Transvestia

manner

private Venus image (with arms) and every woman I saw was automatically compared to the mental model I carried around with me. A well turned out female, heeled, hosed, sheathed and coiffured in such a as to accentuate her every God-given attribute, re- ceived my immediate and wholehearted attention and approbation. She could be a plain-Jane as far as looks went, but if she played up those characteristics of femininity which came as part of the package label- ed woman then she was for me. The number of such women I had admired, flirted with and made passes at were legion. But, I now wondered whether I was al1 that much the promiscuous male rogue or was I somehow, in some unsensed way, identifying with that which I exhalted?

These thoughts, plus gillions of others, swam in and out of my awareness that sleepless night, totally formless and lacking any semblance of pattern or de- sign. One continuum threaded through all the frag- mented ideas and unanswered questions, however: I wanted to put on some feminine apparel!

The next day the opportunity presented itself when my wife and children were out of the house. Opening her lingerie drawer I selected a delicate red girdle, matching panties, slip and bra. A pair of sheer hose and high heels completed my "outfit."

I wiggled into the girdle, drew the hose up over calves and thighs suddenly tingling with goosebumps of ecstacy, stepped into the panties and slip and felt myself transported into total rapture. The nylon of the hose felt cool to my legs and the whisper of it against the nylon slip was music to my ears.

The bra and shoes were too small to wear and the rest of the items were not truly my size, but it took only a short walk around the bedroom, down the hall and back for me to realize that an affinity existed be- tween nylon, spandex and lace and me that could and would never be broken henceforth.

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