From alt.sex.stories.tg Fri Aug  9 17:31:00 1996
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~Date: Mon,  5 Aug 1996 23:31:40 UTC
~Subject: Edie: Adventures in Panties and Dresses (1/5)
~Lines: 172


Edie: Adventures in Panties and Dresses


	Warning!  This story has *serious* problems:

	(1) It isn't porn, it's "erotic realism."
	(2) The boy isn't effeminate.  (I've grown tired of stories about
	    effeminate transvestites.)
	(3) There aren't any sex scenes with anyone, male or female,
	    anywhere in the story.  Nothing but clothes!
	(4) Everything is consensual!...even when it doesn't look as if
	    it's going to be.
	(5) The first time he looks in the mirror, he *doesn't see a
	    pretty girl!*
	(6) He doesn't take hormones; he doesn't undergo surgery.

	If, in spite of all these appalling disabilities, :) you can still
	enjoy it...enjoy!


When I was eleven, I was the toughest kid in the neighborhood.  The one who
came home with black eyes (but who gave more black eyes than he got), the
one who was always ready for a fight, a real scrapper.

What nobody knew was that this young neighborhood tough liked to wear
girls' panties.

It had started one afternoon when my sister asked me to get a handkerchief
out of her dresser, and while I was looking for the handkerchief, I opened
her lingerie drawer by mistake.

I was ready to close it again, but then I lingered a moment.  I had never
seen her lingerie drawer before; here were stockings, bras, and panties in
neat piles.  I ran my hand over the panties--how soft and smooth they were!
I picked a pair up; they were a shiny pink, edged with lace.  I looked at
the part between the legs, the part that would touch my sister's pussy.
I never thought of my sister as sexy (I was only 10 and she only 12), but
even so, there was something magic about that.  But there was something
magic about the panties themselves, and suddenly I had the momentary
thought, *What would it be like to put them on?*  Then I was embarrassed
at thinking that, and ashamed.  I put them back, quickly closed the drawer,
and fetched the handkerchief.

But one day the next week, I was home alone.  (Both my parents worked, and
Sis belonged to some social group that met after school.)  And I thought of
Sis's lingerie drawer again.  I crept into her room and opened the drawer
again.  There they all were, including the pink pair I had fondled the week
before.  I took them out.  I looked them over, inside and out, and felt
their texture--so soft!  I put them to my lips; they smelled delicately of
some kind of cologne or perfume.  Then I knew what I was going to do.

I took them to my room and took off all my clothes.  My heart started to
pound as I sat down on my bed, lifted my leg, and put it into the panties.
In went the other leg.  I drew them up.  Sis was only two years older than
I was, and they fit perfectly.  My penis got stiff.  (I was still too young
to know what that signified.)  I looked down at them; I ran my hands over
them, loving how soft and smooth they were.  I touched the lace edging
with my fingers.  I was a boy wearing a pretty pair of pink, lace-trimmed
panties.

I must have kept them on for an hour or more.  First I just stared at them;
then I went and looked at myself in the mirror--my pale, skinny boy's body
with the pink panties on.  On an impulse, I squeezed up against my reflec-
tion in the cold mirror and kissed it.  I would have liked to kiss the
panties themselves, but I couldn't reach them.  Then I lay down on the bed
and started to read.  Every once in a while I'd stop reading and run my
hands over my panty-clad butt, feeling how satiny and smooth it was.  I was
in heaven.  Then I took them off--a sad moment, but I had to do it, because
Sis was going to be home soon--and put them back in her dresser drawer,
kissing them before putting them back.

But this soon became a habit: every afternoon when I wasn't out playing
baseball or football with the guys, I would go to Sis's room, select a pair
of panties, and put them on.  At that age, she wore only white and pink,
and most of them were cotton; but not all.  I preferred the silky ones and
only wore those.  I loved these secret panty sessions, and I loved the
panties I put on.  I used to kiss them before putting them on, and before
putting them away, just like a priest kissing his vestments.


This went on for a couple of years.  I began discover sex, and I started
masturbating when I was in panties.  This gave me nervous qualms about
whether wearing panties and jerking off was "normal" or not.  A couple of
times I swore off, but my periods of abstinence never lasted more than a
couple of weeks; then I was back in panties again.  And everything seemed
to remind me of them; I couldn't open a newspaper without seeing lingerie
ads with panties, and I'd see them and grow giddy with desire.  In idle
moments at school, I would think about that forbidden drawer, and the
thought would make my head swim: in just a few hours...!

In my secret afternoon games, I would keep the panties on until the moment
I was back in Sis's room, ready to put them back; partly because I got a
thrill walking outside my own room and down the hall wearing nothing but a
pair of panties, but also because it meant putting off to the last minute
that sad moment when I had to take them off again and get back into boy's
things.  You can guess what this led to: one day, when I was thirteen, I
got caught.


