This is entirely a work of fiction. All of the characters are fictitious and bear no resemblance to anyone. All of the events are fictitious and never actually happened…but they could have…

 

Sound Sissy

by Karen Singer

 

Part 1: And In Walked Chaos

Hi, my name is Don. Well, most of the time my name is Don… Well, that's not quite right anymore, "most" of the time my name used to be Don… What I mean is, my name "used" to be Don "most" of the time… I mean "most" of the time now my name is Karen… Why don't I just start over. Hi, my name is Karen… well, "most" of the time my name is Karen… Let's not go there again!

If you think that was confusing, you can imagine how I must feel.

This is not the story of the beginning, nor is it really about where things stand now, it's simply about some things that happened over the last several months. Now that I think about it though, I guess I have to tell you at least a little bit about the beginning, so you can understand what I'm talking about.

 

I should start by telling you that I am a transvestite "sissy." I'm a student at the University here and am now nearing the end of my Junior year. I'm majoring in Electronics Engineering and I actually credit my good grades to the fact that I'm a transvestite.

I shared an apartment off-campus since my freshman year with a friend because the school here just didn't have enough dorm space. That's OK, my friend Tom actually got me started on this transvestite kick. He's not one himself, but one night when we got really drunk together, I told him about my lifelong desire to wear girl's clothes and he rather bluntly told me that if that's what I really wanted to do, then I should just do it! He wouldn't mind – just as long as I kept it quiet and didn't try to do anything "queer" with him. That conversation hit the target for me, and it wasn't too long before I was collecting a small wardrobe of "girly" things. My grades certainly improved, because I would come home from class everyday, change into something more feminine, and then stay hidden in my room with nothing to do but study. Tom didn't seem to mind too much the few times he saw me dressed, and he minded even less when I started to clean the place up while he was out somewhere. I guess I was starting to feel domestic. Besides, I really enjoyed any excuse to get out of my room and do something while dressed.

I've had a career goal for many years to one day be a "sound man" for big time concert performances. In my freshman year, I met some friends who had started a band and it wasn't long before I had volunteered to run the audio for them. For the first couple of gigs, I rented a small sound system with the rental fees being provided on top of my pay cut. After that, I started buying some used stuff and over time have slowly built up a really nice little system that I'm pretty proud of. The fact that the band has become really popular at the local clubs hasn't hurt things a bit. We seem to work two or three weekends out of every month and sometimes we even take a gig during the week as well.

The most significant person in my life right now is Cindy. Cindy is one of the vocalists in the band and is also the band's manager. She's a good choice for manager because she's naturally "bossy," always seems to cover all the details, and just plain likes making arrangements for everything. She's also a business major, which doesn't hurt either.

Cindy is drop-dead gorgeous! Since I met her, I've always wanted to be with her. I've also wanted to be able to dress like her and have spent many hours wondering what it would be like wearing some of her clothes. I guess I've always been jealous that she can dress and look like that but I can't. When I met her though, I figured I could never interest someone like her. After all, she's "fantastic," and I'm pretty much a skinny little runt (only 5 feet 6 inches tall on a good day). Cindy is also the reason I can't hide in my room anymore.

 

Back near the end of September last year, I was in my room studying after class as usual. I was also wearing a nice little short blue dress that I had along with panties, pantyhose, a bra (stuffed with some of my socks), a pair of mid-heel black pumps, and a little bit of makeup. I didn't own a wig yet. I didn't hear the knock at the front door, but I guess Tom was out there and answered it as he was leaving. Cindy had stopped by to tell me about another gig she had booked for us. Tom really wasn't thinking I guess, because he just told her I was back in my room studying. I didn't know she was there until she just opened my door and came in calling my name. What a shock! For both of us! I was so scared and panicked that I couldn't move or say anything. It felt like I just sat there with my mouth and eyes wide open for and eternity, not knowing what to say or do.

It was several moments before either of us recovered and it was Cindy, naturally, who was able to speak first. "My God! What are you wearing?" she said.

I couldn't find the words to answer her, but it really wasn't necessary, and I don't think she was ready to hear me say anything yet either.

She just came all the way into the room and kept talking. "Look at you! You're wearing a dress, and heels, … and a bra!… and makeup!" Trust a girl to notice the details. "Geeez!" she said. "What are you?"

"Cindy," I started.

But that's all I got out as she continued to carry on. "I never imagined you were a queer."

"I'm not a queer!" I finally managed to say.

"Well look at you!" she shot back. "What else am I supposed to think?" "If you're not a queer, then what are you?"

At that point all I really wanted to do was to run away somewhere and hope the earth would swallow me up. But there was nowhere to go. I was stuck there, and Cindy was right there with me. It was a moment before I was finally able to answer. The panic of the moment was still on me, but that little bit of hopelessness was starting to sink in. My voice came out quiet and reserved. "I'm not a queer" was all I said as I hung my head.

