Date: Fri, 17 Mar 2000 11:08:33 -0800 (PST)
From: Rita Opal <rita@molard.vancouver.bc.ca>
Subject: TG: "Rita's Transition"

  This story has a TRANSGENDER theme, and describes an imagined
  extension of my present happy state to transexual womanhood. In
  that world, shared with my accepting female partner, I become
  involved in a natural consequence of my adopted gender -- sex
  with a male, which is described quite explicitly.

  One other comment is necessary: the story deals in detail
  with some specific symbols of femininity which have a very
  powerful effect on me. Though the story is set in North America,
  I use the English word "suspender" in place of the American
  "garter"; "suspender" carries a much heavier charge for me,
  and is one of the few things I retain from my Brit origins.

  I hope you enjoy it, and if you find yourself in my special
  corner of gender space, I would be happy to hear from you.



                          RITA'S TRANSITION



  1. Introducing Myself.



  Before getting into the episode that is recounted here, it seems
  appropriate to give a little history in order to set the scene.

  I am a woman.

  That wasn't always the case. For most of my life I was a
  reasonably normal male, though I did have some predilections that
  set me aside from others. From a very early age I had vaguely
  disturbing thoughts about the possibility that males might be
  compelled for some reason or other to wear female clothing. The
  thought of myself in that context had a fascinating hold over me.
  That led one day to experimenting with some old clothes I found
  in the attic, and I experienced my first orgasm spontaneously
  while trying on an old girdle that had been left there. I
  progressed rapidly from that point to become a fully fledged
  fetishistic cross dresser. I was particularly fascinated by nylon
  stockings and girdles, and eager to try them in their infinite
  variety; I was specifically captivated by the interaction between
  them afforded by suspenders, which in my mind seemed to be the
  quintessence of femininity.

  I indulged my fancies every day and they inevitably invoked
  intense male orgasms. I also discovered that my nipples were
  extremely sensitive, and that fondling them was exciting; in fact
  I found that I could induce orgasms by that mechanism alone. Then
  one day I fell in love; the relationship was started by my
  partner, and would never have happened without her taking the
  initiative, but it continues to this day, many years later. I
  assumed that I had graduated from cross dressing, and purged my
  extensive collection of lingerie. For a while I was happy in my
  normality, and untroubled by my previous desires, but within a
  few years the urge returned, and I began to acquire feminine
  garments; it became a compulsion again, and I decided the only
  thing to do was to 'fess up to my partner. To my great relief,
  she was unconcerned; she became quite happy to indulge me in
  activities that she considered harmless to anyone else, and from
  then on I wore nightdresses exclusively in bed, and we usually
  made love while I was dressed in items from my restarted and
  growing trousseau.

  After many years as a happy heterosexual cross dresser, in a
  comfort zone I might well have stayed in indefinitely, the next
  step happened as a consequence of prostate surgery. I was left
  incapable of erection, and unable to experience anything
  resembling the ejaculation of a male orgasm. I became very
  sexually frustrated, and the effect of that was to intensify my
  cross-dressing compulsion to the point where it dominated my mind
  almost continually. I discovered eventually that the glans of my
  penis was incredibly sensitive, and that if my partner stimulated
  it, particularly with lubricant baby oil, the sensation was
  extremely pleasurable and led to an intense orgasm. The orgasms I
  now experienced were different; after a gradual and lengthy build
  in excitement, in itself an exquisite pleasure, there was a
  sudden intense spasm, involving my whole body, which could be
  continued for some time. Quite frequently sexual stimulation
  could even be continued afterwards. I came to the conclusion that
  these were much like female orgasms, and I discovered that
  identifying them as such added to my excitement. In fact,
  mentally identifying myself as female became a major stimulus for
  sexual excitement, and the effect was enhanced by the indulgence
  of my partner in her willingness to play along with my fantasy. I
  also found that the absence of an erection gave a strange
  unlocalised feeling to the physical source of my pleasure, and it
  was easy to imagine that my genitalia were really female, and
  that my enjoyment of sexual stimulation was a a fully female
  experience.

  After much contemplation of the way my mind pursued these ideas,
  and my responses to them, and after much discussion with my
  partner, I came to the conclusion that I was transgendered; it
  seemed apparent to me that sexual behaviour and response are to
  some large degree learned, and that I had been forced to relearn
  because I had become physically unable to function as I had
  previously. In my particular situation the relearning was
  facilitated dramatically by my disposition to mentally identify
  myself as female -- in all likelihood this adopted identity had
  been hidden in my subconscious all along. A measure of my changed
  state of mind was that I took pleasure in the absence of an
  erection, and viewed with some horror the thought that one might
  become possible again.

  [The story so far is essentially autobiographical; I am very
  happy right where I am now located in gender space. However, in
  imagination, it is interesting, and even exciting, to consider a
  logical extension.]

  So, there I was enjoying female clothing as often as possible,
  and identifying myself as a female sexually; this was more than
  acceptable to my partner, Jan -- she and I had been brought
  closer than ever by my recognition that I was transgendered, and
  we both rejoiced in the activities that it provoked. The logical
  next step eventually became apparent to me, and gradually I found
  myself wanting to go further. Increasingly I would think to
  myself that it really did make sense to be female physically as
  far as possible. Already I wished that I had real breasts, to
  fill out the lacy cups of my bra without artificial aids, and to
  project my nipples forward to their proper place; from time to
  time I thought wistfully how nice it would be to wear dresses --
  over my most exotic and feminine lingerie, of course -- not just
  at home, but in public, at concerts and the theatre -- moreover
  to do that freely and legitimately all the time. Adding to these
  ideas, at first in the back of my mind, but gradually becoming
  more prominent, was the thought that it would also be desirable
  to have a real vagina, and experience the pleasurable stimulation
  of my clitoris. This would move my centre of pleasure to its
  proper place too, with the advantage that access to it would
  require sexual penetration, an idea that grew on me, and came to
  be a strong desire.

  This development led to lengthy discussion with Jan. Our love-
  making had been essentially lesbian for some time; she was happy
  to relate to me that way, and she obviously found it stimulating
  herself. I took pleasure in being passive sexually, almost
  submissive in my attitude, and she enjoyed being in control. She
  did now have definite control over my arousal; her participation
  was necessary for any kind of real satisfaction on my part. This
  role reversal reflected itself in her attitude to my tastes in
  clothing; she was certainly female, but not at all enamoured of
  some of the more fussy and complicated appurtenances that were
  essential to my concept of femininity. While I took delight in
  wearing powerful girdles, nylon stockings and suspenders, and
  decking myself with frilly panties and frothy petticoats, she had
  been delighted in the 70s to be able to throw things like that
  away. Her initial horror at my tastes had been overcome by the
  realisation that I wanted those things for myself only, not for
  her, and she developed a quasi-male response in finding me
  attractive en femme. She obviously liked me wearing silky slips
  and negligees, sleekly contained by the power net of exotic
  girdles, with my nylon stockings firmly held in place by six
  suspenders.

  She considered my thoughts, and new found desires, and somewhat
  surprisingly came to the conclusion that it would make things
  even better for both of us if I were to transition as a
  transsexual; this would involve hormone therapy and eventual
  sexual reassignment surgery. Since I was retired early, and we
  were both free and unencumbered, there were no real barriers in
  the way, and as she saw things, our lesbian sexual relationship,
  which she increasingly relished, would continue more fully than
  ever, and that moreover she would have the pleasure of a close
  girl friend.

  I did indeed follow that path, a story which is long and
  interesting and which is dealt with in more detail elsewhere.
  During the transition she took delight in helping me with
  feminine presentation, and we both spent happy hours learning
  more about hairdos, makeup, and all the other essential aspects
  of femininity; she thrived on the task of instructing me, and
  joyfully helped to develop my femininity; in the process she
  learned a lot herself, gaining an enhanced pleasure in her own
  presentation. After recuperation from surgery, I found that my
  newly created vagina and clitoris were all that I had hoped for
  -- the excitement and pleasure from their stimulation was intense;
  and I positively revelled in my full and firm breasts, their now
  enlarged nipples as pleasurably sensitive as ever.

  And I took more delight than ever in feminine clothing and the
  lingerie that had excited me from my young days. Even though such
  things were now part of my everyday life, all day long, I still
  felt thrills of excitement wearing a delectably confining
  corselette, and feeling the gentle ever-present tug of suspenders
  on my stockings. I positively revelled in lacy nylon lingerie,
  and the delightful sensation of panties and slips on my now
  smooth skin. Apart from the new and secret pleasure of being
  aware of these sensations in everyday life in public places, I
  found they were as great a stimulus as ever to sexual excitement
  in private. I had read that some women, not many but definitely
  some, reported that they enjoyed wearing girdles, and remarked
  that they contributed to a sense of sexual excitement -- I found
  myself definitely in that group, and very happy to be there. It
  also made me recall the comment of a very perceptive friend: that
  while the small fraction of the male population that are female
  clothing fetishists has been well documented, and the absence of
  converse female behaviour noted, it is actually the case that
  many women are female clothing fetishists, and this is the only
  way to account for the self-imposed subjugation of women to their
  clothing (in any completely rational view some of it could not be
  considered either convenient or comfortable). Certainly I could
  be counted among this group too, and I was happy in their
  company, just as I was with being legitimately included on the
  feminine side of the gender boundary.

  Our life together continued happily, Jan relishing my
  idiosyncrasies if possible even more than I did. She delighted in
  finding "femme" things for us to do together, and encouraged my
  progress in my new role. Then, one day, she outdid herself. We
  had been chatting happily about the progress of my femininity,
  and my obvious enjoyment of it, when she suddenly said, quite
  thoughtfully "You know there's one essential female activity that
  you have missed out on."

  "Oh," I said, "what might that be?" as I thought of the
  continuous round of utterly feminine delights I enjoyed. In fact
  I felt a squirm of delight, and squeezed my thighs together,
  feeling the captivating motion of taut suspenders.

  "Technically speaking, you are still a virgin," she said, to my
  absolute amazement. "Hasn't it crossed your mind that it might be
  interesting to put your new equipment to its intended use?"

  "I'm quite delighted with what I can do with it," I said lamely,
  "or at least, I enjoy what a skilled lover can do with it."

  "Don't be coy, and don't deliberately misunderstand. I'm talking
  about having sex with a male. Have you never thought about the
  experience of feeling a large cock become stiff and extended in
  your hands? Have you never even been curious about how it would
  feel to have it thrust into you? Can you imagine your response to
  its final spasm after the stimulation of its relentless motion to
  and fro over your most intimate and private pleasure centre?"

  I was not really shocked, but somewhat taken aback. "That's very
  poetic," I said. "I didn't really know you felt that way about
  it; in fact you make me feel a bit selfish as you are now
  deprived of the pleasure."

  "No, that's not it. In the early days I did find it a delightful
  experience, and I enjoyed it as a basic expression of my
  femininity. As things developed between us, it seemed to have
  less importance, and I can't say that I miss it. I really get
  high now on helping you to express your obvious femininity, and
  that's essentially the point. I do remember the way I used to
  react, and the fact that it seemed then to be a basic statement
  of my female nature; as your female nature develops, it strikes
  me that you are really missing out on something. I don't want to
  lose you, and I'll make sure I don't, but I really think we ought
  to find some way you could do it. It's a way of putting a seal on
  things: fulfilling yourself as a female."

  I was still nonplussed, and tried to take in the enormity of what
  she was suggesting. "I guess I haven't really thought about it,
  other than having an idle curiosity once in a while about what it
  might feel like; in fact even males wonder about it. I have never
  really considered males as sex objects; I suppose that's odd,
  given my identification of myself as female. As a male, I wasn't
  really attracted sexually to females; there were certain female
  images that excited me extremely, but the effect was always a
  sort of envy: I wished I could be just like them, at least in
  clothing and appearance. It certainly didn't translate into a
  desire to take them to bed and have my pleasure with them. When
  you and I got together, the essential attraction was between two
  people; we hit it off together and became best friends, and it's
  almost as if the sex was merely a delightful side benefit because
  it just happened that we were a heterosexual pair." As an
  afterthought I said "And we're still relating just the same --
  people who are best friends; and because we have both progressed
  into being lesbian in orientation, sex is now a benefit of the
  fact that we're both female."

  She smiled at that. But she couldn't let go of her idea once it
  had come to her mind. "Well, what about it?" she said. "How do
  you like the idea of being serviced by a handsome stud?"

  I blanched a little at the idea, but my curiosity had been
  piqued. "I don't think a heavy handed stud is quite my cup of
  tea," I said. "I have never really related to the macho thing; I
  was quite happy to be a male at one time, though I didn't really
  run with the crowd. I never found macho attitudes to be
  attractive, not in others, and certainly not for me. I found
  women in general much more pleasant as people; so pleasant in
  fact that I identified with them, and eventually came to the
  conclusion that I really wanted to be one of them. Even now I'm
  sitting on their side of the fence, I feel the same way. It's a
  little ironic, isn't it? I revel in the difference between the
  genders, and in my tastes I want to maintain them, certainly as
  regards clothing, in a way that many women wouldn't tolerate; but
  in spite of that there isn't a real attraction for the opposite.
  In my case, the clear distinction seems to be necessary, but like
  attracts like."

  She was warming to her theme. "But as a somewhat inexperienced
  woman you really should try all the female options you can. One
  of them, crudely put, is to get yourself laid; that clearly
  requires a male with all the correct equipment and a healthy
  heterosexual interest. The question really is what kind of male?
  Not a macho stud, obviously, but is a sensitive new age male
  really the alternative?"

  I bit on the bullet. "Tell me," I said, "what about your own
  experience? You were an apparently normal heterosexual female,
  and you fell for me; what were the characteristic traits that
  drew you to me? Some of them obviously only came to light later
  on, and they seem not to have created problems. They probably
  improved our relationship in the long run, though the apparent
  reason for our dramatic change in sex life was not my
  subconscious desires, but a simple medical condition. My hand was
  forced somewhat in the beginning; I desperately had to find some
  way to carry on, and giving in to femininity turned out to be the
  answer."

  She thought for a while. "You definitely were not excessively
  macho," she said. "But I can't say I detected any undercurrents
  of femininity -- who knows how I might have reacted then if I
  had? As you say, we related simply as people; we shared, and
  considered one another as equals. That's the basis of the
  relationship, and gender seem to have been irrelevant to it."
  After a pause, she said "but you may have given me an idea; you
  said like attracts like, and maybe you would react best to a male
  who had some of the characteristics you had."

  "One with a compulsive cross dressing fetish?"

  "Not exactly. But someone sexually naive and inexperienced.
  Obviously someone gentle, maybe even somewhat shy. The idea
  begins to make sense to me; you would then be doing him a favour,
  bringing him out fully by introducing him to the pleasure of a
  real sexual experience between caring people, both respectful of
  one another's well being and happiness."

  I couldn't resist another dig. "Would a fetishistic interest in
  women's underwear be a good test for those qualities?"

  "Maybe. And maybe not. But suppose the male in question was
  particularly turned on by exotic lingerie worn by his partner?
  That's not an uncommon male reaction, much more in the mainstream
  than was yours; I suspect it accounts for the fact that the items
  so dear to your heart are still so widely available -- many poor
  women are forced to wear them simply to make their partners
  function and provide any kind of response that is adequate for
  them."

  "Just like the way you demand it of me?"

  "Indeed, though I haven't noticed you suffering unduly from the
  imposition." She smiled her wonderful smile. "But the fact is
  that in an odd way it helps me to understand where these guys are
  coming from. I remember the pinup pictures all over the wall of
  an auto repair shop, and there were  magazines obviously directed
  to real connoisseurs: titles like 'From the tip of the toes to
  the top of the hose'. From my brief exposure to that subculture I
  got the impression that the typical male was captivated by the
  image of suspenders and tops of stockings. Girdles always were
  much more for real specialists, but suspender belts and frilly
  panties obviously had an arousing effect on the male of the
  species. They still do; men quiver with tumescent excitement at
  phrases like 'wisps of stockings, firmly gripped by pink
  suspenders'."

