by Tara Love
Chapter 1: The Night Out
I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked great. The foundation had given my skin a much smoother and appearance, accenting the evenness of my face and hiding most of the few male features I possess. The makeup made my eyes appear large and innocent. I was wearing long, false eyelashes, and my eye shadow was as perfect as the liners. The bright-red lipstick highlighted my full, sensitive lips which were wet with lip-gloss, inviting. The chestnut brown wig completed my outfit, and entirely changed my type. I had put a lot of time and effort in my appearance tonight, and it had paid off. I was lucky, as my otherwise modest male features can be transformed into this stunningly good-looking woman. With contacts instead of my usual glasses and a brown, medium-long wig on my short, blonde hair, I was a completely different type. My body was slim, not too tall and well proportioned with legs that made many women jealous.
Tonight was a special night, because for the first time I will go out with my new breast forms attached. I had bought them in England the week before, where I did a bit of consulting work. They were expensive and top-of-the-line, but I could afford them, and I felt that now my outfit was ultimately complete. I have never felt as feminine as tonight, and I had passed with a lot worse outfits before. Tonight I was in adventurous mood, and I dressed to kill. I wore the bright-red top, which matched the lipstick and was one of my proudest possessions. It was shoulder-free with long sleeves. The upper front part was made of see-through shear lace material with flowery patterns, which revealed more than it was hiding. At mid-chest did the lace part end into red ruffled stretch material. My C-cups were firmly held in place by the black, waist-clinching bustier with attached garters to hold my stockings. Through the lace of the top it was impossible to see the fine lines, where the breast forms started. The breasts themselves for of very light-coloured, non-shiny material, giving me a much more sensual look than most sun-tanned chicks have. In order to hide my crotch I wore a G-string, and see-through French knitters. I liked the rubbing of the string when I walked. I had decided against my black mini skirt and in favour of a wide-flying long black skirt. I did not want to show off my legs tonight, and a mini skirt would have made me a complete slut. I never dared to wear the short skirt with a garter belt for fear of revealing too much, and I enjoyed the bouncing of my skirt as well as the soft pulling of the stockings while I walked. Because of the long and more conservative skirt I was wearing, I had decided in favour of my high-heeled shoes instead of my more comfortable, black boots. I had bought these shoes cheap, and they had the highest heels I could find outside of a sex-shop. The heels were 8 cm high and black and shiny, and the shoes were sandal type with little hearts in front that looked like they were made of small diamonds. I could only walk slowly in these with swinging, inviting steps, but I was not planning to walk far, anyway. The final part of my outfit was the black choker, which made me look ultimately sensual. The choker came with the bustier, and it is strange how this little peace of woman attire can change the whole proportion of the upper body, and made we look so much more feminine. Altogether, I looked very sexy and just within the limits. I felt sexy and great.
I had started to go out in drag over a year ago, just roaming the streets at night, and had rapidly improved my outfit. I was a sure "pass" as long as nobody came too close. But because of my liking of sensual, sometimes even slutty, outfits, I caused a lot of attention by cars driving by. Frequently I had been mistaken for a prostitute, but I always quickly moved on in my adrenaline rush, when guys started talking to me from inside the cars. I also had had a couple of close calls before, and I had sworn to myself to be more careful in the future. But not tonight. Tonight I was ready for a new adventure, and I decided to go into the more busy pedestrian zones, just window shopping and enjoying my new breasts. It was a perfect night for that, as it got dark early, but the air was still warm in the Indian summer with a slight breeze. Too often had the weather destroyed my plans in the past, and I felt that everything was perfect on this late-summer Saturday.
