Finding My Voice - Chapter 1 - First Steps Along The Path free porn video
FINDING MY VOICE
Chapter 1 - First Steps along the Path
My dear mother, lately deceased, had this phrase she used to use during
my childhood whenever I got depressed over my insecurities and lack of
real friends. "Don't worry dear," she would say; "It is all a question of
finding your own 'voice'. One day you will suddenly come to realise who
you truly are and where you fit in society. On that day you will have
'found your own voice,' and from then on you will, I promise you, be more
confident and sure of yourself."
Well they were lovely words but didn't mean much to an insecure, tearful
15 year old. Not only wasn't I sure what she meant, but there was no way
I could ever envisage my lot improving.
Maybe I should introduce myself at this point. My name is Geriant
McDonald - (Mum was Welsh; Dad Scottish!) Dad left us when I was only a
baby. I think it was the classic case of a man running off with his
secretary, but Mum never spoke of it. I therefore grew up as an only
child in a female household - (Mum took in "lady lodgers," to help pay
the bills. At least that is what she told me at the time; now that I am
older and more experienced I think some of the ladies may have been
rather more than merely lodgers!) All through my childhood I was
surrounded by things feminine. It didn't help that for many years I was a
sickly child and spent more time at home being privately tutored - (by
one of the lady lodgers who happened to be a qualified teacher) - than I
did at school. As a result I missed out on that important stage of
personal development when you learn how to interact with others -
especially boys of your own age - and discover how to stand up for
yourself and make friends.
Eventually my health improved and I returned to regular schooling at
secondary level. However, as my social skills were pretty well non-
existent and my physical development seriously impaired by my earlier
illnesses, I was very much the outsider. I was rubbish at sport; liked to
read poetry; paint; and listen to music from the 1930's and 40's - (one
of our lodgers had a particular penchant for this style of music and
played records incessantly.) Hence I was deemed to be an "oddball" and
pushed to the margins of school life. This exclusion did have the
advantage that there wasn't much to distract me from my studies and hence
I did rather well in exams and, in due course, achieved a place at a
rather good university, from whence I graduated with an Upper Second
degree in English. I found a job working as a junior archivist for a
major arts organisation; a role I found suited me down to the ground.
However, it still meant I had very little interaction with other people
of my own age.
There is probably one other aspect of my childhood about which I ought to
speak. As I have said, I grew up in a totally female environment. Mummy
meant everything to me. I adored her and wanted to emulate her in every
way that I could. I always felt that I had let her down in some way by
being born a boy rather than a girl. Had I been female I would have
fitted so much more easily into our domestic circle. However, I wasn't a
girl I was a boy, but that didn't stop me trying to be as feminine as I
could. I used to sneak into Mummy's bedroom when she was out and try on
her clothes. I would prance up and down on front of her mirror admiring
my reflection wearing one of her dresses and a pair of high heels. In
reality I must have looked ridiculous; a weedy boy mincing about in
dresses and shoes far too big for him and with no semblance of a female
figure or hairstyle.
Mummy must have been aware of what was going on but she never said
anything and when I went to university I put such childish things behind
me and, to be honest, never really thought about it again for several
years.
When I left university and got my archivists job, I rented a small flat
on my own in North London. I was very happy here with my books and music
and I used, regularly, to visit the theatres and concert halls with which
London abounds. Then Mummy became ill. She was diagnosed with a terminal
cancer. Naturally as her only child I returned home to live so that I
could care for her. I was able to continue with my work as I was only
swapping my commute from one side of London to the other. What little
social life I had, however, ceased almost entirely. Evenings were spent
with Mummy cooking, cleaning the house, and watching television. It
wasn't a maudlin existence however. Mummy was a strong, confident woman,
who had come to terms with her imminent demise and was intent of making
the most of her remaining time on earth.
Unfortunately this wasn't to be of long duration. Her cancer galloped
away and within nine months of being diagnosed she was dead. One of the
last things she said to me was; "Remember you still have to find your own
'voice.' I sense that you are still not entirely comfortable in your own
skin. Promise me that you will continue to explore opportunities to
discover the real you." Naturally I promised to do as she advised.
In her will Mummy left me her house - quite a large one in Dulwich -
along with the rest of her estate - which turned out to be quite a lot of
money. I considered selling the house but finally decided that Mummy
would have wished me to make it my own home. So I did; using some of the
cash she had left me to modernise the place and refurnish it more to my
taste. It was a rambling old house and I concentrated on creating a suite
of rooms more suited to my own tastes and lifestyle. Whilst I left many
rooms untouched, these changes meant that, inevitably, I had to throw
away many of the things with which I had grown up. But I am not by nature
a sentimental person and this caused me little grief, although I did get
pleasure out of recalling old associations as things were gradually
disposed of. Eventually, and inevitably, my renovations reached Mother's
bedroom. Subconsciously I guess I had been avoiding having to deal with
her personal things but at last I had no option but to do so.
