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Ida and I had been seeing each for about six months and it was all going very well – I was 30 at this point with Ida being only a year younger. Me – a very easy-going young man, fit, lithe and a hundred percent, dedicated cross-dresser! Ida – also young, Italian and with a sexy curvy figure that matched her petite frame very nicely. I was secure in a well-paying job that I enjoyed and looking forward to many years of gainful employment in my home city. Ida was a teacher – a good one too and also secure in her own future to the point that she was in the process of having her first home built.

I am and was always fashion conscious – as most CDers are I think – always making sure that my outfit, whether it was femme or my male-drab, was crease-free and matched the occasion. Ida was, and is, what I like to think of as the epitome of a CDer’s wet-dream – she always wore a blouse, skirt, nice heels, hose, lovely matching jewelry and never left the house without makeup or her hair done. No matter if we were just spending a day in the country, going dancing, out for dinner – whatever – she would always make sure she looked the part – a woman who believes that being femme is part of what a woman should strive for and expect to be. The only downside in all this, is that I am about 5′ 10″ and she is only 5′ 2″ – so no chance of being able to wear her shoes, or clothes – oh well, one makes do with what one has right?

My cross-dressing has been part of my life since I was about 13 and I had taken many years coming to grips with who and what I was. I still wasn’t sure if it would be the controlling factor in my life yet – in other words, would I just enjoy doing this part-time, or would I go the larger step and seek to change completely – those decisions, while certainly seeds of thought, where a long way being decided upon. I did know that it was something I enjoyed thoroughly and that it made me feel ‘complete’. I loved coming home from a stressful day – shower, shave (if I had to) and then become my femme self – which by the way goes by the name Georgia – and spend a very relaxing evening either by myself or with my flatmate; chatting about girl stuff, watching a movie etc.

There had been one or two flings before Ida but none knew of my femme side as the relationships never really got to a point where it would have been a factor or necessary to divulge such information – so Ida was looking like the first woman I would or possibly could, reveal myself too. While I was definitely not a virgin and Ida likewise had had relationships before me, we did relish in taking our time because I think we both knew that this time round it all felt rather special. We had talked about sex and what it meant to the both of us and for the first time I was enjoying the honesty that was being shared – although I had still not informed her of my femme side – the moment to tell her about Georgia just hadn’t presented itself yet…little did I know that it was about to.

It was a Friday and I was on my way home from work – Ida and I were planning on going out for a drink and maybe take in a nite-club – when I got a call from her to say that the house had been finished to the point where she could now move in and wanted to celebrate with some champagne after work. She wanted me to select something nice on the way home, (she always had me buy wine, as my knowledge of it was greater than hers) and she was going to pick up some antipasto and bread for a little gathering in the new house.

Now, I didn’t bank on any of this…as I mentioned earlier, living in my own apartment with a female flatmate allowed me to enjoy dressing either alone, or while my flatmate was around, and wearing lovely femme lingerie, pantyhose, panties etc., beneath my male-drab on an almost daily basis – especially on cooler days, like today. So there I was, in my male-drab, and underneath that; skin-toned, lycra panties with a lace edge, very sheer-to-waist coffee-coloured pantyhose, some knee-hi women’s trouser socks and a silky-satin beige camisole – also with lovely lace-trimmed edges and shoulder straps. All this was under a pair of simple tan trousers and a cotton, button-down business shirt.

I had two choices – race home, get changed and try to get back to Ida’s with the champers in a suitable timeframe or…I could just go there and see what happened??? I chose the latter – I picked up the champagne and headed to her new house to see how the nite would play out.

I should also explain that this wasn’t that rash of a decision, as Ida did know that I had a ‘bit of a thing’ for legs in nice hosiery. I had commented and complimented her on many occasion about her style of pantyhose and choice of colours etc., especially when she would wear opaque tights in winter – ooooooh! Don’t get me started on opaque tights!! But I digress…like I said, she knew I liked the feel and look etc., and we have spent many nites playing, with her in pantyhose Ataşehir Yabancı Escort and heels or pantyhose and nice chemise etc. It would excite me greatly as she could see how turned on I would get and not be the least bit curious about whether I was getting turned on by her or just the fetish itself – at least she never mentioned anything about it. And, on two occasions she did let me wear her stockings – we tried her pantyhose once, but they took so much stretching to get them up my legs and to waist height that they felt tight and weird – we laughed and had fun about it – but little did she know how much of a turn-on that was for me!

The other reason I felt the need to arrive with my femme finery on was that once or twice Ida had made a comment about my “figure” as opposed to my “physique” – I don’t recall the first time exactly, but we were talking about fashions and I was putting forward my views about styles or something and how some of the androgynous look worked on either men or women and she came out with a statement somehow about me having a “nice figure for a guy” I remember looking at her with some excitement (and trying not to show it) and asking, “you think so?” She smiled and said that she liked how I was fit and trim and that she wasn’t a big fan of bulk and muscle all over a guy.