I grabbed my purse with the make-up, some money (just in case...) and my driver's license and my keys. I was ready to leave my apartment. This was always the first big hurdle. I lived among several new blocks of apartment buildings in the outskirts of Stockholm, and the parking lot is two hundred meters of walkway away. I had moved to the city a few months ago and quite enjoyed the anonymity of my new neighbourhood. I usually made sure that none of my neighbours watched my coming out of my flat, and then quickly went down towards my car. Once I was on the walkway, I was just another dressed-up woman ready for a night in town, and I quite enjoyed that part, with my skirt flying and my look downcast, avoiding the eyes of the few oncomers. I always felt excited of people passing by, giving me adoring looks, and I wondered, if ever somebody notices. So I was getting ready to leave my apartment, quietly and slowly opening the door. I looked at the other flats, where people had a clear view on my front door, but there were no lights in any of them. I stepped out of the door and into the light outside. The problem was that I could not see the walkway on the right side of my flat, because the stairs block the view. However, I did not hear a sound, and so pulled the door closed. I never locked the door, because usually I want to get in fast when I come back, not fiddling around with my keys for long, and I deemed the chances of a break-in extremely small. I had not much worth stealing, anyway. I quickly stepped down the stairs into the walkway and turned left towards the car park.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that there actually was another figure on the walkway, and I accelerated my steps, not daring to look again. The "clack-clack" of my high-heeled shoes appeared too loud for my ears, and I wished now that I had taken my boots instead in order to go faster. The person started to talk to me from behind. The voice was female, and I decided to ignore her. She was talking in Swedish, and I did not understand. However, she raised her voice, apparently asking a question. I saw a group of people just entering the walkway on the far side. What to do? The woman was a mere five meters behind me, clearly talking to me, and I could not possibly ignore her any longer.
When I am looking back now in light of everything that happened afterwards, I come to the conclusion that this was possibly the last moment for me, where I had the chance to get out of this. I should have just walked on straight, ignoring her, even though that would have made me a bitch. But what did I care? She would never know who it was, anyway. But instead, I decided to obey my good manners.
I stopped and turned around, and tried in my best female voice to explain that I did not understand Swedish. Fortunately I had been humming for half an hour to warm up my voice (you never know). I recognised the lady as the one living one block away. She was in her mid-forties. I had noticed her immediately, when she moved in. The first time I saw her from my window, she was wearing a long coat of fur and black leather pants. Her hair was long and blonde in curls, and she wore it in a ponytail. She was looking "dangerous", and was apparently single. Once she had seen me coming out of my flat in male clothes, and she gave me a look and a knowing smile, which made me feel like she could see right through me. I had fantasised since that I would meet her, but of course I had not made a move. Now she was standing in front of me, wearing black leather pants with a tight, white top, and obviously ready to go out for a night in town. I wondered briefly, whether she recognised me in my outfit. If she did, she made no sign of it.
"Have you seen my cat? She slipped when I opened my door, and I just can't find her." I was relieved that that was all, and briefly told here, no, sorry, and made to turn around to get away from here. But she seemed to be eager to get a conversation going, and asked me, where I was from, and what I was doing in Stockholm and how long I had been living here and which flat was mine. Damn it! I was not prepared for that, I stuttered something about coming from the Netherlands and being a hairdresser and pointed to the flat above mine, which I knew was currently empty. (Did she hear me coming out of my own flat? She must have noticed that I did not come down the stairs! Or did she? But what else would I say?). I told her that I really had to go now, as I was meeting a friend downtown, and it was nice to meet her. Something I said must have caught her attention, or maybe it was the way I was stuttering and being insecure, despite my outfit. She now gazed down on me, halting at the sheer material of my top, my free shoulders and my choker, and hesitated for a moment. She was clearly thinking, and I made to leave with a cheerful "See you soon". I turned around and quickly started to move on, but she came after me, and caught up with me. "Do you think you can give me a ride downtown? I had planned to go, too, but I just missed the bus because of my stupid cat! Just give me a minute, and I will be ready!" Shit. I did not know what to say. Had she seen through me? What is she up to? Or does she believe me and really just wants to go downtown? She definitely looked like she was ready to get out. Has she seen me coming out of my apartment? A lot of things went through my mind, and I quickly needed to make a decision. Shit. I heard people approaching from behind, talking and laughing. They were able to hear now what we were talking, too. The woman repeated her plea for me to wait, and invited me to her place while she gets ready. She talked in a louder voice now, and I saw the two guys passing us and giving us interested looks. I quickly agreed with her suggestion to come to her place, while she was getting ready.
