As she sat before him in the large, yet cosy living room and questioned him about his day, he would fight the helpless need to stare brazenly at her long, crossed, teasingly hosed legs and feel his sex – hard, hot and angry – press desperately and uncomfortably against the zipper of his trousers. To stand was to confess all, and so he had stayed seated as if tied tightly in place, paralysed by dark desire and a strangely pleasant humiliation.
His eyes had explored her with a helplessly frank sexual desire and, although he didn’t fully realise it, another type of desire: to imitate. Despite his embarrassment and nervous fear, his gaze would travel up her nylon-sealed legs, over the smooth second skin of a satin or silk blouse, a blouse always tight enough to stress and celebrate her large yet firm breasts, and up to her full, heart-shaped face, a face given dazzling beauty by full, cherry-red lips and sensual, honey-brown eyes. And she had gazed back, observing his desire, a teasing curiosity in her smouldering eyes, an ironic smile shaping her gorgeous, glistening mouth.
As she had crossed her legs, her skirt would rustle restlessly against nylon-wrapped thighs and his heart would beat faster. Then a weird, debilitating giddiness would possess his consciousness. He would taste animal desire in his dry mouth and swallow back a mixture of aggression and blind sex terror. Yet nothing had happened between them, and nothing would. His fear ensured an absolute immobility of action.
In his bed at night, in the absolute dark and quiet ensured by the country location, he had thought of nothing but her, of his gorgeous aunt and her costumes of elegant beauty. He had masturbated with an addict’s reckless abandon and faced each morning with a bleary desperation. Then it had all become too much for him. On the third day of his visit it had rained heavily and he had been trapped alone indoors. Without the casual diversions of fresh air and nature, his mind focused quickly on his aunt and her sensual attire. The first thoughts of exploring her bedroom had been rebuffed with a weakly imposed moral outrage, a defence mechanism that had been broken down by a flood of dark sex hunger. Then he had been at her door, his sweating, shaking hand gripping its brass handle with a terror-fuelled tightness. He had opened the door expecting to discover his aunt standing before him, a look of anger and betrayal filling her gorgeous eyes. But the room was empty; and as he stepped into it no alarm sounded, no trap-door opened to send him hurtling into a sinner’s abyss. Instead, there had been the pristine, perfectly ordered space occupied by a very beautiful, elegant woman.
He had walked to the centre of the room as rain pounded against large, lace curtained French windows opening out on to a small balcony, which provided a striking view of the surrounding woodland. His shoes sank into thick, pale-blue carpeting. A smell of fresh roses filled the room. A large, ornate chest of drawers dominated one corner. This was positioned close to a walk-in closet. On top of the drawers was a beautiful crystal-glass vase filled with the roses that released a strong, teasing scent.
A striking, equally ornate dressing table was positioned against the opposite wall, its large oval mirror providing a strange illusion of additional size, almost like a portal through to another room exact in every detail but perfectly inverted. On the table-top was a vast array of perfumes and make-up, and Adam had soon found himself picking up exotically shaped and named bottles and letting their sensual fragrances fill his flaring nostrils.
Then he had moved towards the bed, a large double bed covered in cream coloured silk sheets and matching pillows, its headboard and frame made from a beautifully crafted white mahogany. Directly above the headboard had been a strange picture, an almost photographic representation of a beautiful, dark-skinned woman dressed in a long, silk nightgown, her coal-black eyes fired by desire. It was a provocative and deliberately erotic picture that added highly inflammable petrol to the fire already burning in Adam’s tormented loins.
He ran his hands over the electric softness of the sheets and stifled a moan of helpless, mind-bending pleasure. He longed to feel these sheets against his own naked skin, his own silky smooth, feminine skin. A wave of femininity washed over him, a sense of absolute entrancement that he would come to feel every time he was close to becoming Eve. Here, he had begun to experience the shocking truth of his most secret self.
