The Awakening of Evelyn

by Evelyn D. Fairechild

 

Chapter One – My Secret

 

I had a happy childhood, or at least I wasn't unhappy. My father was an aristocratic Englishman, and passed away when I was young. My mother, from the San Francisco Bay area, was loving and kind and raised me well. She was half Vietnamese and half Norwegian, and very beautiful – she had worked as a model, and could have obtained 'super-model' status if she cared enough to try. My mixture of English, Norwegian, and Vietnamese heritage resulted in me having slightly almond-shaped eyes, delicate features, brunette hair, blue eyes, and a very pale and fair complexion. I was frail and slight as a youth, with childhood asthma. My heritage and physical stature gave me a very girlish appearance and my voice was high pitched and soft. I had a full head of luxurious brunette hair, with a natural wave and curl that not a few ladies told me they'd die for. In certain situations, such as accompanying my mother to the mall, or wandering through the ladies clothing section of a department store (which I loved to do), I would be mistaken for a girl.

A couple of years after my father died, my mother became a trophy wife to a successful investment banker. My relationship with my stepfather could best be described as cordial. He did not have any children of his own, and was not the least bit interested in having any. But he was not mean to me, and he did teach me a lot about investing and money management. He was often absent, spending part of the week in New York and the other at an office in Philadelphia, near our home.

Both my natural father and mother were wealthy. When my father died, he left me a trust fund, administered by my mother and her sister, my Aunt Beverley, which was worth many millions.

I attended a private school near our home in southeast Pennsylvania. Being shy, I never had a girl friend, and remained a virgin throughout high school. By the time of my senior year I had stopped growing and reached five feet, nine inches, and a hundred and ten pounds. I was a "late bloomer", not reaching puberty until early spring of my junior year when I was almost nineteen. I was older than all my classmates because I had to take half a year off from school due to mono and other illnesses.

I was christened Evelyn Dale Fairechild. In today's world, Evelyn is a girl's name, but it wasn't long ago that it was a fairly common boy's name (witness Evelyn Waugh, the writer), and Evelyn had been my fraternal grandfather's name. I went by my middle name, and if anyone asked me what the "E" stood for, I'd say Evan.

I loved music - piano and guitar – and was quite talented. My few friends were fellow musicians, and played with several high-school bands, some quite good.

We had a housekeeper, an older French lady named Mimi, who was a handsome, gentle lady, but with an inner strength and air of authority. She was taller than mother or me, and had striking long silver gray hair. Like mother, she was always impeccably dressed and groomed and wore fine clothes appropriate for her age. Mother knew Mimi through Mimi's daughters, with whom she was friends. Mimi's daughters had since moved away, and one of them had recently married. Mimi's husband had left her years before, and I always wondered why she never remarried – she was certainly good-looking enough to attract a man's attention. Mimi had been my babysitter for as long as I could remember, and was a kind of surrogate grandmother (even though she wasn't quite old enough), and I guess you could have called her my nanny. We had a warm relationship, and she would address me as "dear", "sweetheart", and "my lovely little boy".

Mimi didn't live with us; she had a house not far from ours. As I got older, her visits became less frequent, down to twice a week or so. She'd do laundry, vacuuming, make the beds, and generally tidy up, as well as just gossip with my mother. For heavier housework and cleaning, we had another maid who would come by once a week or so. Mimi was "well enough off" as mother put it, meaning she had plenty of money and didn't need full-time work, but she seemed to enjoy being our housekeeper, and I guess whatever mother paid her was important enough since she continued to be our housekeeper.

I can't remember when I first started cross-dressing. All I know is that I started sneaking into my mother's room and dressing in her things whenever the opportunity allowed. She had a separate bedroom from my stepfather, which she kept most femininely decorated. She called it her 'boudoir'. She had lovely things – fine lingerie from Europe, designer couture fashions, and a ransom in jewelry, especially pearls, her favorite. When I dressed in her things, the feeling of silk, lace, and fine fabrics next to my skin sent exquisite chills through my entire being. The utter femininity of her things gave me such pleasure. (The fact that they were my mother's clothes didn't play into my fantasies, just the exquisite pleasure I felt being dressed as a lady.) I loved wearing foundation garments - brassieres, garter belts, stockings, and, above all, delicate panties. I would almost swoon while wearing these things. But for all those dainties, dressing up just wasn't complete until I was wearing one of her fancy dresses, all made up, in heels, jewelry, all the accessories. I felt so wonderful, so contented, so alive and erotically charged (even as a pre-pubescent), so naughty.

My mother received all sorts of ladies clothing catalogs and fashion magazines, and I would sneak off and study them in my room. I became literate in fashion terms, and found that some terms had conflicting definitions, so I refined my own vocabulary. For example, the definition of a petticoat, to me, meant a long half-slip, tea length (to the mid or low calf) to floor length (to the ankle), while to others, it meant any half-slip made of crinoline. A crinoline, in my world, meant a half-slip of any length, made of that wonderful rustling fabric, meant to pouf out a skirt, with flounces of lace at the hem. A petticoat, on the other hand, would be made of a fluid material, such as silk, and should be prettily decorated with lace and embroidery. It was a true underskirt. A pettislip was a petticoat that was knee length or above. A peignoir was a full-length (to the ankle) garment meant for sleeping, and essentially was a dramatic gown meant to wear in bed, made of sheer fabrics, such as silk chiffon. A nightgown differed from a peignoir in that it was made of non-sheer fabrics, such as silk charmeuse, with a wide range of styles – essentially an evening gown made of lingerie fabrics. A negligee was anything longer than a chemise and had a fitted bodice and straps. Negligees were just fancy slips, meant to be alluring, and could be for bedtime or under dresses.

The underthings that ladies wore were so fascinating, and I thought that they were at least as important as a lady's outwear and accessories. Dressing properly had to begin with the underdressing, which started with foundation garments; brassiere, garter belt, and immodest panties, all perfectly matched. And to me, foundations should include a fanciful garter that matched the other foundation items, one on each thigh to cover the top of the stockings to hide the clasps of the garter belt suspenders, rather than just support the stockings. The garter belt itself should be wide, as traditional garter belts, sometimes called waspies. Over the foundations, a real lady should wear another pantie to cover the immodest bikini, such as a French cut brief or a tulip pantie. Topping it all off was a set of what some call daywear: camisole, pantie, and pettislip or petticoat (depending on the length of the skirt). Like foundations, these articles were a matched set, and should be fancifully decorated with lace, embroidery, or other frilly embellishments. A daywear set could be worn as outwear, except for the fact that they were far too feminine for a modest lady to be seen in. The pantie should be a tap or dance pantie, a dance pantie being fuller and longer than a tap panties. Perfection would be that the foundations and daywear should all match. During my furtive cross-dressing's, I found myself wearing more and more panties. I would try to find panties that were of similar color that would overlay each other, the one on top completely covering the one beneath. Donning panties on and drawing them off was so thrilling to me, watching myself in the mirror, fixating on the delicate lace. The more panties I wore, the more thrilling and naughty it was for me. I also rationalized the wearing of so many panties as a way of adding fullness to my hips and derriθre, and the psychologist in me told me that the layers of panties would hide my maleness.

