Hot Sex Instead of Dancing Ch. 13

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*

Now that Linda's secret gangbang sex with his three friends is out in the open and a topic for their pillow talk discussions, Walter feels more comfortable dressing up as Wendy.

With his wife gone shopping with her sister and mother and with Linda staying overnight at her sister's house, the next town over, this was Walter's chance to be alone and he wanted to make the most of his opportunity. With Wendy banging on his head in wanting to get out, this may be the perfect time for Walter to dress as Wendy. He's been waiting for decades to go out in public dressed as a woman. Now is his chance.

It's been a while since he's had the house to himself without having Linda up his ass and in his business. A man needs to have some time to himself. A man needs time to be alone with his thoughts. With her always home the entire weekend and with him working all week long, he never has time for himself.

He never gets to do any of the things that he wants to do without his boss telling him what he needs him to do or his wife telling him what she wants him to do. Before Linda, it was his mother and his big sister telling him what to do. Surrounded by bossy, bitchy women, seldom does he get to tell himself what he wants to do. He's tired of being bossed around and doing things that he doesn't want to do.

"What about me?" Talking to no one but himself, with him finally king of his castle, he pounded his chest while looking around his empty house. "When do I get to do what I want to do?"

Not yet ready for Linda to see him dressed as Wendy, he needed to perfect the hairstyle on his wig and practice how better to apply his makeup first. Only he was at a loss as to how to style his hair and how to affix his wig so that it would stay in place. He found some helpful tips on the Internet but once left alone to his own devices, his hair and makeup never came out the way he wanted it. He never looked pretty enough.

Wishing there was a cross dressing club he could join, he wished he had someone to help him with his hair and makeup. He was at a loss as to how to perfect his makeup and to cover those imperfects in his skin that needed covering. In the way that cosmeticians are called makeup artists, he could never make up his face in the way that professional makeup artists makeup models and celebrities.

Even the simplest thing to do, such as putting on lipstick, gave him trouble. As if he was an elderly woman with an unsteady hand, always he got lipstick above his lip and below his lip. Whether trying to apply it in one broad stroke or dabbing it on to correct his mistakes, nervous even when alone, his hand always started shaking.

It had been a long time, years, since he's dressed as a woman. It's been a long time since he's felt the need to look pretty while dressed as a woman. He couldn't help himself from thinking of the song, 'I Look Pretty,' from the Westside Story. He sang the song to himself while styling his hair and applying his makeup.

"I feel pretty, oh, so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and gay! And I pity any girl who isn't me today. I feel charming, oh, so charming. It's alarming how charming I feel! And so pretty that I hardly can believe I'm real."

He stopped singing to stare at himself in the mirror before singing again as if he was on a Broadway stage.

"See the pretty girl in the mirror there: Who can that attractive girl be? Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile, such a pretty me! I feel stunning and entrancing, feel like running and dancing for joy, for I'm loved by a pretty wonderful boy! Me," he said laughing.

* * * * *

Finally, coming to grips with his inherent need to cross dress, he was finally more accepting of himself as a cross dresser. Cross dressing was more than just dressing like a woman that he wasn't instead of dressing like the man that he was. Cross dressing was who he was and how he felt about himself. Cross dressing released something inside of him that made him feel normal and abnormal at the same time. With this more about him than about them, cross dressing was something he needed to do with apologies to no one. No more guilt and no more shame, he was beyond all of that now.

He could have had much worse sexual peccadilloes than merely enjoying wearing women's clothes. Actually, something he'd never want his wife and his friends to know, in addition to wearing women's clothes he does have a couple of other fetishes too. He has a thing for women's panties and women's shoes. He not only loves women's panties and women's shoes but he collects them too.

He has an entire collection of panties and shoes in his size tucked away in bins and plastic boxes and hidden away in the attic. A place where Linda never goes because of spiders that he fumigated long ago, any time he feels the need, he'll go up to the attic to admire his panty and shoe collection. If only his wife knew that not only does he have a panty and shoe fetish but also that he has more panties and shoes than she does, she'd want to go shopping to buy more.

