Tanya Finds a Girlfriend

by Tanya Verity

 

Panic set in instantly. Carlo's (for he had returned immediately) fingers flew to his mouth in a shocked movement that was instinctively feminine – though he was in no state of mind to appreciate it – as his mind raced with a hundred panicky thoughts.

"Er, ….. Mrs Ver…, Tanya…., what…?"

His spluttering, hesitant reply was cut off abruptly.

"Look, Carlo, I've come quite a distance in this awful weather, on Christmas Eve, to bring your Christmas present, I need you to let me in, NOW!"

Tanya's reply was forceful, compelling. Carlo's mind raced some more as he looked down at what he was wearing, and thought of his face, the make-up he had carefully applied. He groped in desperation for a way out, a solution.

"I'm so sorry, Tanya, it's very nice of you, but I'm naked, I was halfway through a bath actually, it's really not possible unless you could come back in maybe half an hour or so?"

He had almost whined, his voice climbing in pitch with nervousness throughout the sentence.

"I most certainly will not go away to come back in half an hour, young man! If you're worried I may see something I shouldn't then why don't you buzz me in, and open your front door. You can skip off to finish whatever it is you were doing, long before I can get inside your flat! I'll make myself comfortable in your lounge. You have a lounge, or somewhere with a comfortable seat I suppose?"

Carlo, his mind still a jumble, heart still pounding, couldn't think of any adequate response.

"Well, all right then. But promise you won't peek or anything!"

"Well of course I won't peek, sweetie!" Tanya's voice softened noticeably. "Sweetheart, I didn't mean to embarrass you, and I should have told you I was coming, I know. Just go ahead and buzz me in and go and finish what you were doing. Oh! You weren't planning on going out, or having people around were you?"

Carlo watched his finger pushing the entry unlock button, as he answered.

"No, it's OK, I wasn't. The door opens straight onto the lounge, and you can see the kitchen. Help yourself to coffee, I won't be too long." Carlo spoke haltingly, trying hard not to show the blind panic he felt inside.

He was still in a state of shock, and wondering how on earth he was going to get his hair back to 'normal' without washing it, as he scuttled off to Carol's bedroom to discard everything he had spent the previous half hour or so putting on.

Standing in front of the dresser, and looking at himself in the mirror as he stooped to step out of the lycra dress and pull off his pretty mules, he was trying to think of a way to sort his back-combed and heavily lacquered hair.

"Well, look at you! You are really quite pretty, sweetie!"

Carlo spun round, spun back again when he realised how much more he was revealing, and then stood still, his shoulders slumping as he tried to gather his racing thoughts.

"You said you would stay in the lounge! Or the kitch.." he began, reproachfully.

Again his protest was abruptly curtailed.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. The thought of you naked…., but I didn't expect this…… No, that's not quite true. I did suspect something. Let me explain."

Tanya walked into the room, and sat down on the end of the bed, taking Carlo's hand as she did so, and gently pulling him to sit down beside her. She appeared to be entirely unfazed by his appearance. He was still wearing the lingerie he had so lovingly chosen a short time ago. Brassiere, corset, panties, suspenders and fully-fashioned stockings. His face still bore the makeup he had applied, although his mascara was beginning to run from the tears that were welling in his eyes. His hair was still a cloud of black, framing his face, and Tanya looked him straight in the eye from disconcertingly close. As she began her explanation, Carlo became fully aware of her appearance for the first time.