A lot of thoughts raced through my mind as I was waiting outside her place. Maybe I should just leave. But I could not walk very fast in my high heels, and I would make a lot of noise, so she would hear me disappearing immediately. On the other hand, maybe she has not yet seen through my appearance and believed me, and really just wants a ride downtown. I did not have much time to think about my options, and she had clearly advised me "Wait here! I will be right back". I had noticed that her tone had slightly changed, but did not think too much of it. Soon she came out of her door again, and I still had not made up my mind, what to do now. "Let's go to your car", she said and I followed her. What should I do? I tried to think quietly while we walked for a couple of minutes, but she kept bombarding me with questions and clearly tried to get a conversation going. I answered and lied as good as possible. My name was Tara, and I had just moved to Stockholm. So had she, and she was trying to make new friends, and how great it was that we met and I sure must come over for coffee sometime. She told me that her name was Dominica, but I could call her Dom. Great. (She MUST have noticed by now, but gave no indication of it, or had she?) I startled at her name, and she asked me, what was wrong. I simply said that I never heard that name before, and I quite liked it. "Well thanks, sweetie".
I needed time to think, but she would not let me, keeping a superficial conversation going. We passed three more people on the way, and finally arrived at my car. The good thing was that I felt much more comfortable in her company than when I was alone. We had got a lot of looks by some guys passing, but were "deep" in conversation, that is, she was while I desperately tried to think. I opened the doors of my car, and we both stepped in. "You can give me your purse", she said, and I saw no reason not to. She held it for me, while I was driving. "So where are you meeting your friend?" Now be careful. Think quickly! "In the 'Odin'", which was a popular hotel bar at the time, and the first name that occurred to me. "What a coincidence! That's where I was going, too!" Shit. Shit. Damn it. "Great", I said. She MUST have noticed, but I still clanged to the remote chance that she had not. What else could I do? I had actually never been in a pub in drag, only at a gay bar in the city I came from. Only twice, when I felt very courageous. I needed to THINK, but she still kept our conversation going. She told me she did not like her hair the way it was and asked me, if I had any suggestions. I told her hair looked just fine to me, and felt like Huckleberry Fin dressed up as the girl in Mark Twain's great novel.
Far too soon we arrived in the city. I looked for parking in a somewhat deserted area, like I usually do, but she exclaimed that she knows a parking lot that is always free right next to the 'Odin', so we kept driving. The streets were busier now on this Saturday night, and we had to stop at crosswalks a lot, where some guys looked right into our car, mostly starring at my chest. I got a lot of whistles on our way, and Dom congratulated me on my looks. Thanks. We finally entered the parking lot, and I still had no plan, how to get out of this. She MUST know by now, or does she? How can I find out? Shall I just excuse myself and take off now? That seemed to be the best idea. I just have to make up an excuse and leave her here. But she had already come around the car and hooked herself under. "Now we will go find your friend and have FUN tonight!" I tried to manage a smile, but could not. People went by us, and the guys gave as very approving looks. I obviously "passed", but attracted more looks than I cared for. Two guys seemed to get ready to jump at us, and before I could bring out a word, Dom had steered me towards the entrance of the Odin. Her grip was very firm. I tried to loosen myself a bit, but she would not let go. We went through the group of people in the street, and passed the bouncers, who simply nodded briefly. Then we were in the bar.
People looked up as we entered. Two hot, middle-age women dressed to get laid. My heart was pounding. I cursed my large breasts now (Why did it have to be a C-cup?), and my revealing top. I fumbled nervously at the sleeve-tops to try and hide more, but it was not meant to hide things and quickly slid down again. Also, my nipples protruded much more clearly through the lower part of the top, which can not be looked through. I felt uncomfortable. One thing I will never forget was that coincidentally, the song that had just started to pour out of the speakers was Shania Twain's "Man, I feel like a woman!". Dom was behind me, asking: "So where is your friend?" "I can't see him from here". "So let's go through and try to find him, shall we?" Shit. "Of course!" So we made our way through the crowd, the men not exactly trying to leave too much space, and I felt my arse fumbled a few times and people pushing their chest against mine while I was passing. So that's what it's like to be a woman, but judging by me outfit, I was asking for it. I ignored the comments of the guys I passed (thank god they were in Swedish), and made it to the back room. Dom had followed me suit. "Is he here?"-"No, maybe he is late"-"Well let's go and sit at the bar and have a drink, while we are waiting, shall we?"