Chapter Two – My First Sojourn

I'll never forget the first time I had an orgasm (which I called a "creaming" – a more delicate term) while cross-dressed. The few creamings I had would start by browsing through a fashion catalog or two, dreaming of wearing the beautiful dresses shown inside. I would lie in bed, stomach down, on a pillow covered with a soft towel to prevent staining the pillowcase, slowly churning, dreaming about being dressed.

My first experience while dressed was late spring of my junior year, just before my nineteenth birthday. My parents took off for a ten day trip to Italy. Mimi was watch over me by checking up on me once a day or so, run errands, clean the house when needed, and make sure I had ready-made meals. The main issue was the fact that I didn't have my driver's license, and I couldn't get to the grocery store or other places I might need to go. (I carpooled to and from school every day with some other kids in the neighborhood.) Mother had these anxieties about me driving (probably because she was a terrible driver), and she wanted me to wait another few months before learning.

My parents left on a Friday afternoon. Mimi was there to see them off, and then fixed me dinner. After assuring her that I would be perfectly fine by myself ("I'm almost nineteen" I had to tell her), she left me for the evening. I scampered upstairs, showered, and then snuck into my mother's room. There on the bed, carefully laid out, was a tea-length gown with a matching bolero jacket. The gown had a black velvet bodice and an empire waist tied with a midnight blue satin ribbon that matched the midnight blue silk faille of the skirt and jacket. Why had my mother left it there? Was it something she meant to pack, but didn't? Did she know about my cross-dressing, and left it for me? I didn't have an answer, but it was definitely on my mind as I found myself, a delicious hour or so later, all dressed in it, accessorized with a fine pearl necklace and bracelet, and black velvet pumps. I was made up in lipstick, mascara, and blush. Beneath it all I wore a matching antique-white lace brassiere, garter belt and French pantie set, a soft bit of terry cloth protecting my 'dantie', black seamed stockings, and an antique-white silk camisole and dance pantie. I was standing by the recamier, cheval mirror in front of me, primping and swishing, and my hand wandered down. I was so stimulated by that point that it only took a few gentle strokes of my finger across the dress in front of my dantie to entice a withering creaming. I cried out as wave upon wave of exquisite pleasure swept over me. (It was pure luck that the terry cloth absorbed most of my cream. As it was, I had to wash the panties, but it could have been much worse, with cream on the dress.) I couldn't believe that anyone could possibly feel that much pleasure! From that moment on, I knew there would be no denying the deep exquisite pleasure I had just felt.

For the remaining time of my parent's vacation, I spent as many evenings as possible in my mother's boudoir, dressing "to the nines", ending the evening with luscious creamings, and sometimes sleeping in peignoirs. After school, I'd rush home, shower, slip into some of my mother's dantie underthings. There were a couple of jeans that my mother had bought me made of a soft and supple denim with wide flared legs, and I would wear them over the underthings, along with one of my soft cashmere or merino wool sweaters that mother always seemed to by buying me. I'd come downstairs wearing the jeans and sweater with danties underneath, and do my homework while waiting for Mimi to arrive. She would have dinner with me and I'd watch a little television with her, just to keep her company, but anxiously waiting for her to leave so that I could slip into my mother's boudoir and dress up.

The weekend rolled around and I'd have the house completely to myself from Friday night to Sunday afternoon, when Mimi said she'd return to check on me. I had a little stash of hashish courtesy of my musician friends. So on Saturday morning, I dressed in a recent purchase of my mother's -- a beautiful pink robe and nightgown, a diaphanous lovely by Jonquil. Beneath I wore a pink brassiere, garter belt, stockings, bikini panties (again, with a small linen towel protecting my dantie), and silk tap panties, finishing off with high ankle-strap stiletto heels. Just before finishing my makeup, I smoked some hashish and got really high. Like the last couple of times I got high, thoughts bombarded me as I sat at the dressing table – I guess it was an anxiety attack. I somehow finished making up, the lip-gloss the final touch. Feelings of utmost shame and humiliation swept over me as I sat there, dressed up in ladies things. Oh, what a sissy I was! What a rich, spoiled, cross-dressing sissy, a pampered and prissy pantywaist! Oh, how would I ever amount to anything? While other boys were out chasing girls and playing sports, here I was, dressing in dainty ladies things. Oh how shameful, how utterly shameful! I sat for minutes on end, almost in tears. I stood slowly, afraid I might faint. I considered undressing, ridding myself of the disgraceful garments and the shame, but when I stood in front of the dressing mirror, a solemn stillness came over me as a vision of feminine loveliness stared back at me in the mirror. A slight movement to and fro brought on a stunning creaming, causing me to cry out loudly. The linen towel wasn't enough to protect the panties, and I had to hand-wash them later. After I had creamed, I swore I'd never, ever cross-dress again. And I didn't - until I went to bed that evening in a pink satin chemise. There was just no denying my desires.

The day before they arrived back home, I had to make sure that I left no evidence behind that I have been into her things. I doubt that I was successful, but mother never mentioned anything.

Chapter Three – The Redecorated Guest Room

A few days after mother returned from her trip to Italy, she declared (with enthusiasm) that she was going to redecorate the guest room across the hall from me. My room and the guest room were at one end of a long hallway, while her room and my stepfather's room were at the other end, with the staircase in between. We had a big house, and the distance between our rooms was substantial, so I enjoyed quite a bit of privacy. The guest room was, to that point, boring, containing a couple of twin beds and serviceable furniture, certainly nothing like the fine antiques that mother collected and showcased in other parts of the house. This was the last room to get her touch.

By the time summer vacation had arrived, she had finished redecorating, turning it into a very feminine chamber. The walls were papered with a floral pattern, pastel shades of pinks and blues against a cream background. The two beds were replaced with a mahogany four poster queen bed. The bed covering was a delicate rose pink satin quilt with a cream chenille throw folded at the bottom. At its foot was an antique mahogany loveseat with mother-of-pearl and exotic wood inlay on the back, upholstered with silver silk brocade with matching tasseled bolster pillows. The carpet was replaced with thick and plush wool in a cream that matched the wallpaper. She replaced the old bureau with a mahogany antique that went well with the bed and loveseat. An oval dressing mirror on a swivel stand stood in the corner. But the crowning touch was a vanity that matched the loveseat – mahogany with inlays on the four drawers, a slipper chair with the same silver silk brocade, and a large round mirror. The mirror was silver glass and had developed a patina around the edge. On the vanity, mother placed a porcelain Santini figurine of a lady at her dressing table putting on stockings, and on the bureau, she placed an Armani figurine titled 'Ada'. To complete the redecoration, mother added a nightstand and two matching wingback chairs upholstered in velvet to match the comforter, with a small table between them. Table lamps with tasseled shades sat on both the nightstand and the table, and, when lit in the evening, gave a soft romantic glow to the room. A gilt-framed mirror was hung on the wall between the two chairs. In the attached bathroom, she continued with the wallpaper from the bedroom and purchased coordinating velvet towels.

