively smoothly. I picked up a shopping basket as I entered the store and made my way up the escalator to the lingerie department. I quickly found myself a pack of three pairs of simple cotton/lycra-mix knickers; not too voluminous, but not too brief either; I needed a style that would hold my male parts securely in place when tucked safely away. A multi-pack of tan tights in size "large," soon joined them in my basket. I then mussed on whether Sandra would be satisfied with what I had bought so far. I reasoned that if her intention was to force me to face up to my feminine side, she would probably be looking for me to come home with something a bit more lacy and frilly as well. Accordingly I searched among the racks of fancier lingerie until a set of teal-blue bra and pants caught my eye. Both garments were trimmed with coffee-coloured lace and were really very pretty. Fortunately that particular design came in a variety of different styles of panty, so I was able to find a pair of high-leg hipsters that looked reasonably comfortable. I was holding them up for critical consideration when I heard giggling coming from behind me. Turning, I spotted two young women who were clearly talking about this strange man who seemed so engrossed in ladies underwear. I felt myself starting to blush as I hurried away towards the check-out. Whilst queuing for the check-out I studiously kept my gaze straight ahead and avoided catching anyone's eye. When I came to pay the woman on the till paid me no more attention than she had to anyone else. I guessed that I wasn't the first man she had served with lady's lingerie and, after all, a sale is a sale! I hurried out of the Marks and Spencer's. That hadn't been too bad; just the dress and shoes to go. Where should I look for a dress? I had no idea. Then, as I was passing Hobbs, I remembered that Sandra spoke highly of their clothing and often bought things from them. I noticed, from a sign in the window, that Hobbs was having a sale. I ventured in. Now, as a consequence of the friendly help I had received from Anne in the corsetry shop and the smoothness with which things had gone at M&S, I guess I was becoming a little over confident. Clearly buying ladies clothing as a man was not that big an issue; the selection of a suitable dress and heels should be a doddle - oh dear; how wrong can you be! It was with a fair degree of confidence I entered Hobbs'. Their racks of sale garments were toward the back of the store, so I had to walk through quite a number of shoppers to get to where I wanted to browse. I sensed the odd glance in my direction, but paid little heed. I found a rack of dresses marked down as "on sale," and started rummaging. I had been giving some thought to the sort of dress Sandra would be expecting me to buy. Clearly she had been shocked by her discovery of my cross-dressing and was seeking to humiliate me by forcing me to openly purchase female clothing for myself. On the other hand she had indicated that she found the thought of me in a dress "sexily kinky", so presumably she was anticipating me wearing the things I purchased at home when we were alone. This would seem to indicate that the dress should not be anything drab and ordinary, but sophisticated or sexy. Well, Hobbs wasn't noted for "sexy", but it did do "sophisticated," very well, so that, I decided, was what I needed to look for. Anne had told me that I was probably a size 14 (English) but that I needed to also look at 12's and 16's as manufacturer's sizes didn't always align. I soon spotted a lovely raspberry coloured shift dress. Cut square at the neck, it had a little notch running down into the cleavage; no sleeves; fitted waist; and an above-the-knee, straight skirt. I was just holding it up on its hanger taking a detailed look, when a voice behind me said, in a very frosty tone, "Can I help you SIR." (The "SIR," was very definitely articulated in capital letters!) I turned, somewhat flustered, and replied; "I was just considering buying this dress." "Oh yes," came the reply from the middle-aged, female, sales assistant, "would that be for your wife or for yourself?" I became aware that other shoppers were stopping looking at clothes and turning to see what was going on. Now Sandra had insisted that I should tell the truth if questioned about my purchases; so I mumbled a reply under my breath, "It is for me." "Oh I see Sir," continued the sales assistant, with an evil smirk in her expression, "Do you think that dress is really your colour?" All this dialogue was conducted with a clear, loud voice so that no-one in the shop could be in any doubt that I was a cross-dresser. By now I was blushing furiously, so I responded as quietly but as forcefully as I could, "Yes I do think this dress is the one for me. Do you have it in a size 14; and can I please try it on?" "We do have it in size 14," the sales assistant continued inexorably, picking a hanger from the rack, "but I am afraid you cannot possibly use one of our changing rooms, our real lady customers would be outraged!" "No we wouldn't; let him try it on," I heard called out from somewhere towards the back of the, by now, quite large crowd. I took some small comfort from that cry of support, but the sales assistant was adamant; "I am afraid there is no