Sis must have come home while I was still in my room.  Anyway, I was in
the hall, midway between my room and hers, with no place to hide, when she
found me.

"Eddie!!!!  Are those *panties* you have on?  What are you doing in them?"

I was speechless.

"How long has this been going on, anyway?" she pursued.  "Look at you!
Come on--out with it!  Have you ever done this before?  Hey!--you must
have!  That must be why my lingerie drawer is messed up some times.  That
was you, wasn't it?"

I mumbled something.

"What?  Speak up, Eddie, for Christ's sake.  How long have you been wearing
my panties on the sly?  You have been, haven't you?"

On the sly...!  She had nailed me; that was just what I had been doing, and
it shocked me to hear it described in such blunt terms.  It made me see
myself and what I had been doing from an outsider's point of view, and I
turned pale.  "Well...er...I, that is, I, um...well, not very long," I
stammered.  "I mean, only a couple of times...."

"It can't have been only a couple of times, Eddie!  I fold my things and
keep them in order, and I know that I've seen that order disturbed more
than a couple of times, once at least a year ago."

I mumbled something else and fled back to my room.  I had to get away.  She
yelled, "Eddie!  Come back here!" but at least she didn't follow me.  I
knew that she was pissed, though, and that this wouldn't be the end of it.

It wasn't.  That evening my sister had some girl friends over, girls from
her social club.  I could hear them talking and giggling in her room.  For
some reason--I don't remember what any more--I had to go to see her about
something.  Just my luck!  Here I was trying to avoid her, and I not only
had to talk with her, but I had to do it in front of a bunch of her
friends.  I feared the worst.

There they were--my sister and three other girls, all about 15 years old.
My sister said, "This is my kid brother" and the other girls said, "Hi, kid
brother!"  "His name is Eddie," Sis added, and they all chorused, "Hi,
Eddie."

Then Sis got an evil gleam in her eye.  "He's my SISSY kid brother," she
said.  "I've just found out that he likes to wear my panties."

They all squealed, "PANTIES??"

"Yes.  In the afternoon, on the sly, when nobody else is home.  I caught
him at it to-day.  Look at him!  That's my tough little brother, the terror
of the neighborhood, and he's *really* a sissy who likes to wear panties!"

And of course they all screamed and began to giggle.  This was just as bad
as I had feared.  It was about to get worse.

One of them, a girl named Betty, gave me a penetrating look and said, "He's
cute!"  I blushed at that.  And naturally Betty noticed my confusion at
once.  "Oh, he's blushing!  Look at him!  I'll bet he'd like us to dress
him up!  Do you want that, Eddie?"

What I wanted was to get the hell out of there.  This panty business had
gotten out of hand!  But then she made me sit down beside her on the bed.
"You like girls' clothes, do you?  Do you want us to dress you like a girl?
You'd make a cute little girl, you know that?  We can all be girls together
and have a little girl talk!"

My heart skipped a beat.  One part of me was terrified at the thought of
being at the mercy of these girls and having them dress me up in some
godawful girl's stuff, while another part of me was hot with the allure of
it, aroused and excited at the thought of not only getting to wear girls'
clothes--maybe a complete outfit!--but with the added advantage that it
would be forced on me, so I wouldn't have to feel responsible for it.  It
was a golden opportunity.  The thought of losing control, of being in some-
one else's hands and forced to put on panties, and more, made me almost
dizzy with excitement.

And you can bet that this devilish girl noticed that; it was just as if
she could read my mind.  "He wants it!  Come on, let's dress him up!  Then
we'll all be girls together."

Believe me, if Betty had gone into politics when she grew up, she would
have become President.  She was a natural leader, and no sooner had she
said that we would all be girls together but the four of them--even my
sister!--grabbed me and started pulling my clothes off.  I panicked and
squealed and protested and thrashed about, but there were four of them to
only one of me, and in minutes I was stark naked on my sister's bed.  Then
my sister went to her dresser and opened the drawer--THAT drawer, which I
had opened so many times myself.

"Betty, I've got mostly white and pink," my sister said.

"What about those nice black ones there?" another girl, Anne, asked.

"Anne!  Those are new!  I don't want them on *him*!"

"Oh, come on," Betty said.  "He won't hurt them.  I want to see him in...
in..." her voice rose to a falsetto squeal, "...in *black lacy PANT-ies!*"

At this point, the part of me that wanted this to happen got the upper
hand.  Suddenly I wanted nothing more in the world than to have these girls
put all that frilly underwear on me.  I was wily enough to pretend to
object, and I kept squirming and kicking, but I made sure they were able
to overpower me.  On went the black, lacy panties.

