Deception
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Deception
By Cassandra Morgan
I held them up to gaze at them in the morning. They were soft. They were
smooth.
They were a pair of yellow panties with a small bow on the front. They
were so light, so slinky. So out of bounds.
A pair of Katie's, no doubt, lying in the folds of the bedspread.
I looked at them, and I felt that long-ago memory gnaw at me. I exhaled.
I thought the feeling had passed, to be honest. This wasn't me. Not
anymore. I took the panties and walked to the dresser. I opened Katie's
underwear drawer. I looked at them one more time. Satin. I remembered how
those felt. I remembered how slick, how cool they were.
But I had sworn off of this. I tossed them into the drawer. They were
just clothes, you know. They didn't affect me. Not anymore.
Still...
Hi. My name is Chad Roosevelt, a 28-year-old magazine writer from Ohio.
I'm married to Katie, the cutest girl you've ever met. We live in the
suburbs of Cincinnati, just north of the river on the edge of town. I'm
work in ad sales. Katie works as an attorney. We have a good life,
simple, plain. We don't have any kids, but we have a small dog, a Yorkie
named Darwin. Sweet but dumb as a post.
Okay, you're probably wondering what I was doing. I'm a writer, like I
said, so I have better hours than Katie. I don't go in until about 10,
sometimes noon, which allows me to tidy up a bit. So I make the bed most
days. It isn't hard, and it convinced the wife I'm doing something. You
know? I'm not asking for a medal. But I learned in my first marriage that
if you don't help, there is hell to pay later on.
But today, there were these yellow panties in the bed. Katie was in a
hurry this morning, and I suppose she left them out.
Yes, they were pretty, objectively speaking. Anyone would agree they were
soft.
There was a time I was transfixed by such pretty things. From the time I
was in high school until the early days of my first marriage, I would
sneak around and steal panties, just a pair or two every now and then.
Hey, it was just experimenting, you know.
Eventually, I stopped it. I got divorced, and I swore off panties and
bras. I never stopped liking them. It just became less... convenient for
me. I outgrew that phase, the way most boys do. I didn't even dress up on
Halloween, the day that most crossdresses shout to the world what they
really are. I didn't do role-play.
Oh, even as a teen, I was never a make-believe girl. I certainly never
wanted to be a real one. I know, there are a great many guys who are. No
judgment here. I knew some of them, guys who had it worse than I did.
Guys who had to be in dresses and makeup and who had to vamp around a
bar. So guys have to have surgical enhancements, they have to reshape
their existence. Me? I just wore underwear. I don't remember ever wearing
shoes. And I don't remember makeup. I don't remember wigs or fake boobs
or fingernails. I wasn't very good at being feminine.
But, yeah, there for a while, I liked panties. I assume a lot of boys do.
Girls' underwear is so delicate, so tempting. It's inarguable that it is
softer and smoother and more snug. It's prettier. Space aleins would all
choose panties. Hah. Intersteller transvestites. I like it.
So here I was, the feelings washing over me again because Katie had
accidentally left a pair in our bed. No problem. Just an idle thought.
But the next day, it happened again, a pink pair with lace trim were
lying there, beckoning.
The next day, it was ivory with a pale heart.
Then there was red pair with a black waistband.
Then one that light blue, plain.
All week it went on, until it was obvious that this was no accident. For
some reason, someone - probably Katie - was planting women's panties to
send some sort of message. A rainbow, maybe?
But I wasn't gay.
Look, in a marriage, a guy handles a hundred pair of panties while doing
laundry and never thinks twice about it. So it wasn't the fabric here. It
was the convenience. All I had to do was slide them up my legs. Or rub
them against my penis. It would be easy.
But someone wanted me to have them, so I didn't put any of the panties
on. I didn't rub them against me. I just took them, went straight to
Katie's drawer and threw them in, as if there was some sort of secret
camera pointing at me. At night, I would look at Katie, as if waiting for
a message, but there was none forthcoming. Our lives went on as normal.
Our conversations. Our meals.
But for the life of me, I could not stop thinking about the panties in my
bed like a light in the distance.
***
Finally, it was Saturday. Katie slept in, the way she often did. I made
coffee and got the newspaper. I was reading an article about gangland
violence in Cincinnati when she came into the room.
"Hello, Katie," I said.
"Hey, funny-face," she said. "Can I have a cup of that?"