question of your using one of our changing rooms," she reiterated. "Surely there is somewhere I could try it on in private?" I persisted. "I will have to ask my Supervisor," was her response. She stalked away, leaving me in the middle of a crowd of smirking women; holding a dress in my hand; and wishing the floor would open up underneath me! Eventually, when I thought I could stand it no more and was about to bolt out of the door, the assistant returned. "My Supervisor says you may try the dress on in the stockroom," she announced to the room at large and, turning on her heel, led me off without another word into a dusty stockroom which, fortunately, had a small mirror tucked away in one corner. The sales assistant left me and I quickly divested myself of my jacket, trousers, and shirt until I was standing there in my female underwear. (At this point I was profoundly glad that the sales assistant had left and therefore wasn't able to make snide comments about what I was wearing! I shimmied into the dress and, with some difficulty, managed to do up the back-zip. When I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I was delighted to see that my thoughts about the suitability of this particular dress had been vindicated; it fitted perfectly and looked fabulous. I knew in an instant that this was the dress I was going to buy. I took the dress off and climbed back into my male attire. As I walked back onto the main shop-floor, I was only too aware of all the eyes focussed in my direction. Looking neither right nor left I advanced to the check-out and said, quietly but firmly, to the same sales assistant; "This is the dress I want; can you please wrap it for me? I hope you are satisfied with your approach to customer service. I have to tell you that I am considering making a formal complaint to your head office. Your discrimination of minorities is totally unacceptable in this day and age. At least I had the pleasure of seeing her blanch! She wrapped my dress in tissue paper and put it in a bag without another word. I did however notice that a further 20% was deducted from the sale price, so, in the end, I bought the dress for a remarkable reasonable price! (But was it really worth the hassle and humiliation?!) I walked out of the store with my head held high, trying not to look any of the other customers in the eye. One woman called out; "Well done; good for you in not giving in to the bitch!" I turned and we shared a warm smile. As I exited I breathed a deep sigh of relief; I wouldn't want to go through that experience again! This just left the question of shoes and, after my experience in Hobbs, I decided I would look for a shop where I could just pick a pair off the rack and pay without having to interact with any more sales assistants! I walked around for quite a while until I spotted the sort of store for which I was looking. There were racks of shoes throughout the store, each clearly marked with the size of shoe on display. I made my way to the section where there were shoes in size 8? and 9. To my disappointment there weren't many shoes in my size and the ones that were on display were not particularly attractive. I had picked up and was considering a simple black pump with a 2? inch heel, when my eye was attracted by another shoe on the size 7? rack. It was a beautiful suede shoe in a raspberry colour that I was sure would be exactly a match for my new dress. The heel must have been about 4 inches but, being a platform sole, the angle of the foot inside the shoe was not too extreme. I picked it up and was examining it sadly - it would have been just perfect had it been in my size - when a voice behind me said; "Can I help you; are you looking for anything in particular?" I turned and there was a male shop assistant with a broad smile on his face. Once again my embarrassment at being caught out shopping for female garments took hold and I could feel my face redden as I looked at the floor and mumbled, "No thank you, I was just looking." The assistant took the raspberry shoe from my hand. "Oh this is dreamy isn't it," he squealed; "I just love the colour." I looked him in the face for the first time and realised immediately that he was both gay and camp. The way he was holding and enthusing over the shoe would have been enough of a clue, but his arched eyebrows and discrete make-up were the real give away! "I have a bit of a thing about shoes myself," he continued. "Do you know, I think we may have a pair of these in a larger size in the stock-room? You just sit there deary," - pointing to a chair - "and I'll run off and see what I can find." I tried to expostulate that it didn't matter; I was just leaving anyway; but it was too late, he had vanished into the recesses of the shop. With a sigh I sat down. This was turning out to be a most bizarre day. I had experienced both humiliation and acceptance in equal measure as I had gone from one shop to another. Now I had a camp gay guy anxious to help me find exactly the right pair of shoes to match my new dress. He was back in next to no time with a shoe box in his hand. "I found a pair in size 9," he enthused, "I'm sure they will be just right for you. Now let me slip your shoes and socks off and slide you feet into a pair of these," - he held up a pair of nylon