In his youth, constantly berating himself and beating himself up for something not his fault, he always felt guilty not only about cross dressing but also about having a sexual infatuation with women's panties and shoes. Typically he felt guilty before dressing as a woman and he felt guilty after having dressed as a woman. The odd thing was that he seldom felt guilty when dressed as a woman. Now, nothing more than a sexual fantasy, he'd love to have sex with Tiffany while dressed as a woman.

If anything, even though he didn't make the prettiest woman, an understatement, whenever he was dressed as a woman, he felt good about himself. It wasn't until he removed his womanly clothes, his wig, and his makeup that he felt horribly guilty and ashamed. There was always that pent up anger ready to make him sad and depressed. If he didn't give in to the need to dress like a woman, he was angry. If he gave in to the need to dress like a woman, he was angry. Whether he gave in to the need to dress as a woman or not, he was angry.

In the way that he successfully hid his cross dressing and panty and shoe collection from his mother and his sister for years, he hid his cross dressing and panty and shoe collection from his wife for 20 years. Yet, he suspected she knew his dirty, little secrets. He suspected she knew that he was a cross dresser and collected women's panties and women's shoes. In the way they never spoke of her having sex with his friends, they never spoke of him being a cross dressing and a collector of panties and shoes. With them living in the same house, how could she not know that he's a cross dresser?

Yet, even though he felt terribly guilty and totally ashamed before dressing as a woman and after dressing as a woman, the odd thing was that he didn't feel guilty and/or ashamed while dressed as a woman. When wearing women's clothes, a bra and panties, he didn't feel ashamed. After wearing a wig and make up, he didn't feel guilty for giving into the need to cross dress. If he felt anything at all, he felt good when dressed as a women. When dressed as a woman, he felt better about himself.

He felt sexually excited whenever he satisfied his sexual need to dress as a woman. He loved trying to make himself pretty, usually in vain but over the years, compared to the first time he dressed as a woman, he'd gotten better in transforming himself from male to female. Only, it wasn't until he removed the makeup, and took off the wig and women's clothes that he felt bad about himself. Apparently going with the need to cross dress, feeling sad and feeling angry is something he's felt for 30 years.

Only, this time, he felt better about himself. This time before dressing as a woman he didn't feel guilty. This time before dressing as a woman he didn't feel ashamed. This time before dressing as a woman he didn't feel angry. This time before dressing as a woman he felt as if he was meant to cross dress.

* * * * *

He was excited about seeing his old clothes and many of the things he bought and hid away without even trying them on to see if they fit. Hidden in the back of his closet behind his hunting clothes, he dug out all the clothes he had hidden in boxes and on hangers at the back of his closet. No matter how long ago he bought the clothing items, as if looking at dated photographs, he remembered buying the clothing items.

He was always so nervous buying women's clothes in a woman's clothing store, especially when usually he was the only man there, other than a couple of men who were with their wives. He always felt compelled to confess by lying and telling the saleswomen that he was buying something for his wife, a birthday gift, a Christmas gift, or an anniversary gift, he wondered how many saleswomen suspected that he was buying the clothes for himself. He wondered how many saleswomen suspected him of being a cross dresser.

Then with him buying panties and shoes too, he wondered how many saleswomen suspected him of having a panty and shoe fetish. How could they not? Seriously, how many men buy panties and women's shoes? Something that only women would buy for themselves, yet with him going to a different store for every purchase, he didn't care what saleswomen thought about him. Nonetheless he fooled himself into not caring how they perceived him, he did care and he couldn't help himself from feeling that there was something seriously wrong with him for wanting to wear women's clothes.

In the way that a woman never has anything to wear, being that he was never happy with the outfits he had, he now understood their wardrobe problems. Having forgotten about some of these clothes and with him buying and collecting women's clothes for twenty years, he had so very many outfits. Only, the things he bought years ago may not fit him now. Too late now to run out and buy something new, not wanting to take the time away from him getting dressed, he'd have to mix and match and make do. Later, when he goes to the mall, he'll buy something new.