My sister was older now, and had a much more interesting assortment of
underwear than she had had when I was eleven.  I had discovered that black
number myself just the week before, and had masturbated myself to a dry
orgasm in them.  The recollection of this made me hard, and Betty, the
ringleader, cried, "Look!  He's excited!"...and to me, "You really do like
these things, don't you?  Hmm?"  I could have killed her for being so
perceptive.

Then they put a garter belt on me.  "Hold your leg out," one of them said,
holding a rolled-up stocking in her hand.  "Hold still, Eddie," my sister
said, "Those are good stockings.  If you run them you're going to catch
hell!"  I held my leg still as the Anne carefully unrolled the stocking
onto my leg.  Then she did the same with the other stocking, and they
clipped them onto the garters on the garter belt.

"Should we put a bra on him?" Betty asked.

"Why, what does he have that needs support...up there, I mean?" (giggle.)

"No," said Anne.  "If we're going to dress him up as a girl, let's do it
right.  Give him a bra."

"Okay," Sis said.  "Let's see...oh, here's the black one."

"He'll look nice in those cups," said Sue, the other girl in the group.
"Solid on the bottom and lacy on the top."

"Eddie, stop struggling or you'll tear something," Sis said, "and then, by
heaven, I'll tear *you!*"

I hadn't tried wearing a bra before--well, only a couple of times (!)--
and I had never dared put a complete set of her underwear and stockings on.
Sis got a couple of handkerchiefs (oh, God, her handkerchiefs!--that was
how it had all started!) and wadded them up and put them in the bra cups
for stuffing.  Then she said,

"Okay, Eddie--or should I say, Edie?--get up and look at yourself in the
mirror."

"Yes," said Betty.  "Let him see what a pretty little girl he is."

I looked awful, but mostly because I was still in a panic at what was hap-
pening to me.  There are two kinds of nightmare in life--the one in which
something happens to you that you've always feared, and the one in which
what happens is something you've always wanted, lusted for, but were scared
to admit you wanted.  I was right in the middle of that second kind of
nightmare.  Part of me was loving this whole experience, getting off on
it, relishing the feel of these girly clothes on my body, relishing the
experience of being made into a girl, dizzy and intoxicated with allure;
and part of me was in a whirl of anxiety, compounded by the guilt I felt
because I was enjoying it.  And my stiff penis kept pressing against the
front of the panties.

I may have looked awful, but the girls stood around me, laughing and
telling me how cute I looked.

"Isn't he a *perfect* girl?" said Anne.

"Oooh, what nice titties you have, Edie!" said Sue.

"Don't your legs look *divine*!" said Betty.

"Baby, you've got a sweet little ass, you know that?"  This from my sister!
I was shocked.  I had never heard her use such language.  I didn't know
girls talked like that, I didn't think they thought of themselves or of
other girls like that; and here they were talking about *me* that way, mak-
ing the kind of ribald remarks we boys made about girls.  And as I looked
at my woebegone reflection in the mirror, at this scared, nervous little
boy in girl's underwear, sporting an erection, I realized that, although
I couldn't tell about my ass, my legs *did* look good.  Very good.  And
somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I was going to try wearing
stockings the next time I indulged in one of my solitary dressup sessions.

"Now, what about a dress?" Anne asked, pondering.

"Something frilly," said Sis.

"No!  Something sexy," Betty objected.  "Make him look slutty!"

"Okay," my sister said, "I've got a great miniskirt.  When I bought it, Mom
said it made *me* look like a slut."

Anne said, "But if he's wearing a miniskirt, won't the tops of his
stockings show?"

"We should have put him in pantyhose," Sue said.

"Doesn't matter," said Sis.  "If he's going to look like a slut, he 'll
look sluttier still if his stocking tops show."

So they put a blouse and miniskirt on me.  Then they put some powder on
my cheeks and lipstick on my lips.  I was afraid they were going to put
perfume on me, too, that would smell all the rest of the evening, and maybe
longer; but they were beginning to lose interest...except for Betty, who
decided that I should be made to stay dressed as a girl for a full hour.
So I sat down with them, and presently--and amazingly--we got to talking
quietly about school and about the teachers we had, and it suddenly came
to me that I felt very comfortable in these clothes.  They felt so *right*
on me!  I was relaxing, in fact, and while part of me was still acutely
conscious of what I was wearing, another part of me was beginning to take
them for granted, except that every once in a while, for example when one
of them said something about boys, Betty would look over at me, grin, and
say, "Except for you, Eddie."  For this hour, at least, I wasn't a boy.