  "They certainly produce an effect on me too. Fortunately it's one
  I can indulge to my heart's desire -- with the full approval of
  society in general, if not all militant feminists. But it's news
  to me you had such wide experience of the dark underside of male
  desires and motivations."

  "Well, I have always been interested in what makes people tick,
  and the continued existence of 50's lingerie at the end of the
  90's is a curious social phenomenon. The image of suspenders and
  stockings as sex symbols is remarkably persistent in our culture
  still, at a time when most male members of society would never
  have been likely to encounter them. I must admit, though, that I
  do have a little inside knowledge; my sister's boy had some
  problems as a youngster, and she found a whole pile of magazines
  like that in his room. She was quite worried about it, and had a
  heart to heart talk with me; she gave me all the details, and
  even showed me what she had found. I was able to persuade her
  that it really was fairly innocent, almost normal even. In case
  you're thinking the obvious question, it was evidently a part of
  his picture of female pulchritude; I'm convinced he would have
  had the normal male horror of wearing such things himself. He's
  quite normal," she grinned.

  "How's he doing these days?"

  "Still unattached. He's a pleasant young man, but he doesn't seem
  to be too much into any kind of social life; in fact I suspect he
  might still be a virgin." A light went on in her head. "Wait a
  minute! How about him? If he hasn't experienced real love making,
  and is still finding satisfaction all alone, then it would really
  make me feel good to help him discovery what more enjoyment there
  can be with a willing partner. He's a very nice young man, and I
  would really enjoy helping him; in fact it would really be a
  wonderful way to kill two birds with one stone -- giving two nice
  people an experience that they both need."

  "I don't know whether you are a matchmaker, a pimp, or a plain
  nice do-gooder." I smiled too, but I realised with some inner
  excitement that her idea had caught my fancy.



  2. A Visitor: Sounding Him Out.



  Once Jan caught hold of an idea, she pursued it with a singleness
  of purpose, and finding a male to initiate me fully into
  womanhood became her current project. She was attracted to her
  strange idea that both participants should be neophytes, and came
  to the conclusion that her nephew was the obvious candidate.

  We both lived a long way from our small number of relatives, and
  didn't keep up with them much at all, though Jan had been quite
  close to her sister. I think she had been quite forthcoming about
  the developing situation with me, and her sister had reacted much
  as she had: our lifestyle and choices obviously were good for us,
  and they didn't hurt anyone else. It had been on a rare visit to
  her sister that Jan had been involved in the discussion about her
  nephew; he had been very appreciate of her understanding, and the
  two of them got on well together. By a stroke of good fortune,
  his job had very recently called for him to move quite near to
  us, and she had intended to get together with him. He knew about
  my transition, and apparently had a positive reaction to it. So
  we asked him to come visit one weekend.

  He arrived on a Friday afternoon. He was a very polite
  presentable young man, and I must confess to feeling some measure
  of attraction. He was deferent and polite, and appeared to be a
  little shy, though it made him quiet and slow to start a
  conversation, rather than awkward. "Hi, Rita," he said
  cheerfully, and smiled pleasantly. I kissed him lightly on the
  cheek, by way of greeting, and he took it in stride as a normal
  greeting from a relative. We had dinner, and sat around
  afterwards making conversation; it was a little hesitant at
  first, but warmed as the topic got past family matters and on to
  his work. He continued to be very open, not really ill at ease,
  and seemed to accept me for what I appeared to be (precisely what
  I now am). The odd time, I did think I caught him looking at me,
  and had a suspicion that he was attempting to size me up.

  Finally it was time to go to bed, and as we said our goodnights,
  Jan said to him "I hope that you'll be comfortable. I think that
  the guest bedroom is reasonably pleasant, and I hope you won't be
  unduly intimidated by the feminine atmosphere the two of us must
  generate." He smiled. "Not at all," he said; "in fact I rather
  like it." Then he blushed. "I'm not sure that came out quite the
  way I meant it," he said. He seemed to feel the need to explain,
  and became a little embarrassed. "What I mean is that I don't
  have any problem being in the presence of two attractive women.
  I've always thought my aunt was a beautiful woman, and to be
  quite honest I didn't quite know what to expect of Rita -- I'd
  never met her." His innate honesty seemed to compel him to
  continue in spite of himself. "You are quite beautiful too,
  Rita," he said, causing me to blush in turn. "I wasn't sure how I
  would react to you; Jan has told me a little about you, and I
  thought I might find the situation difficult to deal with. I
  don't, though. You're so natural."

  He looked a bit awkward, and obviously thought he had said too
  much, so I thought I should make a rescue attempt. "I take that
  as a very nice compliment," I said. "Most men would feel a bit
  curious about me, and some can't handle it. What happened to me
  came about rather gradually as a matter of fact; I always had a
  liking for certain aspects of femininity, and that part of me
  grew over the years. I finally got to the point where it made
  sense to admit things to myself, and choose to do what I was
  happy with."

  The next morning at breakfast he seemed a little bemused, and
  conversation was difficult. The ever perceptive Jan came to the
  rescue once again. "I have to go out shopping this morning," she
  said; "maybe you could come and give me a hand, Peter." "I'd be
  glad to," he said, "and I wanted to go look in a bookstore too."

  They went off together, leaving me to do a little tidying up, and
  Jan didn't come back until much later in the morning -- on her
  own. She smiled at me; "Peter wanted to go and look at books, and
  I convinced him that I could manage the groceries back here by
  myself." She seemed almost gleeful, and continued. "We had a real
  long talk over coffee, after the shopping," she said, "and it got
  quite deep. Poor Peter obviously wanted to unburden himself -- it
  started with last evening, but once he got going he touched a lot
  more bases." Suspecting that this all related to her current
  project, I asked her to carry on and tell me the whole story.

  "Well," she said, "he obviously felt a bit awkward about last
  evening, and wasn't sure he hadn't put his foot in it. I told him
  he certainly hadn't, and that everything was cool. He seems to
  empathise with me, and open up completely when we get talking. It
  turns out he was more than a little attracted to you, and he was
  really worried whether that was kosher; firstly there's the
  question that transsexuality seems to raise in everyone: are they
  really what they appear to be, and can a 'normal' person take
  them simply as they present and interact in a normal way?
  Secondly, he was obviously concerned about the fact that you and
  I were partners, and still are in some sense he doesn't quite
  fathom; that got him to worrying about how his interaction with
  you would affect me.

  "I reassured him on both counts, and did the loving aunt routine
  to try and make him feel better; the result was that he opened up
  completely and told me more and more about just about everything.
  His real problem is that he hasn't ever had a close relationship;
  he has good friends, but he has never got close to any kind of
  intimate relationship with a female. I think he feels the urge
  quite strongly, but he doesn't know how to do something about it.
  I told him that some people were just a little slow starting, but
  in the end they almost always found their soulmate and settled
  down happily. He then told me that he wasn't at all uneasy in the
  presence of girls, but that he felt awkward about sex, and didn't
  know how to break the ice with a prospective partner. I responded
  by saying that his case wasn't at all unique, and telling him
  that we didn't handle some matters at all well in our culture. I
  recalled the practice of some Polynesian societies where it was a
  routine part of raising children for youngsters to be initiated
  into the pleasures of sexual activity by elders of the opposite
  sex. That way the youngsters learned about sex as they
  traditionally learn about everything else -- from people with the
  wide experience and developed skills that come with age. It also
  meant they saw sex as a perfectly natural adult activity.

  "He obviously thought that was a great idea, and said as much,
  wishing wryly that he had been Polynesian. But then he harkened
  back to our previous chat of a few years ago, and told me that he
  was still bothered by the things that he found so interesting
  then. I asked him why that could be a problem since special
  intimate things that are clearly identified with the opposite sex
  are simply a component part of the general attraction; 'It's just
  that they really do turn me on,' he said, 'and I worry whether in
  a personal relationship, the girl will pick up on that, and think
  that's what I am really attracted to, rather than her.' 'There's
  no reason why you can't be attracted to both,' I told him; 'then
  over time you'll find the personal relationship does transcend
  the specific components of the attraction. And if there are
  particular triggers that are still there, and still work, then
  they add to the pleasure for both.'"

  "You're drawing somewhat on your reading of my experience," I put
  in, "but I think you gave him the straight bill of goods.
  Obviously the message was edited just a teeny little bit, to push
  the desired heterosexual viewpoint, but as we know it can work
  whichever way."

  She smiled at that. "I really did have to do the helping aunt
  bit," she said, "but the poor boy had a compulsion to unload a
  whole lot. I hope that I helped him, and I think that I did. You
  and I started this 'project' with a rather specific purpose and
  agenda, and I think he's played right into our hands. That does
  sound a bit self-serving, but I got very concerned about where he
  was at, and I am convinced that our fanciful idea would really
  get him going on the right path for him."

  I ignored the suggestion that it was 'our' project. "So you can
  continue in your manipulative role of bawd, as Shakespeare had
  it?"

  "Why not? For some reason the idea of expanding your womanly
  experience caught my fancy, and the idea of helping out a nice
  nephew who's got things a little mixed up really does fit in with
  it perfectly. I'll try to chat to him some more tomorrow and put
  it to him directly if the moment seems opportune."

  "Just take it easy," I warned her. "It's fine to orchestrate my
  love life; for starters I'm grown up, and I'm also a self
  confessed femmy submissive who likes things that way. But it
  isn't necessarily a good idea to do the same for somebody not so
  willing. You should be really sure of yourself in what you're
  doing."

  "I'm well aware of it, and the 'manipulation' did really start
  out as a pleasant fancy; I don't even know deep down whether I
  really took it seriously. But Peter unburdened himself to me
  completely this morning; he feels at ease doing that, and I
  suspect he may do it again. I'm concerned for him, and I have now
  changed my point of view to think rather that you would be the
  one doing him a favour. I'm convinced that your initiation is
  just the experience he needs, but I won't even suggest it to him
  unless I really feel he's receptive."

  She did sometimes enjoy the role of a theatrical director, I
  thought, but I knew that she usually called things correctly, and
  I had faith in her judgement.

  At this point Peter returned with some books he had bought, and
  seemed to be much more at ease. He responded happily to my peck
  on the cheek. The rest of the day was uneventful: we had a
  pleasant drive in the afternoon, had dinner out, and then went to
  a movie afterwards. It so happened that the movie was Carrousel,
  set in the Germany of the 1930s; many of its scenes took place in
  a nightclub featuring female impersonators -- a symbol for the
  ambivalent society in which it was set. The opening chorus line
  of glamourous girls wearing green corsets and black silk
  stockings, their naked thighs set off by the wide frilly
  suspenders then in vogue, immediately produced the predictable
  reaction in me. In spite of that, I couldn't resist a glance to
  see how Peter was taking it; he sat there, eyes agog, and I
  thought to myself "he may not be quite in the same space as me,
  but we certainly share some interests!" There is no doubt he was
  strongly impressed by the images. The movie progressed through
  its sequence of scenes in the nightclub, alternating with those
  showing the beginnings of Nazi terrorism; quite a depressing
  tale, but by the end we realised that most of the shapely girls
  wearing corsets and suspenders were actually male. Of course this
  produced a thrill for me, as always, but I noticed that Peter
  seemed taken aback, and even a little horrified. He actually
  remarked on the way home "Why did they have to spoil the effect?
  Those girls were so glamourous, and then in the end I realised it
  was all a put-on." He got embarrassed again then, realising my
  closeness to the situation portrayed, and sought to make amends.
  "I'm sorry, Rita," he said; "I just wasn't thinking. It was quite
  a letdown to find those girls weren't really girls after all, but
  I just don't see you in the least like that. You're a real woman
  to me, and I have to say I find you quite attractive."

  "Please don't worry about it," I said, and smiled as sweetly as I
  could at him. Jan just looked at me and winked.

  Of course I was stimulated by some of the scenes in the movie
  too, and I did my best to emulate the costume of the chorus girls
  when Jan and I went to bed. She caught on, as perceptive as ever,
  and we made love together as only we knew how. She was masterful,
  passionate and stopped just short of aggression as she gradually
  fanned my excitement and made me wish for more, and more, and
  more ... In the calm of the afterglow, she said "I love you, and
  I'll never let you go. Just because of that I want to make you
  even more of a woman; then you'll have a standard of comparison,
  and I'll be happy knowing that your choice for another woman is
  educated and freely made -- just like mine." I was too happy to
  resist her now, and I was no longer sure that I wanted to. "Yes,
  yes," I said sweetly; "I'm beginning to look forward to the big
  cock, and its penetrating thrusts." I was hardly ready to admit
  it even to myself yet, but I believe I was.

  The next morning after breakfast, it was my turn to make a
  diplomatic exit. "I've just remembered that there's a package to
  pick up at the courier office. It's a new dress I want to try on,
  and I think they are open on Sundays. I need a bit of fresh air
  too, after the wining and dining yesterday evening." So I went
  off in the car, but made my way to the park, and took a walk in
  the sunshine to collect my thoughts. Jan's idea did make some
  logical sense to me, and it was beginning to have some appeal.
  The sense of curiosity about how things were on the other side of
  the fence was still pushing me onwards. It drove me originally to
  see for myself what women's clothing really was like; it drove me
  inexorably to gender bending, with its final culmination in a
  permanent crossing of the boundary. It now seemed to be driving
  me towards an experience of heterosexual intimacy, with my
  insatiable curiosity making me wonder how it might differ from my
  previous experience, viewed this time from the feminine side of
  the boundary. Jan was my partner in everything, and I had no
  doubt that she always would be, but it didn't seem so terrible to
  try a new exotic experience as a change of pace, even though she
  wouldn't be involved. Involved directly, I added to myself,
  thinking that she was after all the instigator. I resigned myself
  to the idea, not without some titillating anticipation.

  When I got back home, lunch was ready; Jan told me that Peter had
  to leave soon after, but she hoped he would be able to see us
  soon after such a brief visit. "I'd love to," he said, very
  positive. "I've enjoyed my trip here, I've certainly enjoyed the
  pleasant company, and I even think I have had my eyes opened a
  bit wider." He gave a knowing glance at Jan, and smiled at me
  happily. We had a pleasant and leisurely lunch, and then he
  decided it was time to leave. He was obviously regretful about
  that, and when I gave him more than a sisterly kiss on the cheek,
  he responded in kind; then he held my hand briefly. I did a
  squirm inside, as a reaction to that, and wondered again to
  myself what was happening to me.

  Jan was obviously wanting to tell me something, and could hardly
  wait to wave to Peter as he drove off. "Well," she said, "Peter
  wanted to talk to me some more. It's interesting that he can talk
  to me, a woman, about his intimate life like that; I'm gratified
  in a way, but it is a bit overwhelming." "It's not so odd," I
  replied; "women are just nicer people, and the nurturing, caring
  image is more than a stereotype. Some men sense that, and feel
  more at ease. The only people I ever got close to, and felt free
  about telling my confidences to were women. That was so, even
  when I was a sexual neophyte, much like Peter seems to be. Also
  you do have a real genius for getting people to open up and lay
  bare their innermost souls, judging by what happened to me."