The redecorating was barely done when mother and I headed off for our annual visit to her sister Beverley

Chapter Four – My Favorite Auntie

Aunt Beverley lived in Tiburon in the San Francisco Bay Area. I loved going there, especially into San Francisco proper, and liked the openness of the city. We usually stayed with Auntie for ten days or so over two weekends. Auntie was well off, as my mother's family was quite wealthy. Where my mother had inherited the Oriental features my grandmother, Aunt Beverly had inherited the Scandinavian features of my grandfather. She was a tall, robust, and classically handsome blond. I loved being around her, she was so warm and friendly, and we just seemed to connect somehow. Auntie insisted on calling me by my given name, Evelyn.

Auntie had degrees in psychology, and had written a couple of books on sex therapy. I had seen copies of the books at her house (mother tried her best to keep me in the dark about Auntie's books and expertise, but, being curious, I was able to learn about them.) One book was called "Embracing your sexuality" which, I gathered from brief glances, was about coming to terms with your sexual needs and satisfying those needs. The other book was called "The Orgasm factor" and was all about how orgasms promoted mental and physical health, and had chapters about attaining orgasms through masturbation and intercourse. Auntie was also a bit of a local celebrity, giving lectures on subjects in her book and appearing on a popular local radio talk show. Most of her focus was on female sexuality, but she also discussed male sexuality, mostly in terms of how males repressed everything and couldn't come to terms with their feminine side. From what I could gather, she pitied men.

Auntie's roommate, Suzanne, was a tall and willowy girl with long hair dyed with Henna who dressed in flowing skirts and tunics made of faille or surah, usually soft earth-tone browns and tans. I thought she was lovely and I liked her fashion sense. She was quiet where Auntie was boisterous, and spoke softly and deliberately. They were both taller than me, and I always felt a little intimidated by them, especially Auntie.

Auntie and Suzanne owned a shop called the "Gilded Lily". It was located about fifteen minutes from their house in an old two-story courtyard retail complex. The Gilded Lily was an eclectic place, full of stuff that Auntie, Suzanne, and their associates had gathered from estate sales as well as retail and consignment items. The theme was very feminine. There was furniture, such as antique dressing tables, armoires, beds, writing desks, dressing mirrors, settees, slipper chairs, lamps, and so on. There was a large assortment of bath oils and powders, scented sachets and paper to line drawers, towels and bathrobes, fancy stationary, cards, and writing supplies, wrapping paper and ribbons, silk flowers and chocolates, and a large selection of decorating pillows. The upstairs loft, half retail space and half office space, contained clothing – all sorts of vintage dresses, accessories, and lingerie. The other shops in the complex were a mixture of things; over half were small private businesses – lawyers and accountants and such – while the remainder was uninteresting retail shops and cafes. Both Auntie and Suzanne had unkind words for the owner of the complex and all sorts of ideas on how they'd transform it into something chic and upscale by giving the entire complex a 'facelift' and kicking out most of the tenets, replacing them with upscale shops and cafes.

A favor for Aunt Beverley

On this visit to Aunties, mother took off overnight to visit an old friend in San Francisco who was flying into the city for business. She left early in the day, leaving me to hang around the house with Auntie and Suzanne. I sat around watching television in the morning while Auntie and Suzanne were doing something upstairs. While we were eating lunch, Auntie asked "Evelyn, would you do me a big favor?"

"Sure, I replied" thinking that she wanted me to move some furniture or help her with something heavy.

"Well" she started, "this is kind of awkward. You see, I got this call the other day from a lady looking for a bridal gown – not just any bridal gown, mind you, but a gown from a particular designer – Susan Lane -- that has gone out of business. She heard about the Gilded Lily and how we collect dresses and such from estate sales. She offered a lot of money for a size eight Susan Lane original in perfect condition, and we found one a couple of days ago. But she wants detailed pictures. I guess we could go to the shop and dress one of the mannequins, but that's too much like work and besides, it's hard to get a decent picture from a mannequin – you can't just tell them to raise their arm or turn just so. Neither Suzanne nor I are a size eight, but we think that you are. So, I was wondering if you could do us a big favor and model the dress while we snap a couple of photos for this lady. It won't take long. It'll be fun. You know, with your long hair and a bit of makeup and padding, she'll have no idea that it's a boy modeling the dress."

I stammered something, objected, blushed, and tried to hide my inner excitement at the thought of being dressed in a bridal gown by Auntie and Suzanne. "Please, dear, don't be such a baby. It won't hurt a bit" she replied to my objections. I finally agreed. They followed me upstairs and Auntie asked me to shower and wash my hair. "We'll want to do something with your hair, OK?" she said. While I was showering, she knocked on the bathroom door, stuck her head inside and told me that she left some "underwear" on the bed for me, along with a robe.

When I came out of the shower, there was a white terry bathrobe that had the name of a spa embroidered on its pocket, an old-style white long-line side-zipper girdle with clasps for stockings, and a pair of pink satin panty briefs decorated with a white lace panel down the sides.

"Everything OK in there, sweetie?" asked Auntie from the hallway.

"Do you want me to put these on?" I asked, sounding incredulous, but secretly wishing it was so.

"Well, of course, dear, you'll need something modest underneath and you need something to hold up the stockings" she replied matter-of-factly. "And the girdle will tuck in your waist. You need to have something on beneath the girdle and that's what the panties are for."

Nervously, I put on the panties and then the girdle. Normally, I would have been delighted to wear such undergarments, but not today – I was just so afraid to let on that I enjoyed dressing up in ladies things. After tying the robe, I exited my room to find Auntie waiting in the hallway. "Let's go to Suzanne's room, dear. She'll do your hair".

When I entered her bedroom, I saw the gown draped across her bed. It was indescribably feminine. I expected a white satin wedding gown with a long train, but this was a floor length gown in an utterly romantic Victorian theme, dιcolletι with cascades of white and pink lace, a dotted net modesty panel beneath the dιcolletι, mutton sleeves with lace cuffs, an empire waist tied with a long gold duchess silk ribbon, and the skirt alternating between white satin and lace panels. I think I must have gasped.

"Isn't it just so pretty?" asked Suzanne. "These Susan Lane 'Country Elegance' gowns are just treasures, and it's no wonder this lady is willing to pay a lot. And this one could be worn as a formal, or to a garden party, not just as a bridal gown."

Suzanne had me sit at her dressing table and she began to blow-dry my hair, brushing it out to give it volume. Suzanne had been a hairdresser at one point, and it showed as she expertly brushed and dried my hair. "You have such gorgeous hair, Evelyn! I was thinking I'd have to use some gel to give it volume, but obviously not."

As Auntie watched, Suzanne applied makeup; some foundation cream, mascara, eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick. She used two different tones of foundation cream; a darker shade for my neck, Adam's apple and jaw-line, and a lighter shade for the rest. She stepped back to admire her work. Auntie exclaimed "My goodness, Evelyn, but you make such a pretty girl!"

"We need a bra and some padding, stockings, and then a full slip" said Suzanne, who was now enthusiastically taking charge of the transformation.

