my way to the car, slipping in behind the wheel with my knees together, earrings jangling away. Parking in our hostess's driveway, we could see people holding glasses in the big living-room. “Hold your coat open," urged Alison as I rang the doorbell. "What for?" I asked. "So that Margot can see you properly, silly!" Margot shrieked when she saw me. "Oh Frank, what an outfit! Come in, come in, take your coat off and join the party!"

I steeled myself as I stepped into the group, most of whom were neighbors I'd known for some years. As I should have expected, reaction was not as intense as I had thought it would be. A couple of men guffawed good-naturedly and went back to their conversation; one woman exclaimed, “And look at those stockings!" Alison joined me, Margot brought scotch and soda (her husband was away on an extended business trip), and Alison sat by a cheerful matron dressed as an Arab woman - I sat on the floor at their feet. That first drink was a strong one so that I soon lost interest in how far up my skirt had risen. I sat on one hip, leaning on one hand, my legs curled up to one side. Celia, the Arab wife, frankly admired my outfit, and turned to Alison to ask how she'd gotten it together for me. I began chatting with Celia's husband, who had come to sit by me, but with one ear I was intent to know what the two women were saying about me. The fragments I could pick up were tantalizing: "Everything matches so well . . . I have some fancy garters you could have borrowed . . . I dressed up John once he was a doll... trouble getting shoes for him. . . That's a sexy slip (I glanced down; it was just visible to me but Celia could see more from where she was). Obviously Celia thought it great fun. I became wrapped up then with my conversation with John.

―

Later I danced with Celia. Feeling her softness in my hands, sensing the movement of her breasts against me, my reactions became strictly masculine. Her robe was of very fine cotton and she had very little on underneath. I could feel that she was enjoying it too. I guided her into the adjacent hallway, tightened my arms about her and stooped to her parted lips. The kiss was hungry, tongue-touching, urgent, demanding of much more. "Later, dear," she whispered, as our hands moved down over each other's hips. As my fingers touched the line of the elastic legs of her panties, sensing the slight roughness of lace inserts, I thought I felt hers tracing the leg line of my elastic briefs, just momentarily before they fluttered back to my buttocks, which she gave a firm thrust towards her soft stomach, then abruptly dropped her hands and stood back. "Let's go back in!" We danced our way slowly back into the group. I noticed Alison was dancing very close to John, attired in Bavarian leather shorts with a gay feathered hat on his head, brown leather boots and green, knee-length wool socks.

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