  She smiled. "Then let's hope I can help Peter to find his way
  through the maze of human sexuality and gender -- I don't think
  he's headed on the path you finally took at all." "So what did he
  have to say this time?" Now I was eager to hear the story. "He
  seemed to be taken with Polynesian social habits," she said. "He
  started by saying that he had been thinking about that, and he
  was very impressed by their ideas on sexual initiation. 'It makes
  such obvious sense,' he said; 'it could be done as a perfectly
  natural part of growing up and learning about the world, and I
  think in that context it wouldn't be daunting or inhibiting at
  all.' I agreed, and let him go on. 'There's another aspect to it
  that appeals to me,' he said: 'we seem to have problems with sex
  because a natural physical urge gets bound up with emotional
  attachments, and the way people interact in intimate situations
  when they get very close to one another. These things go together
  of course, but I have often thought that it would be nice to
  separate them out, and deal with one thing at a time, at least at
  the start. I imagine that if one was confident about sexual
  behaviour, and was able to deal with the basic mechanics and
  technique just as a matter of course, then it would be a
  perfectly natural outcome of developing a close personal
  relationship with a girl.' I just let him carry on, thinking that
  he really was very perceptive. He obviously didn't feel inhibited
  at all about what he said to me, and carried on with his train of
  thought. 'Would you believe,' he said, 'that in my opinion this
  might be a useful social purpose for prostitution? I have even
  thought about visiting a hooker, just to get myself initiated
  into the way of things, but I never got up the nerve. I'm not
  sure how I would have found the right person, but I'm told that
  the real experts have particular skills in making their customers
  feel at ease, and finding precisely what they need.'

  "I told him that he made a lot of sense, though I had no direct
  experience in that field of commerce, and he smiled. 'What about
  finding some friendly caring non-professional to do the job?
  Someone you know, and you're at ease with.' He was a bit taken
  aback: 'You're not suggesting ...,' and he trailed off. 'No, not
  me,' I said; 'my mind tells me it would probably be an excellent
  idea, but I do seem to have some of the inhibitions of our
  culture.' He seemed relieved, and I decided it was the time to
  plant a seed."

  "Oh, no," I groaned. "Oh, yes," she said. "You weren't there, but
  believe me, the mood was right. 'Peter,' I said 'you have been
  very open with some intimate personal things, and I appreciate
  being taken into your confidence. I would also like to help, and
  it seems to me you are on the right track; you need someone
  friendly and attractive who can get together with you to do a
  little basic education. You want to discover the pleasure that
  would come with the experience without any fear of emotional
  attachments and long-term commitments.' 'That's about the size of
  it,' he said. 'So let me do a little unloading on you,' I said.
  'I don't know how much you know about Rita and me. We are
  lifelong partners; we started out as man and wife, and we're now
  a lesbian couple, let's face facts. Rita is undoubtedly a woman;
  she lives as one, she reacts as one, she delights in all things
  feminine, and she is now a real woman physically. In spite of
  that she has not had any experience with a male partner; she's
  quite happy that way, but I think that she would benefit if she
  did, and to be honest that means she needs a little help too from
  some kind person.'"

  I shuddered, but let her continue. "'Rita!' he said. 'Yes. If you
  think about it, she fills the bill.' I decided to play completely
  fair, and make it clear there was no attempt to mislead him. 'She
  isn't quite the skilled elder, and may even be a bit anxious
  herself, but I think her past history would give her just the
  right touch. She started life as a man, I don't want to pretend
  that wasn't the case, but she was similar to you in some
  respects. She won't have the consummate skills of a courtesan in
  providing the perfect response to male desires instinctively, but
  her past memories will give her a special empathy with you. She
  won't be the elder in female sexual knowledge, but she will have
  the necessary experience in human intimacy; I think that will
  make learning together work just right for you. She's also much
  older than you, and she's my partner, and not quite the person
  you would want to continue your life with. She comes without the
  threat of ongoing attachment, which is just what's needed'"

  "I don't know whether to be flattered or horrified," I said. "I
  suppose you were telling it the way it is. But how on earth did
  he react to that?" "Quite well," she smirked. "He didn't seem
  taken aback, and he thought about what I had said for quite a
  while. 'She is attractive,' he said finally. 'I don't see her as
  a future girl friend at all, but there's something about her that
  appeals to me.' 'She's sexy,' I provoked him, 'and she just loves
  all those special items that appeal to you.' He grinned at that,
  in spite of himself. 'You make her sound better and better,' he
  admitted. 'I certainly find I can relate to her very easily;
  maybe it's like you say, that her background is similar enough
  that we have some strange kind of rapport. You know it's odd: I
  would have thought that knowing about where she came from would
  put me off, but it doesn't at all. It's something a little
  mysterious about her that makes me curious, and adds to the
  attraction.' 'Well then,' I said,'would you like me to talk to
  Rita about it.' He thought for just a moment, and then said 'Yes,
  I would like you to.'"

  "So my fate is sealed," I said weakly. "You did lay it on a bit,
  didn't you? If he really wants to have me now, he'll certainly be
  doing it with his eyes wide open." Jan sat down beside me, and
  hugged me. "Auntie knows best," she said. "You are a big girl
  now, and I think you can handle it." "I'd rather be your little
  girl," I said, "and have you play with me." She started to caress
  my thighs, and immediately encountered a suspender. "Guess what
  I've found," she said playfully, and she started to console me in
  her inimitable way. She caressed my knees through the nylon
  stockings, and gradually worked her hands up, under the silky
  sheen of my slip. She paused at the tops of my stockings, and
  delicately tugged at each of the suspenders. I felt the pull on
  my girdle, and a quiver of excitement ran through me. "Everything
  seems to be in order there," she said. "All nicely even, and
  adjusted to just the right tension. I think I should check out
  your frilly panties now and see what I find in them." I melted
  like wax in her hands.



  3. Meeting Again: the Arrangement.



  During the next few days I found myself thinking about Peter.
  Things were as good as ever between Jan and myself, and I had no
  doubt that my relationship with her provided everything that I
  needed to enjoy my sense of femininity to the full. But I had
  become quite curious to discover what so-called normal sexual
  intercourse would be like. I reviewed my somewhat jaundiced
  feelings about the male of the species, and realised that I
  didn't react to him the way I reacted to males in general. I
  began to have the feeling that Jan had been right all along, and
  if it had to be done, then I might rather enjoy doing it with
  him.

  I told her as much, and she smiled knowingly. "I do think so,"
  she said, "but I didn't really expect things to happen quite as
  easily. Someone up there must be on your side." "That's assuming
  that they see eye to eye with you on what's good for me," I
  quibbled. "That I am certain of," she said. "I have made
  something of a transition myself, and at least with you, my love,
  I can't imagine anything better than a loving lesbian
  relationship. But I wasn't always in that space; I have a past
  too, and I have some fond memories. I have no desire to relive
  them now, but responding to the urge of a horny male had some
  effect on me. I think it would add something nice to your
  experience too."

  "I think I've been won over," I said; "the question is where do
  we go from here? It's not fair to get me all excited like a
  timorous virgin bride, then leave me all alone, wondering what
  might have been." She thought for a moment. "Peter was really
  very receptive, but I'm not sure whether he would respond too
  well to pushing. Of course he's probably all excited about it
  now, and wondering what his next step ought to be. Maybe I should
  give him a call. I know: why don't you?"

  I was a bit nervous about that, but felt that I was now committed
  in some way. "OK. But what do I say to him?" "That depends on how
  you want to proceed. So far he and I have done all the talking,
  and he's only heard your side of the story secondhand. Why don't
  we ask him over again for the weekend, then I'll find some excuse
  to get you and him together in a tete-a-tete. Then I'm afraid my
  sweet big girl, you're on your own."

  Later that evening, with butterflies in my inside, I called
  Peter. "Hi, it's Rita." He responded warmly. "Your auntie's been
  telling you all about me, and I think I ought to have a chance to
  speak for myself. Would you like to come visit again this
  weekend?" "I'd love to," he said. "But don't worry about what Jan
  told me; she seemed to think you were a very nice person, and I
  agree with her." "Thank you kind sir," I replied; "Jan does like
  to talk about people, and give them her advice -- she just told
  me I was a big girl now." He laughed. "I guess you are; I really
  would like to see you again. Friday it is."

  Jan looked at me approvingly. "You handled that in exactly the
  right way," she said. "You're a very nice big girl." I still had
  a pleasant reaction to being addressed in a feminine way, and
  squirmed happily. "I'm a girl," I said; "I've always liked saying
  that to myself, and I must say I rather like being one. I like
  doing girly things too, and so I suppose I must find out what it
  is that big girls do." Jan laughed happily.

  Peter arrived late on the Friday afternoon, and as if by mutual
  consent, we all acted as if it was just a normal family get
  together. We had a pleasant dinner, followed by a quiet evening,
  and went off to bed. We spent Saturday much the same way, but
  there was an underlying feeling that there was one matter on the
  agenda, and we couldn't put it off indefinitely. Peter seemed
  completely at ease, and happily chatted to me as the three of us
  walked in the park. We sat down on one of the benches by the
  lake, and he smiled approvingly at me as I smoothed my skirt. It
  seemed the time had come. "Jan seems to have told you a lot about
  me," I said. She grinned at me. "I think it's only fair to give
  you my side of the story. Why don't we go off after dinner
  somewhere where we can chat quietly, and leave her out of
  things?" "I'd like to do that," he said. "But I'm very grateful
  to Jan for being a wonderful auntie, and I wouldn't want her to
  feel she wasn't wanted." Jan was right on cue: "Don't worry.
  There is a little errand I need to run; I'd forgotten, and was
  worrying about messing up the evening." We went out for dinner,
  and then Jan excused herself and left. Peter and I wandered into
  the cocktail bar in the hotel, and found a secluded corner. He
  seemed quite at ease with me, and offered all the gentlemanly
  courtesies as he helped me to my seat. I crossed my legs after I
  sat down, and carefully arranged my skirt; it wasn't too long,
  and decent lengths of dark nylon clad leg were exposed,
  terminating in my high heeled pumps. Peter watched approvingly as
  he sat down beside me, and seemed much less ill at ease than I
  felt.

  The drinks were ordered, and arrived, and then I smiled at him in
  an attempt to be encouraging, to myself as much as him. It wasn't
  necessary. "Let's drink to auntie, who always knows best," he
  said. "She probably does," I replied. "She's a wonderful person.
  But she sometimes does like to manipulate people just a little."
  "I guess you're right," he said, "but I didn't see it that way. I
  got a bit carried away telling her about my problems -- she's
  wonderfully empathetic -- and things just seemed to roll right
  along. I was a bit startled at some of things she said, but they
  really do make sense to me." He was very much at ease, and
  obviously prepared to be as candid with me as he was with his
  aunt. "Did her more specific suggestions make sense to you?" "I
  think they did, and I've had some time to think them over." We
  were getting down to the nitty-gritty so I thought it time to
  stop the verbal niceties. "Then the idea of a liaison between us
  to expand our worldly experience appeals to you?" He seemed at a
  loss for words for a moment or two, then almost burst out "Yes, I
  do. To me you are an attractive woman, and as I've got to know
  you a bit I find that I like your company, and I feel at ease
  with you. There's something about you that helps me to open up,
  maybe it's the age thing, but I feel very different from the way
  I do with girls my own age." "You're not falling in love with
  me?" "No. It's not like that. I find some of the girls I meet
  really attractive, and in the long run I want to settle down with
  one of them. I see you as a friend. A real friend." "I appreciate
  that more than I can say," I said. "But do you see me as the
  person to initiate you into some of life's sweet mysteries?
  Things that have eluded me so far." "I think so," he said simply.

  We sat in silence for a while. Then I decided I should match his
  candour: "You've been very open with me; I really appreciate
  that, and I take it as a compliment. But I think it is only fair
  and honest to respond just as frankly. There's one aspect of this
  whole affair that bothers me: it's clearly been arranged,
  admittedly by someone with both our interests at heart, but I
  don't quite feel right about doing things that way. I've always
  thought that things like this should be spontaneous." "It is a
  set-up," he put in, "but if it's a good idea, and we feel happy
  about it, so what?" "Maybe so, but I need to be convinced.
  There's another aspect that needs to be considered: let's be
  completely candid and face up to it." He looked puzzled, so I
  hurried on. "I am a transsexual woman. The effects of hormone
  therapy and surgery have enabled to me follow my natural
  inclinations and be a woman. My femininity satisfies me, and
  seems to be acceptable to society. But it wasn't always that way.
  I was a male, and I was quite happy as one for many years. I have
  to be sure that you feel at ease with that basic fact; I'll be
  happy to have you take me as you find me, but I want to be
  certain sure that you won't feel you're being conned in some way,
  or taken for a ride."

  He smiled at me, and then took my hand. "It's OK," he said. "I
  know about that. It really doesn't bother me in the least." I
  squeezed his hand, and said "I just want you to be sure." "I am,"
  he said. "It's one of those things you read about, and I've been
  a bit curious, though I have never thought much about it. Meeting
  you did get me to thinking about it. Seeing you, and thinking
  about how attractive you are made it hard to believe. Then I got
  to thinking about what drove you to go through all that hassle,
  and in a way I understand. Your conviction that you really were
  female gave you the strength to persevere, and the results leave
  no doubt -- you had to be a real woman to go to those lengths,
  and I think it shows. You are a woman, and I find you
  attractive." "Thank you," I said, taken aback. "You're as
  perceptive as Jan says; that's the most understanding expression
  of transsexual feelings that I have ever heard." He wanted to
  continue: "You can be reassured; I see you as you are now. The
  way you were is in the past. I know you must have memories, but
  they must seem almost like those of a different person." I
  nodded. "But to tie up all the loose ends," he went on, "in a
  strange way that does relate to my situation. Jan was perceptive
  enough to see that, and I have always respected her judgement.
  She was obviously wanting to help me out as I whined away, and
  she made the point that it could be your history would give you
  the empathy to make me feel at ease. Once, a long time ago, you
  were in the same boat. That does make sense to me." "Not that
  long ago," I said using my feminine perogative to lie about my
  age, and I couldn't resist the urge to hug him. He responded, and
  kissed me on the lips. I felt very very feminine, and squirmed
  happily. I thought that things seemed to be working out, and I
  was finally happy with the whole idea.

  "Look how late it is," I said. "Jan will be wondering what we've
  been up to." "She knows very well," said Peter happily, "but I
  suppose we should get back to her." As we drove home he said "We
  seem to have followed the plot so far; when do we arrange for the
  climax?" He grinned at his involuntary play on words. "Take me,"
  I said. "Have your will with me. I'm a helpless little girl, just
  putty in your hands." "I do like the thought," he said. "But
  let's get serious. It's fun to talk about the next stage, but
  I'll come down to earth and start getting anxious as I always do.
  I hope I don't blow the whole thing as usual." "You're right," I
  said, "and don't forget that I'm anxious too. In spite of my
  comments about detailed planning, I think we have to do it right.
  We have to find some way to set the mood just right, and then go
  very carefully so we don't scare one another off." "Right. I know
  I'll be quite tensed up, but I have a feeling you're the one to
  get me past that. Let's make a definite date. How about next
  Saturday?" "I'll have to check with Jan," I said, knowing full
  well that she would actually be cheering on the sidelines. "It
  sounds like a good idea to me."

  We got home to find Jan waiting relaxed in an armchair. "How was
  the chat," she said. "Well," I replied, "I don't really know how
  to tell you this, but Peter would like to have a very private
  date with me next Saturday." She smiled happily. "I'm not sure
  what he has in mind, but I think he might want to take me off
  somewhere very private." "Indeed!" she said. "What an impetuous
  young man my nephew is. I don't see how a sweet girl like you
  could possibly resist." We were all quite happy and relieved
  about the way things had worked out, and the humour helped to
  ease the situation. "But there's something come up," Jan said: "I
  got a call this evening from an old school friend who's got into
  trouble with her marriage. She obviously needs some consolation
  and support, so I thought I would visit her next weekend. I was
  planning to leave around noon on Saturday, and come back on
  Sunday."

  "What a schemer!" I thought to myself, and realised that the die
  was cast. "You'll be away Saturday evening, then?" I asked
  innocently. "I'm afraid so," Jan said. "Why don't you get Peter
  to come and keep you company next weekend, while I'm gone." Peter
  had come down to earth, and just stood there bemused. "I will," I
  said; "is that alright with you, Peter? I'm sure we can find
  something to do to entertain ourselves." He just nodded. We both
  knew we were committed.