At first, I thought my hour in drag would never end, but suddenly it was
over.  Betty looked at her watch, and said, "Okay, Eddie, you've been a
good sport.  Time's up."  And I suddenly realized that I was sorry the time
was up.  I had the same sad feeling I always got when I dressed in secret
and it was time to stop.  I didn't want to take the things off.  Slowly I
unzipped and took off the miniskirt and removed the blouse.  Off came the
other things, slowly and carefully.  I took a long time over the stockings,
with the excuse that I didn't dare harm them, but actually because I loved
the way my legs looked in them and the way they felt on me.

When I had gotten my own clothes on, Betty said, "Okay, you can go back to
your room.  I'll bet you're going to play with yourself now--aren't you?--
after being dressed up as a girl!"  That woman was reading my thoughts
again.

And I did.  I went back to my room and started masturbating.  I was going
to jerk off as I never had before...but in the event, I was so excited from
my full hour of arousal that I came almost immediately, and for the first
time in my life, a couple of drops of clear fluid oozed out of my penis.


The next morning as we were going to breakfast, Sis looked at me and
murmured, "I'm not surprised."  Oh God.  What did that mean?  I was so
upset that I skipped my panty play that afternoon.  Later, after she got
home from school, she came into my room.

"You liked that, didn't you."

"Liked what?" I asked, trying to play dumb.

"You know what I mean.  You liked it when we dressed you up last night.
You were so hot I thought you were going to lose it right then and there.

"I'll tell you something else.  I've been thinking about this.  I'll bet
Betty was right.  I'll bet you like to put them on and jerk off in them."
Betty wasn't the only mind reader in the crowd, I realized.  It was appal-
ling to realize how transparent I was, and even more appalling to hear her
say "jerk off" in such a casual way.  Without waiting for an answer, she
continued:

"Well, I'll make a deal with you, my little sister.  You stop wearing my
things, or I'll tell Mom and Dad and then you'll be in plenty of hot water.
I don't want your grubby hands on my nice underwear, and I don't want my
nice underwear on your grubby body."  Sisters can be so sweet.  "And I
especially don't want any nasty spots on them.  But I'll shop for you.  You
give me the money and tell me what you want and what size you wear, and
I'll go get it.  Come to think of it, you don't have to tell me what size;
my things fitted you okay last night."

I was thunderstruck.  "Sis, you don't mean it!  You mean you would actually
go out and *get* panties for me to wear?"  Was I *really* talking openly
with her about this?

"If that's what it takes to keep you from sneaking into my lingerie drawer,
yes; I'll do it."

"You aren't going to tell those other girls about this arrangement, are
you?"

"You bet I am!  I'll tell them, all right.  That's part of the deal.  I
shop for you, you keep out of my drawers"--she gave me a leer--"and every
once in a while my tough little brother will turn sissy and put on a little
fashion show for us."

Well, of course I agreed.  I didn't have much choice.  It was a very nice
and convenient arrangement, actually, and although I felt uncomfortable at
knowing my sister was on to me (and that she had something with which she
could blackmail me), it struck me that maybe, just possibly, there was an
unexpected streak of kindness and, maybe even compassion, in her nature.
In retrospect, I think there was.

Over the next week, I thought of nothing but that evening and of how it
had felt to be dressed up.  On my afternoon panty sessions, I now put on
various other things as well, usually a garter belt and stockings.  At
least now I didn't have to be afraid Sis would come home unexpectedly.
That was a relief.


So that's how I got into crossdressing.  My sister and her friends kept up
my "fashion shows" for a time.  Sis would come and knock on my door, or
sometimes just walk in and announce, "I've got something for you to model,"
or sometimes, "Time for your show."  Whenever she bought something for me,
she would make me model it for her and her friends before she gave it to
me.  I would go into her room and put on whatever they wanted me to wear.
Some evenings they would laugh at me and tease me; but other times, they
would offer kind and patient advice and instruction, as if I were their kid
sister.

I enjoyed modelling things for them, and I enjoyed dressing up for them.
Well...let's face it: I enjoyed dressing up.  My solitary afternoon games
were more interesting now, because, thanks to Sis's help, I gradually got a
more varied selection of things to wear.  That first week Sis bought me my
first pair of panties: black ones.  She had noticed how turned on I had
been by those black ones of hers.  These were cheaper, with no lace, but
I loved the silky-smooth feel of them and the contrast between the black
material and my pale skin.  The following week she brought me my first
garter belt, also black, and two pairs of stockings.  Later, I would occa-
sionally wear a bra and a castoff dress that Sis said it was O.K. for me to
wear.  She had turned over one dress and a skirt and blouse for me to wear.
The dress was pink and frilly.  The skirt was a tan one, rather plain, but
the blouse was white and had ruffles down the front.