"Well then, what are you?" she asked a little more calmly than before.

"I don't know," I said, "I'm just not a queer." She looked at me for a moment, then sat on my bed. "Maybe we better talk about this," she said. I must say, she recovered a lot faster than I did, but then it wasn't her life that was ending.

Cindy has always been good at talking to people and getting the information she wants. I remember that she did her best to put me at ease even though all I really wanted to be was anywhere but where I was. I had some thoughts going through my head about being angry with her, and angry at Tom for putting me in this position, but what could I say? Besides, it was really me that was the problem, not her. I was a guy, sitting in front of her, wearing a dress. I was stuck, I was trapped, and there was no way out of it. I remember I was actually honest with her about what I did. Besides, I'm not a good liar, and knowing her, she would have gotten to the truth anyway.

I also remember two other things about that conversation. The first is that I vowed to myself that I would never dress up again and that I was going to throw all my "girls" clothes away immediately. But as soon as I mentioned it, Cindy squashed that thought quickly. She told me that since I really liked doing it that much, then I would eventually just start doing it again anyway, so why throw away all my things. She also wouldn't let me take off anything that I was wearing while we were talking; I know because I tried… her voice can be rather forceful when she wants, and can carry a lot of authority!

The other thing I remember about that conversation was that at some point, near the end, I pleaded with her, very politely, to please not tell anyone. I remember very plainly her just looking straight at me, and saying, "You must be kidding! I couldn't keep quiet about this if I tried… or if I wanted to for that matter!" My feeling of helplessness increased a thousand fold, and another bout of absolute panic set in.

"But Cindy," I said, "What am I going to do? Everyone will know!"

She looked at me with a slightly surprised look on her face and said, "That's right Don, everyone will know. But you're going to have to face them and just keep living as you have been. You have your schoolwork to do and you have your job with our band to take care of. The only difference now is that everyone will know about you. You like to wear dresses and I'm not going to let you hide it, and you're just going to have to learn to live with that!" And with that, she walked out and left me to my own thoughts.

 

It's a good thing I didn't have any major tests that week, schoolwork was the last thing on my mind for quite some time. All I wondered about was who knew, what would they say, and what would happen. Over time though, the only real difference in anything that I saw was that a few people, mostly the members of the band, looked at me a little strangely for a while, but in the end I guess, they just got over it and accepted me for what I was – for the most part. I did get a few teasing comments from some girls once in a while, such as asking why I wasn't wearing a dress that day. All I could do in those cases was to smile and keep walking.

The funny thing was though, that Cindy became more and more interested in me. My cross dressing seemed to fascinate her and she started spending more and more time at my apartment getting me to dress up for her. She didn't let me stay just in my room though. She insisted that I at least move freely about the entire apartment, day or night, no hiding. During the day, I wasn't allowed to lower the shades on the windows and if someone came to the door, I was supposed to answer it dressed just as I was. "After all," as she told me, "everyone knows anyway." She also often invited other friends over without my having any say in the matter. Let me tell you, it's an interesting situation to try to have a group study session with several friends while you're dressed completely as a girl. There's no way you can concentrate on what you're trying to learn. At least she respected my wishes and never forced me to leave the apartment while dressed – even though she did keep trying. I loved it. I hated it (sort of). I spent a lot of time with major butterflies in my stomach.

 

And that's pretty much how things went for the rest of the year. Cindy was always trying to get me to do more and more and I kept dragging my heels (so to speak). There were a few areas that I guess she did make some progress in. Early on she insisted that I start removing all the hair on my body, regularly. She even got me some of that stuff you've seen on TV that you spread over the hair, apply the cloth strip and then "rip" the strip off again along with the hair. I must say, it does work and it keeps the hair away for weeks. In fact, I find myself having to do it less and less as time goes on.

Another area that had improved, or worsened, depending on your point of view, was that I agreed to not wear men's underwear anymore. After all, no one can see your underwear anyway. So with her watching, I threw out every pair of masculine underpants that I owned. She kept trying to get me to wear more and more feminine stuff outside the apartment, but for the most part, I refused. I did spend a few days at the mall wearing dark colored pantyhose instead of socks, but that's about it.

My wardrobe certainly grew, and gradually included a wig, weighted breast forms, and lots of other pretty things. Cindy never seemed to tire of taking me shopping. Unfortunately, she also loved to look for ways to make it as embarrassing for me as possible. I'm not sure if I just got more used to her little humiliating comments, or if I just really started to love them. True to her word, she had no problem with letting it be known that I liked to wear women's clothing and I usually had no choice but to stand there and admit it.

 

But that's just all the ancient history. Let's finally move on to the real reason I'm telling you this story.

  

  

  

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