  We all realised the matter was settled, and gradually things got
  back to normal. We had a pleasant Sunday morning, and after lunch
  Peter said it was probably time for him to leave. "I'll see you
  next weekend, Rita," he said. "But I've just remembered that I'm
  tied up on Friday evening -- I have to work late. I'll drive over
  on Saturday morning." "That's a pity," said Jan innocently; "I'll
  probably miss you. I don't really know what time I'll get back on
  the Sunday." "Oh," he said. "I don't think I have to rush off
  then, so I hope I'll see you." We said our goodbyes, and watched
  him drive off.

  When Jan and I were back inside, I felt quite overwhelmed, and
  snuggled into her arms. "Your master plan is running like
  clockwork," I said. "but I feel a bit awkward about the whole
  thing. I'm sure you know best, but I'm apprehensive." She
  consoled me gently. "You'll do fine, and you will enjoy it once
  things get under way. I love you, and I want you get all the nice
  things a girl can have." I responded as always to being called a
  girl, and pressed myself against her. "Remember that you will
  really be doing Peter a good turn too; that should make you feel
  better." She paused, and added "It's still a long time to dinner;
  why don't we go and relax in the bedroom -- I think I know what
  might cheer you up." She did, too.



  4. Dressing for the Occasion.



  The following week was somewhat strange. Jan and I carried on
  apparently as usual, but my growing nervousness about the coming
  weekend cast a bit of a shadow on things. Jan took to reassuring
  me, and did her wonderful best to help me get back to normal. We
  did all the things we usually enjoyed, and we made love together
  often. Mostly it was because I felt scared, and then I would
  snuggle up to her for comfort.

  "I'm a scared little girl," I said on the Friday. "I know, my
  love," she said, "but there's no need for it. You'll have fun."
  Of course I knew that, but I was still apprehensive. "One thing I
  will grant you," I said: "Peter is certainly the person, if
  anyone is. He's quite scared himself, and that puts me into
  consoling mood; I get to be quite the kind auntie myself. I'm not
  sure I can play that role simultaneously with femme fatale."
  "Just be your sweet self," she said; "that will fill both roles
  beautifully." "Another thing," I said plaintively: "I don't know
  what to wear. I just have to make the right impression; I need to
  help get him turned on, then nature will no doubt take its
  course, but I don't want to scare him off." "You'll do just fine.
  You look lovely in all your clothes. But I would imagine Peter
  isn't going to be too critical. For his sake I would recommend
  black stockings -- and of course suspenders; as many suspenders
  as is possible." She winked at me. "I know," I said, "I think I
  can give him his money's worth there, but which dress shall I
  wear? That's for the first impression, then for later in evening
  it matters very much what goes underneath." I was as nervous as a
  bride on her wedding day. "What do you think about girdles?" "Not
  too much," she said, kidding me. "For me, that is. They work for
  you, and on you I find them very sexy." "But which one?" I
  insisted. "That's one thing that has to be right. It will give me
  support -- in more ways than one -- and I think it's going to
  matter to Peter." "A good point," she admitted. "I'll help you
  get ready tomorrow morning, and we can start now by planning your
  whole ensemble."

  That made me feel better. "It all goes together," I said. "the
  slip and the girdle have to be right for the dress. The stockings
  too." "Yes," she said; "women's clothes are so difficult -- I
  don't know how we put up with it. And to think that you got into
  them by choice!" Her tactics were working, and I grinned. "Let's
  start with the dress," I said. "That's the important first
  impression, and it helps fix some of the other things. Apart from
  my feminine desire to be happy in the way I look, what is the
  appropriate wear for seduction? Neat and form fitting -- the
  little black dress -- or voluminous skirt with layers of
  petticoat?" She considered the options: "I don't think petticoats
  are right," she said. "They give a wonderful feminine effect, but
  I'm not sure they are sexy -- at least not for the unpetticoated
  one. Ruffled panties, maybe, but they don't appear until later.
  You don't want to be too prim and proper, either. Smart
  businesswoman isn't quite the right image. How about a
  shirtwaist? The skirt should flow a bit -- not too much, but I
  don't think too narrow a skirt is right. It shouldn't be too long
  either, so that it rides up strategically when necessary." This
  was starting to get interesting. "What about the silky print?" I
  asked. "You know, it's light blue with little brightly coloured
  flowers. Not quite the thing for a sedate business meeting, but
  good for a party." "That's it," she said. "It's colourful, but
  just right. It's not too long either -- I've seen it ride up too,
  and expose your lacy slip." "I would normally wear a black slip
  with that," I said, "but if it's to be seen that might not be the
  best colour. I think dazzling white, with a nice fussy lace trim
  round the hem; I've got one just like that." "You've got just
  about everything possible," said Jan, "but I know the one. It's
  right."

  "So we get down to the basics," I said. "Foundations." "Yes,
  indeed," she replied with an impish grin; "You must have some
  thoughts on that topic." "They matter a lot to me," I said, not
  really defensive. "They seem to matter to Peter, too. I don't
  know how wide his experience is, but this must be the first time
  he will have encountered such things first hand. I wonder what
  his tastes are?" "He seems to really go for suspenders," Jan
  said, "like a fair number of men do, but I don't know if they
  care too much where they come from. What they like next best are
  panties." "I like them too," I said, especially now that they fit
  me properly." She smiled. "But I just know that you really want
  to think about girdles." "Yes," I said. "I like to wear
  corselettes under smooth dresses. They pull me in nicely, they
  make the dress fit well, and they avoid the problems of things
  pulling up and down. They sit just right, and they also get rid
  of any nasty bulge in the middle." "You're the expert," Jan said,
  "but once the poor man has seen your suspenders, he'll want to
  see something of you. The logistics of getting it off aren't too
  aesthetic, either. How about a nice simple suspender belt, just
  like the pinup pictures?" She was teasing me now. "Not my style,
  I'm afraid. It has to be some sort of a girdle. For some very
  intimate reasons, it has to be open at the bottom, with plenty of
  room there -- then with any luck I can keep it on. I know!
  There's that one that sits high and is close enough to being a
  suspender belt. But it is enough of a girdle to do the right
  things for me. It's power net, a little high in the waist, and
  just fits over the top of my tummy, so the suspenders are quite
  long." "Six, of course?" said Jan teasing again. "Yes. Then they
  keep my stockings just right. It's white, though. That's very
  pristine and it won't show through the slip. I would love to wear
  black, then there would be a provocative suggestion showing
  through my slip; I wish I had one in black, and I don't know why
  they don't make girdles in pastel colours either." Jan ignored my
  complaint. "So you'll need a bra," she said. "It should be white
  too, to match, and lacy cups are de rigeur." "I know the one," I
  said. "It has nice narrow straps, and it fits like a charm." "How
  are the hooks," asked Jan, ever practical. "If all goes according
  to plan, he'll be the one to undo them, and it isn't a skill he
  will have had any practice in -- he'll be very nervous too, at
  that point." That gave me pause for thought, and reminded me of
  the purpose of our pleasant little chat about lingerie. "I don't
  have a problem with the hooks." "I know," she said, "but you must
  have spent most of your life practicing. So all we have left to
  consider is the final defence of your most intimate secrets:
  panties." "Do I have to wear any?" Now I was teasing her. "Of
  course you do," she said. "In spite of your tastes, they are
  universally considered to be the ultimate feminine symbol. They
  are slowly removed at the penultimate stage of the game --
  whether by the seductive female, or the aggressive male, depends
  on who is ahead at that point. Peter will definitely expect
  panties as a sign of your femininity. Again, we don't know his
  tastes, unfortunately. I think plain is out, so the choice is
  lacy or frilly. I vote for frilly." I agreed: "Yes. I like those
  nice sissy ones in light blue; they go with the dress."

  I had my usual happy reaction to thoughts about feminine
  clothing, and undergarments in particular. As always, just like
  in the old days, there was a wonderful calming and soothing
  effect. Jan knew me well; "Not so scared, now?" "I'm happy with
  the preparations, and I think I'll be presenting my best," I
  replied, "but I still am a scared little girl." She hugged me
  tight and said "You're my favourite little girl. You're going to
  be a big girl soon, and then I shall love you all the more." We
  went to bed, and for once we didn't make love; we just snuggled
  together and lay there with our diaphanous nightdresses all mixed
  up together.

  I didn't sleep too well, and had one odd dream in which I was all
  confused about gender once again. I was in a play with a big
  seduction scene, and I had to play both parts.

  The morning finally came: the fateful Saturday was here! I got up
  slowly, freshened up, and put on my housecoat to go and start
  things in the kitchen. The coffee was ready when Jan joined me.
  "Not dressed, yet?" she said brightly. "No. I have to be ready by
  noon, and it will take some time." She took my hand, and then
  kissed me; "You'll pass with flying colours," she said. "You're a
  brave little girl."

  After breakfast I had a long bath. I ran the water as hot as I
  could, and filled it with bubbles, bath oil and any kind of
  feminine fragrance I could find. It felt good and I started to
  relax a bit. Eventually I got out, dried myself off with the big
  fluffy towel, then put on my bathrobe. Back in the kitchen, Jan
  was finishing her coffee. "Have another cup," she said, "Then
  we'll get to work to make you presentable." "I'm ready," I said.
  "This will be the fun part, as always, but I'm still a bit
  bothered about this evening. I know it will be fine, and I may
  very well enjoy myself immensely, but right now I'm just plain
  scared."

  "Just think how Peter is feeling," Jan said. She instinctively
  had the right touch. "It's going to be a lot tougher for him. But
  he'll finish up enjoying himself too, and be a lot better
  equipped to get on with his life and find a real girl friend."
  "You're right," I said. "I don't think he knows what to expect.
  He must be very nervous. I have a fair idea what is in store, and
  all I have to worry about is playing a new part." Jan kissed me
  again, and said "let's start getting you presentable."

  We went into the bedroom. I went to the drawer filled with my
  bras, and picked out the one we had chosen. I have always put my
  bra on first, right from the early days. Then I think it had to
  do with getting some facsimile of femininity, as soon as
  possible, before putting on any other things. Of course if I'm
  wearing an all-in-one corselette, then it still works out that
  way. Jan looked at the bra: "It's nice," she said, "and the hooks
  aren't too difficult. There were four of them; the bra was a
  bandeau, not too slight, with very lacy cups and lovely strong
  but delicate straps. It was structured, the way I like with satin
  latex panels; nice and feminine, and not at all heavy duty in
  appearance. I leaned over to drop my breasts into the cups, the
  new little trick of femininity that I used not to need. I loved
  doing it now. Jan caught me off guard, and took both my breasts
  in her hands, and caressed the nipples tenderly. I sighed with
  pleasure. "They're nice," she said approvingly, and let me carry
  on. I let my breasts drop into the cups, and pulled the band
  round me and deftly fastened it at the back. I really had done a
  lot of practice! I moved the shoulder straps nicely into
  position, and then tugged at the bottom, making sure it was
  comfortable, and everything was nice and snug.

  I took a glance in the mirror, and saw Jan smiling at me in
  approval. There's no doubt I looked like a woman; I felt like one
  too, and I enjoyed the feeling.

  I found the girdle, and held it in my hands for a moment. It was
  still a thrill to anticipate wearing a garment like that. I
  pulled it up my legs, and over my hips. I moved it to just the
  right height, and smoothed it out over my tummy and derriere. I
  don't really have as much of a waist as I would like, but it fit
  snugly. The criss-cross power net fabric pulled me in gently. I
  liked the sense of containment, not too excessive, but enough for
  me to be continually aware of it without discomfort. To me
  girdles are really sexy, and I think it must relate to that
  effect -- it's a continual reminder of femininity, subtly present
  under all the outer clothes. I revel in that feeling, which says
  to me that I am a woman. I stood for a moment, thinking these
  nice thoughts. The suspenders dangled saucily over my thighs.
  There were indeed six of them; they were quite narrow, and each
  one of them had a delicate ribbon to discreetly hide the metal
  loop at the end. A little embroidered flower was sewn onto the
  two at the front as part of their attachment to the girdle -- one
  of those delicate little touches that make feminine clothing such
  a delight.

  I took a new package of stockings, and opened it carefully.
  There's nothing like the feel of new stockings; they fit
  perfectly, they have just enough tension to feel good, and they
  are so sleek and shiny. They are never the same again, after the
  first time they have been worn. These weren't really jet black --
  the package said charcoal; I thought they were dark enough to be
  sexy and elegant, but not too dark. These were my favourite
  brand; they had a reinforced toe, and were shaped at the heel,
  and the dark band at the top contrasted nicely with leg below.
  That is another little touch that has always appealed to me: the
  band is there to take the stress from the suspenders, but it sets
  them off and emphasises their presence. It's not considered
  decent to expose this area, but it's there prominent, and is
  another of the exquisite little secrets of being a woman. Saucily
  exposed under the right circumstances, it becomes very sexy.
  There will be an audience on this occasion, I thought to myself
  as I eased my right foot into the toe on the stocking; I found
  the idea was quite exciting. I got the toe in place, and then
  smoothed the stocking up my leg. I took the back suspender, and
  carefully made sure the little rubber pad was placed at the
  bottom of the dark stocking top -- but not too close to its edge;
  I slid the metal loop over it and immediately felt the pull on
  the silky nylon, and the tug on my girdle. I did the left foot
  just the same way, and then stood for a while with both stockings
  securely held behind me. Then I adjusted them round my thigh to
  get the suspender just right -- vertically down the back of my
  leg. I always do things that way, and I much prefer to have six
  suspenders. The stockings are then held nice and even, and the
  girdle is held in place too -- there's a comforting secure
  feeling. Jan was looking at me bemused, though she had watched
  this routine many times. "I wouldn't have the patience," she
  said, "and I don't even like the feel of those things." I
  frowned. "Don't worry," she added, "there's no doubt it does
  things for you. I can feel the effect instantly, and it turns me
  on too. On you, my little girly sex object, they are really very
  attractive."

  I carefully got the suspender on the right side in place, and
  attached it, then went to the left side and did the same. I
  always follow the same sequence, alternating between legs, and
  working from back to front. I find it makes sure that the
  stockings are held in position just right, and I still get a
  thrill from the gradual increase in tension. To me that's part of
  the delight of girdles; I don't want to be imprisoned in a
  vicelike grip at all, but the subtle pressures and the way one
  feels more and more caressingly constrained as stockings are put
  on reinforces the exquisite feeling of femininity for me. I
  finally attached the two front suspenders very carefully, pulling
  them in ever so slightly toward the inside of my thighs. I
  smoothed the fussy little ribbons; I suppose they are meant to
  stop the suspenders showing through too much; they don't really
  hide them though, and in a state of deshabillee they draw
  attention to them delectably.

  I surveyed myself in the mirror again. There I was, girdled and
  suspendered. As always, the sight made me catch my breath. The
  female form, with nylon clad legs, and suspenders stretched up
  across the thighs to an elegant girdle, is one of the most
  powerful images I know. To some males it is the essence of
  eroticism; to me, in the old days, it produced a desperate sense
  of envy and an urge to wear garments just like that myself. When
  I did so, the effect of making myself fit that image was
  overwhelming; to me it is the quintessentially feminine image.
  Now I am a woman, and I create that image of myself every day,
  but the effect is still powerful. I am continuously conscious of
  its secret presence underneath my dress, and it still symbolises
  femininity and excites me. Jan was well aware of this, and in her
  wonderfully kind and accepting way let me quietly enjoy the
  moment. "You look beautiful," she said. "I realise what these
  things mean to you, and it shows; they do look good on you. They
  are feminine, and they are very sexy and tantalising too." I felt
  good, and once again realised how fortunate I was to be her
  partner in life.