"Oh, do you know which bra I'm thinking of Suzanne?" asked Auntie. Suzanne said she did, and she retrieved a white satin full cup with pink lace accents from her bureau. I sat at the dressing table, stunned, trying desperately not to let on how exciting it all was – I was being dressed by two attractive and vivacious women who were obviously enjoying themselves and the transformation that was taking place. Auntie helped me out of the robe and Suzanne helped me into the brassiere. For padding, Suzanne had produced two scented sachets, stuffing one in each cup. White stockings came next. Auntie remarked that she thought I'd have to wear opaque stockings, but since I had hardly any hair on my legs, I could wear something sheer. Suzanne rolled up a stocking and helped me insert my foot. Without thinking, I began unrolling the stocking up my leg and fixed it to the clasps on the girdle.

"It seems you've done this before" said Auntie. I stammered something about it being easy enough to figure out. I don't know if she believed me, but nothing more was mentioned as I rolled the other stocking up my leg and fastened it.

After donning the stockings, Suzanne went to her closet, saying "I think I have a long negligee that might fit you." She retrieved a most feminine white satin negligee with pink lace trim at the bodice and hem, matching the brassiere almost perfectly. She and Auntie both helped me into it, raising it over my head and carefully drawing it over my coiffed hair and avoiding my makeup. I stood as Auntie smoothed it over me, tugging the hem to get the fit just right.

"Oh wow!" they both exclaimed as they stood back, looking me from head-to-toe. "Just look at you, Evelyn! My goodness gracious: if you ever have a need to disguise yourself, just put on some makeup and a dress." She turned me around to look at myself in the full-length mirror. I could barely look at my reflection. My trepidation, silence, blushing, and furtive glances were probably as telling as blurting out "I'm a cross-dresser".

"Now, let's get you into that dress, dear. I can't wait to see you in it" said Auntie in a velvety voice. The dress buttoned in the back with a couple of dozen small satin covered buttons. They helped me step into it and guided my arms into the lovely lace sleeves. Auntie stepped back to watch Suzanne button me up, while I watched in the full-length mirror. It took several minutes to do all the buttons. I could barely talk above a whisper, and tried to make a joke or two, but ended up making the situation even more embarrassing for me.

"Oh my goodness" breathed Auntie when Suzanne had finished buttoning me. "Suzanne, can you believe just how pretty he is?"

"We need some pearls and a big pretty hair bow" said Suzanne, and she began to look through the drawers of her bureau. She produced a three-strand pearl necklace, matching bracelet, and pearl drop earrings. Auntie put them on me while Suzanne went looking for a hair bow, retrieving a big white satin bow with long wide ribbons. "Remember this Beverley?" she asked, holding it up. Auntie gave a little giggle – it was some sort of private joke. Suzanne gathered my long hair in the back and held it while Auntie fixed the hair bow.

"We need some heels, too" said Auntie, "We can't have the hem dragging on the floor. What about those four-inch white sandals of yours, Suzanne?" A few moments later, I was sitting down while Suzanne helped me into the impossibly (for me) high heels. The heels fit well – in fact, they might have been a bit big. Both Auntie and Suzanne remarked on this, saying they were surprised how small my feet were and how easily they fit the heels. They helped me stand, thinking that I'd have all sorts of issues with wearing heels, and when I didn't, Auntie said quietly "Well look at that – you're a natural in heels."

"One last thing" said Suzanne, and she went to her bureau and came back with a pair of white lace gloves. "Brides wear gloves, so you should too" she said.

They both stepped back for an inspection as I looked at myself in the mirror. I was deeply embarrassed, for my reflection showed just how feminine I looked, how feminine I felt on the inside. Under different circumstances, I would have been utterly overcome with sensual pleasure. Auntie let out a deep sigh and said in a whisper "Just look at you. Oh my goodness, just look at you. You are just ravishing."

The trance was broken a few moments later when Auntie blurted out enthusiastically "Where's the camera? We need pictures!"

She took a few pictures with her digital camera, but the light was too low and the flash was washing everything out. "Let's go outside in the garden" suggested Suzanne. I thought about it for a second or two – going outside dressed! But the garden was enclosed and no one would see us.

I slowly descended the staircase, holding up the hem of the gown so as not to trip. Auntie and Suzanne were very concerned that I might trip on my heels, so they stayed close to me. As I took each step carefully, I began to feel flush and I let my guard down for a few moments, and I think I let out a sigh and detected a smile from Auntie and Suzanne.

When we reached the bottom floor, Auntie said "You know, Suzanne, Evelyn here is just too tense to take a decent picture. What do you say we sit in the den for a while and let her – excuse me – him – have a glass of sherry?"

And so I sat on the couch, dressed in an utterly feminine bridal gown, made up, wearing expensive pearl jewelry, my long hair coiffed and tied back with a big girlish hair bow, sipping sherry, while Auntie and Suzanne sat opposite me, casting admiring glances. "You know, Evelyn, you are such a beauty in that gown. Promise me you'll have some fun posing outside" said Auntie.

The sherry helped me relax, and when we stepped outside to the rose garden, I felt the lady inside of me coming out. They had me strike various poses, Auntie pleading with me to give a nice smile. They took close-ups of the gown to show what excellent condition it was in. Suzanne wanted to freshen my makeup for the lighting conditions, and she retrieved the powders and lipsticks, brought them outside, and had me sit while she freshened me. Then it was back to posing for the camera. Once or twice I let myself go and gave a coy, knowing smile and posed myself in a most ladylike manner, which elicited "oohs and ahhs" from Auntie and Suzanne, which made me blush and withdraw.

The photographing was declared finished after a good half-hour and we went back inside for some tea. As the tea was being made, I excused myself to use the toilet. Auntie gave me a bit of advice, telling me how to hold the skirt while sitting on the toilet. Alone in the downstairs bathroom, with its big mirror, I felt faint as I undressed. A real boy would have objected and refused to do what Auntie and Suzanne had requested. A real boy wouldn't look so pretty. My whole demeanor – my quietness, my blushing, and my furtive poses – was all positive proof that I was deeply affected by the dressing. A real boy wouldn't be as stimulated as I was, either, sitting on the toilet, having difficulty passing water because my dantie was so stimulated. I took longer than I should have to get out of the toilet, but no mention was made as I returned to the kitchen for tea.

We had a leisurely tea – almost an hour. Auntie and Suzanne talked about goings-on at the Gilded Lily, discussed the rest of our vacation there, and asked me about school and such. Whenever I tried to act like I wasn't enjoying being so exquisitely dressed, they'd compliment me on how pretty I was. Suzanne even asked if I dressed-up at home ("Of course not!" I exclaimed). It got to the point where I just sat blushing, reveling in the way I was dressed. Finally, to my relief, they declared it was time for me to undress and put the gown away.

Back in Suzanne's room, they helped me out of the gown, gloves, and jewelry. After undressing, I stood in the negligee and Auntie said, with a deep, almost disappointing sigh "Well, my sweet, I suppose you need to remove your makeup and take a shower. Go on – I suppose you'd like to undress in private."