And usually I put on makeup--lipstick every time, and eye shadow, and on
special occasions--"bra days," when I was feeling especially femme--every
bit of makeup I could reasonably get on my face: foundation, blush, eye
shadow, mascara, the works.  Then, dressed that way, I would read her
fashion magazines, looking for tips on how to dress and make up.

Sis seemed to accept me and my "hobby," or at least she got used to it, or
maybe it amused her, and after a while she started taking me shopping with
her.  She took me to the places that had the best selections and would make
recommendations.  Sometimes I told her what I liked, and she would either
buy it for me or would suggest something better.  My favorites were sexy
black: black panties with a lot of lace, a black garter belt, and black
hose.  I liked pantyhose, too, which I found wonderfully comfortable as
well as sexy, although to me there was still nothing sexier than panties
and a garter belt.  I got a couple of bras, too, including a black one to
go with my other black things, but I didn't always wear bras.  It felt
funny unless the cups were properly filled out; stuffing them with hand-
kerchiefs didn't feel right, and proper breast forms were too expensive.
(I was out of college and working before I got myself a pair of boobs.)

But when we shopped, Sis kept the things we had selected and wouldn't pass
them on to me until I had modelled them for her friends.

Then their interest began to flag.  One week, I wasn't summoned.  The next
week Sis bought me a pair of stockings and just gave them to me: "Here,
Eddie.  Gotta run."  A couple of weeks later, our folks were away on a
weekend trip.  I had known they would be gone, and I had something in mind.
Sis and her friends had never put perfume on me; but now with my folks away
and with a whole weekend for the scent to dissipate, I wanted to try it.
It was the only thing missing in my complete feminization, I thought, and I
craved it.  Came Friday night, when Sis and her friends had their regular
get-together, and again I wasn't asked to come and dress up for them.

I heard them laughing and talking, just as I always did, and I was thinking
about that perfume.  It was a month since they had dressed me.  I was also
thinking, as I did so often, about how it felt to be dressed up as a girl,
and to have them see me that way and stare at me and my head began to swim,
as it always did at the prospect of dressing up.  This time it was intense;
my thoughts were in a whirl and for a minute I wondered whether I was going
to faint.  I suddenly knew what I was going to do.  Like a man in a trance,
I walked slowly and uncertainly to my sister's room and knocked.  Sis
opened the door; they all looked at me; and there was a dead silence.
Into the silence, I said, in a small voice,

"Please.  Would you dress me up?"

The silence got longer and I could hear my heart pounding.  That was the
first time I actually approached them and *asked* to be dressed up.  They
knew by this time that I didn't mind it--that I enjoyed it, in fact; they
knew that Sis bought things for me.  But they were shocked to hear me beg.
Anne looked up at me from where she was sitting and considered me.  "You're
really into this, aren't you?" she said.

"Yes."

But they humored me.  They got out a black party dress, all ruffles and
lace, with black stockings and a black slip.  They felt as good as they
looked.  When they were about to apply my makeup, I waved them away, sat
down at Sis's vanity, and started putting on my own makeup.

"You look as if you've had practice," Betty said.

"I have," I said.  "I practice every chance I can get."  Another stunned
silence.

It was the whole works; the only thing that had ever been missing was
cologne.  Sis's shoes didn't fit my big feet, but I borrowed a pair of
Mom's heels and tottered about in them.  And I wanted to wear Sis's Arpege.

"You're going to smell of it all weekend," Sis objected.

"Okay.  I'm not going anywhere," I said.  "Mom and Dad are gone, baseball
season is over, and I can spend the weekend at home studying.  In fact,
I have to; I have a big exam coming up.  That's why I want to try wearing
cologne now."

So Sis dropped her objections and I got my wish: complete feminization, or
what seemed like it, for an all-too-short hour.  They even put a pair of
clip-on earrings on me, and a necklace.  After I had dabbed on the Arpege,
I stood up, my arms over my head, and spun on my toes, making my dress
swirl around me.  Sue stared at me.

"What a transformation!" she said.  "He's all girl now!"

On an impulse I grabbed her and kissed her.  "All girl"!  Nobody had ever
said that about me before, and I knew I was going to live off that phrase
for the next week.


But after we had had our fun, Anne drew me aside and said,

"Did we start this?  You wanted this to happen to-night; is this because of
what we did to you?"

"You mean, making me dress up?  No.  I was...wearing Sis's panties for a
couple of years before...before this started."

"You mean that that first time when you struggled like mad and we had to
hold you down, you were *faking?*"

"Well, er, it was...well, more exciting, being forced."

