Tense Nights - Delightful Mornings

It had been months since I had rushed out, dressed as a girl, at an early hours of the morning for the first time and now I had become more sophisticated. I knew that the biggest danger I faced was being seen by members of my family as I left the house and so was now working a set plan, it’s funny how we can become devious when we need to.



Each night I would, if I could, steal some treasures from the wash bin, my Sister’s or Mother’s room and hide them down the side of the bed between the covers and the mattress. I would aim to get a pair of panties, a skirt, some tights or my Sister’s knee length school socks. I needed all of these if my plan was to work. This hiding operation occurred during the early evening and my heart was always in my mouth as I snuck the treasures from their place of origin to my little secret place. What could I say to anyone who asks about why I’m holding a skirt, tights or panties?



For the rest of evening I would be tense, knowing what was hidden in my bed and dying to touch and wear them, "oh why can’t I have them always?" When it was time for bed I couldn’t just have the pleasure of them as I shared a room with my brother and had to wait in the darkness, passing in and out of sleep, never really relaxing. I would wake, it was too early to get up but I could hear my Brother’s breathing and knew when he was asleep. I would then let my hand quest down under the covers and into my treasure-trove, what a luxurious moment as my hand touches silk. I pull up the panties against my body and let my fingers quest for the sign, the sign of the bow! The little bow that in the dark tells me when I have the front and using this I can slip their loveliness over my legs and up to my master, it loves it, I love it. I lay breathing as quietly as possible listening for any noise from the other bed. Satisfied I slip on the tights and then the skirt and just lay there waiting, enjoying it, this is great, my master pulsates and lets a little joy emerge like gently squeezed spit from firm lips. Now I wait for the morning, the dark where I can be up.



When morning arrives, I go down stairs, put on my treasures, my sister’s or mother’s panties, a pair of tights or knee length white socks and a skirt. Then once dressed this way, with my normal boys T-shirt and jumper, I would put on my trousers and socks over the top. It was fortunate for me that at that time the fashion was for baggy trousers as I couldn’t have got away with it if I had to wear tightly tailored ones. I would leave my house and make my way to the local shops, not far but with the advantage of both darkness and lights whenever I wanted them. Creeping passed the bushes I drop down behind some stairs and here, with my heart pumping as if I was running, I will slip off my trousers and socks and feel that beautiful feeling as the cold air touched my legs. I take my boy’s clothes that are no longer wanted and put them into my paper-round bag and then hide this in the bushes. I loved the feeling of my stockinged feet against the cold street as I stood hiding my other person’s clothes. Putting my girls shoes back on I would then walk around the shops, living in that strange world of wanting to be seen but scared of being caught, an experience that lives with me now. I would stay out as long as possible, emerging into the light every now and then to glimpse myself in the windows of the shops; how marvellous to see yourself in a skirt and tights or girls socks, knowing that they hide the lovely panties and stiff, wet master that I must obey.


Something tells me to finish it, sometimes it is the ache which has become unbearable, sometimes the fear of the approaching daylight or a mixture of both. I find a darkish corner and then with my eyes continuously watching the world around me I slip my hand up my skirt. Touching my tights as I pass or the naked thigh if I’m wearing socks and up until I can feel the contours of the stiff, slowly pulsating penis that lies beneath the silky and lacey material. I know that there is a growing damp and sticky patch in one corner of the panties as my body screams it’s pleasure at the situation it finds itself in. My fingers find the best place to touch and with an attempt to control my breathing I pull down the tights to release the panties into the cool air.  I give myself room to manoeuvre and slowly slowly (I want this so bad but it is pure pleasure) I touch the panties, a tremor passes through me as I feel the little bow that has shown me the way in the dark. I let the master out. My fingers grip gently, I love the wetness the warmth and the way it seems to push against my hand. I move my fingers gently, I try to make this last, it never works. My back starts to arch inwards as the spasm fires through me and the master pumps it’s pent up joy into the night air. I try to avoid any of my joy getting on the tights and panties, already knowing that there is a bit of work there to deal with, whilst also trying to enjoying the moment.



It is over and the guilt has come, it comes even before my joy has been fully spent. Now the fears come, Why? Why? I wish I hadn’t done it I wish…. I will never do it again. These thoughts assail me as I make my way back to my hiding place. This time is the last time.



I know that by the time I am in my first lesson of the day I will be dreaming of reliving this experience
SusanMarina SusanMarina
26-30
2 Responses Feb 12, 2010

i remember trying on my mother's dresses in her bathroom when no one was home. i did it so many times as a young child, and would hide my mother's sports bras in the same place between my bed and wall haha. <br />
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for a long time i swore it off, but now i can't deny that i want to dress as an elegant, gorgeous woman and do drag with it. accepting yourself is so liberating.

Thank you Jennifer - it is strange how many of us share the exact moments though whilst believing that we alone are the only ones affected with this desire!