knee-highs - "the shoes will never fit over those horrid wool socks!" Fitting his actions to his words, he knelt on the floor and took my shoes and socks off. As he slid the nylon stockings over my feet, it seemed to me that he was taking a little too long in smoothing the stockings up my calves. "You have lovely feet and ankles," he murmured "I'll bet your legs are shapely too and that they look great in a mini-skirt!" I started back, jerking my foot out of his hand. "I'm sorry, this is all a big mistake," I said. "I think I should go now." "Oh I'm sorry love," the assistant continued. "I took you for an experienced cross-dresser but now I realise that this must be your first time out shopping isn't it?" I nodded dumbly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said, "but we get quite a lot of men in here buying heels; it is quite a little club and we enjoy a bit of banter. Look let's start again; my name is Barry, but my friends call me Sophie. What's your name?" "Steve," I mumbled "and I don't have a feminine name. This is all very new to me." "OK," said Barry "why don't we both calm down and I'll measure your feet to establish your correct size in lady's shoes." He brought over a measuring gauge and had me stand and put first one foot and then the other on the scale. Fully professional now, Barry measured length and width and also examined my instep and foot arch. I no longer found his handling of my feet offensive; in fact the sensation of his hand moving across the slippery nylon was really rather pleasant! "Just as I suspected," he announced at last, "your right foot is half a size bigger than your left. This isn't uncommon but you will have to buy shoes to fit the larger foot. If necessary you can always put an in-sole in the other. Anyway you are in luck; you take a size 9 and therefore this pair of shoes should fit a treat." So saying, he took the first of the raspberry heels and slipped it onto my right foot. There was a little strap and buckle around the ankle which he proceeded to fasten. He repeated the procedure with the other foot and then asked me to stand. Somewhat nervously I rose to my feet. I had never worn heels this high before; when I had crammed my feet into a pair of Sandra's shoes, I had always chosen a low-heeled pair for safety. "Now walk about a bit," instructed Barry "so that I can see whether there is any slippage on the left foot." I stepped forward and found, to my surprise, that I could walk reasonably well in the heels and didn't wobble or stumble too much. After a couple of minutes of my walking up and down, Barry announced himself satisfied with the fit. Inside I was secretly very excited. I knew Sandra had sent me out shopping in order that I might experience and understand the humiliation often handed out to male cross-dressers, but, on balance, I was enjoying the experience much more that I had anticipated and it was great that I had found just the shoes to go with my dress. "They are lovely and very comfortable to wear," I enthused to Barry. He smiled; "Just you wait until the end of a long evening dancing and then tell me whether or not the shoes are still comfortable! I've been dressing for years and still can't wait to get my heels off at the end of an evening out." I said I would take the shoes and explained, shyly, that they would be a perfect match for the dress I had just purchased. Needless to say this got Barry going again and he would not be satisfied until I took the dress out of its bag to show him. "Oh it's gorgeous," he enthused. "You must wear it when you come down to "Lily's"!" He then went on to explain that Lily's was a night club frequented by the gay, lesbian and transgendered community. "Oh I don't think so," I hurriedly replied "I can't see myself ever going out in public; this is just something private between my wife and me." "That's a shame," Barry said, "I think you would enjoy Lily's and we get a great crowd of people there. You would meet other cross-dressers and I'm sure that would help ease your embarrassment. You aren't alone you know; there are loads of us trannies out in the big wide world and our town has its fair share!" I thanked him for his help and advice but told him it was highly unlikely I would ever venture out to a club dressed as a woman. "Well, "never say never"," he grinned and, to my shock and surprise, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek as he handed me my box of shoes. "The cash desk is over there," he said pointing; "Be sure to look out for me when you come in to buy your next pair of shoes." I assured him I would; mentally telling myself that this would be the one and only pair of female shoes I would ever buy! I paid for my purchase without any further embarrassment and hurried out to my car. I had managed to buy everything Sandra had told me to and I breathed a deep sigh of relief as turned on the ignition and set off to drive home. Sandra must have heard the sound of my key in the latch because she was hurrying towards me as I entered our house laden down with bags and parcels. "Well, how did you get on?" was her first question. "OK," I answered "I managed to get everything you specified." "And how was the experience?" she continued. "Exhausting!" was my reply. "Oh you poor dear; come and