Well that led to more discussion on women’s fashion and while I wasn’t trying to convince her of my feminine side I was trying to offer hints and comments that would hopefully allow her to see that there was at least “another side” of me that would be different from most other guys. I also remember letting on a little too much info about lingerie brands and shoe brands etc., but managed to gloss over that and moved onto other subjects. Part of me really hoped that she was starting to form an opinion at least and hopefully, maybe, she would be partial to learning a little more about Georgia.

So, there I was, sitting in my car after having rolled into her newly paved driveway, sitting for a brief moment with my heart pitter-pattering away as to how all this would play out. We had, up to this point, been very honest with each other – even to the point of Ida admitting a brief, girlie-lesbian moment while on a high-school camp once. The short story is that her and one of her friends had managed to sneak in some alcohol and after a few drinks each (it didn’t take much at that young age) decided to start ‘truth and dare’ – one thing led to another and they both admitted to wondering what it would be like to kiss another girl. You don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what happened next, they ended up in a decent kissing session and a little bit of heavy petting ensued as well. Of course, after hearing that story, Ida had left me with many nites of self-fulfilled pleasure replaying the scene over and over in my mind – all while dressed femme!

I rang the doorbell and heard her coming down the stairs – Ida flung open the door and cried, “Welcome to our new home!” “Our new home?” I thought – I put it down to being overly excited. We hugged and kissed each other as we always do and then she grabbed my hand and started the tour. I’d seen the plans and drawings many times but seeing it all finished was nice. The power wasn’t connected yet, so with flashlights in our hands we went exploring – downstairs was a two-car garage, which opened into a short hallway and off this was a spare bedroom with its own ensuite bathroom, a laundry room and good-sized storage room. Back along the hallway to the front door, turn right and head up the stairs – to the left was the main bedroom with ensuite, down the hall to the left was an office area, second bedroom and small bathroom. Top of the stairs to the right was the kitchen/dining room – all open-plan and very nicely designed with large floor-to-ceiling windows leading out onto a verandah with commanding views over the city and harbour. Just off this was the lounge area, also with doors out to the verandah and views.

It was all very impressive and I told her so – we sat on the lounge-room floor, lit a bunch of candles, opened the champagne and served up the antipasto, and as we ate, Ida was describing what furniture was to go where etc., and why she chose certain colours here and there. Then she said; “and I was thinking that we should get a king-sized bed so we can have more room when we play”. I stopped and looked at her with a quizzical look on her face, and the question didn’t need to be asked, because she just said; “I really hope you want to move in with me, when it’s all done – you do don’t you?”

I had a mouthful of food and champagne and could barely swallow as I slowly nodded yes.

“Somehow you don’t seem all that keen,” she said.

“Darling…you took me by surprise that’s all!” I answered. “You hadn’t even mentioned that that was what you had been thinking up ’til now. I would like nothing more than to move in, Ataşehir Yeni Escort but I would never say, or suggest anything like that myself. This is your house and you worked hard for all this. The fact that you want to share it with me is wonderful,” I added.

“Good! Then it’s settled…we’ll start as soon as you can – I know you have what, a month or two left on your lease, so that’ll give us time to get things sorted out before you move your things in. Mind you, you won’t really need to move much, as I have already ordered all new furniture” – Ida had been living with her folks up until this moment and always was a great money-manager – “and please don’t get me wrong, while I like the furniture and items you have, I somehow don’t think they’ll fit in with the ‘woman’s touch’ I’d like to give my new home. You don’t mind do you?” She asked.

“Did I mind??” I wasn’t really hearing all this properly – “…move your things in…”, “…the woman’s touch…” this was all causing lovely feelings inside and I could feel myself getting harder and harder as chatted about it more and more. All I could do was respond in the kind and mutter, “of course not darling.”

Ida put down her glass – I think she was on about her third and as always on alcohol, was getting nicely frisky and playful – and leaned over and whispered, “Why don’t we celebrate the moment properly?” And with that she pulled me on top of her on the freshly laid carpet. I remember thinking; the carpet might not be the only thing getting laid in here! We moved away from the food and drinks and I noticed that while we could see out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, you actually couldn’t see in, mainly because the house was on the top side of the road, and it looked down over the neighbourhood – funny what you notice at moments like this!?!

“Here we go,” I thought…this is the moment where it could all come crashing down. As I was unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a lovely pure white, lace-edged slip, Ida was pulling me against her and running her hands over my legs and my shirt when she stopped. Looking at me curiously, she ran her hands over my shirt again and could obviously feel that my shirt was sliding against something smooth underneath.

“Sweetheart,” she said slowly, “would you mind unbuttoning your shirt for me please?”

