An Unwelcome Visit

It had been over a year since I had split from my boyfriend, Rick. We had a terrible row in which he had accused me of seeing another man. He walked out, never to return. I had tried to give up wearing girls' clothes afterwards in an effort to become a 'normal' person and to try to blot out some bad memories, but the desire was just too strong. I had got back into cross-dressing in a big way. I had indulged myself by filing my wardrobe with dresses, skirts, blouses, panties, bras and stockings. I had also bought a large selection of cosmetics, toiletries and jewellery, not forgetting several pairs of high-heeled shoes and a long blonde wig. I had even begun to sleep in a nightdress.

The truth was I didn't really feel myself dressed as a man; I felt stifled, repressed. The first thing I always did getting home from work was strip off my male clothes and put on some clean panties and a bra, with generous inserts in place of real breasts. The relief of feeling soft, delicate, feminine material against my skin was always overwhelming.

I had been alone since Rick left, and had shown little interest in a social life. For sex, I masturbated regularly with the aid of a butt plug. I needed the sensation of being filled up. I had taken a week off work and spent every day in my favourite clothes, make-up and perfume. Looking back, I was leading a quite pathetic, sad life, completely cut off from all contact with people, except for my work colleagues.

It was just after 9 am on the Wednesday morning. I had dressed in a pink summer mini-dress, hold-up black stockings and red sling-backed shoes. I had applied make-up, at which I was becoming quite adept, having researched the subject. I was feeling pretty good. The doorbell rang. I wasn't alarmed, since I expected the postman, having sent away for some more lingerie by mail-order. All I needed to do was sling my denim jacket over my shoulders and bend my arm around the opened door to grab the packages. There was no need for me to be seen.