I poured her coffee. I slid the cream and sweetener toward her. She
pulled out the lifestyle section and began to read. We were content, the
way we were most weekend mornings. Nothing felt rushed. Nothing felt
forced.
I looked at her, wondering whether I should say something. Really, what
could I say? That a mysterious panty-dropper had happened by? That the
Johnny Appleseed of girls' undies was in the neighborhood.
"Katie?" I finallly said softly. "Can I talk to you about something?"
"Sure, sweetheart. What's on your mind?"
"Katie, what's up with all these panties? Why do you leaving your panties
in our bed for me to find?"
"Oh, Chad. Those aren't my panties," she said. "They're yours."
I felt the blood rush to my face. I wanted to give a thousand answers and
ask a thousand questions. What did she mean, mine? What was she up to?
For a long moment, I looked at her. "I don't know what you mean," I said.
She smiled. "It's okay, Chad. I know. I've been checking you out,
girlfriend."
Girlfriend?
"What do you mean?"
"I know you were a crossdresser when you were married to Dory, baby. It
surprised me a little bit when I found out, but I guess I can see it.
You're short. You're a little delicate. Hey, it's okay. We're happy. I
don't care if you were a sissy. As long as you love me, that's enough. I
do wish you would have told me, though."
"A sissy?"
"Yes, Chad. Dory told me. We had lunch. She told me how you loved tight
fitting dresses, especially those black maid's dresses. She told me how
you loved cooking and cleaning. I understand, sweetheart. We all have
urges. If you want to be my maid, that's okay. I'll buy you a duster."
She laughed.
"A maid? I'm not a maid, Katie. I swear."
"Chad. Tell me. Did you dress like a girl when you were younger?"
"No, of course not. I'm a guy, Katie. "
"Chad, I talked to Laura. She has pictures of you in a bra and panties
from back in the day. You were kind of cute. You looked happy."
I felt faint. What was I going to say?
"I'm sorry, Katie," I said. "That was just for a little while."
"But why did you lie to me? If it didn't mean anything, why cover it up?"
"I was trying to protect myself!" I said. "I didn't know what you would
think of me."
"I think I'd rather have a crossdresser for a husband than a lair, Chad,"
she said, her voice rising. "You should trust me. You should know you can
trust me. I don't care how many men you blew."
"But, I never blew any..."
"Right," she said. "Another lie. Chad, it's just skin. I don't mind. A
lot of men suck dick. A lot of men like it. It's normal if you did."
"Katie, can we start over? Yes, I wore my sister's underwear. And my
wife's. But I was never a sissy. I never slept with men. I'm straight, I
swear."
"So why do you seem to like making the beds so much? Cooking? Laundry?
Isn't that the way a sissy behaves?"
"Katie, I don't like those things. I do them to make it better for you.
For us. I promise. Look, I'll stop if you want. I won't do any chores."
"The hell with that!" she said. "If I'm going to get a lying transvestite
for a husband, I at least ought to have clean plates out of it. Now, I
did all of this for you. I left those panties there to tell you that I
didn't mind that you liked being a girl. But if you're going to lie to me
like this. I was going to work you back into maid's dresses, but if
you're going to lie, you might as well put one on now."
"Please, baby. I'm not lying." I was crying now. I'm sorry. I couldn't
help it.
"Look, baby. I know it's scary coming out. I know it's hard to admit that
you had sex with guys. I know it's hard to say you're a sissy. The world
can be mean to your kind. But it's just a little hump you have to get
over, and then life will be perfect. Look at me: It's hard to admit you
have a bisexual husband. But I do. Once we get you in an outfit, you'll
be okay. Really you will."
I was still crying. I shook my head. I wasn't bisexual. I wasn't a sissy.
How could I make her believe me?
She embraced me around the neck. She pulled me to her breasts.
"My sissy," she whispered.
"My lovely sissy."
***
I felt absurd, if you want to know the truth.
My body hair was gone, and I was in a nightgown, and Katie was styling a
wig over my head. I was still protesting, but she was still ignoring the
words. She was happy, as if she had turned me into her human Barbie. My
arguments were ignored.
I was wearing purple panties and, although my nightgown would have been
plenty of support if I had breasts, I was still wearing my bra and breast
forms. I was wearing eye-liner and lipstick and false fingernails.
I felt like a parody of a woman, not a woman. I felt like it was
Halloween. Dress-up time. I swear to God, and I would swear to Katie if
she would listen, that I did not feel even a little bit like a woman.
