I have been home from work for over an hour; I lift my head from the brief that I have been reading by the light of a desk-lamp. The room is full of shadows. I look at the antique clock on the mantle and see it is approaching eight o'clock and I look over at the window; it is dark out. I close the file on my desk and then close the curtains in the study. I go from room to room closing all of the curtains, double checking to make sure there isn't a chink or breach in any of the curtains that will allow anyone to peek inside my house.
My house is a small two-bedroom cottage with a study, lounge and combined kitchen-dining room. My bedroom has an ensuite. It is located in a quiet cul-de-sac in a quiet neighbourhood where everyone keeps to themselves. It is perfect for me. Perfect because I am single (due to a messy divorce where she got everything except the debts), perfect because I work odd hours, and prefect because I like my privacy; oh, and also perfect because I am a closet transvestite.
Like most crossdressers, for most of my adult life I have had the urge to dress-up as a woman for short periods of time, and I often used to dress in my wife's underwear when she was away on business. Since the divorce some two years ago, me, Michael, the respectable businessman, likes to transform into Michele, the sexy secretary (or naughty nurse; or whatever takes my fancy at the time) whenever it pleases me to do so. Living alone, and having the privacy to dress when it suits me, I have spent many hours developing the persona of Michele over the last two years. Of course I have to keep my secret life secret; and even though I have a strong desire to do so, I have never ventured out dressed as Michele.
I have acquired an extensive wardrobe, first at opportunity shops and then later at women's clothing shops, insisting to the shopkeepers that I am buying the clothes as presents for my wife. Lingerie is easy to buy, as it is never considered unusual for a man to buy nice underwear for his wife or lover.
I bought my first pair of women's shoes from an opportunity shop, and once I had figured out my size in women's shoes, I went ahead and purchased many styles of high-heeled pumps and sandals; again insisting to inquisitive shop assistants that they were presents for my wife. I sometimes even had the boxes gift-wrapped to maintain the façade.
I have experimented with wearing my wife's makeup with various degrees of success and failure during the years of my marriage. After she left me I obtained all the makeup I needed easily by purchasing a couple of complete makeup kits ("its for my niece's birthday; she's just turned thirteen" I told the shop assistant). I have added more cosmetics to this makeup collection by throwing any cosmetic item I desire in with the week's groceries when I'm out shopping. No one ever questions me at the checkout; husbands just pick up whatever their wives have written down for them on the shopping list after all.
It is easy to purchase women's jewellery of course, but my biggest problem was how to get my hands on some nice wigs. The problem was solved when I was sent by my firm interstate to Sydney on a business trip. I went to Paddy's Market and there a sympathetic lady in a market stall that sold women's wigs helped me pick out and try on three different wigs of varying styles and hair colourings. I purchased the wigs and then went up to Oxford Street where I went into a 'specialty shop' and bought two pairs of breastforms in different sizes.
I love being Michele; I transform into her at every opportunity I get, and I spend most evenings and weekends dressed and fully made-up. I do not consider myself gay; in fact when I'm not dressed as Michele my sexual fantasies revolved around women; but when I'm dressed as Michele I often fantasise about being with a man or having a 'lesbian' encounter with another transvestite.
I am terrified that my secret life will be exposed. When I am dressed I keep all of the doors locked, the shades closed and of course I never answer the door. Although I have become adept at applying makeup and dressing en-femme, and I believe that I make quite an attractive mature woman, I would never dream of going out dressed as Michele.
I read books and look at magazines and movies where transvestites have hot sexual encounters with each other and with male admirers. My favourite place to live out my fantasies is the Internet. I troll the chatrooms and cyber-space meeting places and I sometimes perform on webcam with other TVs and admires. I have been thinking a lot lately of either placing a discreet ad in a sex shop or advertising my availability in a contact magazine.