By now he was overwhelmed. He moved from the bed towards the chest of drawers. He noticed more pictures on the walls, walls that had been covered in a strange, cream-silk wallpaper, its colour almost exactly the same as the elegant bedclothes. There was a picture of another woman, clearly by the same painter, this of a striking Negress, kneeling, naked except for a thick leather slave collar, her position one of absolute submission, arms covering her breasts, eyes filled not with desire but with embarrassment and fear – a shocking and furiously erotic image that instantly made his aunt an even more mysterious and sexually alluring individual.
Then he opened the large top drawer and entered the world of his darkest, most intense dreams. A gasp of shocked pleasure escaped his mouth as he found himself looking down at row upon row of neatly folded silk panties, a rainbow explosion of his aunt’s intimate underwear that stopped his heart and stiffened his prick.
‘Oh God,’ he whispered, plunging his hands deep into this sea of secret delights.
The panties were all of silk, very fine, very expensive silk. So soft they were almost liquid. He pulled out one cherry-red pair and pressed them against his cheek. It was like lowering his face into a cool pond of scented water, a pond from which Eve, in her earliest incarnation, had begun to rise.
He placed the panties on the top of the chest and then pulled open the second drawer. Here he discovered even greater pleasures: a vast and neatly ordered array of hose: tights and stockings, again in a wide variety of colours. He remembered the teasing displays before the fire each evening, remembered his eyes crawling over the shimmering surface of her perfectly formed legs and how he had longed to feel this sheer, teasing nylon film against his own skin.
Extracting a pair of almost black tights, he placed them next to the panties. He opened the third drawer, to discover brassieres, again neatly folded and arranged, a cornucopia of feminine support. He held a black silk model up before his chest and burst into nervous laughter. His aunt was, despite her ample proportions, not that much taller than himself, and he had been surprised how close her undies were to fitting his own body size. Then the desire that had driven him to his aunt’s room and drawn him since puberty to all things feminine, that had spurred his admiration of women and their special, elegant world, drove him to the next stage of transformation. Cracks were appearing in the eggshell and Eve was beginning to emerge.
He had undressed slowly, nervously, yet also with a terrible, inescapable determination. He was filled with new purpose, possessed of certainty and clarity. As he ran his warm hands over the cool feminine fabrics, over his aunt’s most intimate attire, he felt a new force inside him. In a few minutes he had stood naked before the chest of drawers, his heart pounding, a low-level quiver of fear and sex hunger rippling across his slender form, his sex a rigid pole of merciless arousal.
He had pulled the soft silk panties up his long, feminine legs and felt a dreadful, stunning sexual shock. As the soft, electric silk material had touched his skin, a larger crack had split the egg and Eve moved further towards the light. He found his movements slowing, becoming more careful, more graceful. As he pulled the panties up over his thighs and then against his furiously erect penis, the levels of fear and hunger began to subside. A sudden feeling of peace washed over his body. Yes, this was right – this was the healing moment. The confusion and unease of the last few years began to pass. Eve had then stepped forth into the strange reality of everyday life.
Once the panties had been snugly positioned, everything else seemed shockingly simple and inevitable. He had taken the tights from the chest of drawers and run his calmer, cooler hands through the sheer, intensely erotic fabric. How many times had he looked at the shapely legs of so many women and wished his own could be seale
d tightly yet softly in shimmering, sheer nylon? How many times had he envied them this simple, feminine pleasure? Yet, while the panties at least resembled underpants in terms of the mechanics of dressing, the tights were a totally new challenge. Clearly he would be unable to slip his legs into them while standing. He walked to the bed, each step new and strange, each step shorter and slower, each accompanied by a slight wiggle of the hips. It was almost as if he were suddenly inside a new body.