Not much choice. We grabbed two stools that just became free and sat down. I still tried to figure out, how to get out of this. I was sure that she must have noticed, but why did she not show a sign? She kept chatting, but after a few minutes, a guy came on my left side. I felt his bare hand on my lower back and he pressed himself against me. I had not noticed that the seam of my skirt had slipped down a bit, while I was sitting on the stool, and my top had moved up because of the way I bent forward to partly try and hide my breasts, which caused attention by the other guys at the bar as well as the barkeeper. What I had not realised was that now the lower part of my bustier was exposed, and people behind me could clearly see that I was wearing a bustier with garters attached. The guy was drunk, and he started fumbling with my bustier and was clearly trying to pick me up. I turned around and saw his friends laughing at me and cheering him on. I quickly excused myself to Dom and made it to the lady's room, amongst the whistles of the drunken guys.
In the lady's room I realised that I had left my purse with Dom. Shit. I was clearly not thinking straight, and was getting more and more desperate to get out of here. I rearranged my clothing and checked my make-up in the mirror. My wig was still in place, and I still looked like a hot chick ready to get laid, but I was not so proud of it anymore. But finally I had time too think. I would simply go out and tell Dom that I was not feeling well, and would go home immediately. Not a brilliant idea, but it would work and get me out of here. After a couple of minutes in the washroom, I took a few breathers, gathered all my courage and stepped out again. Guys were looking up again, but I kept my eyes downcast went straight back to the place where Dom was sitting. Or had been sitting. She was gone. So was my purse. And my car keys. And my apartment keys. And (most likely) my car. Shit. "Are you ready to settle?" the barkeeper looked at me. "What?" I was completely dumbfounded. "Your bill, you still have to pay for your cocktails". Not good. "Where is my friend?" "She left right after you went to the bathroom, said you would settle." "But she took my purse, I have no money". I had no idea, what to do. "So you are saying that you can not pay what you owe?" People have started to look up now and followed our conversation. "No, I have nothing on me". "Go and call the boys", the barkeeper said to his friend on the other side. I was desperate. "It's ok. I will pay for it. How much is it?" I thought it was the voice of an angel. I looked around and saw into the eyes of a friendly looking middle-aged gentleman. He was my hero. Seldom had I felt such a relief in my life, and I was overwhelmed. "Thank you so much", I exclaimed. He stretched out his arms and smiled. "I would do anything to get a hug from such a beautiful lady", was his reply. Amongst the eyes of the bystanders, I could not but give him his hug, while he packed a kiss on my cheek and pressed me firmly against him, His left hand fumbling my arse and his right quickly slid under my top, feeling up and down my bustier on the back. Amongst the laughter of the crowd I immediately stepped back and excused myself, pulling my top down. But he did not want to let go so soon.
He grabbed my arm. "Now you won't leave me here so soon, just after I paid your bill, do you?" "But I need to go home, soon!" "Is your mother still waiting for you?" he asked with a twinkling of his eyes. "No, but I need to get up early tomorrow", I lied, not convincingly. I did not look like that. "I though by your outfit that you were hoping for a long night!" he said again with a smile. "Let's go and sit down, I will buy you another drink". I did not have much to say. To my relief, however, I still was "passing". Maybe the reason was that his eyes never stayed on my face from long, but were attracted somewhat lower. He got us two drinks, and we found a place for two in a quiet corner. He started to talk about himself, bragging away. Apparently he was a successful businessman with an unfaithful wife. Right. My arse. While he was talking, his hand had started to lift my skirt from above my knees, and he had started to feel up and down my legs and the seams of my stockings, while his other hand was put around me, fumbling with my left breast. I tried to shake his hands off, but he insisted: "Hey, I just saved your butt! So don't be so shy! I know you want it, or otherwise why would you dress like that?" Again people were looking at us. Because of the table they could not see his hand under my skirt, but they clearly saw him fumbling with my tits. What to do? I did not want to cause a scene, but sure they would think I am a slut who lets people fumble her for paying her drinks. This problem was solved the moment he went for the Homerun. His hand felt my crotch and a look of disbelieve entered his eyes. I could not help but smile a little, and he simply got up and left, apparently out of words. I did not waste time and followed him out of the bar and into the streets.
