‘There,’ she had whispered, ‘much better.’
And she had been right: although the rigid outline of his angry, deeply tormented sex remained visible, it was now held fast and upright and would not be noticeable beneath a skirt.
The next item of feminine attire had not been a skirt, however, but a pretty lace-edged silk slip with slender shoulder straps. It had reached barely to the tops of his nylon-sheathed thighs, yet as Aunt Debra slipped it over his head and it fell against his body, he felt smothered in the essence of femininity.
As soon as the slip was in place, his aunt had picked up a bottle of golden-coloured perfume from the dressing table and drowned his torso in a mysterious, sensual cloud of rose-scented mist. She had laughed as he coughed and staggered backwards against the stool. Then she had produced a silver-coloured silk blouse.
‘The slip is a little small, and I suspect the blouse will be too, but we can get you some new, proper-fitting outfits tomorrow.’
He had looked at her with questioning, desire-tormented eyes.
‘Yes,’ she had said, responding to his gaze. ‘We definitely need to go shopping. It’ll be fun.’
The fear in his eyes had betrayed a darker thought and again she had laughed.
‘Don’t worry, you can come dressed as a boy. We’ll think about taking you out en femme later on.’
En femme. Mysterious then, fundamental now. A phrase betraying an understanding of transvestism and its milieu much deeper than he could have imagined. The words ring down the years as street lights fill the car and reveal Eve. Suddenly, he is she and back in the present, driving to the Crème de la Crème, the club recommended to her in a letter from Aunt Debra a month ago.
‘All of this because of you,’ she whispers, a willing prisoner of primal memories. But soon she is back again, as Adam, in that beautiful, elegant room, being helped into the ultra-soft blouse, experiencing the most intense sexual thrill of his young and inexperienced life, setting a course that is to lead him to addictive, desperate and beloved transvestism, and thus to Eve.
He had secured the cream-coloured pearl buttons and been surprised: the blouse was a perfect fit. It had a high neck which was used to support two strips of matching silver silk. His aunt had quickly tied the strips into a tight, fat bow. Then she had stood back to review her handiwork and a wider, so terribly sexy smile had crossed her face.
‘Perfect,’ she had whispered, before returning to the dressing table to retrieve the skirt. The skirt: after the sheer nylon tights, the most powerful symbol of his transformation and of helpless femininity, made of rich cotton and jet black. Like all Aunt Debra’s skirts, it was short, very clearly a mini-skirt with a handy elastic waistband that allowed it to mould perfectly to his slender waist. She had helped him step into it and then pulled it up his legs, before carefully tucking the blouse into the waistband and then turning back to the closet. He had seen his disturbingly shapely legs in the oval dressing-table mirror and felt a terrible sting of pride and desire. How real he looked; or rather, how real his black nylon-enveloped legs looked.
She returned with a striking pair of shoes and a further mystery.
‘I’m afraid there are four areas where we’ll never be able to disguise totally the biological facts: your hands, your sex, your voice . . . and your feet.’
Her words had been brutal, frank and quite shocking. ‘Your sex’. His ‘manhood’, encased in silk and nylon and held firm by the tender but sure grasp of the panty girdle.
The shoes had been at least two sizes larger than her own feet and their presence in her closet had posed a profound and teasing question: whose were they?
‘These should fit.’
She had held the shoes before him, before Adam transforming slowly but surely into Eve. They were black patent-leather court shoes with frightening three-inch heels. He had looked at her, fear and surprise filling his wide eyes, desire filling his heart.
‘I’m sure you want to try these, Adam. What’s the point otherwise?’
He had mumbled a sex-drenched ‘yes’ and watched soft electric light sparkle in the depth of the gleaming leather. ‘But who do they belong to?’
She had smiled and averted her gaze in a surprisingly coy manner. ‘Well . . . that would be telling.’
There had been no further explanation. Instead, she had knelt down at his feet and told him to sit down on the stool. As she knelt, the sexy check mini-skirt had climbed up her shapely, black nylon-sheathed thighs and poor Adam’s eyes had nearly popped out of his head. He had fought a squeal of pleasure and she had suddenly looked up at him, her gaze more severe, more dominant.