He had sat on the soft silk sheets and felt his body sink slowly into the erotically forgiving fabric. Holding the tights before him, he gazed into the shady film of sheer nylon with a renewed sexual attraction. The confusion over the dressing passed – it would be simple. He gently bunched up the left leg and created a wide bowl. He then leant forward and slipped his outstretched foot, with its toes elegantly and femininely pointed, into the bowl, and began to draw it over the foot and up his leg.
The sensation had been instantly overwhelming. He had fought a cry of powerful and utterly irresistible pleasure as the soft, teasing fabric kissed and caressed his already very feminine legs. Never had he experienced such pure and immediate tactile delight. The image of Eve had become suddenly clearer as he wrapped his legs in the startling, sheer nylon. The feminine sensibility that had haunted every waking minute of his teenage life was now revealed at its strongest and simplest. He had stepped into the strange space between male and female, a smile of quiet ecstasy lighting up his face.
He had pulled the tights up over his thighs and the tender embrace of the silk panties, his very stiff sex outlined like a totem of ambiguous desire against the soft, shiny fabric.
He was about to study the effect of the tights on his legs in the dressing-table mirror when, to his utter horror, the bedroom door opened and he had found himself facing Aunt Debra.
Trapped in the powerful light of her astonished gaze, he had been frozen to the spot, his heart pounding with a profound animal fear and a bottomless, sickening humiliation. He had been sure this was the end of everything: he would be shipped back to his mother, his secret perversions exposed. He would be a laughing-stock. He would be sent to a psychiatrist. Perhaps the police would be involved. The possibilities were endless and appalling.
‘What on earth are you up to?’ his aunt had snapped.
He had been struck down by terror and embarrassment. Tears filled his large, girlish eyes. He had felt a tear run down his left cheek and a sudden, violent dizziness had washed over him. He fell back on to the bed and his aunt had rushed over to him.
‘Are you OK, Adam?’
Then there had been blackness.
He had awoken only a few minutes later, laid out on the bed, still in the tights and panties, with his beautiful aunt looking down at him, her look of shock replaced by one of genuine concern. Strangely, he had felt much better. The fear and humiliation had, at least temporarily, passed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know what happened. Got carried away. All got a bit too much for me . . .’
She had smiled at him then, a smile that had changed everything instantly and forever.
‘Yes . . . I can see that.’
He tried to pull himself up, but she had placed a gentle yet firm hand on his naked chest.
‘Don’t move yet.’
He had obeyed her command, his eyes meeting hers and finding something very odd: an interest, even a fascination.
Then she had stepped back and studied his prone, semi-feminised form, her smile widening.
‘You’ve got lovely legs, Adam. The tights really set them off. But I suppose you know that.’
Her words had astonished and aroused in equal measure. His mouth had fallen open. Now he was dumbstruck for a very different reason.
He had looked up at her and felt a renewed desire. She was dressed in a very tight black sweater, a white-and-black check skirt and black nylon tights. With the usual added touch of three-inch stiletto-heeled court shoes, she looked absolutely fantastic. His sex had tightened against the soft panty prison and a look of dark irony had entered her sparkling eyes.
‘Is this just teenage curiosity or something more . . . developed?’
His face had darkened. A dark crimson stain of embarrassment crossed his cheeks.
‘You can tell me, Adam. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know what you’ve been thinking. But this . . . well, it’s not exactly what I expected. But then again, it doesn’t really surprise me. The way you are. The way you hold yourself. The things you’re interested in. It all makes sense, really.’
‘It’s something more . . . serious, more . . . developed,’ he had spluttered, suddenly aware of how exposed he was, of how ridiculous he looked.
‘So you want to be a girl? I don’t think so. Not a real girl. No . . . not from what I’ve seen. I mean, you don’t like boys, do you?’
He had been outraged by this, sitting up and shaking his head, snapping ‘No, of course not!’
She had laughed and told him to calm down. ‘But you want to be a pretty boy . . . a feminine boy. A boy who can look and act like a girl. Who can experience and express his feminine side. His other self. Is that it?’