I do not recall the exact details of my way home, but I know I walked for over an hour, attracting attention wherever I passed, but I had somehow toughened up and did not change the streets sides anymore whenever somebody come towards me. I ignored the whistles I got, but still cursed having dressed the way I did, especially with my high heels that seemed to kill me, forcing this slow, taunting walk. That has definitely taught me a lesson, and I swore by myself to try a bit more conservative in the future. Actually I promised myself to stop dressing up altogether. Yes. That was it. I had tried and failed, and all of my earlier excitement had worn off. I would simply go home and dump all my female clothes. Who needs them, anyway?
When I finally made it home, I did not even bother to check for my car. I was dead tired and exhausted, and only hoped that my door was still unlocked. I was glad about the precautions I took, and wanted nothing more than a goodnight's sleep. After all, nothing much has happened. Nobody had recognised me, and people will forget about the slut in the bar, as they usually do. They were drunk, anyway. Nobody knows (I thought). Once I entered my apartment, however, I noticed something was different. Initially it was not clear to me what it was, but then I realised that my jacket holder was empty. Somebody (probably Dom, I thought) must have got in and taken my jackets. Big deal. But then it occurred to me that she DID find me out, as I have told her I would live in the flat above. So she knows. So what? There are a lot of guys who dress up as women occasionally. I am just one of them, and actually I had just decided to stop, right? When I came into the kitchen, however, I noticed a small note on the table:
"Hi sweetie: I had a good time with you tonight, and I hope we can do this more often. I actually did notice that you were in drag" (I had thought so) "but I must say that you looked great and fooled me in the beginning. I think we will have a lot of fun together."... (well I will just have to explain to her about my resolution, not to dress up anymore, and she will surely understand after what happened tonight... " What gives you away is your lack of confidence and your overall shyness, which did not go with your outfit yesterday night. We will have to work on that." ...(who is 'we'?)..."You will notice that I have done some changes to your wardrobe, while you were enjoying yourself in the bar" ...(What?)..."I have thrown out some of your clothes, and would like to see you tomorrow morning at 11 AM for coffee to discuss your future" ...(WHAT??)..."I liked the skirt you were wearing tonight, and put out a nice top for you. It is on your bed. So I hope I will see you tomorrow. Don't be late!!!
(and for future references: a real hairdresser ALWAYS has a suggestion as to how to improve somebody's hairstyle!)"
I hurried into my bedroom, and opened the closet. She had taken out all my male clothes. ALL OF IT! Neatly folded in the drawers was some lingerie, some of it was mine, some of it was black lace she must have added out of her own collection. Dresses hung side by side inside the closet. I saw a very short, black leather dress, which was not mine. All looked very sexy. Blouses and tops were there, but not a single pair of pants. There was even a French-maid costume. A note inside the closet read:
"I have added some of my own stuff, as they don't fit me anymore, and I did not want to throw them out. This and you own clothing will give you a nice start. Don't forget: if you want some of your male clothes back by Monday, you will have to come to me tomorrow. By the way: Nice tits! You will do nicely for me.
I was trapped in my own flat without a piece of male clothing, and a woman had found me out and taken a liking to me. Only slowly did I realise the depths of the hole I have dug myself in. THIS IS REAL! What should I do? I had a look over the treasures I had accumulated over the years. It occurred to me now that, on average, I dressed like a slut. Dom apparently had also a taste leaning towards the wild side. The only jacket I saw was an artificial fur coat with leopard print. Did she expect me run around like that in broad daylight? I sure hoped not. I slowly undressed, took a shower and found in my bed a pink silk nightie instead of my usual pyjamas. She had not left anything out.
Before I fell asleep I worried: "What would be next?"
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