‘Point your toes forward, like an arrow; in the feminine way.’
He had nodded weakly, excited and very nervous. In a strange way, this single physical gesture said all that needed to be said.
Then he had allowed her very gently to slip the elegant, sexy shoe over his hosed foot. The sound of his heavy, deeply aroused breathing had filled the anticipatory silence that suddenly hung over the room. As the second shoe was positioned, his legs seemed to take on an even more feminine form. His sex had stiffened and his heartbeat had increased. He was on the verge of experiencing a true and startling transformation.
‘Very good. Now stand up.’
He had looked at her with worried eyes and a softer, maternal smile graced her lovely face.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you.’
To confirm this she had taken his right, silk-sheathed arm. He had then placed his high-heeled feet on the floor and pushed himself upward.
The immediate sensation had been of sudden and disorienting elevation. His balance was instantly questioned, tested, made deeply and disturbingly problematic.
‘You have to adjust your body weight,’ his aunt had said, watching his legs and feet carefully, her gleaming eyes filled with the intense concentration of a trainer.
‘It’s all about finding a slightly different centre of gravity.’
A different centre of gravity. Another phrase that echoes down the years. A perfect metaphor for Eve: the new point of refocus and balance that was his nascent feminine self. Eventually, Aunt Debra had realised her grip and Adam found himself swaying precariously, fighting the urge to stagger forward, to grab his aunt or some solid fixed point that represented safety, a security that supported the self he had, up to this particular point, been. But there had been nothing to grab hold of, only the person he was becoming, only the future of this new self. And after a few minutes of unsteadiness, he had begun to feel the new balance, the firmer, stronger centre of gravity that was at the heart of his new, distinctly feminine self.
‘There,’ his aunt had said, her body relaxing, standing back to consider a more confident Adam. ‘That’s much better. Now take a step.’
He had looked at her again with frightened, girlish eyes and she had nodded, her own eyes filled with aroused enthusiasm.
‘A small step,’ she added. ‘The shoes demand careful, small steps.’
And his first step had been small, but also, in another sense, giant, for as he carefully shifted his weight to retain his balance, he had felt his hips move in a certain and strangely natural way. His hips and bottom. And this had not really been a step, but a mince, a small, elegant mince modelled on the erotic semi-steps of his sexy, buxom aunt, steps that were part of a ballet of graceful, erotic movement.
And this first step quickly became two, and then three. His confidence had increased. The final embarrassment had passed. He had wiggle-minced before his aunt with a sense of genuine pride, experiencing a new mechanics of body movement. Indeed, it was as if this was a new body – the body of Eve.
His aunt had remained silent, her smile fading slightly, but her gaze became more fixed, more intent. She had seen something in his delicate imitation.
‘You’re a natural,’ she had whispered.
As he had moved before her, he felt his nylon-sheathed thighs rub gently together to create an electric and h
ighly erotic surge that shot teasingly into his sex, a charge which was like an astonishing shock of life helping to bring substance to Eve. Soon he was mincing before his gorgeous aunt with a grace and fluency that turned her gaze from one of concentration and observation to one of amused excitement.
‘You really do have the way,’ she had whispered. ‘Are you sure you’ve never done this before?’
He had smiled shyly, modestly, and let the waves of feminine pleasure wash over his carefully, if only provisionally, transformed being.
‘And this is only the beginning, Adam,’ she had continued. ‘A few more days and nobody will be able to tell you’re really a boy.’
He had stopped and looked at her. ‘Really? You can really do that?’
‘With a subject like you . . . no problem. I guarantee it. We’ll go shopping in the morning and by tomorrow afternoon you won’t be Adam any more, my love.’
A nervous smile had crossed his slender, girlish face.
‘Then who will I be?’ he had asked, a teasing innocence cutting across his voice.
Her smile had broadened and she laughed at his coy presumption. ‘You’ll be Eve, of course!’
