Am I Or Am I Not?

Schizophrenia, that's me. I live in two worlds.

But, if I know, is it really so, as long as not another soul knows?

In the real world, everything is normal, fixing breakfast, watching tv, buying groceries, teaching the geeky nerds at the University.

In the really real world, I do all the same things, there is just a small twist.

I am aware of the twist. I have perfected living in both worlds. Nobody suspects, why would they?

There is absolutely no reason at all.

I check myself in the mirror by the door. Everything just right. My ’Office Uniform’, hair up, small diamond studs, dark suit, blue-black today. Dark skirt, snug perfect cut jacket. White camisole, diamond pendant, hanging just right, two inches above the swell of my breast. Not calling attention, for someone to look farther. Conservative pumps.

I know the difference, the conservative pumps have heels an inch higher than normal for this style.

The dark nylons are expensive, not drugstore brand, they stay in place because of the elastic and lace at the top.

The panties underneath, out of sight, very silky with soft lace.

The skirt, slightly tight, perfectly tailored so it follows my form and moves nicely when I want. Its hemmed four inches above my knee, no attention required to keep it in place.

The jacket is carefully tailored, and usually hangs unbuttoned. The top button brings it tight and causes my breast to swell.

The conservative camisole is silk and fits loosely, I can lean just right and it will reveal the swell beneath.

The silky soft underwire bra underneath barely covers my nipples and is loose at the top.

Almost every article of clothing I own is carefully chosen and altered for a reason. My reason, my choice.

So it's Monday, my everyday real self, gives my man a quick kiss.

”Bye, sweetheart, have a good day.”

”You too, Hon.”

When I get to my car, the first hint of my compulsion begins. I know that my next door neighbor is usually lurking in his garage. I always back my car into the same location. I open the door, pushing the back of the driver’s seat forward. It takes me a few seconds to place my computer case just so on the back seat and buckle it in. I am so very careful.

In the process, my conservative skirt moves nicely around my thighs because to buckle the belt, I must put my left foot in the rear floorboard. I can feel the air when my hem slides higher and higher as I carefully make sure the computer is secured.

I demurely sit before swinging my legs in the car. I do it one leg at a time because the steering wheel is always in its lowest position. It is necessary to yank my hem higher to get my right leg under the wheel and the position leaves me almost straddling it.

I put my purse in the passenger floorboard, requiring a rolling and stretching motion that further raises my skirt and showing a nice view of the back of my thighs, maybe even some lace hidden at the top of my nylons.

I don't shut the door until I have my seatbelt buckled. The entire process is the same each day of the week. No one knows except the neighbor. And of course me, I know but I am sure he doesn't know that I know. I have never even so much as glanced in that direction. Not a single slip in close to five years. I am simply the professional, slightly OCD, accountant/teacher next door.

This is a small example of the two worlds that I live in. One perfectly ordinary, the other highly erotic, at least for me.

By the time I have accomplished the very ordinary action of walking out the door and getting into my car, my heart is racing with excitement. I have full control of my friendly neighbor.

The same neighbor by the way, who also peers through the fence separating our backyards whenever I am tending my landscaping or sunbathing in the privacy of my own backyard.