I hurried out of the room, still in the negligee, stockings, girdle, brassiere, and makeup. I went right to my bathroom, removed the girdle, and used the toilet. I then stood in front of the mirror, took a plush hand towel and began to pleasure myself. The last two hours came rushing back to me in a flurry – the makeup, the bra, the negligee, the dress – oh my god, the dress! Right out of my most pleasurable fantasies! …and Auntie and Suzanne and their comments and… and everything! Oh how I gushed!

After showering and carefully folding the things I was wearing, I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and came downstairs. Auntie and Suzanne had downloaded the pictures to their computer and beckoned me over to look.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Those weren't pictures of me; they were pictures of a very pretty young lady in an exquisite Victorian gown. "You are just stunning, Evelyn!" cried Suzanne. I feigned indifference, but I just couldn't take my eyes off of the photographs.

"Don't worry, dear" said Auntie "no one will see these but us and the lady that wants to buy the gown. Would you like me to copy the files for you?" she asked. "No, no, no" I replied, although I secretly wanted them.

Chapter Five – A Birthday Present

When we left that summer, Suzanne offered me a job after graduation at the Gilded Lily. It turned out to be most fortunate, because when I returned home, I found that I was provisionally accepted to Berkeley, and this would be a perfect opportunity to settle in. I was to graduate after the first semester – there were two classes that I needed to complete in order to be fully accepted. I was a straight-A student, but because my earlier illness had made me skip a semester, I lacked the two classes. So after the fall semester, I could go out and work for Suzanne in the winter and spring, then attend summer orientation classes at Berkeley and start school in the fall. Mother wasn't too keen on the idea. She told me she was looking forward to having me around the house for the entire school year.

On the day we left, Auntie presented me with a gift, a belated birthday present, she said (I was a Gemini, of course). It was a pair of pajamas and a robe of the highest quality white silk charmeuse with powder blue piping, with my initials in a florid blue monogram on the pocket of the pajama top and the breast of the robe. They didn't look unquestionably feminine, more unisex I guess, but the fabric was exquisite and definitely not something boys would wear. (The buttons on the pajama top, I discovered later, were on the left side, like a ladies garment, instead of the right as they would be for men's garments.) Mother thought they were very nice and never questioned how feminine they were, but she did suggest later that my stepfather need not know about them, and that I might want to keep them in the guest room closet.

"Ellen?" said Auntie, addressing my mother, "you know how we're getting more clothing at the shop? Well, some of the things coming in are really quite nice. I was thinking that I could set aside some of the nicer things and send them off to you. Would you like that?"

"Sure, why not?" she replied. "If they don't fit or I can't use them, I'll send them back at some point."

When we returned from Aunties, we discovered that my stepfather purchased a mansion in the Buckhead area of Atlanta. I knew it was on his mind, every since he became wildly successful and rich, and he and my mother wanted a showplace mansion. He had roots in Atlanta, and had always wanted to return. We all flew down the next weekend and took a tour. It was a huge and elegant stonework mansion. I didn't ask how much it cost, but it had to be millions. For myself, I really didn't care, for my thoughts were with moving out to the Bay Area – this would never be my home. I had grown up in Pennsylvania, and that's where my home really was. I resented my stepfather for moving.

When we returned from Atlanta, mother got me a part-time job at the community library re-shelving books. Mother had connections with the historical society, which housed the library, located in a grand old building in the old historic section of town. It was a minimum-wage job, and I only had to work a couple of days a week for a few hours in the afternoon. There was only one full-time curator, a nice older lady named Cynthia, just as prim and proper as could be. She was supported by several volunteer docents from the historical society. The work itself was incredibly easy. The library had three floors, and Cynthia pretty much took care of everything on the ground floor where her desk was, and charged me with shelving books on the second and third floor. The second floor contained a modicum of reference books, and third floor contained historical documents from the town rather than the popular reading material found on the first floor. The first day on the job I discovered just how empty the upper floors were. I was reshelving books for an hour on the second floor before anyone showed up, and that was only briefly. Cynthia pretty much left me alone. I liked the dιcor, an amusing mixture of Victorian furniture with lace doilies.

My job title was 'assistant librarian'. My feminine side liked the idea of being a librarian – I could imagine myself as a shy and diffident young lady librarian, all prim and proper, dressed in tasteful Victorian themed fashions, my hair done up in a loose alluring Gibson-girl bun.

Chapter Six – Surprises in the Guest Room

My next opportunity to cross-dress occurred soon after returning from Atlanta. Mother and stepfather went out for the evening to the city, leaving early in the afternoon and would not return until late. I had at least eight precious hours to myself. I planned to dress up in the midnight blue gown with the black velvet bodice. First, however, I'd slip into the pajamas and robe that Auntie had given me. I went to the closest in the newly decorated guest room to retrieve the pajamas and robe and much to my surprise, there was the gown, hanging on a scented hanger. On the floor of the closet was a pair of mother's slightly worn black velvet Sabrina heeled pumps. But what was also hanging in the closet left me stunned -- an exquisite light navy blue negligee, short robe, short chemise, tap panties, and pajama trousers, all rimmed with white Venise lace. They were made of luxurious silk panne satin finish – the label said they were "Papillion by De Pledge". They that had to be new since I'd never seen it before. I stood silent for a full minute, collecting my thoughts, finally whispering "oh… my…" There in the closet, right across the hall from my room, in the beautifully decorated guest room, was treasure. Then I realized that I'd be able to sneak into the guest room at almost any time and dress up! I was overjoyed.

I next looked in the bureau drawers and my heart skipped a beat. In the top drawer was a foundation set that matched the lingerie hanging in the closet – brassiere, garter belt, and pantie, and, disbelievingly, blue nylon stockings. There was also a shaping girdle with garter suspenders; unadorned white, the bands of elastic that provided the shape visible in the fabric. I could see how they flattened the tummy, and lifted and shaped the derriθre. In another drawer were several plastic garment bags containing many of my mother's sweaters and winter scarves, obviously put there for summer storage, including a favorite of mine – an oatmeal colored ribbed angora and lambswool sweater dress, V-neck, with mauve trim at the neck, cuffs, and hem, with a long matching mauve waist sash. I next looked in the vanity drawers and found that mother had emptied the contents of her unused cosmetic drawer in her vanity into the drawer. Another drawer contained a porcelain canister filled with dusting powder, a powder puff, and one of those gift boxes of makeup that stores sometimes sold as promotional items – buy some expensive cosmetics and you could buy the gift box at a much reduced price, or receive it free. It contained blush, eyeshadow, and lip gloss. Another drawer contained a combing set – silver-backed hand mirror, hair brush, and comb, all on a mirrored silver tray. I took out the tray and put it on top of the vanity next to the porcelain figurine.

I didn't know why mother had put these things in the guest room. Deep down, I felt that she had put them there for me, but there was no definitive proof. There could have been other explanations, but the one that kept coming back was that she knew I was dressing in her things, that she considered the evening gown mine, and she left it there along with everything I'd need for a complete ensemble, sans jewelry and other accessories. But it didn't matter at the moment, for I had a long luscious dressing to attend to.

