'Dressing Up'

by

Gillian Beviss

He

is home by six o'clock and in a flash of optimism, puts out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He walks around the downstairs rooms, looking at them with a stranger's eye. He plumps up the cushions on the sofa. By seven o'clock he is showered and wearing well cut black jeans and a pale blue shirt.

By seven fifteen, when Caro is quarter of an hour late, he feels a fool for believing that a beautiful blonde he has met at a New Year's Eve fancy dress party could ever be interested in him. He starts to open the wine and nearly drops the bottle when the doorbell rings.

"Hello Graham. I'm sorry I'm late. Did you think I wasn't coming?"

"No. No. Come in. Let me take your coat. Can I offer you a glass of wine?" Too anxious, gabbling.

She walks after him to the living room and he invites her to sit down. The curtains are drawn and the lamps are lit. The room is cosy and suggests intimacy which Graham thought was appropriate if he is to talk about how it feels to be a transvestite.

"So where shall we begin?" He needs direction from her.

"I was drawn to you at the party." She licks her lips and Graham is spellbound by the glimpse of her tongue. "You looked so beautiful; you were a fantasy woman. I knew I had to get to know you better. Tell me how it started."

His hands are damp and he wipes them on his thighs as he tells her: "It's a compulsion. You start wondering 'I wonder what it would be like if...', and then it's easy to dress at home, especially since Mother passed away and I've been on my own."

" I suppose a wig is important. Like that beautiful big blond one you wore at the party last week"

"Do you want to see the clothes? That's what you wanted to come here for isn't it?"

"If that's still OK?"

Caro precedes him up the stairs, and Graham is aware of a tight black skirt covering hips that move provocatively before him. It's been a long time since he was in close proximity to a woman. Mother didn't mind him going out, she understood his needs, but she didn't like him bringing friends home. Is Caro interested in him as a man or is she fascinated by transvestism. He opens a bedroom door, walks in first, and switches on the bedside lamp and another on the dressing table.

"Here we are then. There's day wear there, evening wear in the next one and racks of shoes. The cupboards over the wardrobes are for the wigs. The underwear is in the chest of drawers."

Caro opens a wardrobe door and takes out a red devoré frock. "Ooh, that's gorgeous."

"Try it on. I'll bet it looks wonderful on you."

She is holding the dress in front of her, standing before the long mirror on the front of the wardrobe. He can see the look of excitement on the reflection of her face in the mirror as she runs her tongue over her lips.

"Could I?"

He turns for the door.

"I'll need help with this zip. Stay and help me."

He sits on the edge of the bed and looks away as she pulls her jumper over her head and then reaches to her waist band to unfasten her skirt. It falls to the floor and she steps out of it, laying it with the jumper on the bed next to him. She is dressed in a white bra and half slip.

"These bra straps will show. Wish I'd known about this, I'd have worn narrow straps."

"Help yourself. There's a strapless bra in the drawer."

She is searching through the lace and silk, exclaiming at the gossamer quality of panties and suspender belts. Finding the items she wants, she returns to the bed and turning her back to Graham, wordlessly invites him to undo her bra. He stands up and carefully, making no contact with her skin, unclips the hooks and eyes. As she shrugs out of her bra, he glimpses a side view of a full breast which is covered immediately by a balcony strapless bra.

"Do me up then," she commands, and again, willing himself not to touch her skin, Graham fastens it. She discards her half slip, she is wearing white French knickers and hold up stockings.

She takes the dress off the hanger, turns to face Graham and hands it to him. She lifts her arms above her head to receive the dress and he is assaulted by the full impact of captive, moulded breasts snug within the confines of the half-cup bra. He is shaking as he guides her arms through the fabric, and when he releases the dress it falls fluidly over her shoulders to the floor. She turns her back on him and unbidden, he zips her up. The dress clings to her contours. Graham is mesmerised by the low cut neckline revealing pushed up breasts. They both stare at her reflection as she twists one way and then the other, flicking her fair hair, celebrating the dazzling figure she presents.

"It's fabulous," Caro says.

"It's always been one of my favourites."

She turns to him. Her mouth is open, she has white, straight teeth and he can see her tongue, damp, glistening.

"What else is a favourite?"

He reaches in to the cupboard for a fitted sheath of black silk covered in fine net on which thousands of beads have been sewn. She looks up at him.

"Put it on."

She had seemed excited by his revelation at the party, but now her eyes are glowing, drawing him in, hypnotising him and he wants to join the game. He opens a drawer, takes out two breast forms and lays them on the bed. He searches through underwear, picking out a set of palest blue silk panties, a matching bra and suspender belt.

"I usually strip so as to start over," he says.

"That's OK."

He is undressed in a moment. Caro looks at well defined back muscles, and full, high buttocks, the kind many women would kill for. She is aroused by his nakedness and she sits on the bed, watching as he puts on the bra and leans forward, fills the cups with the silicone forms, then steps in to lacy briefs and fastens the suspender belt.