"You devious little snip!  But I'm worried about you.  Panties I can see;
even nylons.  I've heard that there are men who wear those things.  But
dresses...!  Do you like it when we put you in a dress, too?"

"Yes.  I love it."

"Oh, dear....  Well, with your long hair, you certainly look convincing.
But don't *ever* go out like that!  Your face will pass, at your age, and
maybe even your legs, but your hands are a boy's hands, and you can't
disguise them.  And you may look like a girl, all dressed up, but you don't
act like one."


It had been a splendid finale, that evening, and a finale was what it was;
that was the last time I ever dressed for them.  They had lost interest, as
I might have expected; but by some miracle they kept my secret and didn't
blab it to all the other girls at school, which had been my worst fear.
I'm still grateful to them for that.

Even more remarkably, Sis kept up her side of the bargain all the way
through high school.  She kept me supplied with stockings, and the occa-
sional pair of panties and bra; but she would also set aside her old
dresses and give me permission to wear them.  And when she went away to
college, the last thing she did before she left was to lay in a stock of
things for me so I wouldn't have to shop for them myself--mostly panties,
stockings, and pantyhose.

"I assume you're going to keep this up, Eddie," she said.  "If so, then
eventually you're going to have to start buying these things yourself.  But
not around here where they'll recognize you.  These should keep you going
for a while.  If you run out of hose, write me and I'll send you some.
And, for God's sake, don't ever go outside wearing my things!"  Now, years
later, this acceptance and help still amaze me.


In high school we had gym classes only every other day.  On gym days, and
when I was out for sports, I wore regular boy's underwear, but on the other
days, and on most weekends, I wore panties under my other clothes.  And
when I came home from school in the afternoon, I could usually get in an
hour or so of crossdressing before my folks came home.

It was still exciting, and my heart always beat faster when I realized that
it was time to dress up, but I also began to find it relaxing.  I didn't
always masturbate when I dressed; sometimes I just sat around and read my
sister's magazines or did my homework.  I was getting to think of panties
and dresses as a way of relaxing, of unwinding at the end of the school
day; I would change into a dress the way other boys might change into
casual wear.


When I got to college, everything changed.  I had two roommates my first
two years, and I didn't dare let them know about my crossdressing,
especially because I was still the macho guy, active in athletics, and I
didn't dare let them find out that one of their tough teammates liked to
run around in girls' things.  I was nervous about the whole business, and
even cut my hair short.  As it happened, we were all open and easy about
jerking off, and once we all had a circle jerk together.  (We felt that was
kid stuff, however, and we never did that again.)  But jerking off was one
thing--everybody did that--and wearing dresses was something else.

After a while, the tension and frustration of always having to wear men's
clothes, and even men's underwear, got to me, and finally I brought a
couple of pairs of panties from home.  (I had always kept my things in
Sis's room, so if my parents saw them, they would just assume they were
hers.  I just left them there when I went away to school.)  On days when I
didn't have to do athletics, I would get all dressed in the morning, stuff
a pair of panties in my trouser pocket, and then change into them in the
john.  That provided some relief.  Then in the evening, some time before
bed, I would go back to the john and reverse the process, so that when I
got ready for bed my roommates would see me taking off jockey shorts.

In the Fall of my sophomore year I had a real lucky break: I went with a
girl to a costume party at Hallowe'en.  Naturally, I thought of going as
a girl but didn't dare suggest it.  But Nancy thought of it, too.

"Why don't we go as each other?" she asked as we were discussing what to
wear.

My heart leaped up.  But this was dangerous territory.  "I don't think that
would be a good idea," I objected.

"Oh, come on.  You're an athlete; nobody is going to, well, get ideas."

So I gave in, to all appearances reluctantly.  And she gave me the whole
treatment, as thoroughly as my sister and her friends ever had, and then
some: girl's clothes, makeup--and cologne--and even a wig which we rented
for the occasion.  What an experience!--and blessings on whoever invented
Hallowe'en, giving poor TVs like me the perfect, absolutely acceptable
excuse for not only dressing up as girls but actually going out of doors
and to parties dressed that way!

Nancy chose the clothes for me.

"This is a party, and I think you should wear black underthings."  Black!
...my favorite color!  "Here...black panties, and here's a black bra to
go with them.  Do you need help fastening the bra?"  She winked at me.
"You've had enough experience *un*fastening them!"

Bra and panties were familiar and well loved by this time, but I felt funny
wearing them in front of my best girl.

"Now, I think you'll find pantyhose more manageable.  A garter belt is
kind of a nuisance if you're not used to it."

("Not used to it"...!)  I wasn't used to wearing panties under pantyhose,
but I certainly was used to garter belts.

"Here; these are brand new--jet black sheer-to-the-waist.  I got the
largest size I could find; I hope they'll be long enough."