  She was helpful too, and went to look for the panties. She found
  some in a light blue, completely layered over with ruffles.
  "These?" "They're the ones I meant," I replied. "Aren't they a
  bit fussy?" she asked. "Maybe lace would be better." "I'm not
  sure now myself," I said. "But let's stay with the plan; I think
  they do provide a nice contrast -- the top of the girdle will
  show above them, and it is simple enough to contrast. And at
  least to start off with the suspenders will suggestively sneak
  out from under all the frills. All I'll need is a silk top hat,
  and I could play in Blue Angel." She laughed, and I drew the
  panties up over my stockings, eased them carefully over my
  suspenders, and smoothed them nice and sleek against my tummy.
  They fit snugly everywhere, and I thought how nice and
  comfortable it was with the proper anatomy. Jan had already found
  the slip, and was bunching the skirt up to help me slide it over
  my head. I got the straps over my arms, and she lifted it up
  high, letting it fall and envelope me. It was silky in texture,
  and felt cool against my thighs. There was quite a wide hem of
  rather fancy lace, and it rested just above my knees. Jan got the
  shoulder straps sitting just right, over the bra straps, and
  smoothed the bodice against me and brushed the skirt down gently.
  Her hand briefly touched my suspenders -- their outline was
  visible through the material, and she smiled as she felt my
  reaction. "We're ready for the dress now, my love."

  She went to the closet and got it out. It really was beautiful;
  it was made from a wonderful smooth silky fabric, and the
  underlying colour was a perfect shade of blue. It was a light
  blue, in shade, not really pastel and strong enough that it
  definitely registered blue when one looked at it. There were
  dainty floral designs in just about every colour imaginable
  spread all over the background; they didn't take up too much of
  the space, but they added dramatically to the effect. One saw
  blue, but one also had an impression of colour, rather more like
  wildflowers in a mountain meadow than the intense profusion of
  colour in a tended garden. Jan held it out in front of her
  admiringly. "In some things you have very good taste, my love,"
  she said. "Thanks. It is nice. I just love the effect." It would
  have looked just great on anyone, and I loved wearing it. It also
  was a perfect fit. There was a smart top, with a wide neckline,
  and lapels which continued round the neck to form a folded
  collar. It buttoned down to the waist with small buttons also of
  the same blue colour, not too obtrusive. The style needed a belt;
  I wasn't quite sure about that; the one that came with the dress
  was made of the same material -- I finally decided to use a thin
  black patent leather one. The dress fit quite snug at the waist,
  and the belt held it nicely and provided a contrast. The skirt
  flared out moderately, and when I was standing it hung fairly
  straight, with loose folds in the material. It could be spread
  out when I was sitting, and wasn't constricting at all. I loved
  walking in it, and it worked very well for dancing. The sleeves
  were flared just slightly, and came just about to my elbows. It
  was a lovely dress. Jan expertly helped me into it; I threaded my
  arms through the sleeves, and she eased it over my head and let
  the skirt flow down. Then she pulled lightly at the hem, and I
  wriggled a little to get the top nicely comfortable over my
  bosom. It displayed that nicely, without excessive emphasis, and
  felt just absolutely right as I looked at the effect in the
  mirror. I did up the three buttons at the bottom, just high
  enough that there was a suggestion of lace showing from my bra,
  and adjusted the neck to just the right look of casual elegance.

  "You must have a necklace with that," Jan said. "I know. It needs
  to be high round the neck, and not too long." I picked out a
  string of small glass beads; they were a matching blue, and quite
  short. They fit close to the base of my neck, and added just the
  right touch of interest to the open neck. "We didn't really talk
  about accessories at all," I said. "I think I'll go with my usual
  things; they look nice, and they're not too obtrusive. I want to
  look like a woman who has taken some care with her appearance,
  but I don't want to overdo it. "Right," said Jan. "I assume that
  means the usual bracelet or two, but what about earrings?" "Not
  too outrageous," I replied, "but they have to be long and dangly.
  I like to feel them there. I'll wear the silver ones, with the
  native design." "And of course we forgot all about shoes," Jan
  said. "I know. I have to wear heels, and I think the occasion
  calls for something sexy. They must be spikes, but maybe not too
  high." I wasn't sure about the colour, either. I had some nice
  blue ones, to match the dress, but I didn't know whether they
  would really go with the stockings. I finally decided on a light
  fawn pair, thinking the contrast with the dark hose would be
  effective.

  I sat down beside Jan, spreading out my skirt, with a sense of
  satisfaction. "I think I'll do," I said. "You will indeed. Your
  hair just needs a little attention, and you no doubt have some
  thoughts about makeup." "Just to look really like a woman. It
  will need a bit of care, but I don't want overstatement." "Just
  your normal simple sweet self?" "Yes, but to get it that simple
  requires some skill." She smiled knowingly.

  I was now ready to put my face on. It was a labour of love for
  me, but it was definitely a labour. Of all the essential
  components of presentation as female in our culture, makeup was
  the one I came to last in my long journey across the gender
  divide. It had always intrigued me from very early days, as it
  was one of the most obvious indicators of gender; facial
  adornment with cosmetics was about as far removed from normal
  male behaviour as wearing sheer nylon stockings. As such it
  provoked my curiosity, my envy and my urge to make it part of my
  activity. But it presents difficulties to a neophyte female
  because it requires an expertise only achieved after much
  practice. Through most of my journey to a more and more feminine
  persona, makeup lost out to my preoccupation with female
  clothing. Wearing items of female clothing made me feel feminine;
  when I looked at those items of clothing on myself I saw a female
  image, even though it was only a partial image. To make it a
  complete image required physical changes to my body which I only
  came to desire near the end of my journey; in the early solitary
  stages, and even later on with Jan, I had no desire to make a
  public presentation of myself as female. Thus my incomplete image
  did not present a problem, and as long as there were no physical
  changes, the question of cosmetic adornment of my physical
  features did not seem important.

  When I decided to transition, my perspective changed, and my
  desire was to be completely feminine, rather than to enjoy
  feminine feelings due only to selected female characteristics.
  When physical changes were actually taking place, making a public
  presentation of myself as a complete female became my objective,
  and makeup was then as essential to my sense of femininity as
  lingerie and all the other clothing. With Jan's help and
  guidance, I devoted much time and effort to learning how to use
  cosmetics properly and effectively.

  I sat down at the vanity to work on my face. I looked in the
  mirror, and had a thrill of pleasure to see the image facing me;
  The essentially feminine activity of putting the final touches to
  that image was now as rewarding and exciting as selecting and
  putting on my clothing. I rubbed some light foundation onto my
  cheeks and spread it out carefully with my fingertips. Then I
  highlighted my eyes with the thinnest possible trace of eyeliner;
  I also used a small amount of shadow on my eyelids. The final
  step was to make sure that my lips were perfectly right to make a
  categorical statement of femininity: I carefully outlined them,
  and then painted them with lip gloss. I was finally satisfied
  with the total effect, and powdered my cheeks and jaw as lightly
  as possible.

  I picked out the earrings and slipped them through my pierced
  earlobes, snapping the fastening on each one. As a final touch, I
  put a dab of my favourite subtle but noticeable fragrance behind
  each ear, and added some in the area between my necklace and the
  neckline of my dress above my breasts.

  A woman's crowning glory is said to be her hair; I had always
  liked relatively long hair on women and favoured styles that were
  not too fussy and let it flow down smoothly and freely to almost
  reach the shoulders. Mine had been relatively thick as a male,
  and as I kept it cut short then, I had made the odd experiment
  with wigs. One of the miraculous effects of hormones in my
  transition was to stimulate hair growth; from that point I
  avoided any cutting or even trimming, hoping that a feminine
  coiffure would be possible, and to my delight it did grow long
  enough and sufficiently profuse for me to style it as I liked. It
  became fine and quite silky in texture, and I now was able to
  present myself as I wished with my own hair quite long enough to
  satisfy me. I brushed it carefully, smoothing it out, and making
  sure it was arranged to frame my face to best effect.

  Finally I was finished, and turned to smile at Jan. "You'll do,"
  she said, and hugged me tight; she kissed me carefully on the
  cheek -- I would have liked her to be more demonstrative, but I
  knew she was thinking of my carefully applied makeup, and I
  appreciated her thoughtfulness. Yes, I was ready. From deep
  inside me, right out to the visible exterior I felt feminine; I
  had no doubt about my self-identification, and the reconciliation
  of my inner conviction with my appearance was a joy. I glanced
  down at my feet: the charcoal nylon stockings looked sheer and
  smart; I felt their smooth caress all the way up to the tension
  on the suspenders over my thighs. I was aware of the girdle and
  bra, holding me snug and firm; I could feel the texture of the
  panties and slip, and as I could see in the mirror the dress was
  absolutely beautiful.

  "It's time for me to go," said Jan. "I have mixed feelings about
  leaving you, but it just wouldn't be a good idea for me to be
  here. That would bother both of us, even though I would love to
  give you moral support. This is something you have to do on your
  own." I gave her a look of mock surprise. "You know what I mean,"
  she said: "Just you and your male partner; that excludes me. But
  I'll be thinking of you and radiating good vibes." She hugged me
  again, and went for her small overnight bag. "I love you, Jan," I
  said. "I'm still scared, but deep down I know you're right. I
  wouldn't be here like this, dressed up and ready for an
  assignation, without all the love and support you've given me."
  "It was well worth it," she said. "Watching the way you have
  changed has been wonderful for me too. Tonight will complete the
  process, and things will be better than ever for the two of us
  together." As she went out the door, she said "Good luck, Rita,
  my love. Enjoy it. You're a big girl now; tomorrow you'll be my
  wonderful big girl."

  Feeling anything but a big girl, I wondered how to occupy myself
  until Peter's arrival. Normally I would have been in seventh
  heaven, decked out as I was; I would have delighted in my feeling
  of femininity, in my feminine appearance, and in my feeling that
  all my clothes, accessories, makeup and hair were just right. I
  would have sat down to read, pausing from time to time to make
  little feminine gestures, smoothing my skirt, patting myself here
  and there and enjoying satisfaction in my femininity. But I was
  edgy, with butterflies in my tummy, and unable to let myself
  relax into my usual happy state. I sat down nonetheless, and my
  preoccupied mind went over the last two weeks' events; I thought
  about the meetings with Peter, and thought about his imminent
  arrival, and I wondered what he would be like later on. What
  would it be like?



  5. Rendezvous: The Scene is Set.



  I probably spent some time in a mixed state of musing and
  worrying, recalling memories and anticipating what was ahead; I
  was jolted by the doorbell and got up to open the door. It was
  Peter, dressed casually and looking as though he had something on
  his mind too. He managed a smile: "Hi, Rita." "Hi, Peter," I said
  and gave him a quick kiss. He took in my image, the image that I
  had spent so long working with, and smiled again. "You look
  wonderful!" "Thank you," I said, "come in and sit down." We sat
  side by side on the couch, and sat silently for a moment. Peter's
  shyness was very much in evidence and it seemed we might sit
  there awkwardly for a long time. We both knew why we were there,
  but we were incapable of any spontaneous action, and hesitant
  about initiating the ritual dance that would lead to the
  inevitable conclusion.

  In spite of my fears about what was in store for me, I almost
  wished he was a typical male, at ease with his feelings about me,
  and happily contemplating his next sexual adventure. He would
  then embrace me, sweep me off my feet, and events would follow
  their inevitable course. That prospect was scary, but it suited
  my passive nature; I needed my partner to take the initiative, to
  seduce me, and to do things to me. My fears would eventually be
  overcome; I would enjoy the things done to me, and be transported
  to a state of ecstasy -- that was my narrow concept of femininity
  and it was my personal path to sexual fulfillment. But I knew
  that it was not going to happen that way; I knew that I would
  have to take the initiative with Peter. It was up to me to break
  the ice.

  What was I to do? What should we do? When should we start? I
  thought about the possibility of getting the show on the road
  immediately, but it didn't seem right. If we waited for a
  civilised evening venue, what would we do in the interim? I had
  to make the decisions. I wound myself up. "Peter, my love," I
  said, "It ought to be nice sitting here together, but I don't
  think we're enjoying it very much. We are both on edge. I think
  we need to relax ourselves somehow." He nodded, and I continued:
  "We're here for an assignation, and we don't know quite how to
  proceed. How about having an early dinner together, and letting
  nature take its course after that when we both feel a little bit
  more at ease?" "Yes, that would be best," he said, "but I'm not
  really hungry." "Nor me," I replied. "It's far too early yet,
  anyway. Why don't we take advantage of the beautiful weather and
  go for a walk in the park? We can eat something when we get
  back." "OK."

  We went out, and took the street down to the park. I took hold of
  Peter's arm and clung to it. He seemed to like that, and by the
  time we got to the park, we were walking hand in hand, my heels
  clicking on the sidewalk by his side. It was relaxing; we walked
  a fair distance, pausing to sit in the sun from time to time; we
  made some casual conversation about nothing in particular, but
  most of the time neither of us had much to say. Eventually we
  walked back home, and I got a glass of wine for each of us, and
  sat Peter down in the kitchen while I got the dinner organised.
  There was very little to do as Jan and I had done most of the
  preparation ahead of time, and Peter and I were soon at the
  table.

  It was still a little early for dinner, but Peter and I made
  heroic attempts at eating, and we eased the task by drinking some
  wine. We both made attempts at casual conversation, but our minds
  were on other things. Just one other thing in fact.

  When we had prolonged the meal as much as possible, I made a
  quick trip to the bathroom to fix my makeup. Everything seemed to
  be the way I wanted it, and I carefully repaired the lipstick. I
  took the opportunity to relieve myself, and while my panties were
  pulled down over my suspenders, I applied some lubricant to the
  inside of my vagina. I smoothed my panties back into position,
  and did a final check on my stockings. "All set to go," I said to
  myself, and with butterflies in my stomach I returned to Peter.
  He made a brief visit to the bathroom too, and when he came back
  looking quite timid and hesitant I realised I had to take the
  initiative. "I may be femme, but I'm not too experienced in the
  role of a femme fatale. I think the time has come to do my best."
  I smiled at him, in an attempt to appear seductive. "Why don't we
  go into the other room, and make ourselves comfortable?"

  He agreed, meekly. The "other" room was the guest bedroom. I
  thought that the room Jan and I used would have the wrong
  associations, and would have almost felt as if I were betraying
  her there. She and I had spent some time arranging the guest
  room; the king sized double bed, comfortable armchairs and
  chesterfield did look secluded and inviting in the subdued
  lighting. I took Peter by the hand, and led him to the
  chesterfield; we sat down close together, and I felt his tension
  as I hugged him closely. "This is it," I said quietly, "but I'd
  like to talk a little to start off with." He nodded, still
  apprehensive. "We're both a little on edge," I said. "We're
  scared and worried about what will happen. But all we have to do
  is be natural, and take things as they come. We just have to do
  what we feel happy doing, and try not to worry about how it ought
  to be. I'm just as scared as you, but I want to go on." He nodded
  agreement. I continued: "In one sense I have some advantages.
  I've been here before, and I know the play fairly well; the
  problem is that I'm cast in a new part, and that makes me
  nervous. Now I told you last weekend that I didn't think things
  should be planned down to a T, but we're both apprehensive enough
  that I think we should talk a bit about what happens." He seemed
  to relax a little, and smiled wryly. "Yes," he said "I'm a great
  one for talking. I can talk about anything -- the problem is
  doing."

  I held his hand, and snuggled closer. "It's the oldest game in
  the world," I said, "and it's a natural thing to do. I'm a woman,
  you're a handsome young man, and we find ourselves all alone in
  an intimate setting -- a bedroom even. Social custom doesn't
  leave us too many options. Because it's a game, people couldn't
  resist coming up with rules; we don't have to play by them, but
  some of them are useful as they relate to the nature of males and
  females. They attract one another, but they don't have quite the
  same needs and desires, and they definitely respond to different
  stimuli." He was relaxing more and more, getting interested in
  the situation as a topic of intellectual discussion. I continued
  the sociology 101 lecture. "In our culture women adorn
  themselves; they take delight in doing so, and it isn't clearly
  established whether they do so primarily for their own pleasure
  or to attract males. They do attract males, and their specific
  items of adornment become part of the attraction; some of the
  adornment is secret, and hidden, only to be revealed to those
  with special privilege. We worry about precisely what it is
  legitimate to show, and under what circumstances. Our gradual
  unveiling is an essential part of the ritual. Women don't react
  the same way to males undressing. Under the right circumstances a
  naked male body is stimulating, and can produce a physical
  response, but mood and emotion are more important."