sit in the lounge and catch your breath. I'll pour us a couple of drinks and then you can tell me all about it." Sandra hurried off to the kitchen, whilst I collapsed into an armchair. I wasn't physically tired, but mentally I was worn out. Sandra soon returned with two large glasses of white wine. I normally drink beer before dinner, but accepted the proffered glass with grateful thanks; it really was very refreshing and a great pick-me-up. I then proceeded to relate my day's experiences to Sandra. She listened with close attention and would occasionally interject a question. "Overall it was very different to what I had expected," I concluded; "at times I felt very humiliated and embarrassed, but then someone like Anne or Barry would come along and put me at my ease. Then I found I was really enjoying the experience - and it was also a bit exciting, knowing I was breaking all sorts of social taboos." "I'm glad you found some positive reward," Sandra replied. "I admit that my principle intention in making you go shopping for yourself was to punish you for having kept your cross-dressing from me and for having used my clothes without my permission. But I do love you and want us to be comfortable and happy together. We can only achieve this if we are honest with each other. I now know you have a need to cross-dress and you know I find the idea exciting in a kinky sort of way, so that is a big step forward. Now go up to our bedroom and change into your new finery; I can't wait to see what you look like in a dress!" I picked up my bags; gave Sandra a warm kiss; and proceeded upstairs. I stripped off my outer clothing and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I had now been wearing my foundation garments for several hours and, as Anne had prophesied, by now I hardly realised I had them on, having become used to breathing more shallowly than usual. They certainly gave me a pronounced waist and, once I had inserted my forms, a very respectable rack! I quickly open a pack of tan tights and rolled them up over my legs. I cut the shop tags off my dress and stepped into it. With a bit of a struggle I managed to fasten the back zip. Sitting on the edge of the bed I slid my feet into the lovely raspberry coloured heels and did up the ankle straps. As I stood in front of the mirror I was quite pleased with what I saw. Clearly I was a "man in a dress," - there was no way I could ever be mistaken for a real woman - but I had a nice figure and shapely legs and ankles. Not too bad at all; my shopping expedition had clearly been a success! I went back downstairs, taking care to hold onto the handrail as I didn't want to stumble in my unaccustomed heels. Shyly I entered the lounge. "Well what do you think," I nervously enquired of Sandra. "Give me a twirl," she demanded and I duly obliged. "Very nice," was her considered response. "I was afraid you would look ridiculous, but you don't........and I just adore that dress; you clearly have an eye for style." I felt curiously pleased to be praised by my wife for my choice of female clothing! "Come over here and give me a proper kiss," Sandra demanded. "I am getting quite exited seeing you dressed like that and I need a bit of petting!" I hastened to comply with her wishes and we were soon wrapped in each others arms, fondling and caressing. I quickly discovered that Sandra hadn't been kidding about her excitement; her panties were positively wet! I also learned how much easier it is to gain sexual access when wearing a skirt as opposed to trousers; it took Sandra no time at all to get her hand up my dress and onto my crutch. Rising from the sofa, I took Sandra by the hand and we retired upstairs. It was a couple of hours before we came down again! It was some of the best love making either of us could remember. Maybe there were positive aspects to cross-dressing that I hadn't previously realised! Whilst we were lying on the bed together, Sandra ran her hand up my leg. "This hair is going to have to go love," she said. ?It really looks unsightly through your stockings and, whilst you are at it, I think it would be amazingly sexy if you got rid of all your body hair." I started to protest but she silenced me with a kiss. ?It?s not as if anyone other than me is going to see you," she cooed, ?so please promise me you will book yourself in at a beauty salon for a full-body waxing." I could foresee another humiliating experience looming but, after such wonderful love-making, I was unable to deny Sandra anything; so I promised. ?When you make that appointment for your waxing, explore the possibility for having a session with a make-up stylist," Sandra continued. ?I think you could turn out to be very pretty with a touch of make-up and, of course, any woman wants to look her best for her lover!" The smile Sandra gave me melted my heart and I agreed to undertake some research as to what might be possible. ?And look into getting yourself a wig at the same time." Sandra concluded. ?Do you think this is really such a good idea?" I queried. ?Today has been a mixture of fun and terror and our love- making has been out of this world, but I spent a lot of money getting the few things I purchased today. What you are suggesting will cost a great deal more. Can we really justify that expense?" "Of