I could have told her, if I dared, exactly what size, style, and make were
right for me.

"Now, you like this blue dress of mine so much.  Let's see if we can get
you into it....  Well!  You certainly got that on quickly and easily,
didn't you!  Even the zipper on the side...just as if you had been doing
it all your life!

"...There.  My!...you look so *natural* and comfortable!  That blue really
goes well with your complexion.  And your legs!  Pull up the skirt a bit
and let me see...no, don't be silly!  I just want to look at your legs.
Gee, they really look great in hose!"

I wished I dared tell her how good my legs *felt* in them.  I hadn't worn
any pantyhose since the end of Summer vacation (and not often then, because
of the heat), and I missed them.  I let Nancy apply my makeup, however,
because it would have been fatal if she saw how experienced I was at doing
it myself.

The party itself was a dream, especially because with the wig and makeup I
was really passing as a girl.  I was a little nervous when a couple of guys
tried to hit on me, but I laughed to see the looks on their faces when I
answered them in what was obviously a man's voice.  I had never been out en
femme before, and what a delight it was to be in a dress, to be seen in a
dress, and to have people accept me that way and think it was okay!  I
wished the party would never end.


I had a bigger break the following Spring.  I found out about a cross-
dressers' bar known as Lucy's.  I hadn't known such places existed.  After
a long time hesitating and getting up my courage, I went there.  (I worried
about what I would do if the place was raided, but I later concluded that
the cops were probably too concerned about drug dealing to worry about drag
bars.)  I didn't go dressed, however, because I didn't have a thing to
wear, and because I didn't know where I could change.

But there were some other college guys there who also weren't dressed but
who knew as well as I did what kind of place this was.  (Nobody I knew, to
my mingled relief and disappointment.)  And what a wonderful experience, to
know I wasn't alone, that I wasn't some kind of alien creature, that there
were other guys, not so different from myself, who crossdressed.


The place was about half full when I got there.  At the bar there were
still a few empty spaces; one guy about my age was wearing black tights
with white shoes under white shorts and a white blouse.  I sat down next
to him--and regretted it immediately: would he think I was trying to pick
him up?

Well, I could correct that notion if it was necessary; in the mean time,
take the initiative and go for broke.  I ordered a Coke and then asked him,

"Do you have a light?"

He had.  Then he said,

"I haven't seen you here before.  Is this your first time?"

"Yes."

"And you know what kind of place this is?"  (How could I help knowing?)

"Yes."  I grew bolder.  "I didn't come wearing...anything special...because
I couldn't wear it on the street."

"You can always change in the john.  That's what most of the girls do.  Of
course, the johns get pretty busy near closing time, when we change back.
Some guys even have to use the men's room."  He grinned.  "Have you been
into this for long?  I'm Phil, by the way...Phyllis, if you prefer."  He
smiled.

"I'm Eddie, er, Edie....  Yes, since I was eleven.  But I can't, um, dress
in my dorm."  I suddenly remembered my fear of being thought gay.  I added,
"The only time I was able to dress at school was last Hallowe'en.  I have a
girl," I said, with emphasis, "and I let her talk me into it."

"You have a girl.  How many TVs have you known?"

"Nobody but me."

"Well, I suppose that's why you had to drag your girl into the conversa-
tion.  If you didn't know before, you know now: most TVs aren't gay."

It's a measure of how little I knew, after half a dozen years of wearing
panties and dresses, that this was news to me.  It was a relief, too; I had
never been attracted to men, but in the back of my mind there had always
been a secret worry: I wore girls' clothes; was I secretly gay?  The relief
must have shown in my face.

"You were worried, weren't you?"

"Yes.  I didn't know anything about...what I did."

"And you never thought to read up about it.  There are studies, you know.
They're kind of, well, clinical, but you can learn from them."

"That never crossed my mind."

Once that was out of the way, we got into a long session of girl talk,
really comfortable girl talk, the kind only two guys who are into cross-
dressing can enjoy, comparing our backgrounds and experiences, telling each
other how we got started and what we wore.  It was so pleasant being with
another guy with whom you could talk about lipstick shades or about things
like control tops, demi bras, or cinchers, a guy who knew the terminology
and was at home with it.  We discussed how and where we found things to
wear.  I told him about my sister.

"You mean your sister actually buys things for you?  She doesn't mind?"

So I explained about the deal we had made.

"Wow!  I never actually met a girl whose sister bought her drag for her.
And she takes you shopping...!  I've heard lots of stories--you know, like
kids whose mothers put them in panties--but those are just stories.  I've
never known anybody like that.  Your sister...!"

"Well, what do you do?"

"I buy my things."