His aunt, his splendid, sexy Aunt Debra, had named him and immediately created her: the new Eve, the new self.
‘But why? Why are you helping me like this? Why aren’t you ringing my dad up and telling him to come and take me home?’
This had been a reasonable and logical question, one that she had avoided with a slight smile and a barely perceptible shake of her beautiful head.
‘My own reasons . . . Eve. Reasons you don’t need to know about now. Just thank your lucky stars it was me that caught you and not your mother. The shock would have been far too much for her. Especially after . . .’
Her voice had trailed away, followed by a pause. In his aunt’s gorgeous honey-brown eyes he had seen regret, sadness . . . loss. Then she had seemed to shake herself back into a more positive mood. She insisted that Adam – now so obviously Eve – sit back down on the stool before the dressing table and face the oval mirror.
This time, his reflection had produced a gasp of immediate and very powerful shock. Now the nature of Eve was clear. The blouse emphasised a simple fact: he had a very feminine face, with soft features dominated by large, blue eyes. His short hair had managed, in a somewhat paradoxical manner, to make him appear even more feminine than he might have been with long hair. His slight shoulders and perfectly flat chest seemed to increase this sense of a beautiful young woman. It was as if he was beholding himself and another instantaneously. This was, perhaps, the most mystifying and erotic aspect of the identity he would develop over the next ten years or so. When he became she, when Adam disappeared into Eve, he stepped into a strange blurred space between male and female which produced both a sense of intense femininity and a very male sexual attraction to this femininity. He became, becomes – is – his own object of desire.
His aunt had applied minimal make-up with an artist’s care. A mere touch of foundation, light peach lipstick, a hint of pale-blue eye shadow, even a hint of peach rouge on each cheek, enough to give his face feminine colour and emphasise its naturally soft, distinctly female shape. He had watched this gradual, expert transformation with hungry and startled eyes, still amazed by the reality of Eve, by the authenticity of this new self.
Aunt Debra had continued to express her satisfaction as if this was the latest and most successful in a line of transformations. As she worked on his face, her warm, elegantly attired, almost unbearably sensual body had pressed against his. Her perfume had tortured him, her soft, large, tightly restrained breasts had rested only inches from his carefully painted lips. The erotic spectacle of transformation had also been an erotic ritual of display and casual caress. His sex burned deep in its nylon and silk prison, a bound, helpless and hungry prisoner.
Then his aunt had stepped back, as if pulling a veil from the face of Adam, to reveal, in her true, stunning glory, Eve. His secret self and true being.
‘She was there all the time,’ she whispered. ‘Beautiful Eve.’
She. Yes, at this point, she had looked at her reflection and gasped. A very pretty, short-haired young girl stared back. She (it would always be she from now on) was so very happy and so very horny!
Then Aunt Debra had taken Eve, her lovely niece, by the hand and led her from the bedroom. As Eve had followed this stunning, graceful, deeply erotic woman, she had watched each elegant, high-heeled step with an intensely analytical eye, eager to reproduce exactly the sensual, careful rhythm of that body movement in her own increasingly feminine deportment. And with each step taken, the stronger Eve had become. By the time she entered the living room, her pretty girl’s eyes pinned to her aunt’s plump, shapely, inviting backside as it swayed teasingly in the tight fetish prison of her mini-skirt, she was surely Eve much more than Adam.
It had been early evening. Electric light was necessary to escape the tense and claustrophobic winterish gloom. Aunt Debra had been so very keen to instruct Eve in every gesture and movement required to live in heels and hose. How to walk, how to sit, how to stand, how to manage objects, how to cook and clean. It was almost as if she had given birth to a new version of herself: the creator with her work of living art. And Eve had loved every second of it. This new feminine self was a gateway to a stronger, clearer perception and a more immediate and clearly focused reality. To become Eve was to enter the real world; to be Adam was to be locked in a universe of distortion and deceit.
They had stayed together until nearly midnight. Her aunt had spent hours talking about the feminine and its creation. Perhaps more interestingly, she had stressed that Eve was beginning a great journey through the illusions of the limited patriarchal social order.