course we can," Sandra reposted, ?we both have well paid jobs and we don?t spend that much on ourselves; let?s enjoy a few treats!" So we agreed that I would spend the next day, Sunday, on the internet, researching transgender-friendly services in the local area. I got up early Sunday morning and, as a treat, took Sandra her breakfast in bed. Having showered and dressed ? in male mode! ? I wandered down to the study and started my internet research. I was amazed at the number of sites that there were related to cross-dressing; everything from outright pornography to in-depth academic articles. Amongst all this material I managed to track down a couple of forums where cross-dressers shared tips on make-up and other beauty products. From these I learned that the MAC brand of make-up stores was particularly non-judgemental in regard to the gender of those using their services. I also discovered that there was an MAC store in our town. I noted their telephone number on a pad. Having looked at their website, I realised that MAC didn?t provide waxing services, so I continued searching the internet until I found a beauty salon not too far from where we lived. Their telephone number was added to my list. Finally, to my delight, I established that there was a wig store just a couple of shops up the road from MAC. Bingo; three tasks and three telephone numbers for me to ring the following day! As it transpired, Monday was exceptionally busy at work so I didn?t get round to making my phone calls until the Tuesday. I was more than a little nervous ringing the beauty salon but they made no comment when I asked if they could give me a full-body waxing, so I made an appointment for the following Saturday morning at 9 am. I was told to allow 2? hours for the appointment. My next call was to MAC; here I did first ask whether they offered make-up services for men and on being assured that they did ? and in fact had quite a large number of male clients - asked what service they would recommend for me as a first time customer. The lady on the phone was extremely helpful and ran through a number of options. However she strongly recommended that for my first visit I should take a package that established what product combinations worked best for my skin tone and colouring. ?We will give you a make-over; explain which products you should use and which to avoid; show you how to apply your make-up; and give you a chart setting out what products we have used. We will also suggest a ?starter pack," of materials to get you going." This sounded ideally suited to what Sandra had asked me to achieve, so I booked a 2 hour session with them for 2 pm on the Saturday. Finally I rang the wig store and established that they would be open on the Saturday afternoon. The assistant I spoke to told me that they tended to get quiet after about 4 pm on a Saturday and that, if I was planning to come then, there was no need to make a specific appointment. This was helpful because I wasn?t sure exactly what time my session with MAC would end. I did not tell them that I was looking for a ladies wig and let them assume it was for a toupee or something similar to address male pattern baldness. By now I was becoming more used to acknowledging that I was a man seeking services and products more customarily identified as feminine, but by the end of three phone calls my pulse was racing and I just bottled out of being totally honest! When I got home that evening and told her, Sandra was pleased with what I had managed to achieve. ?I know you found it humiliating having to confess to your odd desires," she said, "but that is your fault, not mine. You were the one who started cross-dressing; I am merely making sure you take it to its logical conclusion.? The rest of the week nothing more was said about my cross-dressing and I resumed my conventional male role. That all changed on the Saturday morning! Sandra had me out of bed and into the shower very early. ?You need to be spotlessly clean before your waxing," she insisted, so I took extra care with my ablutions. ?Make sure you give yourself a particularly close shave," Sandra instructed, so that by the time I was dressed ? casual male shirt, trousers, and deck-shoes ? and ready to leave, I was glowing like a new pin! Sandra gave me a warm, lingering kiss; ?Good luck darling," she whispered, ?I?m really looking forward to seeing my new girl all smooth and pretty on your return.? I became more and more nervous as I drove into town. The beauty salon had its own car park and I sat there for several minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself down. Eventually I could delay it no longer and entered the shop. ?Hallo," I said, ?I?m Stephen and I have an appointment for a full-body wax." "Of course," responded the Receptionist; ?Welcome Stephen. I gather this is your first visit to our salon. Have you ever had a waxing before?" I confessed I hadn?t, so the Receptionist handed me a couple of painkillers which she suggested I take. ?Waxing can be a bit painful the first time," she advised ?and you are going for a complete body treatment. Most of our clients find a painkiller helpful." This remark did nothing to calm me down, but I saw the sense in what she was suggesting and duly swallowed the tablets. The