Hiding In BedI started in girl's clohting when I was just five with a very fancy pair of my older sister's panties. I progressed as the grew up until like most cross dressers I was seeking every minute I could be alone in order to dress up. Since my parents were very busy in work and the community and my sister was three years older, I was home a lot of evenings alone.
I got pretty smug and careless about it. I had a fail-safe system for unexpected family arrival. I would hope in bed and pull the covers up and pretend I was asleep.
So it was that night when my mom came home. She called but I was pretending to be asleep. She looked in on me and I assumed that like always she would see me in bed and leave. Only tonight she softly called my name. I pretended not to hear. She reached down and took hold of my foot to wake me up. Not expecting that I jerked it away and in so doing pulled the covers away. This revealed my other foot clad in hose.
"What are you wearing?" I heard her say, and looking back I realize it was more with surprise than alarm. In any case we fought for control of the blankets. Frustrated by my resistance she finally stopped pulling, which caused me to jerk the covers up, revealling myself to the waist. In so doing I also revealed the slip, the open bottom girdle and panties I am wearing.
For a second we froze. I because I thought my life was about to end. She in shock.
Finally she moved around and sat on the edge of my bed. "Tell me why you are wearing these things?" she asked and placed a hand on my nylon covered tummy.
Even though her tone was soft and curious, and dispite the fact that I had always wanted to be able to tell someone, I was to immature to do so. She, however, was persistant. Little by litte she pulled out of me that I did this regularly and that I had been doing it since before I started school. I finally admitted that I both liked it and "could not help myself."
"Does anyone else know?" she asked and I recoiled in horror at the very idea, letting her know that I would die if anyone knew. She smiled softly and said the obvious, "but I know."
"Please, Mom, don't tell dad and sis."
She sighed and looked away. Finally she looked back at me. "They will both be gone Saturday so you and I can talk more about this."
With that she got up and started to leave. At the foot of the bed she looked down at my feet in hose and turned back to me. "I don't understand this. I don't understand it at all, but I do love you."
I mumbled that I loved her too, which might have been the most sincere words I had said up to that point in my life.
Then she was gone, softly closing the door behind her. For a few minutes a lay there, still with the covers off of me, trying to remember how to breath. What was going to happen? Would she tell my father? I doubted she would tell my sister?
Then it hit me. She had left me dressed. She had said nothing about my not dressing or about taking the stuff I had on off. Slowly I got it. She wasn't mad and she didn't seem disgusted.
Gently I respread the covers but lay there for the longest time wondering about Saturday, but not with dread.
The next morning she slipped in a once again took hold of my foot. Gently she rubbed it until I stirred. "Time for you to get up and take off your lingerie before anyone else gets up."
This time I was ready and I thanked her for waking me so I could change. I sat up revealing to her that I was also wearing a bra. "Mom is it okay that I dress like this?"
Her head turned to see that the door was fully closed. Slowly she turned back to me and gave me a small smile. "I don't know. I had heard of boys being dressed as girls, but they were much younger than you. I have heard of sissies, boys who like other boys." I could see her freeze. "Is that what you are, a boy who likes other boys."
I knew what she meant. It that time we called them Queers and I told her I was not. She looked at the door again and said we didn't have time to talk about his now, but would on Saturday.
Then I said what had come to me in my long vigil. "Mom, I'm sorry I took your things."
She gave me that small smile and patted my leg, my nylon covered leg. This time her hand stayed on my leg and her eyes looked down. Her hand made a short stroke and she wagged her head. "Come on get up. It is time for you to be my son again."
deleted 26-30 10 Responses 17 Jul 30, 2011