I went to her room for her lapis and gold jewelry, sachets to pad the brassiere, and a black satin hair bow, then to my room to fetch my portable radio/CD player, turning the radio to the local classical music station. Then downstairs to pour a glass of wine in our finest crystal stemware (my mother had allowed me to have wine with dinner occasionally). Returning to the guest room, I laid everything out on the bed and drew the drapes. Still in my silk charmeuse pajama and robe that Auntie had given me, I sat down at the vanity to make up and brush my hair. Mascara brought out my eyelashes and I then applied cream foundation and powder. I used dark tones for my eyeshadow and cheek blush, and deep red lipstick. I turned off the overhead light so that the room was lit just by the table lamps – resulting in a most romantic mood.

I went into my bathroom where the venting was good and smoked some hashish. Returning to the guest room, I slowly removed my silk pajamas and donned the Papillion brassiere (and the sachets for padding), garter belt, and pantie (protecting my dantie with a linen hand towel). I sat back down at the vanity, sipped some wine, and began drawing on the stockings while the radio played Bolero. As I slowly drew the stockings up my legs, I remembered back to Auntie and Suzanne, the Susan Lane gown, and how Auntie remarked how I obviously knew how to put on stockings. I focused on the porcelain figurine of the lady drawing on her stockings – it was me at that very moment. "Oh, she knew!" I whispered.

I started to "titch" as I called it – making a quiet little clucking, or "titching" sound with my tongue against the roof of my mouth, one leg or the other moving imperceptibly, rhythmically, erotically, rising up on my toes then back. My softly lit reflection in the antique silver mirror of the dressing table caused me to pause for several minutes, titching, fondling my long hair, thoughts of shame and thoughts of pleasure. The dressing continued with the chemise, tap panties, negligee, and short robe. Another delicious hour or so had passed until I found myself standing in front of the oval dressing mirror, the lapis jewelry, the black hair bow, the black velvet Sabrina heeled pumps, negligee and robe, completely overwhelmed. I hadn't even made it to the evening gown, for the negligee and robe, with the lapis and gold jewelry, were just so very, very stunning.

My boudoir, I thought. This was my boudoir that mother had decorated for me and left behind a lovely dressing and cosmetics. It was my boudoir, right across the hall from my room… I was such a sissy… A sissy librarian… Oh, how shameful… In the quiet stillness of the house, soft classical music playing, sipping wine from fine crystal, dressed in fine lingerie, high heels, expensive jewelry, I stood at the mirror, knowing that the slightest touch to my daintie would induce a withering creaming. Saying my O's out loud, I managed to lift the negligee to reveal the dance panties, knowing that it would be impossible to remove them without creaming. I just hoped that the linen hand towel I had folded around my dantie would absorb what was sure to be a deluge of cream – I had anticipated creaming in my panties, so I had wrapped her – my dantie – rather well. I just stood transfixed, knowing there was nothing I could do but hope and give one more titch accompanied by a slight movement of my leg. Holding the negligee up, I let out a long moan of "Oh Evelyn", titched, and focused on my beautiful blue with white lace panties as I just detonated cream, each contraction accompanied by a shout. Thankfully, the linen hand towel protected the panties, and I was able to undress without wetting or sullying anything.

I was able to clean up and remove all evidence of my foray into the guest room – my boudoir – well before my mother and stepfather returned home.

Chapter Seven – Packages and Sojourns

A week later, I came home to discover mother had received a package from Auntie. On the living room couch was the opened box and next to it were several garments. Mother was just starting to gather them up to take them upstairs. "Look what Beverley sent me" she said. I tried to feign indifference, but mother ignored it, and proceeded to show me what Auntie had sent her. First was a classic tailored shirt dress in powder blue georgette. The bodice was without lapels and had four small fabric covered buttons. The waist had a two and a half inch matching fabric belt with a fabric covered buckle. But the skirt – oh my, the skirt – tea length with one-inch box pleats with metallic thread woven into the georgette to give it a sparkle. It came with a full slip made of high luster white satin, which would reflect light back to the skirt to show off its sparkle. Then a pair of charcoal gray silk rayon slacks, side-buttoned, the full legs a long liquid spill of beautifully draped fabric, and a knee-length fit-and-flare pleated skirt of the same fabric, also side-buttoned. These were matched with a cashmere/mohair blend V-neck sweater in charcoal gray with an argyle pattern of heather gray, dove gray, and white. The three items were made by Armani. I tried to hide my delight when she briefly showed me a white crepe de chine chemise with a profuse point de gaze lace chevron at the bodice, flecks of pink and blue in the lace, with a white satin ribbon tied in a bow in the center, a matching dance pantie, the lace forming inverted pleats, and a matching long robe, bell sleeves, the shoulders adorned with the same lace. "These are from Jane Woolrich, a famous designer" said mother. She then took everything upstairs.

Later, she called Auntie, and I overheard her saying "Oh, they're lovely. Thank you so much, Beverley. I love the Armani."

That evening, I had a chance to sneak into the guest room for a brief moment and to my utter delight, everything Auntie had sent was hanging in the closet.

Sojourn One

I didn't have long to wait to try them on, for the next week, mother and stepfather went to New York City to see a Broadway play. They went in the middle of the week, and since it was just overnight, Mimi wouldn't be needed, and I would have the house completely to myself. They left mid-morning and would return late afternoon the following day.

Oh, I loved the shirtdress, and oh how the skirt shimmered in the soft romantic light of my boudoir. I chose a matched set of silver jewelry; wide woven chains that lay like fabric, the necklace widening and forming a V at my cleavage. I stood at the dressing mirror, classical music playing softly, swaying back and forth to allow the skirt to catch the light, a crystal wine goblet in one hand, my lipstick on its rim. I had traipsed through the house on my heels, pausing at every mirror to admire my ensemble, and now it was time, standing at the mirror and titching. Like before with the blue with white lace dressing, there was absolutely nothing I could do but let it happen. The movement of my leg was all that was needed to bring me to the edge and as the moment drew close, I breathlessly whispered "Oh, Evelyn, you're such a lady" as I creamed into the fine linen hand towel that was protecting my panties.

The Jane Woolrich chemise, dance pantie, and robe were so wonderful, so unbelievably sensuous. The Armani slacks, skirt, and sweater were delightful – such luxurious fabric – and the slacks almost made me think I could wear it as a boy. Oh my. I couldn't decide what looked better with the skirt and sweater – black, white, or gray stockings. I needed more time to spend with these things.

Sojourn Two

A week or so later, another package arrived – this one containing a St. John two-piece knit; peach and gray tweed skirt, knee length and slim, and a waist length jacket, both lined with pink satin, and two tops – a matching pink silk and cashmere V-neck tank top and an ivory colored sheer silk top. Auntie included a chiffon scarf with hues of peach, ivory, and gray that went perfectly with the suit. Then a pair of fawn colored rayon slacks and a fine silk and cashmere V-neck sweater in a matching fawn with off-white trim at the neck, waist, and cuffs. The slacks were menswear styled – tapered with a fly front, a crisp pleat on the legs, and three pleats at the waist. At the bottom of the package was a shimmering silver gray jacquard camisole, tap pantie, and pettislip, all trimmed with ecru bobbin lace. The labels said Natori.