He turns to one side to pick up stockings and she can see the swell of the panties, a snug fit over his aroused penis. He sits on the edge of the bed away from her to put on the stockings and stands up to clip them to the suspenders. Then he reaches up to the overhead lockers and Caro stares at six wig blocks each with hair of differing colour and style. Graham chooses a sleek ash blond mid length one and places it on his head. He takes the dress off the hanger and manoeuvres it over the wig, on to his shoulders so he can put his arms in the net sleeves, and then he lets it drop. He backs up to Caro, and she zips him up. He stands in front of the mirror.

"And this is Tiffany," says Graham.

They consider their reflections, and then Caro says, "What about makeup, what do you use?" Tiffany pulls open a drawer in the wardrobe where creams and a selection of brushes and pots of colour are stored.

"Let me do it," she pleads. "Just sit down and enjoy it."

Tiffany sits in front of the dressing room mirror and Caro pushes the blond hair away from her face, gathering it up under a towel. Another towel is draped over Tiffany's bosom and tucked in to the neck line. Caro turns to the bottles in the drawer, and selects one. She smoothes on cleanser, removes it with tissue, and uses cotton wool pads to wipe toner over Tiffany's face, upwards and outwards in cool, confident sweeps.

Tiffany's yes are closed. The unfamiliar attention is exciting and she is enjoying the physical effect Caro's standing so close is having. Foundation is applied with small blending strokes flitting over her face, and then the erotic tickle of a powder brush sweeping over her cheeks. Caro moves closer to attend to eyes and lips and Tiffany can feel breath on her cheek. First the application of eyeshadow, covering the fluttering lids, and mascara, forcing open her eyes to stare straight in to Caro's. Then lipstick, applied with a small brush, firmly outlining, and then filling in with a hundred inflaming kisses of the brush.

Caro removes the towels. Tiffany shakes her head to revive her hair. They gaze at themselves in the mirror. While making up Tiffany, Caro has replenished her own lipstick using the same shade.

"We could be twins," Caro breathes.

The likeness is striking. Unconsciously, apart from the lipstick, Caro has chosen to apply the cosmetic colours that she herself uses. Similarly, Tiffany has chosen the wig which matches Caro's hair. Both of them have eyeshadow with a hint of sparkle and their mouths gleam in the low light with freshly applied lip gloss.

"You look beautiful. You really could be a woman," Caro is studying their images in the mirror.

"Thank you. You are stunning too." Tiffany's voice is lower, huskier.

Alerted by the change in tone, Caro looks sharply in to the mirror and sees Tiffany's eyes, glowing in the lamplight, made dark with desire. Slowly Tiffany stands up and, watching their alter egos all the time in the mirror, slips an arm round Caro's waist and bends her head so that the blond hair mingles. Caro turns slightly and lifts her chin, offering her mouth, meeting Tiffany's lips. The kiss is like nothing either of them has experienced. A gentle touching of lips becomes more urgent, and pressing moist mouth to lips made slick with gloss sends fires of desire flickering through them.

Caro has never looked so glamorous, never worn clothes so expensive, never felt so powerful. She could have any man she chooses and the fact that her lover is wearing a dress is deeply erotic as she wraps her arms around muscled shoulders. Under the pressure of Tiffany's body, Caro takes a step back and finds the edge of the bed behind her. Not breaking mouth contact, she bends her knees and relaxes on to the bed, pulling up her dress and dragging Tiffany down with her. Tiffany hitches her own dress enabling her to kneel on the bed between Caro's parted thighs. Tiffany pulls Caro from the pillow and nylon stocking rubs against nylon stocking, as they co-operate in unzipping the red dress, removing it and unhooking the bra. Caro's breasts spill from their containment, and she moans as Tiffany cups them in both hands thumbing erect nipples. Tiffany strokes Caro's inner thighs, rolls down the stockings, then returns to her silk clad hips, brushing, smoothing, making Caro arch her back, and then Tiffany's fingers are hooking the waist band of the French knickers, slowly pulling them down.

Caro runs her hands over Tiffany's shoulders and down her lean, fabric covered back. Below the bunched up beaded dress at Tiffany's waist, Caro caresses hard buttocks incongruously covered in silk, touches the suspender belt, strokes the panties and wonders at the resilience of lace and stitches that confine a massive erection.

Tiffany lowers her face and Caro smells the exotic, scandalous fragrance of foundation and lipstick on her lover. She raises her hips, feeling her breasts tingle from scratches made by the beaded dress, gasping when the stinging cuts are opened up by scarifying nails and grazing teeth. She is held down as lips whisper over her skin, tongue lapping at the beads of blood, sucking and bruising, and in ecstasy, she willingly surrenders to her fantasy.


***

(c) Gillian Beviss.  All Rights Reserved

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