When I was a teen-ager, I felt sexy and pretty and on the edge. But not
now. Now I felt like a man in a dress.
"Katie..." I said. "Katie, can we talk?"
"Chelsea. Chelsea would be a great femme named for you," Katie was
saying. "Do you feel like a Chelsea? Now, I think Friday should be
laundry day, because that gets my clothes ready for the next week. That
means we should mop on Monday. Maybe shop for groceries on Wednesday. If
we give you a big chore to do with your dailies, it would be best. If a
maid is organized, the work is never too hard, is it Chelsea?"
"Katie, I'm sorry. But this isn't me. I'm not a crossdresser. I'm just
not."
"Are you going to start that shit again, Chad? Look, you aren't fooling
anyone. Everyone knows you're a sissy. Your sister said you were. Dory
said you were. Your mom even admitted you must be."
"My Mom?"
"Yes, your Mom. I asked her yesterday if she had ever caught you dressed
like your sister did. And she said she hadn't, but some of her dresses
would get moved around every now and then. I bet you were pretty. I asked
her if you ever had boys sleep over for sex."
"You didn't!"
"You know what she told me. There was a boy named Chuck Farnsworth who
would to sleep over all the time. She remembered you guys would close the
doors and giggle. She walked in on you once, and she swore you were about
to kiss him. She told me she was shocked when you got married, and
shocked again when you married me. She figured you must be looking for a
mommy figure. Your mom joined an LGBT parents group for support a long
time ago, honey. It's okay. She still loves you. She would have have
supported you and Chuck."
"Chuck? Oh, hell no. He was just a neighbor kid who stayed over and we
smoked pot. That's all."
"Chelsea? I called Chuck, too. He's married these days. To a sweet little
guy named Benji. He's gay as a Pride Parade. Completely out of the closet
and happy as can be. Don't you think some part of you suspected it all
along?"
"I swear, Katie. I didn' t know."
"I think Chuck's a top, Chelsea," she said. "Was he a top for you? Did
you like it when he fucked you? I don't know, but I would imagine bottoms
are more committed to the lifestyle, you know? There is something about
feeling a man inside you that is addictive, isn't it?"
"Katie...I don't know how many times I have to tell you. I'm not
attracted to men."
"Ah, Chelsea," she said. "You know what they say about denying something
too much. Sweetheart, the more you insist you're not a girl, the more
obvious it is that you are one."
Huh? That was absurd. Argue, and it meant you were a girl. Don't argue,
and it meant you were a girl. I could not win.
Life seemed to be conspiring against me. Chuck. Laura. Mom. And Dory.
What the fuck was Dory's game? I promise. I have never had a gay
encounter. Not even a little one. I never had a friend come on to me.
Look, I wore some panties and a couple of bras. That's it.
Now I was wearing them again. And a nightgown. And makeup.
How do you escape from being a girl?
***
I could have left, I supposed. I could have just packed up and gone. We
didn't have kids. But that would have meant abandoning my wife, my second
marriage, my dog, my parents, my sister. I would have to buy some more
guy clothes. Katie had given all of mine to Goodwill.
Or I could try to suffer through it until I could talk some sense in
Katie. Eventually, she would get over my lies. Eventually, she would stop
being so gung-ho about my foray into sissidom. This would all pass. I
could not imagine my life if it did not.
My mother? My dad? I guess they would always think I was gay now they had
confirmation from Katie. My sister had probably convinced herself long
ago. My ex-wife? Who cared what she thought? But Katie. Deep down, Katie
loved me. There wasn't anything vindictive in this for her. She was
trying to push me toward my femininity. She was just pushing too damn
hard. I wasn't like that, I thought for the millionth time.
Yet, every morning, Katie would lay out a maid's dress of varied colors
for me. Hose. Lingerie. Heels. A wig. Makeup. I cannot remember the last
time I had been in pants or male underwear. I was dress up like some
Marriott maid and I would work my ass off. It was really hard. If I
didn't get organized, I fell behind so fast.
I began to get lose in the persona of Chelsea. Panties began not to feel
erotic. They began to feel normal. I began to feel naked without makeup.
They knew me at the hair salon. When you do something everyday, you grow
used to it. It begins to feel normal.
