It had to happen. . . .

PART ONE:

Julie hadn’t been feeling too well even before we had left for dinner.

And now things seemed to be getting worse.

The regular Friday night get together had started well enough, with Clara, Suzy and Rosalind and I already in our sacred sanctuary before Julie had breezed in about 6.15 p.m.  with a cheery, “Hi, girls!,” and rhetorically asking, “ Looking forward to tonight?”

The five of us had been renting this 1-bedroom apartment over on the east side of town for well over five years, using it as our secret base, our centre of operations as it were. It was a place of retreat, of refuge; a place where our extensive stashes of clothes, shoes, accessories and, of course, make-up and wigs were safe from curious or prying eyes; it was also a place where any one of us could go at any time when the need or urge to dress arose or when we had, as we did almost every Friday, planned a “girls night out” to some local restaurant or other. Usually we’d go on to a bar or club for a nightcap and continuing chat before returning to our unsuspecting families and the realities of our everyday drab lives.

As we all know too well, it’s always tough being a male to female crossdresser; and it’s harder still when you are still technically still in the proverbial closet, especially if you have spouses and families who have no idea what their husband or father does to relieve stress and get some enjoyment and relaxation on their own time.

As we all also know, this need for secrecy and caution still pervades most in the crossdresser sector of society — even amongst friends as close as the five of us were. In fact, I think it’s fair to say none of us knew (or asked about) each other’s real names, where we lived, what we did for a living (although we broadly knew who amongst us was in legal, or in marketing, or self-employed), or more specific details of our relationship status — other than knowing most of us were married or in relationships.

So, that Friday night we all went about our own, usual rituals of getting ready; me following the same pattern time after time, getting dressed in my bra and panties, maybe a slip and outer clothes (in this case a lovely new slim-line blue skirt with a sheer white top) before contemplating doing my makeup and fixing my wig. Clara chattering non-stop about this and that; Suzy delighting us with tales of her most recent narrow escape when she had been out dressed alone from home the previous week when she thought the coast was clear — only to find it wasn’t as clear as she thought! Rosalind standing semi naked, (probably deliberately!) showing off her lithe figure, in just her panties and tights, doing her makeup; and Julie being Julie, usually buzzing about coming to chat with each one of us is turn about what we planned to wear, what we’d bought the previous week — and bemoaning the fact that she couldn’t stay crossdressed for a week or so instead of snatching just a few hours here and there to revel in being en-femme!

We were aiming to get out of our special place by about 7.30 p.m. with a view to dining at 8.00 p. m.; tonight was to be at a nearby Italian place as they offered some vegetarian options which suited me. Seriously looking forward to dining, I was done and ready by 7.15 p.m., having checked and double checked how I looked in the mirror at least half dozen times. Finally feeling complete, I did a last twirl, feeling the swish of my skirt against my tights and enjoying how it sent shivers of expectation tingling through my spine.

Fifteen or so minutes later, for some reason, I suddenly realized it seemed noticeably quiet and looked around the room. I could see that Clara was almost ready and Suzy was sitting on the sofa engaged in texting someone or the other on her smartphone. Rosalind was putting the finishing touches to her lips with her favorite lip gloss. No Julie?

Continued next Monday. . . .

Tags: closeted, crossdressing, featured

Category: Transgender Fun & Entertainment