Adam had been astonished by this abrupt and exact insight and had found himself nodding helplessly.
‘Yes, that’s it . . . exactly.’
‘Don’t look so shocked, Adam,’ she continued. ‘I know more than you might think about men and their needs.’
He had averted her gaze and felt the crimson confession spread further across his face. She had told him to get up. There had been a strange moment of hesitation, their gazes locked, his heart speeding up once again. Then he had pulled himself off the bed and faced her – his gorgeous, imperious aunt – dressed in her tights and panties, his cock a dreadful and helpless betrayal of his true needs.
‘You should have told me,’ she had said. ‘There was no need for this. If you want to dress up . . . let me help you.’
It had been difficult for him to comprehend fully the true love in her words, a love that would allow Eve to be born and would support him throughout the years that followed. She had smiled and held out a long, elegant hand and he had taken it willingly, even desperately. Never had he felt more helpless and needy than at that moment of absolute confession and surrender. And never, as his beautiful, generous aunt led him back to the dressing table, had he felt happier.
It had been before the dressing table that she had created the first clear image of Eve. The impossible truth of his long-hidden but constantly present femininity was told for the first time before the oval mirror. She sat him down on a white leather-backed stool and they had faced each other through the mirror – together and apart. He had looked at her and at himself. Her sexual beauty had been so terribly apparent at that moment. The smell of her perfume had seemed to induce a shimmer of desire, a film of sex mist that hung before reality and its strange reflection. She had rested a hand on his naked shoulder and a bolt of life-creating electricity had pulsed through his body.
‘Let’s start with the rest of the clothes.’
She had left him facing his reflection to disappear into the walk-in closet. He had stared at the strange image of his semi-naked self, his heart still pounding, his mouth desert-dry with desire and an impossible anticipation. It was hard to believe that he was in this strange, highly erotic situation with this beautiful woman. Ever since her earliest visits to his mother’s home, there had been a dark, sensual fire in her eyes and a teasing nature hidden behind a soft wall of silk charm. All along he had been helplessly attracted to her, entrapped by her personality and appearance, by her naughty words and elegant gestures. She was his model of femininity, an image of classic womanly grace and poise that stood as his first true sex object. And then, in her isolated country home on a wet, windy and dark afternoon, the process of objectification had been inverted. As he had stared at his ambiguous reflection, he had stared at the beginning of a new object of desire, the creature who was soon to becom
e Eve.
His aunt had returned laden with feminine attire, the magical source of the new Eve’s physical being. Now he found himself watching her with even more care, the way she moved, the way each step was an erotic gesture that rippled across her marvellous, buxom form like a flirtatious smile. He had noted the careful, yet totally relaxed way she placed one high-heeled foot directly in front of the other, a physical mechanics of counterbalance based on a highly sexual rhythm producing a delightful wiggle of the hips and backside and a merry bounce of her substantial bosom. He had been hypnotised by her female design in a way that echoed his previous helpless infatuation, but this was now informed by a more instrumental purpose: preparation for imitation.
She had placed the clothes on the dressing table and faced him with an encouraging smile.
‘Now, let’s start with that naughty little bulge.’
His eyes widened in utter terror and she had laughed.
‘Don’t worry, Adam . . . it’s just a panty girdle. The best way, I think, of hiding your rather obvious manhood.’
She had held up a rather pretty, white satin-panelled, elastane-reinforced panty girdle, its smooth, shiny front decorated with lovely silk flowers. He had beheld it with tormented, hungry eyes.
She had told him to stand up and then helped him step into the frilled legs of the girdle, before pulling it gently up his nylon-sheathed legs. She had been so close, inches from his teased body, her bosom brushing against his thighs as she leaned forward. As she had hauled the tight stomach-and sex-flattening device up over his waist and positioned it carefully around his slender stomach, he had stifled a moan of terrible, heart-stopping pleasure.
The Secret Self Page 2