Beginnings

The touch, the feel, the restrictiveness of some of the female clothing that I have on makes me want to caress and stroke myself. Lower my hands go as they glide over my now flat stomach, and further down my silken restrained groin stirs. I must stop as I have work to do, time for this later I tell myself. I check myself on the way out of my bedroom, yes, smart but tart. I give myself a look that only a man can give a woman. I start with those high heels, up long legs to that oh so short red kilt that really should give up the struggle of trying to hide the top of those stockings, and all this is topped by the green jumper which gives an air of respectability … just.

Now to work. The sound of the heels click clacking across the hard surface of the kitchen floor sound so feminine to my ears. I put on a blue patterned nylon housecoat to protect my clothing. The first job must be the sink. Careful not to bend, but to squat knees together I delve into the cupboard under the sink to get some cleaner and rubber gloves. A soft swishing of nylon accompanies all of my movements that I try to make more feminine when dressed this way. The pink rubber gloves go on after a struggle and I prepare to do battle with the kitchen sink. “Oh no the f**king doorbell!!!” I curse aloud. Suddenly in panic totter across the kitchen, what am I doing, flashes of guilt and lots of oh no’s, I race in to my bedroom. Gloves off, shoes off, jumper off, jeans on, trainers on and a big manly looking jumper last of all. I grab the front door “hi Steve, sorry mate, come in … you’re early, kettles on” Phew! I feel flushed and slightly frustrated as we walk through to the kitchen for the promised cup of coffee.

We talk about usual things. Little does he know, I thought feeling slightly embarrassed. Adding to my embarrassment I rub my leg and feel one of the suspender clips, which causes a little stir down below. It’s no good I tell myself I’m going to have to change out of the female clothes.