‘Eve is the opportunity to see a new world. This is the beginning of an amazing adventure for you. An adventure we can share.’
She had sat directly opposite her new niece, her long, black nylon-wrapped legs crossed tightly, her mini-skirt riding up her shapely, carefully trained thighs. Eve’s wide, dark eyes had feasted on this highly erotic display and she had instinctively crossed her own long, finely hosed and very feminine legs. Noticing this imitation, her aunt had smiled and whispered a teasing ‘Exactly’.
Then she had stood and taken her pretty, doe-eyed niece by the hand and led her from the living room, upstairs into the bedroom Adam had slept in for the past three nights. As they climbed the stairs, Eve’s eyes had continued to submerse themselves in the ocean of feminine delight that was her Aunt’s plump, gently swaying behind and her long, elegantly hosed legs.
In the bedroom, Aunt Debra had turned to face Eve and told her to undress.
‘It’s late and you need your beauty sleep. You can wear one of my nightdresses. I expect to see you naked when I return.’
Eve had watched Aunt Debra leave the room with a startled gaze. Her voice had been surprisingly firm. This had been an order, an erotic command, a command Eve knew she would obey without question. She remembered this harsher tone when the gorgeous shoes were being fitted. A tone that aroused her, that inspired a strange, submissive delight.
She had slipped nervously out of the layers of pretty, so dreadfully arousing feminine attire, her heart pounding, her hands shaking. As she wiggled out of the soft prison of the panty girdle, her hard, hot sex had slipped against the teasing wall of the silk panties and she was again revealed as a strange middle space between male and female.
She had very gently, carefully (and regretfully) slipped her legs out of the tights and removed the panties. Then she had stood naked, arms at her side, facing the door, her sex riding up before her like some terrible, arrogant and angry reaffirmation of a maleness that was becoming increasingly alien yet also utterly inescapable.
Aunt Debra had re-entered the room carrying more feminine attire and when her eyes had fallen upon Eve’s exposed, slender, intensely girlish form, a flame of arousal had ignited in each dark honey-brown orb.
Eve had blushed, more embarrassed as a boy naked than a girl clothed, and her hands had tried to cover the furious erection.
‘A man is doomed to be obvious,’ Aunt Debra had whispered, throwing the new clothing on to the bed, her eyes never leaving Eve’s granite sex.
‘Your desire betrays you every time.’
There had been a change in her manner, a subtle, erotic shift. And as she walked towards her niece, as Eve bathed in the glorious sexual beauty of her aunt’s buxom, carefully displayed figure, the newly formed she-male had noticed that Debra was holding a very fine, black nylon stocking in her right hand.
‘I think we need to wrap your little stuffy up nice and tightly before we get your bedclothes on.’
Eve’s eyes had widened, as had Debra’s smile. Her aunt stopped a few inches from Eve’s naked, shaking form. The edge of her lovely mini-skirt brushed against her new niece’s agonised sex and Eve released a moan of almost unbearable pleasure.
‘Please,’ Eve had mumbled. ‘Oh please . . .’
Aunt Debra had chuckled and knelt before Eve’s tumescent sex. Her incredible, substantial breasts brushed against Eve’s naked upper thighs and then, to Eve’s astonishment and dark delight, her aunt proceeded very slowly to slip the stocking over the bulging, boiling head of her undeniable manhood. Eve had squealed with a shocked ecstasy and begged her aunt to release her from the torment of male desire. She had been told in a much harsher tone to keep still, and this had only served to excite her even more. Aunt Debra had pulled the stocking tightly over Eve’s bulging balls and then tied it in place with a length of pink silk ribbon in a fat sissy bow. A cruel joke, perhaps; but it had left Eve in a state of utter physical transcendence, the pleasure like nothing she had ever experienced.
Debra had stood up and looked down upon her niece with loving, amused eyes.
‘You poor thing. I think we need to get you into bed as quickly as possible.’
Pondering these promising words, Eve had allowed herself to be led over to the bed and presented with the latest feminine attire.
The Secret Self Page 3