She was wearing a severely black – but entirely transparent – full-sleeved blouse, with puffed shoulders and long tight cuffs fastened with black buttons – five on each – contrasting with the pale skin of her hands, with their long, elegant crimson-tipped fingers. She surely had worn a coat, it was cold outside, but there was no sign of it now. The blouse did nothing to obscure the dark red long-line bra or corset top beneath, a garment with what must be half cups, Carlo thought, to display so much of her ravishing breasts. The wide belt he had seen before was nestling around her trim waist, over a short and very tight black leather skirt, black glossy tights (he wondered if they might be stockings) and gorgeous, very high, black patent stilettos, very like a pair of Carol's. Her make up was much more striking than he had seen before. A rich purple metallic eye shadow blended to a creamy white just below her brows. God, she was good at it! Her eyelashes, they had to be false, were almost an inch long and heavy with mascara, the eyes themselves lined with smoky black kohl. Her cheeks were accentuated with a hint of blusher over very pale make-up, and her lips were richly crimson against her pale skin, looking entirely, sparklingly liquid with their coating of heavy gloss. Her hair was teased out in an expanse of loose chestnut waves, relieved by the sparkle of a diamante (he presumed) cluster at each ear that matched the deep choker that glittered around her neck. The effect overall was stunning, over-the-top, like a dominatrix on a night out, Carlo thought. But God! SO sexy!

All this Carlo observed with a detached part of his mind. Detached from the screamingly embarrassed remainder, that had his eyes welling with tears, his skin awash with goosebumps, and his heart still generating fast, shallow breathing. How did she not find this strange, how was she not disgusted, repulsed, angry? He felt like the naughty boy he had been when his mother caught him the first time, wearing her gorgeous new panties. Now that had been something, he thought, distracted momentarily, despite the stress of the situation he had found himself in.

Just like now.

"Carlo, what I'm about to tell you, you must never tell another soul. Do you promise?"

Carlo mumbled, then answered, "Yes, I promise, Tanya." when she repeated the question, quietly but forcibly, in a tone already becoming familiar.

"Carlo, I knew what you were the first moment I saw you." She continued. "I knew exactly what you were. What you ARE". She corrected herself. "I know all the signs. And feeling a suspender stud on your thigh only confirmed my idea. It only proved what I already knew! You know how I knew, sweetie? Do you?" Her probing voice prompted him to dumbly shake his head, still in shock.

"My husband. Neil, my husband. He was like you, sweetie. He liked girls' things. Pretty things". Her voice continued, rhythmically, hypnotically. "He liked wearing them. Panties, stockings. Dresses, and makeup. Long hair, long nails and pretty earrings. Just like you, sweetie!" she continued, her fingers caressing his earlobe, and the gaudy clip-on decoration it held.

Her fingers pulled at his head, through his still teased out hair. Pulled his face to hers. His lips to hers. Her tongue greeted their arrival at the glossy, and desirable destination. Carlo found his mouth, his lips, teeth and gums, thoroughly caressed by a long and sinuously snaking presence that immediately produced a yearning, aching hardness in his tightening panties.

"God, you are fucking gorgeous!"

Carlo blushed involuntarily. She smiled at him, her hand still cupping his chin as it had when she had gently broken away from their kiss. "Sorry, sweetie, I don't normally use language like that, and I know you're not used to it, but it's true."

"You're the one who's….. who's gorgeous." Carlo forced her hand to relent, as he lowered his face from her stare, and mumbled down to his stockinged legs.

"You started in the shop as a Saturday job, didn't you?" The sudden change of tack left him bewildered as he answered.

"Yes, I was thirteen. Mummy said I had to help pay for all…" His voice trailed away.

"Haha! Let me guess, for all the girlie things you wanted, and told her about after she accepted your little 'hobby'? So how old when you started, eh babe? Twelve? Ten?"

"God! Not ten!" Carlo snorted. Then, more quietly, "Caught me second or third time, came home earlier than I thought."

"How old, honey?" Tanya murmured, stroking his hand.

"Twelve, nearly thirteen."

"Quite a lot of practice then. Continuous – I mean, did you ever give up, throw everything out, vow 'Never again'?"

"No….. not really. Mummy didn't mind. Didn't mind at all. She helped actually."

"Mummy helped? Really? Hmmm, but how much could she help? Now, if you

wanted ME to help……"

Tanya's hand stroked his nylon-covered thigh at this point, the long red-taloned fingers tracing patterns on the moiré grids formed by the flexing super fine weave beneath them.

"'Cos I could, babe, I really could. Y'see, Tanya knows what you want. In fact, I know what you want better than you do…… Would you like Tanya to help you find what you want, honey?

  

  

  

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