The soft sensation of nylon against my skin is almost the perfect form of foreplay. Pulling on the nylon stockings, and smoothing them up my leg, unhurried and luxuriously before a date is always enough to make me wet.
Perhaps it’s a response to my desire for something to
happen, or maybe it’s just a learned response. After all, most times I do go
out dressed in this manner I get what I’m looking for, so it’s only a matter of
time before my body, hungry for the lecherous and desperate touch of a lover, is
served to my satisfaction. You’ll note that I said ‘my satisfaction’. I point
this out as I do like to play a little game.
It’s been about five years now that I’ve followed a rather particular dating practice. I usually use one of the more popular apps, Tinder or some such, and there I will select a – now what should I call them – a project. Yes. I select a project. You know if you go to some of the apps you can even find me. Of course, I’m not going to make that too easy for you, as I really don’t want to give away all my secrets.
Let’s do a little experiment. I want you to think of the soft fabric of panties. A simple enough task, and one you likely don’t find unpleasant.
Now let’s take it a little further. Rather than thinking of the soft qualities of the fabric, I’d like you to imagine those very same panties on someone. You can choose me, if you like. Think of the form of my hips, the curve of my body, even the few whisps of pubic hair vaguely visible, but most of all of the shape. In your mind you can almost imagine touching, stoking and enjoying those perfect shapes, warm beneath your hand. Soft. Moist.
You cannot help but think of the soft aroma of my scent, can you. And as you do so the thought almost transports you to some moment in which you’ve either wanted to touch, or indeed done so, and the rewarding feeling of a body responding.
It’s going to be a very long weekend. Before I get into the ‘why’ let me first wish you the happiest of Thanksgiving weekends, if you are in the US, and if not, you know my thoughts are with you anyway.
I would also ask you to share this as widely as you dare, as I am trying to build followers. I appreciate your help. Let me adjust my skirt and tell you what this is all about. Being a crossdressing advertising executive does give me something of a unique perspective on things.
Now, the weekend. It all started when I overheard Joe, at the advertising agency, saying very intensely into his phone, “when it comes to feminine hygiene products, I’m your man!”
I remember a hot morning in Johannesburg, at Jan Smut’s
Airport (now renamed to O. R. Tambo International Airport). A small group of reporters
and photographers were out on the apron, in front of one of the hangers.
The Highveldt air was still and heavy. Not a blade of the dry
grass stirred on that windless morning. The sky was so blue it would make you
almost sing just to look at it.
A new aircraft autopilot landing system was being
demonstrated by Airbus. This was a hands off landing system, and fully
automated the final approach prior to landing until it came to a halt on the
runway. It was a pretty advanced piece of technology for the time.
The press boys were all grumbling about the early hour and
sipping coffee. There was no smoking on the tarmac either. Some of the
engineers from Airbus were meeting with us to talk about their innovative system
and were chatting away in French in a small cluster a few yards off.
Sit down and enjoy the latest episode of Clothes Maketh The Man. Think of a nice warm fire on the beach, the waves, the soft sea breeze, and the gentle smell of the last of Andy’s self respect disappearing in a puff of smoke.
The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss is a series of episodes taking a hilarious look at how one crossdresser brought his wife to a place of understanding and acceptance. It’s also instructive and full of good advice to those of us who wish to introduce our dressing to the principal relationship in our life. I hope you enjoy it. Fiona
I sat in the garden enjoying the cool spring breeze.
Sylvester crossed the lawn carrying a tray of tea and ginger biscuits.
“I’ve just had yet another experience with one of my members
that leaves me feeling quite sad,” I said as Sylvester’s ham like fist gripped
my delicate tea pot and poured.
“What was that, then?” he asked.
“Well, I had this chat with another member who just felt he
couldn’t talk to his wife about crossdressing. I mean, really, it’s awful. So
many of my lovely gurls are out there and barely even able to talk to anyone.”
“But that’s what you’re here for,” said Sylvester.
“Well, yes,” I replied. “But there are certain things that a wife can do that even I may struggle to!”