  "I see that now," he said. "So things aren't symmetric at all," I
  continued: "it doesn't really matter to me when you take off your
  t-shirt, or even your shorts. But what I am wearing is vital to
  the whole situation, and how it gets revealed is critical in the
  process of seduction. I'm sure you're wondering what titillating
  things I'm hiding underneath this dress right now." He grinned,
  his interest piqued. "Here's the situation as I see it," I said.
  "We're both scared newbies, but we have slightly different parts
  to play. I have to lead off; I know the way the game is played,
  and I am the woman: my job is to be seductive and gradually work
  on your arousal by revealing my secrets. Once you get started,
  then you take over. You're the male: you have the equipment and
  the desire, I can't do anything without you, and on top of that
  I'm actually an innocent virgin bride."

  He was ready now to be brave and take the plunge. "It's scary,"
  he said. "It is scary," I agreed, "but we'll have fun."

  I thought that part of getting Peter going would be for me to
  slowly  unveil myself, and let the gradual appearance of my
  carefully assembled secrets inspire him to action. Although I had
  said that the opening move was mine, and it would be, I thought
  it would be easiest to get him undressed first. I was also
  curious about how I would react to the once familiar male body,
  this time seen from a very different viewpoint. I took him in my
  arms, and kissed him on the lips, lingering and pushing my tongue
  into his mouth. I felt him relax gradually. "I'll help you
  along," I said, "but I'd like you to do me a favour to help me.
  I'd like you to take your things off first." He tensed just a
  bit, and didn't respond. "We'll do it slowly," I said, "and
  there's nothing to worry about. I know what a man's body is like,
  and I'm sure I am going to like what I see." I kissed him again,
  and he did respond, gripping me round the waist. "The point is,"
  I whispered, "I have some nice things to show you, and I think
  you'll like them. I want to show you very slowly, so that it's
  nice and easy for you, and I want you to be ready for me." He
  smiled bravely. Then I had an inspiration. "I know! why don't you
  just change into something comfortable? There's a terrycloth
  bathrobe in the closet, which will keep you nice and snug." He
  brightened up at the suggestion. I can't imagine why it had
  eluded me, especially after Jan and I had plotted skirts riding
  up, and thought about what garments would be removed most easily.
  He would feel quite secure, instead of naked and defenceless, but
  when the time came it might just fall open. If it didn't, I could
  always carefully pull it open.

  He went over to the closet and took out the bathrobe. It was
  quite large, and obviously a male garment. He took his shirt off,
  and pulled off his undershirt, and put the robe on; then with his
  back to me he undid his pants, and let them and his shorts drop
  to the floor. He wrapped the robe around him, tied the belt, and
  then came back to the chesterfield. He appeared considerably
  brighter, and smiled weakly. "That's a lot better," I said. "Does
  it feel comfortable?" "Yes," he admitted. "Then things will be
  much easier; let's go nice and slow, and get used to one
  another." He was sitting by my side again, and quite deliberately
  he held on to me and kissed me. I caressed him gently through the
  fluffy material, carefully avoiding any areas that might be too
  stimulating at this stage. I put my hand on his chest, under the
  robe, very carefully and I thought for a moment about working on
  his nipples. I remembered how stimulating that had been for me,
  as a male, but decided it wouldn't be a good idea -- he might not
  respond the same way, I and didn't want to mess things up. He was
  relaxing visibly, and I thought I had made the right choice.

  "I guess you don't know too much about girls," I said softly.
  "No," he said. "I like them, but then I get to thinking about
  them, and what they're like, and I get scared. They pick up on
  that, and things get all screwed up." "What do you think they are
  like?" "Well I know some basic anatomy," he said with a grin,
  "and I have seen some pictures of the things they wear." "What
  sort of things do they wear?" "Things that look very nice," he
  blurted out. He didn't seem to want to be too specific, yet.
  "They do look very nice," I said, "and I love wearing them. We
  need some of them because our bodies are different, but mostly
  they are to make us look nice and feel nice. I call them
  feminine. Would you like me to talk about them?" I was speaking
  softly, continuing to caress him, and I kissed him again. "I
  don't know," he said. His honesty overcame him, and he added
  "Deep inside, I think I would, but I would feel embarrassed."
  "There's nothing to be embarrassed about; we do different things,
  and we wear different things -- we're different, and that's what
  the attraction is. It's completely natural."

  I was feeling much more relaxed myself now, but I did think to
  myself "What a hypocrite you are Ms. Femmy Lesbian." But chatting
  about my favourite topic, even obliquely, was helping me along
  too, and there's no doubt that concern for Peter in his ordeal
  brought out my empathy and what I would dearly like to think of
  as a feminine quality of caring. "Do you like my stockings?" I
  asked. "Why don't you just put your hand on my leg and feel the
  smooth material? I would like it if you did that." He reached
  over and touched my leg, somewhere near the ankle. Then he did
  start to move his fingers gingerly over the material. "It does
  feel nice," he said. "It feels very nice to me, now," I
  whispered. "Please keep going, and move your way gradually up my
  legs; I won't bite." I think he was just beginning to enjoy
  himself; he took my advice, and I realised that I rather liked
  what he was doing. I relaxed too, and leaned back deep into the
  seat. My skirt was beginning to ride up a little, and I gave it a
  little bit of help very surreptitiously. Peter had finally
  reached my knees, and was getting close to the hem of the dress.
  I inched it up just a little more, and the white lacy hem of my
  slip appeared. I let well alone, and caressed him again; I kissed
  him, and let his robe open wider on his chest. "You can go higher
  than that," I said. "I like what you're doing; it really feels
  nice."

  He had become quite intent on what he was doing. I reclined back
  into the corner of the chesterfield, to make things easier for
  him. I slipped my shoes off, and then lifted my right leg, so
  that it sat across his lap. My dress fell back in the process,
  and a nice expanse of slip was exposed. Peter massaged the leg,
  very tenderly, and didn't seem to be having any trouble
  negotiating the layer of lace. Both his hands were under it, and
  he pushed upwards carefully. The slip fell back too, and the tell
  tale edge of dark stocking top came into view. I felt his
  immediate reaction; it was almost a gasp, and he fingered the
  border very gingerly. He had seen enough pictures, and he was now
  making the discovery that the camera didn't always lie. He knew
  what lay ahead, and he could no longer help himself. He pushed
  his hands slowly up, over my thighs, the slip rode higher, and
  suddenly ... Eureka! This time he did gasp audibly; I gave him a
  quick kiss, and helped him roll the slip right up. The ruffles on
  my panties appeared, and I squirmed a little, rolling from side
  to side. I pulled his hands round my thighs then, and helped him
  to feel all six of the little bumps in the tops of my stockings.
  The delicate bands of my suspenders stretched across my thighs,
  to disappear under the ruffles. He looked at them in awe.

  "Those are my suspenders," I said, very informatively. "I love
  wearing them, so I hope you like them." He obviously did, but was
  too overwhelmed to reply. I shifted my leg provocatively, and the
  suspenders moved slightly as I did so. I held his hand, and
  placed it carefully on my thigh, and with the other one I pulled
  at his bathrobe. It fell open, and I saw his large cock standing
  upright. I brushed my hand against it, and it showed a slight
  spasm. Suddenly I became overwhelmed too, and I realised I was
  desperate to have the whole length of his magnificent manhood
  thrust deep inside me. "I see that you do like my suspenders," I
  said, and he finally relaxed enough to say "Yes." "Maybe we are
  getting used to one another, now," I said. "I'll take my dress
  off, and we'll try to calm down a little. We know now that it can
  be done, and we should try and do things just right." He smiled.
  "I'm beginning to get worked up; you're a lovely big hunk of man,
  and I like what I see too; I want it -- I want you to push it
  inside me -- all the way -- as hard as you can."

  I stood up in front of him, and smiled. I undid the buttons on my
  dress, untied the belt, and lifted it carefully over my head. The
  slip came up too, and Peter looked at my suspenders and panties,
  his excitement evident, finally unconcerned about being in that
  state in my presence. I walked over to the dresser, letting the
  slip fall back into place, and laid the dress down. I returned,
  and sat a little primly in my slip, taking Peter's hand. "You
  liked what you saw, didn't you?" I asked again. "Yes," he said
  and felt the need to explain. "I've always had a thing about it,"
  he said; "I don't know why. But it is an incredible turnon." "So
  I noticed," I said, and added quietly "They are for me too;
  believe me, I know exactly how you feel. It's nothing to worry
  about -- it's something to enjoy. You're doing something
  wonderful for me; I love wearing stockings and suspenders because
  they make me feel good -- they do nice things to me. When I see
  the effect they have on you, it feels better than ever." I kissed
  him again, and pressed my legs against his. His robe was wide
  open still, and he must have felt the suspender through the
  material of the slip. It was stretched tight, and the ones in the
  front were clearly visible, as was the dark shadow of the
  stockings. "You can look again, any time you like," I said, "but
  I'll keep the slip on for a while." He sat happily now, and felt
  the suspenders carefully, through the silky nylon of the slip.

  There was one eventuality that worried me, and I didn't quite
  know how to deal with it. My experience told me that having a
  timeout "to relax" wouldn't work too well. I decided to take the
  bull by the horns, and thought ruefully to myself that there
  might be better metaphors to use. "Peter, my love," I said, "I
  think there's something I want to talk about. I think we can get
  through this situation and look back on it with great pleasure,
  so I don't want anything to go wrong." He looked at me a bit
  puzzled, but continued gently running his hands over my stocking
  tops and feeling at my suspenders. "My problem, apart from liking
  to talk," and I paused to smile at him, "is that I do happen to
  know something about the way the male system works. When a man
  gets very excited, and strongly stimulated, sometimes he comes
  too soon. He can get upset by that, and it's very frustrating for
  his partner, especially if she's just slowly getting into the
  mood. Women enjoy a much longer buildup of their excitement -- it
  can go quite slowly, and they like the gradual rising of their
  desire. I'm told it can take a bit of practice to get the right
  skill and feel for the other person." He was very interested; he
  liked discussion at any time, and I was right on topic. "I think
  there's a way to deal with that," I continued, feeling the caress
  of his hand on my suspenders. "Women can continue sex more or
  less indefinitely, once they are sufficiently stimulated, but men
  are out of commission for a little while after their release.
  It's intense, even violent in a way -- it's male," and I smiled;
  "if they are young, they can recover quite quickly with the right
  stimulation. The next time they will take a while longer to get
  ready, and it will take a little more work to reach a climax --
  that way we'll be able to sustain things longer." Peter nodded; I
  realised he knew exactly what I was talking about from direct
  experience -- all by himself, with his pictures. "I want the big
  scene to be a great success," I said; "that's partly because I am
  a selfish woman, but I don't want you to feel you missed
  something either." He was curious now, not quite sure where I was
  heading. "I think it would be best for us to have a little
  rehearsal; why don't you enjoy yourself with my suspenders, take
  a little time to find your way around a woman's body, and let me
  bring you to a climax? We can take a little time to recover, then
  I'll work at getting you back into service -- when you are really
  nice and hard again you can push your big cock right into me, and
  we'll both have a great time." He looked a bit taken aback at my
  choice of language, but he nodded agreement. "OK," he said.
  "You're so nice to me. I'm really worked up over this, but I
  don't feel embarrassed so much now -- it's really wonderful of
  you to think about me like that."

  He still had a powerful erection, and it had a profound
  hypnotising effect on me. I squeezed it very very gently. "I like
  that very much," I said. "I'll see if I can find something really
  nice to do with it. But I'm overdressed for the part, do you mind
  if a take my slip off?".In spite of his nervousness he grinned.
  "Not at all." I eased the slip up over my head, revealing my
  panties and then my bra; I dropped it on the floor, and sat down
  beside him again. I pushed my legs against his, rubbing them up
  and down, and felt the suspenders moving and tugging at my
  stockings. He made a brave effort: "I like your panties," he
  gulped out. "Thank you," I said. "I wasn't quite sure what would
  be best, so I'm glad I made the right choice. I'm wearing a bra,
  you notice, but it can be removed anytime at your convenience. I
  did want you to see it's effect first, though. You'll also see
  the nice satin material above my panties; that's a girdle -- I
  hope you don't have a problem with girdles. It's very important,
  because the suspenders must connect to something -- don't worry
  though, it sits very high on my tummy, and I don't think it will
  cause any obstruction. The panties you've just remarked on; at
  this stage they become quite optional, and I will place myself in
  your hands -- I think it might be nice to keep the girdle and
  stockings on, however." He picked up my attempt to make light of
  the situation which was still a bit intense for him. "I'd like
  that," he said. "But you look wonderful; you know I've looked at
  a few pictures, but this really does do things to me." "You like
  me the way I am?" I asked. "Oh yes! Please stay like that for a
  while."

  I did; after all, I was always happy to be dressed like that. I
  pushed up against him again, and once more lightly touched his
  cock and gave it a gentle playful squeeze. It responded, and I
  could still imagine the tingling feeling he must have felt. I
  wasn't sure quite how to proceed from there, but suddenly
  something came over me, and fascination for that big cock just
  drove me into action. I got up quickly, I swung Peter round so he
  was laid out on the couch, pushed a cushion under his head and
  then kneeled on the floor. I bent over him, opened my mouth wide,
  and slid it over the shaft of his big cock.

  I still don't know what came over me at that point, and I was
  completely without experience in oral sex, certainly with a male
  partner. But it seemed the thing to do, and I wanted very much to
  do it. He had been circumcised, and as I slid my lips up and down
  his shaft I worked my way to the sensitive groove around the base
  of the glans. I concentrated in that area, and worked my tongue
  over the head of his penis. It swelled in response, and I felt
  the whole shaft throb against my lips. It was an intense
  experience, and I was thrilled deep down inside, ecstatic with a
  strange pleasure, and drunk with the feeling of power. He was
  completely under my control I thought -- he just lay back and
  made little moaning noises of pleasure. Then he looked up at me
  kneeling over him, and reached out with one hand to the tops of
  my stockings. He tugged at my suspenders, and followed one of
  them up my thigh -- then he pushed his hand under the ruffled
  panties. I became more excited myself, and sucked hard at the
  swollen glans. I felt the first hint of a tremor, then there was
  a massive spasm and I felt a warm jet spray over the back of my
  throat. This spurred me on, and there were several more spasms
  and my mouth filled with the warm fluid. It tasted slightly
  salty, but not at all unpleasant, and I swallowed eagerly. After
  a pause for breath I gently continued working my lips and tongue
  over his penis, licking up every last drop of his ejaculation. I
  felt his erection gradually subside, and he lay back, completely
  spent. I relaxed too, and half fell over him, with my head
  finally resting in his crotch.

  "That was fantastic," he finally whispered. "I have never felt
  anything to match that." "You are an exciting husky man," I said,
  and you inspired me." He certainly had, and I wondered why. The
  raw emotions were still strong in my mind, but I couldn't account
  for them. There I was, dressed in my favourite outfit: lacy bra,
  ruffled panties, girdle and nicely suspendered stockings; a real
  femme who took her greatest delight in submitting to the control
  of her lover. Maybe there was something in what I had been
  telling Peter about the basic attraction between males and
  females; maybe I was female enough to have been overcome by that.

  "Let's go and lie together on the bed now," I said finally. "We
  need to relax for a while, and quietly enjoy one another's
  company. In a little while we'll be ready to carry on, and see if
  we can make things even better." He was now completely relaxed,
  and threw off the bathrobe; he held my hand happily as we walked
  over to the bed, and we lay quietly for a while side by side.
  Then I kissed him lightly, and smiled. "The next move is up to
  you. I want to see that big cock stand up again, and then I want
  you to fuck me.