"Where?"

"In stores, silly!  Any department store is full of women's things."

I was dumbfounded.  "You mean you just go into stores and *ask* for things?
Don't they wonder why you're doing it?  Aren't they suspicious?"

"What do I care whether they're suspicious?" he said.  "I want them, I'm
buying them, I'm paying for them, and my money is as green as any other
girl's money."  It had never occurred to me to look at it that way, and as
a matter of fact I was out of college before I ever got up the nerve to
shop for myself.

I ran into Phil a couple of other times after that, and through him I
gradually got to know a larger circle of acquaintances at Lucy's and was
accepted by them.  There was one older man who always came there dressed
instead of changing in the john, and sometimes he would invite us to come
over to his house.  This was in the days before men wore earrings, and Max
was the first man I ever met who had pierced ears.  We would meet at Max's
and change, usually into our own things that we brought along, but some-
times into dresses from his collection.  Then we would all pile into his
car and ride to Lucy's en femme.

Sometimes we had drag parties at Max's.  Wearing Max's things was a real
treat, because he had an enormous collection and we could try on things we
never would have bought for ourselves; in particular, he had a couple of
pairs of breast forms, and I was able to wear a bra properly when we were
at his place.  How good that felt!  And the first and only time I ever wore
a strapless evening gown was at Max's place.  Most of us were amateurs at
applying makeup, too, and Max gave us valuable instruction in that as well.
I had gotten very good at it over the years, but Max showed us things even
I hadn't known, and that I don't think even my sister knew.

His place must have looked funny with half a dozen men in dresses and sexy
makeup showing off their legs, doing their fingernails, and practising
walking in heels, but it took me no more than about a thousandth of a
second to get used to it and feel right at home.

I spent more time at Lucy's than I should have, but, thinking back, I'm
glad I did.  It was therapy--the best kind of therapy, the kind that comes
of knowing you're not alone.

It was also beneficial because before the Spring term was over I met a
congenial roommate for the Fall.  He was a sophomore, as I was, and in
fact we had seen each other in one of our classes.  We agreed to share an
apartment in the Fall, which was great, because we would both be able to
wear dresses evenings.

There were a few girls--I mean, female girls--who came to Lucy's, too.
They just happened to like TVs for various reasons; Max used to call them
"Drag hags."  This was another good thing for me, because it meant that I
might meet girls there, girls who knew I crossdressed and accepted it.  I
had never told Nancy I dressed and had been terrified that time when she
commented on my facility in putting on her clothes.  I had wondered what
I would ever do about getting married; I didn't know how I could tell some
girl I was romantically involved with about dressing; it seemed to me she
would have to know that from the start.  It was clear to me that I would
have to find a wife at Lucy's, or at some other place like it.

One of these girls was into feminizing and dominating men.  We had a brief
fling, because when she took me home and made me put on girls' clothes, it
reminded me of my exciting experiences at the hands of Sis and her friends.
But it didn't work out very well.  In her case, she was into forced
feminization, and I was too enthusiastic for her; she wanted an unwilling
victim, not an eager girl-boy like me.  And in my case I objected to being
bossed around.  That wasn't what sex and crossdressing meant to me.

Oh...okay, you're going to want to hear more about her, aren't you?  Well
...she had an enormous collection of women's lingerie, including some
things I had never seen before, even at Max's.  She would select something
and make me wear it, something different each time, and sometimes two or
more different ones over the course of an evening.  She would call me girl
and darling, or whore and slut, depending on her mood.  She used to take
pictures of me dressed.  I wish I had those pictures now, just as I wish I
had pictures from those early years with Sis and her friends.  Most of the
sex was plain vanilla, or what passes for vanilla these days in our liber-
ated culture.  Once she had me put a dress on over the sexy lingerie and
made me go out to a restaurant with her.  I didn't like that at all; I
think I was still reasonably passable, but I remembered Anne's warning
about my hands and was self-conscious and anxious all the time.  Maybe
that's what she wanted.

Well...that's my story: how I got started and some of what happened to me.
The rest is an anticlimax.  I'm happily married now, and father to a boy
who is the same sort of young tough that I was but--as far as I know--isn't
the least bit interested in girls' clothes.  (Although I've snooped in his
room occasionally, wondering whether I might find a bit of lace...!)  I
still dress at home and wear panties under my business suit at work.  My
wife likes the way I look in dresses; she shops for me, except when we
go shopping together, just as I used to with Sis.  I told you that I had
expected to meet a wife among the drag hags at some place like Lucy's, but
in fact I met her through one of my sister's friends--through one of the
girls who used to watch me in my one-man fashion shows!  Life is strange
...but good.


Princess Pervette
August, 1996

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