Yet, no matter what he wore, something new, something old, something borrowed, or something blue, he was never happy with the clothes that he had. He always imagined himself wearing something else, something better, something more flattering, and something he saw a woman wearing on the street or in a store. If only he had an unlimited budget to buy women's clothes, he'd buy something by a famous designer. In the way that Julia Roberts was dressed as a beautiful woman in Pretty Woman, he imagined himself dressed to the nth degree with a big brimmed hat and a puffy, full length, fox fur coat.

He could only imagine what Linda would say if he bought himself a fox, fur coat after never buying her one. She'd have a fit. She'd be so mad. She'd drag him out of the house that very minute to buy her a fur at the furrier.

* * * * *

After emptying his closet of women's clothes, he looked at all the clothes that he dumped out of his boxes that were now strewn all over the bed. In the way his tops had fallen with their arms outstretched and their pant legs apart, his empty clothes reminded him of skinny, frail, emaciated women, women who had anorexia and/or bulimia. With his clothes looking much like clothes that the Nazi's stripped from Jewish women and dumped them all in big piles, he was sick to his stomach by the horrific image. One of the best movies he ever saw, sometimes he wished he's never watched Spielberg's Schindler's List.

How could men like that do such horrible things to people who were humans just like them? What if someone did what they did to these innocent women to their wives, girlfriends, sisters, and mothers? How can Germans live with the knowledge that their ancestors were such monsters?

Moreover, every time he sees a Jew driving an Audi, a BMW, a Mercedes, or a Porsche, he doesn't understand the phenomenon. Surely if he were a Jew and the Americans rescued him and his family from certain death, the last thing he'd buy is anything made in Germany. It's not a good enough excuse that the Germans make better automobiles. He'd still buy American.

With so much death, destruction, and evil happening in the world, why should he feel guilty about cross dressing when no one feels guilty about the abhorrent things that they do? When politicians feel guilty about taking bribes and dirty money is when he'll feel guilty about cross dressing. When our elected officials do the job they were voted into power to do is when he'll feel guilty about cross dressing. When America gives minorities the same equal rights under our Constitution and Bill of Rights as Caucasians receive is when he'll feel guilty about cross dressing. God bless America but as a cross dressing man, he doesn't feel very accepted as an American so why should he feel guilty about anything that he does?

* * * * *

He'd love to wear a cute dress but that would mean that he'd have to shave his hairy legs. He looked at all of the cute dresses he's bought over the years and all with the tags still on them and that he's never worn. With him never having shaved his legs before, for the sake of him wearing a dress, it was time he bit the bullet and shaved his hairy legs. With him wanting to go all the way to make himself look more like a woman and with him doing his best to make himself look pretty, it was time that he shaved his legs.

The main reason why he didn't shave his legs before was because he didn't want Linda to know that he was a cross dresser. Now with him emerging from his closet, he didn't care if she knew he's a cross dressers. Besides, he's sure that she already knows that he is. Besides unless he had a body like a professional bodybuilder, how could he go to the beach or tan by the pool with his legs shaved? Yet, with it only being a matter of time before he told her that he enjoys dressing as a woman, he was now ready to step out of his closet. Tired of only cross dressing partway and piecemeal, now was the time for him to go all the way and to be the best dressed woman that he could be.

"God, I'm such a mess," he said looking at his face in the mirror. "Look at those bags under my eyes. I hope I have enough concealer. I'm going to have to pluck my eyebrows and shave my beard a lot closer than this," he said running a slow hand over his stubble.

First things first, he needed to shower and shave.

* * * * *

Showered, shaved, and having shaved his legs with Linda's razor, he sat at her vanity table and in front of her makeup mirror. Linda had so very much makeup but he didn't dare touch any of her things. Instead he had his own makeup case filled with makeup and everything he needed to make himself look pretty. If only he knew how to apply it, he'd look better than how he usually looks. He wished he could sit at a makeup counter and have one of the cosmeticians makeup his face but he didn't dare. Instead, whenever he goes to the big departments, pretending his a bored husband waiting for his wife, he stands at a distance to watch the women making up someone's while hoping to get some helpful tips.