  "I want you to fuck me."



  6. The Act.



  Peter and I lay side by side on the king bed. He was completely
  naked, and now quite unconcerned; I was presenting my enticing
  female image: satisfying to my concept of femininity, and
  hopefully an erotic vision to him. My lacy bra still held my
  breasts discreetly; my legs were still sheathed in smooth
  charcoal nylon, and the suspenders still remained in position
  tugging gently between my stockings and the girdle. And in spite
  of the brief exploration of a half hour before, my fussy ruffled
  blue panties were still in place. We started to talk quietly,
  both of us pleasantly relaxed, and at ease in one another's
  company. "That was just fantastic," Peter said again. I smiled at
  him. "There's more to come," I said. "Men and women can have a
  wonderful time together." "I am beginning to understand," he
  said. "But I am so powerfully affected by the sight of ....
  certain things, and I don't know how my partner will react to
  that." "What things?" "You know," he said, with a wry grin and
  then got himself to blurt it out: "Suspenders and stockings. And
  all the things that go with them." "Why not?" I asked. "I like
  them too, and they do nice things for me. If that's part of the
  chemistry between us, let's make the most of it." "But I'm not
  sure my girl friends would react that way." "They might not at
  first," I said, "and now you know there are some other things
  that can be exciting; maybe you can start off concentrating on
  them. Then when you get to know one another, and feel for one
  another, you can ask little favours. I'm sure any nice girl would
  feel flattered, just like I am." "Maybe," he said. "But you have
  certainly helped me a lot." "I'm very happy about that; I really
  hoped it would be that way." I paused for a moment. "Maybe we
  should see what happens in Act II."

  I gently started to fondle his cock, and very carefully moved my
  fingers over his balls. He half turned on his side to face me,
  and ran his fingers over my suspenders once again. Then he became
  more adventurous and worked up over the panties to the bra. He
  held the lacy cups gently, and then started to caress; I felt a
  thrill go through me as he discovered my nipples through the
  material. They started to harden and stood up, clearly
  discernable against the lace. "I like that," I whispered to
  encourage him. While I gently worked away on his cock, which was
  beginning to show some signs of life, he squeezed my nipples
  gently, and caressed my breasts with more vigour. He eventually
  realised what he had to do, and reached behind my back to find
  the bra fastening. I eased my back up to help him, but otherwise
  left him to struggle on his own. He was persistent, and finally
  got one hook undone; then he realised how it was done and quickly
  undid the others. He paused for a moment, then eased the bra
  straps off my shoulders and pulled the whole thing forward. As my
  breasts popped out, I moved my arms to get untangled and pushed
  my bosom towards him. I was beginning to get very much in the
  mood, and my nipples stood out proud and erect. He squeezed them
  gently, then realising the state they were in, took hold of them
  firmly, almost roughly. It was my turn to lie back contentedly,
  and let him make his discoveries; I left his cock alone, knowing
  that there would soon be a reaction. Inspiration came to him; he
  kissed my nipples. He was learning very fast, and my immediate
  reaction was unmistakable; he got up and crouched over me,
  leaning on his elbows and started to suck like a baby at my
  nipples. He switched from one to the other, caressing my breasts
  as he did, and began to enjoy the obvious signs of feminine
  arousal.

  The turnon for me was beginning to be fantastic too. I lay and
  wallowed in the delightful sensations, letting my whole body
  react to the stimulation. I started to feel slight spasms in my
  groin, and squeezed my legs together in happy anticipation. The
  feelings became stronger, and soon I was beginning to ache with
  desire -- I realised the moment had come. "I'd like you to take
  off my panties now," I whispered. He carefully took the
  waistband, and eased them down; he had trouble negotiating my
  suspenders, and the mass of ruffles stretched tight round my
  thighs. He stared at what was revealed. My girdle sat high on my
  tummy, with its satin textured powernet structure lightly
  constraining me, the suspenders tugging at its hem; below it,
  fully revealed, and framed by the tightly stretched front
  suspenders was an expanse of smooth skin, delicately shaded
  towards the bottom by light pubic hair. I wriggled quickly to
  free the panties, and slid them completely off one leg; then I
  fell back and squeezed my legs hard together. I saw his cock
  start to stiffen and stand up in anticipation -- he was almost
  ready. I reached out to the nightstand and found the little tube
  of lubricant, squeezing some on to my hand as quickly as I could;
  then I very carefully rubbed my hand over his cock, making sure
  not to miss the glans. His big cock distended and stood up from
  his groin rigid and hard. I was now utterly desperate for it, and
  opened my legs wide in anticipation.

  Peter took in the view with wide open eyes. It must have been his
  first sight of a vulva and labia, clearly displayed in a female
  groin, devoid of any external organs. He knew instinctively what
  to do, and moved his legs in between mine; he inched upwards, his
  elbows outside my outstretched thighs, and moved towards his
  obvious target. He pushed the swelling end of his completely
  rigid cock toward my labia, and I could hardly contain my
  anticipation. I thought about helping him ease his way in, but I
  wanted to be taken, almost forcibly; I could hardly stop myself
  yelling "Push, push! Take me! Fuck me, my love!" The lips parted,
  and he was inside me. After a moment's relief for both of us, he
  worked his way in deeper and deeper, and I felt the shaft
  penetrate all the way inside me. We paused again, our pubic hair
  in contact, and I felt a feeling of ecstasy -- I was a woman, I
  was female, I was the embodiment of femininity -- and I was
  penetrated fully by a lustful male feeling the primal urges of
  his sex -- I was fulfilling the essential purpose of my female
  body.

  I reached round his strong thighs and took hold of his balls,
  caressing them gently. I felt the spasm of his response, and then
  he started slowly to withdraw, just far enough for his engorged
  glans to ride over my clitoris, and I responded with a spasm in
  return. He started to move too and fro, gently at first, and the
  motion inside me gave me almost unbearable delight. My clitoris
  was fully engorged now, and reacted to each thrust he made. He
  gradually worked faster and faster and we came close to frenzy as
  I squeezed my vagina inwards, and moved my pelvis slowly to
  counter his motion. Suddenly his climax came, and I felt the
  spurt of fluid penetrate right into the depths of my vagina. He
  had spasm after spasm and my clitoris echoed his passion. My
  orgasm came then, with an intense shock, engulfing my whole body,
  and I cried out in wild abandon. Wave after wave swelled over me
  and I gave way to the sensual pleasure. The intensity gradually
  died away, and excitement was slowly replaced with a delightful
  calm, and a sense of well-being. I realised then that Peter had
  collapsed on top of me, with his penis still buried inside me,
  now completely flaccid. He withdrew slowly and carefully and
  moved deftly over my thigh and lay by my side, completely relaxed
  now with a beatific smile.

  I think we lay there sated for a long time. Then I smiled at him
  and said "I think that's the way it's supposed to be. You were
  fantastic." "It was good," he said simply; "I don't know how to
  thank you." "It was a pleasure." "But you've done so much for me;
  you were so kind and caring, and you thought of all the little
  things you could do to help me along." "I don't like game plans,"
  I said, "but this time I felt that thinking ahead a bit would be
  a good idea. Remember, I was trying to work up my own courage --
  you are the first man I have ever had." He looked at me in
  amazement. "But it was so good for both of us." "I know," I
  replied. "I guess that nature must give us some reasonable
  instincts." I thought I owed him a bit more of an explanation:
  "You know my history," I said. "And first off I should thank you
  from the depths of my heart for helping me to the culmination of
  my transition. I was a male to start off with, and I was also
  turned on by exactly the same things you find so exciting. The
  difference in my case was that they didn't really turn me on to
  the girls wearing them -- I wanted them for myself, and I wanted
  to look like those girls." "I can't imagine that," he said, "they
  turn me into a raving stud. I want to go after those girls and
  ...." He paused, slightly embarrassed. "Fuck the hell out of
  them," I prompted. "Well, yes, to be honest about it." I was
  relieved. I enjoyed my space, and couldn't imagine being anywhere
  else now, but I didn't have any desire to seek converts from
  outside. My guess was that Peter was outside, and happy where he
  was, and I didn't want to mess him up. "I can't really see you as
  a guy, either," he said. "Well, I wasn't much of one. I wasn't at
  all unhappy, but when the time came, I decided to go with the
  flow. As a guy I was more or less normal in my orientation and I
  had a good life with your Aunt Jan; I was never attracted to
  males. Things didn't really change when I transitioned; Jan
  decided she liked me the way I had become, and we carried on as a
  happy couple of lesbians." "That's interesting," he said,
  beginning to understand. "But ..." "You have a wonderful auntie,"
  I said. "She decided that there was something I was missing, and
  she pushed me into it. She turned out to be right -- she usually
  is." He nodded, and we both relaxed in the big bed and finally
  fell asleep.

  I awoke in the middle of the night. Peter was sound asleep, naked
  beside me. I realised I was still partially dressed the way we
  finished up; I even found the ruffled blue panties twisted round
  one of my ankles. I went through to our bedroom and found a
  nightdress, but decided to leave the girdle and stockings. I
  thought they might well see some more service before the day
  began, and in any case they were comfortable. I had spent so many
  nights dressed just like that, before and after my transition. I
  went back to join Peter, still stretched out naked and lost in
  sleep. I lay down quietly by his side, and rubbed my palms over
  the wonderful smooth nylon of the nightdress across my thighs,
  feeling my stretched suspenders happily through the material --
  they felt nice and reassuring as always.

  I woke gradually from a dreamless sleep, with an undefinable warm
  pleasant feeling. I saw from the drapes that it was morning. It
  gradually worked into my partially conscious mind that the
  pleasant feeling in my genital region was more than the feeling
  of excitement that often came to me spontaneously. There was a
  gentle caressing touch in the folds of my labia, and I also
  became aware of the girdle left on from the previous night --
  there were evident tugs on it, and I realised that someone was
  playing gently with my suspenders. Full consciousness then
  returned, and I realised with pleasant surprise that I was lying
  on a bed with a naked young man leaning on his elbow by my side.
  My nightdress was pushed up to my midriff, and with his free hand
  he was exploring whatever he could find. "Good morning, Peter my
  love," I said. He looked a little sheepish, like someone caught
  redhanded, then smiled and said "Good morning, Rita." "That deals
  with the conversational niceties," I said; "so what do we do
  now?" He looked at me appealingly, and couldn't bring himself to
  say what was obviously on his mind. I smiled as sweetly as I
  possibly could, and said "I think you want to fuck me again." He
  wasn't upset by my phrasing, evidently legitimate in the
  circumstances, and nodded. "It would be nice," he whispered. "I
  agree," I said, "and at this moment I can't think of anything
  nicer. How would you like to do it?" He looked puzzled at that,
  so I thought it would be a good idea to further his education in
  intimate matters. "I have never been a big fan of missionaries,"
  I said; "they had very puritanical views on many matters, but
  there's one basic thing I think they got right. I rather enjoy
  lying on my back with a big hunk of man on top of me, especially
  when he finds something interesting to do. Human beings are very
  inventive, though, and they have dreamed up innumerable ways of
  performing this one simple act. The problem for me is that many
  of them require athletic skills that I don't have, but variety is
  said to be the spice of life. I think I could manage a simple
  reversal of our positions yesterday -- would you care to lie on
  your back and let me demonstrate?" He grinned at me, obviously in
  tune with my sometimes bizarre sense of humour, and said "Why
  not?" He lay back with his head on the pillow and looked at me
  expectantly. "You don't appear to be quite ready," I said in mock
  disdain. "Women are of course always ready, and fortunately they
  do have some skills in the art of seduction." I sat astride his
  knees, and started to fondle his cock. He reached out to my
  breasts, and started to gently squeeze the nipples. I responded
  immediately, and started to feel excitement mounting again. He
  was tuned in nicely now and matched my growing response quite
  deftly, but his erection was a little slow in getting started so
  I decided to pull out all the stops. "One of the advantages of
  this position," I said professorially, "is that the female
  partner, as they would refer to me in the manuals, sitting
  astride the male partner -- that's you, exposes all her secret
  charms in full anatomical detail to his view while he reclines in
  comfort; she can also pleasure him exquisitely without any need
  for him to make too much effort. I am told it is a favourite of
  oriental potentates who have grown obese, and are no longer
  capable of strenuous physical activity." Peter laughed, and
  continued playing happily with my breasts and their inflamed
  nipples. "It has another advantage," I continued "in that it
  lends itself to the stimulation of those who are titillated by
  the sight of feminine thighs, with suspenders straining across
  them between a corset or girdle, and the tops of sheer nylon
  stockings; this enables connoisseurs to study the subtle details
  of the intricate fastening to the dark band of material at the
  top of the stocking." I had pushed the right button: his cock
  leaped to attention, now rigid and distended.

  "That's better," I said, and eased myself gently on to the shaft.
  It was wonderfully sensuous to move myself gradually downwards,
  feeling the glans penetrate right to depth of my vagina. I eased
  back and began a gentle oscillating motion feeling the
  stimulation of my clitoris as I moved back and forwards over the
  shaft. I had a feeling of ecstatic pleasure, and a sense of power
  as I realised that I was in control. Peter was moaning in his
  ecstasy, and he lay back helpless, his arms now fallen by his
  side. I pushed my breasts into his face, and increased the pace
  -- I felt his excitement rise and the first slight spasms
  increased my own excitement. I realised I was close to climax and
  could not hold back any longer when he exploded and spurted his
  hot semen up into my vagina. Almost simultaneously the big wave
  crashed over me, and I collapsed on top of him. I lay there
  exhausted, feeling his spasms mingle with mine, coinciding and
  alternating as they followed their separate rhythms. His
  gradually subsided, and I felt him shrinking inside me; mine
  continued longer and gradually smoothed out into a continuous
  glow of pleasure.

  I realised slowly that it wasn't too comfortable, and carefully
  eased myself upwards. I knew he would be very sensitive now, and
  was relieved when his little prick popped out of me. I swung my
  leg over him, and fell back prone myself. "Woweee!" he breathed
  finally, and reached for my hand. We caressed one another's palms
  with our fingers and lay quietly overwhelmed by a sense of calm.
  Neither of us was in any hurry to move, and pretty well an hour
  went by before either of us thought about stirring. I finally
  came back to the real world, and glanced at the clock on the
  nightstand. "Look at the time!" I said. "Jan's coming back around
  noon." Peter stirred, and realised the awful truth: "My god! I
  have to leave fairly early too. I have a bit of work to catch up
  on for Monday." He got up and walked over to his clothes and
  nonchalantly pulled them on, oblivious of me watching him stand
  facing me. I decided to stay with my clothes of the evening
  before, thinking I would have plenty of chance to shower and
  freshen up in the afternoon. My stockings seemed to have survived
  the session nicely, and they were still nicely in place, thanks
  to the six suspenders required by my personal dress code. I found
  the panties on the floor, and pulled them on. I wasn't quite as
  nonchalant as Peter and I tugged at the waistband and smoothed
  them all round me. The bra was lying on the bed, and I let my
  breasts drop forward into the lacy cups -- Peter was now taking
  an interested look at the proceedings. I quickly got the straps
  into position and reached round to fasten the hooks. Peter was
  now looking quite impressed; "It just takes a little practice," I
  grinned and then slithered into my slip, brushing it down over my
  thighs, and getting the straps sitting tidily over my bra straps.
  I struggled into the dress, and buttoned it up. I patted myself
  here and there and smoothed out the skirt, finally fixing the
  belt. My shoes were over by the chesterfield; I slipped into them
  and then turned to look at Peter. "Is the film as exciting when
  it runs backwards?" I asked. "Not quite," he smiled. "It's a
  fascinating plot, though, and I enjoyed seeing it both ways."