Receptionist introduced me to Maggie, the woman who was going to carry out my treatment. Maggie was a statuesque redhead with a fabulous figure and a warm smile. ?Hi Stephen; come through to my room," she greeted me and led me off to the rear of the premises where there were a number of small, individual treatment room. ?Strip off and put these on," Maggie instructed, handing me a white towelling robe and a packet of paper panties. She retired as I did as she requested. Once I was ready, Maggie explained what she was going to do and then had me slip off the robe and lie on my tummy. She then spread warm wax across my shoulders; it was really rather pleasant until she applied the strips and hair removal commenced! I couldn?t avoid and initial scream of shock, but gradually became more accustomed to the pain and better able to anticipate and cope with it. I guess the painkillers also started to kick in which must have helped. Now I am neither a masochist nor a sadist, so I have no intention of giving a blow by blow account of the next hour or so; suffice it to say that it hurt! Area by area my body was slowly denuded of hair. First my back; then the rear of my legs and thighs; then, embarrassingly, Maggie pulled down my panties and started on my bottom. I thought I would die of humiliation as she waxed right into the crack. That was nothing however to my feelings as she approached the end of waxing my front. By now my chest, abdomen, and legs were free of hair. ?I?m sorry about this Stephen," Maggie announced, ?but these are going to have to go." So saying she took a pair of scissors and cut the paper panties off me, leaving me totally exposed. My hand instinctively shot to my crotch to cover myself up. Maggie gently pulled them aside; ?I need to clean up the area around your genitals," she said, proceeding to clip away much of my pubic hair. The only positive side of the whole affair was that, what with nerves and pain, I managed to avoid getting an erection as this beautiful woman manipulated my balls and penis! When she finally declared herself finished; I found that all the hair left in that area was a narrow ?landing-strip," about two inches long! Maggie then proceeded to rub me all over with a soothing moisturising lotion. She told me it contained a mild anaesthetic that would help with any residual soreness. This time I did start to react to her ministrations. Smiling, she told me that this was quite usual with her male clients! When she had finished, Maggie gave me another pair of paper panties and I slipped these on together with my robe. She insisted I sit quietly for a few minutes and brought me a cup of herbal tea and other couple of painkillers. ?You have been better behaved than many of my customers," she told me as we sat over our tea. ?Some of them are such big babies that they scream the place down, and quite a few never complete their treatment but insist on leaving after I have pulled off the first few strips.? When Maggie said I had sat long enough, I dressed and went back into the main shop to pay. My trousers, although lightweight, felt strangely rough against my hairless legs. I thanked Maggie for the care she had taken of me and gave her a generous tip. She advised me that if I shaved my legs and underarms about once a week, I could probably go about two months before needing to return for a clean up. On exiting the salon, I saw that I had a couple of hours to kill before my appointment at MAC. I drove to the car park opposite their store and set off down the street to Marks and Spencer. I realised that to satisfy Sandra?s desire to take my cross-dressing to the limit, I would need more clothes that the single dress I had previously purchased. I decided to shop at M&S as I would be relatively anonymous browsing the racks and that if I bought clothes that were the wrong size, or which just didn?t work for some reason, I could easily return them. In the end I purchased another couple of dresses; three skirts in varying styles; two pairs of ladies trousers; three blouses, a cardigan, and a pretty little sweater. I also bought another bra, some panties, and tights in different shades. As my confidence increased, I also treated myself to a suspender belt and a couple of pairs of stockings. ?I hope these get Sandra going," I thought to myself, remembering our excellent sex the first time I had dressed for her. I was the subject of a few quizzical looks as I put my purchases into my shopping basket, but I tried as best I could to ignore them. Once again, I experienced no reaction when I went to pay; the assistant scanned the labels into her till and told me the total ? fortunately not too disastrous! I was now running quite tight to time for my MAC appointment, so I took my bags of new clothes with me into their shop. I was clearly expected as I was greeted with a welcome; ?Good afternoon; you must be Stephen. Mark will be looking after you today." This came as a bit of a shock; I had assumed, clearly incorrectly, that a female assistant would be doing my makeover. However, before I could say anything Mark came over and took me to his station. He was a handsome young man with a shock of pale blonde hair and, after my experience in the shoe shop with Barry, I was fearful that he would be overtly camp. I