In bed, Chelsea often would reach over and fondle my nipples. She had me
taking pills now, but I couldn't see any results yet. These days, she
seemed to prefer it when she would straddle my face, when I would
hummingbird her, when she would climax from my tongue. She was
magnificent in the dim light, her breasts heaving. She was the perfect
woman.
Sometimes, she seemed to want to be the perfect man, too. She brought a
sex toy home one day. A dildo. That sounds crude, I know. It felt crude,
too. She took to penetrating me several times a week. It was one of those
models that spurts make-believe sperm. I have to tell you, I didn't like
the taste. And it was something else to clean off the sheets.
Oh, yes. Chores. To be honest, I had never minded them. That wasn't the
adjustment that I had to make. I could turn off the functioning part of
my brain and clean or cook or iron, just go to ditz land and think about
shopping or TV shows or reading. But it wasn't that I enjoyed being a
maid. Not the way Katie jumped to conclusions. She thought this was part
of my being a sissy, part of me uncovering my fetish. It was just keeping
the house clean because Katie worked all day. That's all.
One day, Katie had come into the kitchen, wearing just a nightie, and,
well, it had been a while since my penis had been used. So I saw her and
I got hard. No sin there. A man for his wife. But Katie and looked down
and seen my bulge in my dress, and she thought it was the clothes that
had brought it on.
"Chelsea's got new pan-ties," she chanted. "Chelsea's little dicklette
has woken up!"
Little?
Everything seemed to work against me down like that. Any reaction I would
have would be assumed to be because of wearing women's clothing, or
because of the gardener, or because of having to curtsey. I hate to admit
this, but once, she put me over her lap to spank me when the glassware
was spotted, and I felt the heat from her crotch and her breasts brushing
against me. She thought it was because I was about to get pounded.
Then there was the beauty parlor. Katie made my first appointment, of
course. And I had a hair-washer lean over my face, braless. And, yes, I
got erect over that. Sure enough, someone made a comment that it was
because I was getting my hair highlighted.
Katie told my boss I was transitioning to being a woman. She told my
friends at the golf club that I would need to hit off the women's tees in
the future. She asked Chuck if he could fix me up with one of his gay
friends. She told my mother she might start dating herself. My mother
understood. I didn't understand.
Another time, our pool boy was going shirtless as he worked. He was
finishing a dead fruit rat out of our pool. I was watching him haul the
dead animal out of the pool. And Laura saw me, and thought I was checking
out the damn pool boy. She started inviting him inside for iced tea.
If it had not been so overwhelming, it might have been funny. There were
so many circumstances that led me here. Dumb luck. Pure, dumb luck.
Hell, Katie might have been more interested in the pool boy. She seemed
to be flirting with a lot of guys lately. When I asked her about it, she
just shrugged. "You're a girl," she told me. "And I'm not a lesbian. If I
get a guy, thought, just you don't grab his dick first."
There was the night that Katie invited Chuck over with all of his gay
friends. Katie was convinced I was going to be erect all night. So she
put me in a cock cage.
Hell, gay men didn't want me. They were gay, silly. Well, not except for
Tony, who would evidently sleep with anything. Around midnight, he
cornered me in the kitchen and, in the middle of everyone, kissed me on
the mouth for a long, long kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth. I felt his
penis grow against me. I'm sure Katie will hear about it.
I didn't feel like a man. Not anymore.
If Katie kept feeding me these hormone pills, I never would be again.
***
It was Saturday, my day off if there was not a reason to serve. I was in
a blue sundress. My hair was long enough to wear on my own now.
We rode along in Katie's convertible, just enjoying the day, not going
anywhere in particular. I hoped she wouldn't stop, but she usually did.
Suddenly, she pulled into a driveway just over the bridge into Kentucky.
I looked at her quizzically. I had no idea where we were.
We walked up the drive to the big house. The door opened as we
approached. And Dory, my ex-wife, appeared at the door. I have never felt
more dressed like a woman.
"Katie!" she said. "I'm glad you dropped by. Hello, Chad."
"It's Chelsea now," said Katie. "She's the happiest sissy in Cincinnati,
Dory. I really wanted to stop by and thank you again."
Dory looked at me and grinning. She walked around me, looking at my
bottom, and my boobs, and my legs. She commented on my makeup. I thought
she was going to break into song. What a vindictive bitch.
"Well, she certainly is pretty," Dory said. "What a fox! I'll bet she has
to beat the guys off. With a stick, I mean."
