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By *orcsmat OP Man
9 weeks ago
Kidderminster |
Many years ago, I was an assistant scout leader. One way we raised money for the group was via jumble sales. (Remember the?). As always I would help by collecting jumble, sorting and manning one of the stalls. As an avid reader my choice was always the book stall so I got first choice of the books which I always paid for.
One this particular sale, I was doing some sorting on the afternoon before the event. On opening one of the bags, I found something very tempting – what has come to be known as an LBN – little black number. It was size 10. Even over 70, I’m still not fat and can still get into 30” waist trousers. Back then, I was extremely thin, just about 50kg with a 28” waist. I rarely wore jeans; adult ones were not easy to find with my waist size. Female jeans looked - well, too feminine. Not that I would have minded that. Sexually I was straight as a die. But loved female clothing
No-one was looking so I put the dress in a bag and looked though the other items for something to accompany it. I found a black long-haired wig, small bra, a skimpy suspender belt and a pair of white, cotton panties. These went into the bag with the dress. A few of books – did not care what – went into the bag in case someone caught sight of it. I took the bag of “books” and put it in my car.
That afternoon the sale went ahead with me manning the bookstall as usual. When I got home I took the bag indoors and secreted my little treasures. Over the next few weeks, I got the occasional period to myself and tried on various items. The dress fitted perfectly. The wig needed a little teasing, but it fitted my head and completely covered my hair. The bra was a bit tight but I could fasten it behind my back as it had a simple one hook fastening. Obviously it would need some padding but, as it was an ‘A’ cup, I reasoned that would not be too difficult.
The panties were a problem. The waist size was perfect but my it they did not cover my appendages. That was a shame as they were so wonderfully lacy. Fortunately, my mother-on-law sold underwear and I managed to appropriate a pair, still pretty but much more practical.
In the same period, I accumulated some inexpensive items of makeup as, if I used the wife’s, I was sure she would notice.
I carefully wrapped the items and put them up in the loft, a place where the wife never went. I had to wait some time before an opportunity presented itself. It was weeks later before I got the chance.
One Sunday, my in-laws took the rest of the family to visit their son’s family 50 miles away so I had confidence that they would not return for several hours. When they’d gone I retrieved my treasures from the loft. Shoes I would not need as my wife wore the same size as me. She had just a single pair of strappy sandals with a heel of about 3” – a timeless design that has come to be known as fuck-me shoes. I retrieved them from her wardrobe, making careful note of their placement so I could put them back as I found them.
My first chore was a shave, one that would leave not a trace of stubble. No need to shave my chest – I had only light chest hairs and the dress was not going to show them.
I stripped naked, fastened the stocking suspender round my waist and removed the stockings from their package. In the excitement of doing something forbidden my hands were trembling as I rolled up the first one and prepared to pull it up my legs. The colour was dark enough to disguise the light hairs on my legs – shaving them was out of the question. I loved the feel of the nylon sliding up my leg but I was all fingers and thumbs and it took several goes to hook it into the fastener. The second was easier.
I slipped my feet into the sandals, stood and looked at my reflection in our full-length mirror. The sight of my legs, made shapely by the heels, clad in smooth nylon had a immediate effect on my penis, it grew hard and, in those day, pointed directly upward. The digital camera was a long way off. I had an SLR but sorrowfully I could not take any pictures of the effect on me or to catalogue the adventure.
I had made several experiments with the makeup, mostly to see if I could remove it easily, but this would be the first time I made up my face completely. I applied a light foundation and a very light blushing of rouge to my cheeks. Next was a light blue eye shadow with a mascara to complete the work on my eyes. Having been blessed with very long eyelashes this had the greatest effect on that area. No eyeliner as I had found it too difficult to remove completely.
Next, the very red nail varnish – the tartiest colour I could find. I had to wait for 10 minutes for the polish to dry before the final stages.
When I was sure the varnish was hard enough, I donned the bra, stuffed the cups with rolled-up socks and slipped the little black dress over my head, feeling it slide down my body. The sensation was electric, my cock was aching for relief, but I wanted to do something else when I was fully dressed. I wanted to go outside.
The last item was the wig. Up to that point I had still looked like a guy wearing women’s clothing. In this case it was my crowning glory. Once on my head and positioned to completely cover my own hair, the transformation was complete. The image in the mirror was alarmingly deceptive. Instead of a not very handsome guy, a very pretty girl was looking back at me. I looked for all the world like my younger sister except she had rather large tits. Mine were small but looked effective in the figure-hugging dress.
It took some time for me to move on to the next phase. I wanted to go outside but I felt that there was too much chance of my neighbours seeing and recognising me in spite of the makeup. Just as bad would be them thinking that I was having an affair while the family was out. I had a compromise. I would exit through the front door and re-enter at the back. Not enough time to be noticed, but enough outside time for me.
I also had to wait for my cock so subside.
I descended the stairs carefully which was difficult as I was thrilling to the feel of the dress floating around my legs and the rub of nylon on nylon as I walked. Eventually I stood next to the front door, waited a few seconds to pluck up courage then opened the door. I stepped out into the bright sunshine and could feel the effect of the heat on my makeup, an experience I had not had for many years.
I closed the door and walked round the house to the garden. That was a treat as I clicked along in my heels. I fervently wished I had the courage to go for a much longer walk around the block but my heart was pounding enough with the thrill of possible exposure. The cool air wafting up my dress and circling around my nether regions with the rhythm of my shoes on the concrete was a feeling I would have loved to have had for a much longer time. But enough was enough. I reached the backdoor and, with a feeling of regret, turned the handle and pushed.
The door was locked!
Panic!
What was I going to do?
Here was I stood outside my house dressed and made up as a woman and the family were not due back for several hours. Sit in the garden and wait to be discovered seemed to be my fate. I had not reckoned on my wife locking the back door, as she normally did before going out.
I looked around. We did not have the habit of secreting a key outside. At that moment I fervently wished we did.
I looked up. The upstairs rear windows were open, including the one next to our son’s bedroom alongside which ran the drainpipe from the gutter. I had climbed it may times, just to see if I could. This time it was to be more serious.
I shucked the shoes and began the climb in my stockinged feet, my dress blowing every which way in the wind. My heart was pounding in my chest as I was consumed by the thought of neighbours bordering our garden having a view up the skirt of a strange female climbing up the wall.
I reached the window, pulled it open and squirmed ignominiously over the sill and fell with great relief. I ran down the stairs, opened the back door, retrieved the shoes and fell onto the sofa until I could feel my heart rate return to normal.
Undressing, removing my makeup, hiding my secret stash and replacing the shoes where they belonged went in a blur. The next I remember was having made a cup of tea and ensconced myself on the sofa with the novel I was currently reading.
That was where I was when the family returned, I hoped that the guilt following my miss-adventure did not show in my face.
Next Time- Discovery
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