With his makeup applied, his hair styled and his wig arranged on his head as best he could with hairspray and bobby pins, he was ready to pick out his outfit. With him having gained a few pounds, he weeded out the dresses he knew just by looking at them that wouldn't fit him. He used to be a size 10. Last he figured he was a size 12. Now none of his size 12 dresses fit him. It's a good thing he has a couple of size 14 dresses. If he drinks anymore beer than what he does now, he'll be wearing a size 16 dress soon. Struggling to squeeze the dress over his head without ruining his hairstyle, it was then that he realized he should have put the dress on first but afraid of wrinkling it, he thought it made more sense to put the dress on last.

Deciding against wearing pantyhose, he chose thigh high stockings instead. He hated pantyhose and hated the fashion designer who invented them. He hated pantyhose because they denied men a flash of women's panties. Even as a cross dresser, as much as he enjoyed seeing a flash of women's panties, he imagined himself enjoying flashing his panties to a man or to a woman. Only he'd have to make it out of his house and drive himself to the mall first. Something he's yet to do, he's never left his house dressed as a woman.

He put on his padded, blue, 40 C cup bra and shimmied his body into a pair of blue, bikini panties. Then, pulling and tugging, he squeezed himself into body shaping Spanx, before squeezing his fat body in a size 14 dress. Once he zipped his dress, a difficult thing for him to do alone unless he was double jointed, he looked at himself in the mirror. Glad that he waited to paint his fingernail, he would have ruined his manicure when putting on his Spanx. With blue his favorite color, he loved this blue dress that matched the color of his blue nails. The geometric pattern it had was slimming too.

He sat in his chair to fit his size eleven women's blue, high heeled shoes on his size ten feet. The shoes felt tight but he wouldn't be wearing them all day. He could even kick them off while driving to the mall and would only have to wear them when walking through the mall. He had a blue leather pocketbook the same color as his dress and blue leather gloves that matched his handbag. He even had a navy blue raincoat that looked cute with the dress. Once all dressed, it was then that he realized that most times cross dressers were better dressed then real women.

* * * * *

The first time leaving his house dressed as a woman, and with him not wanting any of his neighbors to see him dressed as a woman, he entered the garage through the kitchen door. He sat in his car without opening the garage door and without starting the engine. A real breakthrough for him, since the first time he started dressing as a woman, this is something he's been wanting to do for thirty years, to go out in public dressed as a woman. He turned the mirror towards him so that he could talk to himself.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm in my car dressed as a woman and ready to drive to the mall," he said. "Only, it's one thing to be sitting in the car dressed as a woman and ready to drive to the mall but it's quite another thing to actually get out of the car once at the mall. Can I do it? Do I dare do this? I have to do it. Just do it."

A big step for him, this is the first time he's been out of his house dressed as a woman. What if someone he knows sees him dressed as a woman? What if when stuck in traffic or sitting at a red light someone recognizes him?

"Maybe I won't drive to the mall. Maybe I won't get out of the car. Maybe I'll just stay in my car. It will be enough for me to just drive around town," he said to the mirror as if talking to a real person in the car instead of talking to himself. "Only when will I have another chance to do this?"

He feared someone recognizing the car and seeing some strange woman driving his car? 'Then,' he thought, 'upon second look, what if they recognize him dressed as a woman?'

"I'll take the highway. I'll stay on that. With cars whizzing by at 60 miles an hour, no one will even notice me," he said. "If anything, they'll think that I'm a woman."

'Then,' he thought to himself, 'what's the sense of dressing up as a woman if you're not going to be seen by people and seen by someone, another man and/or another woman, so that you can get their opinion on how you look? Maybe he could drive to a mall in another city and walk through a woman's clothing store to see how they'd perceive him.'

Yeah, he could do that. That's what he'll do. He'll drive to another city and walk through their mall.

"I could buy some new clothes and tell the saleswoman that they're for me instead of for my wife which is what I always do," he said the mirror. "Maybe this time I'll buy a size 16 dress and size 11 EEE women's shoes. I could even buy a couple pair of panties."