was pleasantly surprised; Mark was very professional and matter of fact. That I was a man clearly did not faze him at all. He was friendly and informative all through my session with him, but I never did discover whether he was gay or not ? it just wasn?t an issue. Mark started by explaining the importance of ensuring that all the make- up products he would use on me was appropriate for my colouring and skin type. In that process the foundation was going to be the most critical. He spent some time experimenting with different shades on the back of my hand before finding one that seemed right to him. He then cleaned my face of any excess oils and praised me on having achieved a really close shave. The foundation was applied with a small sponge and powdered down to leave a matt canvas upon which he could work his magic; this he proceeded to do for the next hour; working first on my eyes with eye- shadow, mascara, and liner. He gently plucked a few hairs from my brows, giving them a neater, somewhat more feminine shape ? but nothing that would appear to obvious when in male mode. A little blusher and a pretty reddish brown lipstick completed what Mark described as a ?smart, day- time," look. He carefully explained what he was doing at every stage of the makeover and told me why it was important to use the appropriate brush for each task. When he had finished, I was amazed at the change he wrought to my appearance. In the mirror I saw a strangely androgynous person; a beautifully made-up female face sandwiched between a short masculine haircut and male casual shirt. Although I had seen and followed Mark through every stage of the process, I still wasn?t prepared for difference it made to how I looked. I told Mark how surprised and delighted with his achievement and he said how much he had enjoyed working on me. ?We get a few men coming in here for makeovers," he explained ?but mostly they insist on being seen by one of the girls, so it is quite a rarity for me to have a go." We then spent a few minutes putting together a basic make-up kit for me. The MAC products were really very expensive and Mark advised me as to those which it was sensible for me to buy ? particularly the brushes ? and what I could get more cheaply elsewhere ? (like make-up remover, sponge pads, and the like). He also advised me not to get carried away and buy too many different colours. ?Stick to a limited palette initially," he advised, ?you can always branch out and experiment later.? ?Do you ever wear make-up," I cautiously enquired? Mark laughed; ?Only when we are fooling around in the shop and killing time trying out new looks on each other. I?m not into cross-dressing myself but I can admire those who are and see it through ? as you are doing." "Talking of which," I said, ?do you think it would be possible to use your toilet to change into more feminine clothes? I want my wife to see what you have achieved with my make-up and I would be more comfortable walking out of here looking a bit more like a woman ? at least to a casual glance." Mark said that would be fine; so I quickly changed into my new bra ? which I stuffed with my socks to give me a bit of a bosom; a pair of elasticised knickers - that held my man-parts in check; a pair of tan tights; a pale green, silky blouse; and grey check slacks. My deck shoes would have to do by they looked fairly unisex anyway. Mark was very complimentary about my appearance on my return and, as a final flourish, teased my short hair in a slightly more feminine way. I was quite pleased with the reflection I saw in the mirror. I wasn?t going to ?pass," as a real woman, but I might survive a casual glance. I paid Mark for both his time and the products we had selected and set off for my next appointment at the wig shop ? which was fortunately only a few shops further down the street. Mark?s final advice was to try and find a wig that was fairly close in colour to my natural hair; ?Then everything ? hair, make-up, clothing ? will work together to produce a realistic feminine image.? It took a fair bit of willpower to step out of the shop and into the street. This was the first time I had ever worn female clothing outside the privacy of my own house and I knew that if I was spotted as a man and laughed at I would feel totally humiliated. Fortunately there weren?t very many people about at that precise moment and I made it to the wig shop undetected. Once again I was lucky; there was no other customer in the shop. The assistant looked up and I explained, with increasing confidence, that I was looking for a wig to complete my new ensemble. The assistant clearly knew I was a man but she did not bat an eyelid as she sat me down in front of a large mirror and started asking me what sort of wig I was looking for. I hadn?t really given this much thought and was at a bit of a loss. Fortunately I remembered Mark?s advice and told her that whilst I was unclear as to style, I wanted to start with a wig in the same dirty blonde colour as my own hair. The assistant, Angela, went and collected three or four wigs, all approximate the same colour but of different lengths and style. I really enjoyed trying on the different wigs and seeing how each style altered the way I looked and the apparent shape of my face. Eventually I