As I cleared out her wardrobe, I found a few items of clothing that I
remembered from my childhood. Looking at them brought back a flood of
memories of me trying my immature best to be as much like Mummy as I
could. For old times sake I couldn't help but put a few aside as
keepsakes. Of course, it was but a short step from there to trying them
on once again! This time, somewhat to my surprise, they fitted much
better. My body had never really bulked up and I retained a slim figure
and narrow shoulders. Mummy's dresses hung well on my slight frame.
The next step, of course, was curiosity to see what I would look like
fully made over as a woman. I had thrown out all Mummy's underwear, so I
went on-line and browsed the internet to see whether I could source some
lingerie for myself. I was amazed at the number of sites there were
offering resources to transvestites and cross-dressers. I finally settled
upon a shop in North East London, not that far from where I had
previously lived, that advertised themselves as a "transvestite friendly"
establishment. One afternoon I plucked up courage and took the tube and
bus to the area where they were situated. The shop had clearly been
established in this area for a very long time. It was a typical, old-
fashioned, suburban, Ladies-Clothing shop. The window displayed dresses
draped over headless mannequins; girdles of a style I thought no-one wore
any more; and packets of fully-fashioned nylon stockings. "Who other than
a desperate cross-dresser would choose to shop here?" I thought. When it
came to walking through the door my courage failed me and I nearly
bottled out. However, I was determined to go through with what I had
planned, so, taking a deep breath; I opened the door and stepped inside.
The interior of the shop exactly matched its outside; boxes neatly piled
on shelves behind the counter, upon which stood an old-fashioned
mechanical cash register; glass fronted cases containing gloves and
stockings; and racks of brightly coloured dresses, skirts, and tops. What
was slightly incongruous was that I could see, displayed towards the back
of the store, a range of rubber and pvc garments; French maids outfits;
wigs; and breast forms! The staff appeared to be contemporaneous with the
establishment; elderly, motherly; typical East End ladies.
I could not fault their service however. No sooner had I entered than I
was greeted by one of the assistants with a warm smile and a request to
tell her how she could help me today. Somewhat nervously I explained that
I was looking for some ladies underwear for myself.
"Of course dear; no problem," was her calm response. "Is this your first
time shopping for yourself?"
I explained that it was and then went on to elaborate why I was doing
this. "When I was growing up I used to try on my mother's clothes," I
explained. "I haven't done this for years, but she died recently and in
clearing out her things I found some dresses that brought back happy
memories. I want to see whether I can recapture that sense of magic."
"I'm sure we can help you achieve what you want," said the assistant,
introducing herself as Edith. "I assume you will need practically
everything?"
"Yes," I responded, "I have dresses and shoes but that is all."
"Well let us start with your foundation garments," said Edith. "You will
need knickers - control ones are best to keep your unwanted 'bits' under
control! Then a firm corset to give you a figure; breast forms; a
brassiere; and stockings. Are you a 'stockings' or 'tights' girl by the
way?"
I said I hadn't really thought about that but, given the age and style of
Mummy's dresses, I thought stockings might be more appropriate.
"I'm so pleased," said Edith. "I always think there is no more feminine a
sensation than the tug of stockings on their suspenders." I had to shake
my head to clear it; this conversation was getting more intimate and
surreal by the minute!
Edith bustled about and, after a few minutes, returned to me an armful of
clothing. "Pop in here dear," she said, indicating a changing cubicle,
"slip out of your own clothes and then put these on. Once you are decent
I will help you with the laces and hooks and eyes. Oh by the way, put
these on first." She handed me a pair of disposable paper knickers.
Although I was nervous and embarrassed about what I was doing, at the
same time I could sense a real adrenalin rush and entered the cubicle
full of anticipation. I quickly divested myself of my male clothes and
put on the paper panties. I tucked my "bits" carefully out of the way and
then stood there contemplating the pile of clothing. I decided that I
should put on the suspender belt first. This was a substantial garment;
some six inches deep, black, and with six suspenders hanging from inch
wide elastic straps. There must have been a dozen hooks and eyes to do up
and I only managed to fasten then by putting the belt on backwards;
fastening the clasps; and then spinning it round until it was correctly
placed on my body. Next I turned to the corset. This was a "below the
bust to hip" design; well stayed; with a strong metal strip-clasp at the
front and lacing at the back. I loosened off the laces and, without too
much difficulty, managed to do up the front clasp - the lacing would have
to wait until Edith could help. Next I put on the brassiere. Like the
suspender belt it was a substantial, old fashioned design; long-line with
front fastening hooks and eyes. Once again I put it on backwards and
swivelled it round and slipped my arms through the straps once it was
done up. The final garment was the control knickers. The label said that
they were marketed by a firm called Spanx and they seemed to be of some
sort of lycra material. They went on easily enough but extended right up
to my bra, covering both the corset and the bottom of the bra band. I
could see at once that the intention was to produce a smooth body-line
under a figure hugging dress or top.