The next day, my wishes were again fulfilled when I found that all the things were hanging in the guest room closet.

Then, happily, my parents again went to New York to see a Broadway play, this time to stay two nights. I guess they had such a good time on the previous trip, and everything worked fine leaving me behind, that they decided on another one before the end of summer.

I had been thinking about the problems I was having creaming into panties and perhaps sullying them. The linen hand towels weren't absorbent enough and they felt a little rough against my dantie, but until the linen became soaked, they were an effective barrier. A terry washcloth was better, but I didn't like the bulge in my panties. The day before my parents left, I was downstairs in the laundry room when I happened to look in the waste can and I saw an old pink cashmere twinset of my mother's. I retrieved it and saw that there was a big hole in the armpit. When my parents left for the city, I brought out my mother's sewing machine. Mother had taught me the basics of using the sewing machine for sewing patches on my jeans. She thought it was a useful skill to know, and I agreed. I cut a fourteen by three inch rectangle of cashmere, and a similar sized piece of a linen hand towel. I then sewed the cashmere onto the back of the linen, then folded the rectangle so that it made a sort of tube of five or so inches, and sewed this together. The result was a cashmere-lined cylinder about five inches into which I could insert my daintie (my dantie was rather small – I had measured it sometime ago – just for curiosity – and it was four or five inches, which was fairly far below average. Yet another sign of my femininity I guess.) On the extra flap of material, I sewed two ribbons. This flap would wrap around my sack and the ribbons could be tied together to secure the entire garment securely to my daintie. It was crude – sewing cashmere was a fool's task – but later that evening, it proved to be effective in preventing me from sullying my panties.

And so I had two delicious days to dress-up. I cherished the St. John suit, especially with pearl and gold jewelry and the sheer cream colored silk top, the gray Natori camisole with ecru lace showing beneath the sheer silk, white stockings, and pink patent leather Sabrina heel pumps from my mother's closet. For foundations, I used a gray set of my mother's. I experimented with the scarf, and finally decided on using it as belt around the skirt waist. The ensemble oozed old-money sophistication and contemporary elegance, something a well-heeled lady would wear for lunch and a bit of shopping. I was slowly disrobing myself of the ensemble in front of the mirror, titching, first the jacket, then the blouse, revealing the shimmering gray Natori camisole. As I slowly removed the skirt past my oh-so-stimulated daintie, an orgasm came on so quickly and powerfully that all I could do was to shout "oh... oh NO" as my cream gushed into the garment I had sewn – my 'pantie glove' as I was now calling it. If there was ever a test of its effectiveness, this was it – and it worked – just barely.

I loved the rayon slacks and the cashmere and silk sweater – there was something about wearing menswear tailored ladies slacks and sweaters that made me feel oh-so-daring. The sweater was roomy and I convinced myself that I could wear it as boy-wear. Was I an effeminate boy or a tomboy girl?

I took another hour or so and sewed another pantie glove, adding a few refinements here and there. Now I had two, so that I could wash and dry one while wearing the other. I had enough material for a couple more, but didn't find time to sew them together.

Chapter Eight – Gifts

A month or so after my senior year started, my parents were to visit Europe for a few weeks. My father had some important business to attend to and mother was going with him to look for furnishings for the new house. I don't think she was particularly excited about moving to Atlanta, but she was excited about the new house. She loved decorating (as did I), and she was going to immerse herself in turning her new house into a showplace.

Mimi was going to drive me to and from school since my schedule was different than any of my classmates in the neighborhood and carpooling wasn't an option. My course load was easy – there were two classes that I had to take, one math class and a government class. I elected to take a third class, an English literature class, because I liked it, and my favorite teacher and academic advisor, Ms. Hunter, suggested I do. Ms. Hunter was a very pretty woman and the subject of many a teenage boy crush. I could have taken more advanced placement classes, but since I had already been accepted to Berkeley (providing I took the two classes), mother suggested that I just take it easy for once. I got to leave school before lunch.

I was to going have my own special holiday, dressing up, practically living in my boudoir, and exploring the limits of pleasure. I saved my allowance and other spending money that my mother liberally gave me and bought quite a bit of very good hashish for the long dressings I was planning on having. I prepared for the holiday by doing all my schoolwork well in advance to give myself all the free time I could. They were to leave on a Saturday, and the following school week had a holiday on Friday. I didn't tell any of my friends that I'd have the house to myself, lest they intrude on me. I could feign a sore throat on Wednesday night, stay home from school on Thursday, giving myself a long four-day weekend to spend in my boudoir.

I had promised my stepfather that I'd cut my hair for school, but mother eventually talked him out of it. I had gone to see mother's hair stylist at the end of the summer, and she trimmed a few inches off, declaring that I had beautiful hair and making a couple of comments about how she knew girls who'd love to have my hair. She cut it so that it was mostly all one length, so that I could tuck my bangs behind my ears. A hair tie would hold it all back nice and neat, and mother showed me how to tie a simple rope braid. Later at home, I was brushing it and noticed just how femininely styled it was. I was turning into a girl, I thought to myself.

They left early on Saturday morning. The evening before, the school symphony orchestra had given a concert, with me as the featured pianist, and we all returned late. Mother allowed me a full glass of wine afterwards, which helped me fall asleep. As I was heading off to bed, she suddenly remembered that she had put a bottle of champagne in the wine chiller for us to have that evening. "Oh, well – go ahead and have it when you want, dear. After all, I bought it for you."

My nervous energy was soothed by the wine, and I managed to fall into a deep sleep as my mother went about her last minute packing, dreaming of the holiday in my boudoir that awaited me.

I woke early the next morning to see them off, a little tired and feeling a bit of the wine. Mimi was going to call that afternoon to see if I needed anything, and was going to come by late afternoon Sunday to do a little cleaning and prepare me dinner.

After breakfast, I quickly showered and washed my long hair, giving it a blow dry, slipped into my terry cloth bathrobe, and entered my boudoir – the guest room.

I gasped and let out a cry of delight – lying on the bed was an indescribably feminine petal pink chiffon dress. The surplice bodice was pink tissue crepe silk with elbow-length chiffon flutter sleeves, the waist a wide corset of horizontal runched chiffon, and the skirt knee-length with a lettuce-hemmed crystal-pleated chiffon overlay over tissue crepe silk. This time, there was no doubt that mother had left it for me, for it was a dress I had seen in the window of my favorite formal-wear shop in town, "An Affair to Remember", just a few days before, when mother and I were running errands. The shop was at the very top of my 'pass by and admire the window display' list. While she was inside another shop, I had slowly walked past the window, pausing and admiring the dress, wishing it was mine, dreaming of how it would feel to be dressed so prettily. I must have lost track of time, for mother walked up behind me and gave me a fright. "Did I scare you?" she laughed. "Whew!" I answered. "That's a lovely dress, isn't it?" she asked, acknowledging that she had seen me admiring it. I forget what I answered, and I thought that was the end of it. But obviously it wasn't, for here it was, carefully laid across her bed on a padded and scented satin clothes hanger.