settled for a one where the hair fell to just below my shoulders in gentle waves. Angela explained that with a wig this length I would have a choice about how I wore my hair; up, down, in a French-pleat, or even, with the help of a hair-piece, in an elaborate style suitable for a dressy evening out. We spent about an hour together whilst Angela demonstrated the different ways my new wig could be used. I even added the hair-piece to my purchases, along with a wig-stand! There was only one awkward moment when a woman with hardly any hair of her own came in to collect a wig that she had brought in for cleaning and resetting. This lady was as embarrassed to see a man sitting there in a woman?s wig as I was and hurried out of the shop as quickly as she could. Angela explained that the woman was undergoing a course of chemotherapy and had, as a consequence, lost all her own hair. I immediately regretted my own selfish embarrassment in admiration of her courage. It was after 5 pm before I left the wig shop. It had been a long, tiring, but at the same time exhilarating day and I was rather proud of everything I had achieved. I was so engrossed it reflecting on my day, that I was halfway back to the car before it occurred to me that I was walking down my local High Street dressed as a woman; with my face made up; and long blonde hair swinging round my ears! The realisation caused me to pause and draw breath before I continued, fairly confidently, back to my car. I called out to Sandra as I walked in through our front door. She was in the kitchen and came hurrying out to me. She stopped in amazement when she saw how I was dressed. ?Darling," she exclaimed ?I never for a moment thought you would come back like this. I was sure that you would have had all your make-up cleaned off at the salon. But here you are; all made up, with long hair, and wearing a lovely outfit. That is a gorgeous blouse by the way, where did you get it?" Her questions tumbled out and it took quite a long time for me to satisfy her curiosity as to how my day had gone. By the time I finished we had, between us, consumed a whole bottle of Chardonnay! I stayed dressed as I was for the rest of the evening and Sandra got increasingly frisky as the wine went down. When neither of us could restrain ourselves any further, we rushed up stairs and tumbled onto the bed. After a passionate bout of lovemaking Sandra turned to me with a smile; ?Tonight we are both going to have to cleanse our faces before getting into bed. You are about to learn about some of the downsides of being a woman. No more a quick visit to the bathroom for a pee before leaping into bed; now you are going to have to practice taking off all your own make-up and cleansing your face first." As I hadn?t bought any cleansing products of my own, Sandra showed me which lotions to use and how to use cotton pads and buds to get every trace of make-up off. Eventually she declared me clean. As I went to get a pair of pyjamas out of my drawer, Sandra stayed my hand and passed me one of her nylon nightdresses and a clean pair of knickers. ?Wear these for me tonight," she requested. ?Next week you can buy some female night things of your own." The silky nightdress did feel sensuous as it slid over my hairless body. Sandra ran her finger up my narrow strip of pubic hair; ?I love your nice smooth body," she murmured ?and I find your ?landing-strip," very sexy." Needless to say we didn?t finally get to sleep until some considerable time later! In the morning Sandra asked me to dress for her again, and so I spent Sunday in slacks and a blouse. I put on my corset ? (Sandra help lace it up nice and tight) ? and inserted my breast forms in my bra. This gave me a much better figure than the previous day. Sandra insisted I try on all my new clothes for her to see, so for an hour or so I was in and out of skirts, trousers, blouses, and sweaters. My choices met with her approval and, to my relief, everything, with the exception of one pair of trousers which gaped at the waist, fitted perfectly. Sandra said I should go back to M&S and exchange the trousers for the next size down one day the following week. She explained that even within the same label, different styles and cut of clothes might require one to buy a size other than that which usually fitted. ?You know," she said, looking me up and down critically, ?I think that I might have some old clothes at the back of my wardrobe that are now too big for me but might fit you, particularly if you go on a diet for the next few weeks.? Yet more trying on of clothes ensured and, by lunchtime, I was the new owner of a few dresses ? including one evening gown, several tops, a burgundy trouser suit, and a navy-blue skirt-suit. ?None of my shoes will fit you," Sandra observed ?so you will have to buy some of your own. I will draw up a list of the colours and styles you will need and you can buy them when you are next in town.? Sandra also decided I didn?t look completely dressed without jewellery and so we rummaged through her ? considerable ? collection and she loaned me a few pairs of clip-on earrings and a couple of necklaces that complemented my new clothes. ?It is a shame your ears aren?t pierced," said Sandra ?as then we would have loads more earrings to choose from."