I check the time once more on the antique clock, and through the gloom I see that it is eight oh five. Now that I have finished working on my legal brief and the house has been made secure, I move towards my bedroom; my breathing quickening in anticipation. It's time to transform into Michele and have some fun!
I strip off my clothes, shave my face closely and then take a long hot shower. I run my hands all over my chest, arms, legs and buttocks and am pleased to find them stubble-free. I fully shaved my body only two days previously and I used a hair-removal cream to remove all of the hair from the crevice of my behind and my scrotal sac. I can't go to the beach like this, it would look suspicious being fully shaved. I also have to be careful at work, but working in a busy office where good grooming is expected, it is not unusual for a man to have the hairless 'Metro' look. The joke is that when my male work colleagues discuss fashion and the styles of the latest suits; I secretly wish I were dressed in the secretaries' clothes rather than the latest business suit.
I dry myself off and sit at the dresser. I take my time applying foundation; it closely matches my skin colour and covers up the few blemishes that mark my face. I liberally coat my face and neck with face powder, one shade darker than my foundation; I now have the blank canvas on which to apply the rest of my cosmetics.
I apply eyeliner next, from the inner corner of my eyes to the outer corners, gradually thickening the line as I go. When I have thick black line running along the edge of my eyelashes I reach for my eyeshadow.
I select a pale blue which I apply to my eyelids and then blend it with a shade of dark pink which I brush onto the upper part of my eye sockets and right up to my eyebrows. Then I rouge my cheeks, defining my cheekbones. I like to use more eyeliner, rouge and eyeshadow than is the fashion nowadays. I like to imitate the makeup styles of the eighties rather than the current demure 'less is more' look.
I apply a light coating of 'skin-glow' face powder all over my face and neck to set the makeup and to give my face a subtle radiance. I carefully brush lashings of mascara onto my lower and upper eyelashes. I like to wear lots of mascara and have acquired a Maybelline product that does not clot and is relatively easy to apply.
I take my time applying my favourite Max Factor 'Lasting Colour' lipstick to my lips. I apply the base coat carefully just outside of my lip-line so that my lips appear fuller. I let the base coat set for a minute and then apply the clear topcoat over the 'Raging Ruby' lipstick and purse my lips.
I light a cigarette and concentrate while I paint plum red nail polish on my finger and toenails. Putting on two coats takes a few minutes but the effect is worth it. I keep my nails quite long and manicured; but this is another 'Metro-sexual' fad that is common among the men that I associate with at work and it does not attract attention. I stub out my cigarette and consider getting a drink. No, I decide I want to finish dressing first.
I study the three wigs sitting on their stands. I have a blonde shoulder-length, a black bob with cerulean highlights through it and my favourite brunette, with cerise highlights. I select the brunette and carefully lift it from the stand and brush it with my special wig brush. I admire the sheen of the artificial hair as I position the wig on my head and adjust it so that the fringe is straight and level with my eyebrows.
I open the bottom drawer in the dresser and there are my two pairs of breastforms. I take the smallest pair as I want a certain look tonight; more sophisticated then the bawdy size forty-two's would permit. I affix them to my shaved chest with medical adhesive tape and cosmetic gum.
I open another drawer in the dresser and select a packet of flesh-toned sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. I like to wear pantyhose as a foundation garment to help flatten my tummy, and to cover the small nicks and varicose veins on my forty-year-old thighs and ankles. I feel the first small tingle of excitement as I smooth the pantyhose up my legs and over my tummy and buttocks. I carefully arrange the toes of the hosiery around my painted toenails so that I don't ladder them.
I stand up and walk over to my armoire. The armoire is an extravagance that I bought the week after my wife moved out and it is now filled with all of my female attire. For some reason I can't mix my female clothing in with my male clothes. The built-in-robe that holds my boring business suits, shirts and dress shoes holds no interest for me tonight. Tonight I am totally absorbed with my armoire and the girly treasures contained inside its oak doors.
.... There is more of this story ...