ransvestia

"I think we'd better," Aunt Helen whispered. "As I recall, it was a bra that precipitated all of this."

We walked away from that section with two junior bras, a girdle and a garter belt.

We brought some stocking and a pair of shoes.

The hardest stop of all, and the most daring was in the dresses section. There Aunt Helen gleefully dragged me into the fitting rooms, where women, thinking themselves safe from all men's sight were running around in various states of undress, a treat for my adolescent eyes. We tried on several dresses, and left with two. We also bought a blouse and skirt.

"That should hold you for a while," she said.

Back at her house, we took our purchases to the bedroom.

"This will be your drawer," she said as she transferred several purses into another drawer. "You can keep your underwear here and your dresses in the closet. That way no one need ever know you have them."

"And now," she said, "you can have a few minutes to change. But we're going to have to hustle to get you back on time.”

By then I had shed all my reticence and accepted her suggestion eagerly. She went to the kitchen to start dinner, and I began to change.

It was an utterly delightful experience, delightful because I had nothing to fear, delightful because of the fresh and frilly femininity of the clothes, delightful because they were really mine, delightful because there was someone who would want to see how they looked, delightful because I felt light and free, effervescent, girlish, graceful and pretty.

Tingling with joy, I walked to the kitchen and presented myself. She gave me a hug.

"Aren't clothes fun!" she exclaimed.

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