Katie laughed. "She does okay," she said. "Between you and me, I suspect
she's screwing the pool boy, but she doesn't kiss and tell, I'm afraid.
But you know how bisexuals are. Any port in a storm. Our Chelsea is a
wanton little wench."
We stepped inside. Katie asked if she could use the facilities. Third
door to the right, Dory told her.
She left, and Dory looked at me and grinned. "This is delicious,
sweetie," she said. "I knew since I caught Barry fucking you that this
was what you wanted."
I glared at her. "That never happened, Dory. You know it never happened.
You told Katie that I was a sissy. I was never a sissy."
Dory shrugged.
"Women ... embellish," she said. "Maybe I said Barry fucked you. Maybe I
meant you wanted him to. I forget. Maybe I said you were a sissy. Maybe I
said you cleaned like a sissy. That must be what I meant. But you know
what...Chelsea. It doesn't matter anymore what was said. This is you from
now on, sweetheart. You're in too deep. Have you sucked a cock yet?"
"No!" I said quickly.
She laughed. "When you do, try not to get it in your hair, baby. It can
be a bitch to get out."
***
And so it goes. Every day, I become more and more Chelsea and less and
less Chad. Every day, I become more and more a maid and less and less a
spouse.
Katie had started dating another lawyer at her firm. She told me she
thought of me as her sister these days, but not as a sex partner. Not
anymore. And she liked sex. If anyone should know the addiction of cock,
she said, it would be me.
She had bought me that dildo to satisfy my own sex drive. We never had
sex anymore. By the time she told me she was sleeping with Chris, I had
figured it out. It was the final blow in this marriage. I was cuckold. I
was living in the other room by now. I was just the hired help.
Maybe it was because of that, I thought a lot about leaving. But it
didn't seem like a real possibility any more. Dory was right. I was in
too deep. I was more girl than boy these days. Everyone know me as a
transexual. Some were convinced I had already had an SRS operation. I
wasn't even the main neighborhood gossip anymore. I was ... a maid.
One day, when I was at the register, Sammy, the grocer, asked me out. I
told him no, the way I always told everyone no. And then self-realization
washed over me. This is who I was. That wasn't going to change. I wasn't
going to go back. My boobs were real. My dick didn't seem to work much
anymore. I was just a lonely woman approaching her 30s.
I looked at Sammy. "Tell me where we would go."
Sammy smiled. He was a rugged man. Good arms. A good chest. Great teeth.
Thinning hair. He said he would take me to Donatello's. He said it would
be nice. Maybe we would dance. Maybe we would go back to his place. But
he promised he wouldn't move too fast. He wanted this to work, he said.
And somone flipped the switch, and suddenly, a light came on. Finally, I
could see my life.
An epiphany can happen in the darndest places. Church. A university. A
grocery store. I suddenly saw things the way they were. It suddenly all
made sense.
All these years, I had been lying to myself, fooling myself, tricking
myself. Despite all the protests and all the denials and all the
resistance, everyone else was right all along. The world seemed to make
sense.
Maybe I wanted to be a dress. Maybe I wanted to be pretty. Maybe I did
have a crush on Chuck in high school and was scared to act on it. . Maybe
I didn't wear all of Laura's clothes, but I probably wanted to. Maybe I
was a submissive sissy waiting for my domme to take control. Even Dory.
Dory had embellished - her word - her stories about me being a sissy,
about me and her Barry, but there was some truth there. I did want to be
a sissy. Looking back, I thought Barry was handsome.
I could see it now. Katie was never being mean. She was guiding me. My
mom knew better than I did what I liked. Maybe I was exciting over my
clothes. Maybe I was ogling the pool boy.
This was the life I needed to have, the life I wanted to have.
Did you ever hear the story about the mouse who thought he was a lion,
who roared and postured. But everyone else saw him and knew he was just a
silly little mouse, and once he accepted it, he would be happier. That
was me. I was a mouse.
Acceptance can be a hard thing. You can struggle against it forever. You
can spend your whole life swimming upstream. I was a sissy. I let the
word form in my mind. I wore dresses. I liked lipstick. I had breasts.
This was me. This was who I was. This what I wanted to be.
Oh, and I wanted one more thing. I wanted to put a penis like Sammy's
into my mouth and have him fuck me until we broke the bed.
I'd have to try that out, oh, about 12 times this weekend.
(c) Cassandra Morgan
Dottie
- 24.12.2021
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