  I went to the bathroom for a quick repair to my makeup, and
  brushed my hair hurriedly; then I went into the kitchen and
  started the coffee going. Peter sat down at the counter, and
  looked me in the eyes. "I have to thank you," he said. "I can't
  find words to tell you how fantastic this last day was. You've
  helped me deal with a stupid hangup -- something that shouldn't
  have been a problem at all. Now I know it isn't. I think I'll be
  able to deal with women a little more easily now. There's a
  wonderful girl at work ...." He realised the implication of what
  he was saying and became embarrassed. "Make it your task to get
  to know her," I said, "and when you and she are at ease with one
  another, you'll find equally nice things happening. We had fun --
  fantastic fun, but we're not in love, and you shouldn't feel
  badly about that. To be perfectly blunt about the whole episode,
  now that we don't have to worry about spoiling the romantic
  atmosphere, it was a set-up. It was carefully planned by your
  wonderful auntie, and she has great powers of persuasion." I
  smiled tenderly at him. "She was right too, as she so often is;
  she was right about both of us."

  We sat quietly, sipping our coffee. I think we both felt we had
  memories of an unforgettable ecstatic experience, which would
  always remain, but we didn't feel any sense of future commitment.
  We would fondly remember one another, but we were free to carry
  on with our separate lives. Peter would seek the girls that
  attracted him, hopefully find one special one, and be able to
  deal with the emotional effects of a close relationship. I would
  soon be back with my lovely Jan, and once again enjoy the bliss
  of a our exclusively feminine relationship. As I thought about
  her, I realised how much she meant to me, and I began to pine for
  her return.

  There was a sense of closure that we both felt. The ecstasy had
  been intense for both of us, but it was now passed. It was a
  memory that would never fade, but already it seemed more like a
  wonderful dream than something that had actually happened. I
  don't believe for one minute that Peter really had work to get
  back to; maybe he felt a bit awkward about running into Jan on
  this particular morning, or maybe he felt that he and I couldn't
  carry on with an innocent social visit as though it was just
  another weekend -- in any case he wanted to get away, so we
  hugged quite passionately, and took a last lingering goodbye
  kiss. Then he was off. I felt happy but a little drained and sat
  back in one of the deep armchairs in the living room. I leaned
  back and went into a reverie, going over my pleasant memories of
  the last several hours.

  It was a half hour or so later that I heard Jan come in. She
  walked into the living room and saw me still reclining lazily in
  the chair. "Hi, Rita my love. Where's Peter?" "He decided he
  wanted to get back early," I replied. "Oh? I hope everything is
  alright. How was it? Tell me all about it." She was obviously
  desperately eager to get the whole story. I reached out for her
  hand and squeezed it. "Yes, everything was fine." I smiled at
  her, and even managed a sly wink. "So what happened?" "Well," I
  said, "we had some dinner together, then I gave him a blow-job.
  Then he fucked me. We slept through most of the night, then you
  might say that I fucked him."

  "What?!?!?" "That's the quick summary," I said. "I think you can
  conclude that we enjoyed ourselves. It was fun." She sat on the
  arm of the chair and hugged me. I responded to her touch, and
  became overwhelmed; I wasn't able to carry on with my fake
  nonchalance, and lay my head in her lap. "Jan, I love you. It was
  really wonderful." I started to cry happily. She realised that it
  was an emotional release and that I wasn't upset, and she started
  to caress my hair lovingly. "I do want to hear all about it," she
  said, but there's no hurry." "I love you, Jan. I love you more
  than ever." She leaned over to kiss my tear stained cheek. Soon I
  was calm again, and said: "I need to freshen up now. I want to
  take a nice long bath, and then get changed. Then I'll tell you
  all about it."



  7. The Happy Ending.



  I kicked off my shoes and struggled to my stockinged feet; I made
  my way to the bedroom and carefully took off my dress. I eased
  the slip over my head and let it fall to the floor. The bra came
  off once again, and I held my breasts for a moment. I eased the
  ruffled panties down my legs, and added them to the pile. I
  couldn't resist the usual glance in the mirror, then, and I
  realised that I had been wearing the girdle and stockings for
  over 24 hours. I lay back on the bed, the bed I shared with Jan,
  and carefully undid my suspenders. I held my left leg up in the
  air, pushed my fingers just inside the stocking, to hold the
  suspender inside, and eased the little loop at the front upwards
  to free it. I undid the other two in the same way, and eased the
  stocking up, fluttering it out when it was off my foot. Then I
  repeated the process with the stocking on the right leg. I got
  off the bed, and tugged at the bottom of the girdle and slid it
  down my legs to the floor. I stood naked in front of the mirror
  and took off my necklace and earrings. Then I went into the
  bathroom, started the water going, poured some nice smelling bath
  salts into the tub and slid myself luxuriously into the hot
  water. I lay back and relaxed for ten or fifteen minutes.

  Eventually I made some half-hearted efforts at washing myself
  with a facecloth. I reached into my groin and eased the cloth all
  over the region between my legs. That felt nice, and there was a
  pleasant hint of sexual response; I pushed my fingers into my
  vagina and let the warm water flow inside. I realised that
  Peter's sperm was still there, and had a moment of regret at the
  thought of erasing a tangible reminder of the previous night. It
  felt refreshing though to swill the water round, and the vaguely
  sexual feeling was quite delicious. I'm utterly insatiable, I
  thought to myself as I got out of the bath and started to dry
  myself off with a big fluffy towel.

  Dried off, relaxed, and back in the bedroom I found a fresh
  nightdress and put it on; I sighed happily as the soft smooth
  pink nylon flowed over me, finally enveloping me. I completed the
  picture by picking out the most femmy fluffy peignoir I could
  find, and wrapping it around me. I noticed Jan had looked in, and
  was watching me with a smile. "I'm in the mood to relax," I said.
  "I don't anticipate any visitors, and I thought I might remain
  deshabillee. It's a pleasant change from the formal wear that was
  required yesterday." She laughed, and said "You look delicious. I
  feel very tempted to follow your example; would you mind very
  much if I were to join you?" I couldn't maintain the loving
  banter we both so fond of. "Yes, Jan. I want you to," I
  whispered.

  She kissed me, and I reclined on our big bed as she started to
  undress. She was wearing a red flared skirt and crisp white
  blouse. She took off the blouse to reveal a white lacy bra quite
  similar to mine. She eased the stretchy waistband of her skirt
  down over her hips and legs, and her two tier half slip came with
  it. She stood there in bra and sheer pantiehose. "You look quite
  delicious, too," I said. She was a beautiful woman. She was also
  very much a woman, but her tastes in clothing and lingerie in
  particular were quite different from mine. I was still completely
  captive to the imprinting of my fetish interests which seemed to
  date from the late 50s and early 60s, while she had followed the
  lead of most other women in rejecting such things as girdles and
  suspenders; she was somewhat more inclined to be in step with
  current fashion than I was, though these days one could be
  elegant in styles dating from almost any decade in the second
  half of the century. Our differences in taste added a little
  spice to our interaction, and we both enjoyed it; we were both
  women and completely satisfied by one another -- our relationship
  could be intensely sexual at times, and sisterly at others, and
  we both relished the little differences between us. I took great
  delight in my conviction that I was the one that had the really
  feminine tastes; Jan indulged me happily, and we both knew that I
  was the femme in the partnership.

  She undid her bra, and casually showed her lovely breasts, then
  she sat on the edge of the bed and wriggled as she undertook the
  somewhat ungainly task of rolling down her pantiehose. With them
  off, and nicely fluttered out and folded, she took her nightdress
  from under her pillow and eased it over her head. It was mint
  green, lacy, and swept down over her almost to the floor. She put
  on a robe out of the closet, matching soft green nylon, and then
  got onto the bed and snuggled up to me. "Tell me all about it,"
  she said.

  "There's so much to tell," I said snuggling closer to her; "I
  don't know where to start." "Well," she said, "I obviously want
  to know how things went in great detail, but your short summary
  of the major events has really made me curious. What on earth
  happened?" "A whole lot of things," I replied. "They were all
  very nice, and some of them were really fantastic. I was a scared
  little girl, as you know, yesterday morning, but then I found
  that Peter was a very scared little boy and it brought out my
  feminine mothering instinct." "That's wonderful! I had a
  suspicion it might work out like that. But how did you get to
  ...?" "You mean the blow job?" I asked innocently. "Yes, my sweet
  little femmy Rita, the blow job. You seem to have depths that I
  have missed all these years." She was kidding me now in her
  loving way, and hugged me just to make sure I knew. "Well, it
  happened this way," I said. "Once I stopped worrying about what
  was going to happen to me, and started worrying about how to deal
  with Peter, I felt better about everything. He was very tense,
  and the problem became how loosen him up." I smiled and couldn't
  resist "Of course a little later on the problem was to get him
  good and hard." Jan laughed. "The only way to get anything going
  was to chat him up," I went on. "You know how he likes to talk; I
  thought that would do it. I told him that we were playing the
  oldest game in the world, and that we had very specific moves to
  make. I was my job to be seductive to start off with, and then he
  had his turn, and it was all up to him."

  Jan nodded agreement. "Good tactics," she said. "He got nicely
  calmed down, and even joined into the intellectual discussion," I
  said. "It was not quite the usual seduction scenario, but it
  worked. He was so scared and out of his depth that I was pushed
  into taking control -- a change from my usual style, but I quite
  enjoyed it as a change of pace. Once we got him reasonably at
  ease with the idea of actually making love to a woman, and I was
  ready to start flashing suspenders and stockings at him, I had
  the horrible thought that he would get so excited that he would
  come right away. I didn't want that at all, and I thought it
  would upset him too; so we talked some more about that, and I
  suggested that I would bring him off first. Then we could relax
  for a while, the initial fears would be laid to rest, and I could
  gradually work him up again for the main event. I got through to
  him; and I think he knew from his solitary experience exactly
  what I was talking about." "I'm impressed," said Jan: "so
  feminine, so maternal and a skilled therapist with expert
  knowledge of human sexuality -- you really do have hidden
  depths." She gave me a quick hug of delight.

  "I got him into a bathrobe, so he could be decent to start with,
  without it getting in the way later, and we sat down on the couch
  to get things started. My plan was to get him into body contact,
  then gradually reveal what secrets I had hidden away, knowing
  that they were things that would really get to him. By the time
  he was not only seeing suspenders and stocking tops, but actually
  touching them, he was standing up stiff and hard. Ever practical,
  I was wondering what to use for lubrication, when the sight got
  to me. Some female response I never knew was in me took over, and
  I suddenly knew exactly what to do. I sucked him off." Jan gazed
  at me in something close to admiration. "It wasn't unpleasant," I
  said; "I was so moved by the circumstances and the stimulus that
  I carried on instinctively." I nestled close to Jan. "So Peter
  had his premature climax nicely taken care of; he was calmed down
  and finally reasonably at ease in the presence of a seductive
  female -- she, meanwhile, was beginning to get very very horny.
  We relaxed for a while, and then I let him follow his instincts
  -- with just a little suggestion from time to time: 'I'd like you
  to take my panties off' was one of my lines -- his instincts were
  very good, and he read all the little signals like an expert.
  Once he was inside me, I just lay back and went to heaven." Jan
  squeezed my hand. "It was good, then?" "Very good. I felt like a
  real woman." Jan smiled happily. "I hoped that's what would
  happen," she said. "I'm so happy it did; that's exactly the
  experience I wanted you to have. But I hope you haven't developed
  too strong a taste for it." She wasn't too worried, but needed
  some reassurance. "No," I said. "It was fantastic, and it made me
  feel what it was to be a woman, but it was a special event -- a
  once in a lifetime thing. I'll always have nice memories of the
  big hard cock thrust inside me, but what I really want is you. I
  love you, Jan."

  We nestled closer and closer, and I caressed her breasts; then I
  laid my head on them. "You told me that there was another
  episode; I forget quite how you put it, but it seemed a bit more
  as though you were dominant." "Yes," I said, "that was this
  morning; it was fun too." "Oh. Do tell," she pleaded. "Well," I
  replied, "to recap: things had gone more or less according to
  your master plan -- once I had got it back on track, thanks to my
  intimate knowledge of the way the male system functions. If you
  refer to your copy, you'll see that my clothing was to be removed
  as required during the proceedings. We followed the script. He
  took off my bra, and then my panties too, after a plaintive
  request from me. That left me exposing my feminine charms fully,
  but still clad provocatively in a minute girdle and nylon
  stockings of a carefully selected shade. Oh yes, I was wearing
  suspenders; it was partly for pragmatic reasons -- you know how
  stockings slip down -- but we also had thought that this might be
  a significant stimulus for -- what do the books call him? The
  male partner." I couldn't carry on and giggled. Jan was also
  enjoying my annotated version of things, and she giggled too.

  I continued eventually: "The outcome of this ritual was that we
  both had had the experience of an intense orgasm; in the
  subsequent euphoria we relaxed blissfully on the bed. Peter was
  naked, and I still retained the basic items of feminine clothing
  that I described. We fell asleep. He must have slept right
  through until morning; I got up at some point and put on a
  nightdress -- I was comfortable, and didn't see the need to take
  anything off. In fact it did cross my mind that I might need
  those things before we finally got up." Jan giggled again.
  "You're incorrigible," she said. "I was merely thinking ahead," I
  said. "I went back to bed, prepared for any contingency, and
  slept like a baby. It was already light when I came to. It took
  me a moment to sort things out, but my nightdress was up round my
  neck, and Peter was playing with my breasts and suspenders -- I'm
  not sure which he was most interested in. He didn't seem quite
  ready for action yet, so once again I had to take the initiative.
  After a suitably informative briefing, I had him lay on his back;
  I sat astride him so he could see everything. He began to take an
  interest, and I explained the advantages of this posture to him.
  Then it seemed to me to be appropriate to draw his attention to
  the prominent display of the tops of my stockings, framing as
  they did his unobstructed view of his ultimate objective, and I
  also pointed out the way the suspenders were stretched tight
  across my thighs to hold them." Jan was now giggling helplessly.
  "That did it," I said. "He stood up like a ramrod. I was then
  able to manipulate things for myself, and control the next stage
  of the proceedings. I enjoyed that very much." Jan smiled at me.
  "You enjoyed being in control, didn't you?" I couldn't continue
  in jocular mode any more; "Yes, I did. It was really fantastic,
  Jan -- feeling that great thing pushed right into me, and being
  able to position it where I wanted it. I moved up and down on it
  for a long time -- then we both came, right at the same instant."

  She hugged me, and squeezed me in her arms, pressing our breasts
  together. "I'm so glad for you, Rita, my love," she said. "It was
  a wonderful night," I said. "You were so right. It all seems a
  bit strange now, something like a dream, but it felt so good. I
  felt like a real woman -- I had a deep down feeling that I was
  fulfilling my real nature."

  After a long pause I added "But it wouldn't have been the same
  with someone else. Peter's little hangups and inexperience
  brought out the best in me. You were so right about that. For all
  the wonderful feelings I had, I'm not sure I would want to do it
  with anyone else -- or again with him. I don't really feel I want
  to be with men; I love being a woman, and I love being among
  women. Most of all I love one special woman." Jan started to
  caress my nipples through the material of the nightdress. "Me
  too," she said. "I feel exactly the same way as you do. I liked
  men, and I followed the normal path for a long time; I have fond
  memories of my ecstasy when I felt a big cock thrust right into
  me, but I don't need it any more. I like the company of other
  women, and I like the way women do things; the happiest moment of
  my life, Rita my love, was when you realised that you had to join
  us."

  My nipples were standing up hard now, and I felt a desperate urge
  for someone to love me and take me. I wanted it to be another
  woman, who would empathise with me and share with me -- someone
  who would be both a lover and a sister to me. I wanted it to be
  Jan. She was there ready. She understood -- and she wanted to
  take me for herself. We made love; it didn't have the intense raw
  lust of my experiences of the previous night, but it was deeply
  satisfying as only the true love between two women can be.