Next to the dress, neatly arranged on a satin hanger, was a set of daywear; camisole, pettislip, and dance panties. The camisole hung from hanger by its straps that were held in place by little faux pearl pins, and the pettislip and panties held by padded clasps attached to the hanger. I let out a cry of surprise and delight. They were muted lingerie pink with ivory Venetian point lace trim, with fancy ecru and gray embroidery, made with a delicious blend of silk, rayon, and micro-fiber. The label said 'Private Label Lingerie'.

Waves of emotions swept over me – my mother not only knew I was a cross-dresser, but she had actually bought me a dress! A beautiful dress that she caught me admiring, and she had left it for me to find, draped across the guest room bed – my boudoir - with a set of exquisite daywear.

Then my eyes wandered to the loveseat. There was an opened gift-box with pink tissue parted to reveal a mound of lilac chiffon and white Alencon lace. It contained a lilac peignoir and robe set, the peignoir with an empire-waist, tied with a wide, glimmering white duchess silk ribbon, the square-neck bodice all white lace, the graceful and fluid skirt a sheer lilac chiffon. The full length robe was of the same fluid lilac chiffon, with Alencon lace lapels and wide bands of lace at the sleeves. Then a pair of all-lace bikini panties, tied at the side with lilac ribbon, and a lilac chiffon dance pantie, also tied with lilac ribbon. The label on the box said it was from a boutique called "Isabella's" and the label said "Private Label Lingerie", the same as the daywear set.

But the delights didn't stop there – on one wingback chair was a rather large package from Auntie – it must have been delivered the day before. The box was opened, but the contents were untouched. On top was a heart-shaped white satin boudoir pillow, decorated with a profusion of lace with silk flower petals and long ribbons of pink and blue pastels. Beneath it was a short chemise, antique white Chantilly lace over white silk charmeuse and a matching tap pantie, the same Chantilly lace over white silk charmeuse. Both items had blue piping, the chemise tied with a matching blue cord, as was the waist of the tap pantie. As I lifted these delights out of the box, there beneath it was a brassiere, garter belt, thong, and bikini of the same Chantilly lace and blue piping. It took me a moment to realize that they perfectly matched the robe and pajamas that Auntie had given me – the piping was exactly the same and they were the same label. Beneath were packages of real silk stockings in blue, black, pink, and white.

Next, a two-piece; long two-tiered chiffon skirt, pink and red roses and lilac against an ivory background, with a matching asymmetric hem long bell sleeve tunic top and long matching chiffon scarf. It was like a Christmas out of my fantasies.

Beneath the dress was an utterly sexy foundation set of pink satin and shimmering gray lace – a full-cup brassiere, a waist cincher, bikini panties, and tulip panties. And beneath that was a short robe to match. The labels said they were made by Diki. They would go well with the daywear set on the bed and even the gray jacquard daywear set Auntie had sent earlier. Then beneath that was yet another foundation set! – white crepe de chine with white lace flecked with pink and blue – it matched the Jane Woolrich chemise, dance pantie, and long robe that Auntie had sent in her first package. Finally, there were three silk and lace tulip panties – white, pink, and baby blue.

I turned my attention from the box to the vanity. There was a crystal vase of fresh-cut flowers, a crystal champagne flute with a pink and white lace ribbon tied around the stem, and a cut-glass perfume bottle with a tasseled squeeze bulb atomizer, filled with perfume. In the middle of the vanity top was a pink chiffon hair bow with a cluster of ivory organza flowers in the middle of the bow and several descending thin ribbons of pink and ivory – a perfect accessory to the dress. And in front of the bow was a back velveteen jewelry presentation box. I opened it to reveal a fine single-strand pearl necklace and bracelet and earrings, several pearls suspended on a delicate gold chain. I knew how expensive this set was – over a thousand dollars. I went through the drawers of the vanity and found some new items; a bottle of pink nail polish, a bottle of nail polish remover, an opened bag of cotton balls, a couple of dozen triangular sponges, another gift box of makeup with powders in hues of pink and lilac, and a glossy book "Secrets of makeup". I noticed that in the refuse can next to the vanity were the plastic seals that fit the nail polish, the triangular sponges, and the gift box.

The night table had an open shelf that now held bed sheeting - petal pink satin sheets and pillow cases, detailed with a picot trim of ecru and cream threads.

At the bottom of the closet was new pair of pink and cream two-toned pumps with a two-inch Sabrina heel, and a pair of pink velvet boudoir slippers with gold thread embroidery. The shelf contained a clutch purse that matched the pumps.

In the bathroom, there were new bottles of aromatic bubble bath lotion and bars of perfumed soap.

I was just stunned. My mother knew, my Auntie knew, and they had given me all these things. They knew I was a cross-dresser and they were lavishing me exquisite things to dress in, absolutely spoiling me with stunning lingerie and dresses and, oh yes, a very expensive set of pearls.

What a tantalizing, sensuous morning and afternoon I had! I bathed in the perfumed bubble bath and applied the scented dusting powder and slipped into the Jane Woolrich set and thumbed through the "Secrets of makeup" book for pointers, then applied nail polish – toenails and fingernails – then started making-up, using the triangular sponges to smooth out my foundation cream. I swept my hair back and clasped it with the chiffon bow, smoked some hashish, then slipped into the pink and gray lace foundations from Auntie and the delicate daywear set from mother and the pink and gray short robe from Auntie. I almost swooned while drawing on the new pink silk stockings. Heels and my new set of pearls followed. Oh, what a rich little spoiled sissy! I paused in my dressing and wandered downstairs in my lingerie, robe, heels, and pearls to find and open the champagne bottle. It was in the wine chiller as mother said it would be, and it had a big pink and white lace ribbon bow on it, just like the champagne flute in the guest room.

Back to my boudoir to finish my dressing, sipping on champagne, listening to romantic classical music, safe and secure and knowing that mother and Auntie were giving their approval – they knew and they had set me up with exquisite things. I almost swooned when I finished donning the pink chiffon dress. The mirror reflected a refined and coy young lady, all pretty in pink. I tried to delay creaming as long as possible, but by mid-afternoon, my dantie was aching and had a mind of her own. I stood at my mirrors; high, a little tipsy on champagne, titching and saying my O's when my oh-so-stimulated dantie convulsed in my panties. Oh God, how I gushed! Fortunately, only my bikini panties and dance panties were sullied – it would have been disastrous if my cream touched the exquisite chiffon of the dress.

By the time Mimi arrived on Sunday afternoon to check on me, I was spent. I had to decide what to do about the things in the boudoir, and the best course seemed to be to put them all back the way they were, as if I hadn't even been in the room. Well, except for the lovely chemise, tap pantie, and foundations that matched my pajamas and robe, for I wore those beneath my soft denim slacks and an off-white lambswool sweater that mother had bought me while we were visiting Auntie. If Mimi noticed anything about my girlishness, she didn't say, but as I was eating dinner, I noticed a couple of flecks of polish on my fingernails.

To be continued…

  

  

  

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