RANSVESTIA

It was made just like an undershirt, with no bustline, as I didn't want to move too fast and scare him, but I chose the silkiest tricot that I could find, decorated it with lace, and for the shoulder straps, I used lace beaded with a blue ribbon.

He loved it; he does like pretty things, and when I noticed that he wore it under his regular shirts, I whipped him up several more cam- isoles, all beautifully bedecked with finery on silky fabric. He began wearing them regularly, keeping them neatly folded in his underwear drawer, and for a "joke," I made him a pair of panties to match each camisole, each decorated with ribbons, lace and bows, and each with a fly-front opening. Several were briefs, and several were bloom- ers, and several had the boxer style, but all of them were feminine.

I sat on the bed as he pulled the first one on, a brief with lace ruffles decorating each elasticized leg opening. He pulled them slowly up his legs, as if he were savoring the smooth sensation, up over his fanny, up to encircle his waist, and then he ran his hands over the rich lace and silky material.

I could tell that he cherished the softness and coolness. Then he turned to me and laughed. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "Wearing these things, I wouldn't dare make advances to any other woman."

I helped him into his matching camisole and slip into his dainty, puffed sleeve blouse, a pair of slacks, and sandals, and he was dressed for the day. He looked precious, but he wasn't wearing a skirt, and I wasn't satisfied. The slacks were so ordinary. "Say," I said, struck by a sudden thought. "It's a pity that you men can't wear pretty things like we do. Why don't I lend you a pair of my slacks to finish off your costume."

He smiled at my words. "You're right," he said, running his hands down over his chino slacks. "These don't seem to really hack it, and you know, I've long wondered what those pleated slacks of yours would feel like."

He didn't need to tell me anymore, and in a minute, I had my slacks out and he had them on, pulling their elastic waist over his hips. They were the kind of slacks which have a flurry of pleats all the way around each leg, providing a fullness of fabric which resembles a skirt. He pirouetted in front of a mirror, and laughed as the pleats flared out