I had now donned all the clothing Edith had given me and I called out to
her for assistance in lacing up the corset.
"Very nice dear," was her comment as she critically examined what I had
achieved so far. "I think you have the potential to become a very
attractive woman," she announced, "and we will do everything we can to
assist you." She rolled the control knickers down until she could get at
the laces of the corset.
I had never worn one of these before, so was unprepared for the
constriction I felt as she tightened the laces. "I think that is enough,"
I managed to gasp.
"Nonsense," was Edith's rely, "we can get this a lot tighter yet. You
want as trim a waist as possible, don't you?"
I couldn't really argue with that and had to endure more tugging and
pulling before Edith declared herself satisfied - "for the present"!
Edith advised me that I would be more comfortable if I took shallow
breaths and, indeed, she was right because, after a few minutes, I became
more at ease and actually began to enjoy the upright posture into which
my body was forced. "Now for your breasts," said Edith, coming forward to
with two silicon forms in her hands. One at a time she inserted them into
the cups of my bra, pulling and tugging at my chest-flesh until I had the
semblance of an attractive cleavage above a b-cup rack! At first the
forms felt cold against my skin but as they warmed to blood heat I soon
became comfortable wearing them. Edith finished off my underwear by
readjusting the control knickers, having first made sure the straps of
the suspender belt were threaded through the leg holes.
"You say you already have dresses and shoes at home," said Edith. "Now,
whilst a woman can never have too many of either of these items, I won't
push you into buying anything new today. If you like us I am sure you
will come back again in the future to buy more clothes. However, in order
to see the full effect of your new foundation garments, you really do
need to put on some outer-wear. I'll find something appropriate whilst
you put these on," and she handed me a pair of stockings. These were a
pair of ordinary, tan, stretch stockings and I sat down to put them on.
It was then that I realised just how much my corset limited my freedom of
movement. Bending to slip the stockings over my toes was a real
challenge, but I eventually managed it and, by the time Edith returned,
had them securely clipped to my garter tabs.
Edith had a black pencil skirt and a form-fitting pink sweater in her
arms. These should show your new improved figure off a treat," she said,
helping me step into the skirt and settle it around my waist. I had to
wriggle a bit to get it into place, but as Edith zipped it up I loved the
way it held my thighs together and forced me to take little steps. I
pulled the sweater over my head and, once again, Edith helped settle it
into place. "I also brought you these," she said, indicating a pair of 3-
inch heeled, black court shoes. I slipped my feet into them and stood
tall. Edith helped me totter over to a full-length mirror where I gazed
in awe at the effect the foundation garments had had on my shape. Instead
of a slim man in a frock, the image before me now was of a curvy woman in
a tight fitting skirt and jumper. Slim hips swelled below a trim waist
and a generous bosom pushed out the front of the sweater. The high-heeled
shoes gave a shapely turn to my calves and, from the neck down, my
reflection showed an attractive woman. Of course my head was entirely
masculine. My short-cropped hair and lack of make-up and jewellery
somewhat spoiled the picture.
"We sell wigs," said Edith, "do you want to try one?" Naturally I
accepted eagerly, so I was all the more disappointed when the wigs she
produced looked just that, wigs! Edith could see I wasn't happy with what
she had to offer and hurried to explain. "We aren't a specialist wig
shop," she told me. "I can see that you don't like these. My advice to
you is not to buy a wig now but to go and see a specialist who will be
much better placed to advise you."
Her advice was very sensible and I accepted it at once. "I'll just take
the underwear I have on," I decided. "I know that in due course I will
need more bras and knickers etc, but for now one set will suffice. I can
get used to wearing them and be better informed about what works and what
doesn't when I come to see you again."
I reluctantly stripped off my finery and, as Edith put the skirt and
sweater back on their hangers, I removed everything else and got back
into my male clothes. The bill for the things I did buy was surprisingly
high and I had to take a deep breath before handing over my credit card.
"Breast forms and corsets don't come cheap," explained Edith. "You can
buy cheaper ones but, honestly, they are a waste of money. If you are
serious about your dressing, you want to start of properly."
I thanked her for all her help and said that I was sure I would be back
again soon. As I made my way back home clutching my bags of goodies, I
could feel the adrenalin coursing through my veins. Whilst I wasn't sure
about the propriety of what I was doing, I knew that I had to see this
cross-dressing experiment through to a conclusion. I could hardly wait to
get back to my computer and resume my research into what steps to take
next.
Jerri
- 08.07.2022
- 17
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