I knelt up, sitting across her hips with her skirt having ridden up, and her slip being revealed sexily across her thighs. Her pantyhosed legs were on gorgeous display, and I was enjoying all this to the point where I didn’t care what she might say – the whole moment seemed to be right. I decided I would look nowhere but right into her eyes, and doing so, started to unbutton my shirt revealing the sexy cami that lay underneath. Ida lifted her hands up and without saying anything, started to slide them over the satiny material.

Her first question was not what I expected; she stopped, looked up and asked, “This isn’t one of mine is it?”

“No,” I said, “it’s mine.”

And for what seemed like an eternity, nothing was said, and, for an awful moment, even though I thought the moment was right, my mind was flip-flopping between “she’s going to love it – no, she’s going to hate it!”

Then Ida said, “It feels so smooth! It’s really lovely, where did you get this?” she asked.

Two more things I didn’t expect to hear straight off the bat – I told her the store I got it from, a store she knows well as we’d been in there together a few weeks back, while she’d been buying herself some lingerie.

“Did you spot this when we were there the other week?” she asked.

I decided to be honest, “I saw it there once before when I was there on my own but wasn’t sure if I should get it and when we were in there the other week, I saw it again and just had to have it. I only dropped in a few days ago and picked it up,” I added.

“Hmmmm??” was all Ida could offer, “So, are you wearing anything else that I should know about?” She added a little coldly.

I started to think that I was in the shit and knew if I lied she’d only start grabbing at my clothes and want see for herself so I bit the bullet and offered a very lame, “Welllll….”

“Show me,” was all she said and rolled me off her and knelt up crossing her arms over her unbuttoned blouse – an opening that revealed the rest of her very lovely satin slip – her firm breasts pushing out over her crossed arms. What I did notice was that Ida didn’t attempt to button up her blouse, nor pull her skirt down over her slip and pantyhose, letting her thighs glimmer in the candle light – to me, all good signs.

I slipped off my shirt completely and then pulled off my trouser socks. Ida didn’t notice that they were women’s as the light was low and she really wasn’t paying attention to socks. What she did notice though were my stockinged toes.

“Stockings??” she asked rather unbelievably.

“Actually no,” I Ataşehir Masaj Salonu answered, undoing my trousers and letting them fall, I offered, “pantyhose.” I sat back down as close to her as I dared and once again, Ida just stared at them and slowly, hesitantly, ran her hands over the sheer material. At that point she noticed my panties and told me to stand up. Shaking a little as I did, and then she told me to turn around which, once again on shaking legs, I did as was told. Then she told me sit back down.

Looking me in the eye, she said quite sternly, “This is all very nice it certainly doesn’t look all that ugly on you, but do you want to tell me just what the fuck is going on here?!?” Ida doesn’t swear often, although she has done during our sex-play and it has always been quite a turn-on – but when she said the ‘F’ word this time around, I have to admit it did worry me a bit.

So started a very long diatribe about why, how, when, where etc. All the usual stuff about when it started, why I think it started, what I feel from it etc. And for a very long time, Ida said very little. It was a very long discussion and the hours ticked by, and slowly Ida started asking some very pertinent questions, but all through it, she never once said that she didn’t like it, or that it made her feel threatened, or that it was weird or perverse etc. All her questions were of genuine interest and the need to know more about my fetish.

I was starting to feel more and more relaxed as the conversation wore on and, so it seemed did Ida, we had laid back against the wall – I had my arm around her shoulder and she was leaning into me with one leg draped across mine, and her hands slowly running back and forth – somewhat unconsciously – over my nylon-coated legs. We talked about how many other partners had known, or know – whether my family knew about it – my parents, my sister and one of my brothers (who is gay) all knew about the crossdressing – and then up popped the usual questions, “So, are you secretly gay or something? Do you want to be with a man? Is that why you dress as a woman?” She asked. I assured her I wasn’t, and that wasn’t why I dressed.

“So why do you do it then?” she asked.

“For all the same reasons you like to wear nice things,” I offered. “But it’s more than that – when I’m dressed in my male-drab it feels as though something is missing – when I’m dressed enfemme I feel complete and totally at ease. But it’s more than just a fetish, it’s part of who I am – this isn’t something new for me – I’ve felt this desire since I was about 12 or 13.

I’ve felt drawn to nice feminine things, and needing to look through women’s magazines to drool over the latest fashions etc., for a very long time. But not just because I want to look at them, more wondering how those outfits, shoes whatever, would look on me.”

Then I said to her, “Here’s the other side – you’ve seen me out doing sports, being with the guys, doing all those supposedly ‘male’ things and you’ve been seeing a guy right?”

Ida nodded and said, “I suppose I can’t argue with that – never really can say that I ever thought that you appeared in anyway, not masculine. But then I see this and think about how you’ve dressed, how you’ve complimented my outfits or shoes etc., and it starts to make a little more sense. But, because it’s all so sudden and new and different, my natural reaction is that you would be Bi or something – and that I couldn’t be a part of.”

“Perfectly understandable,” I offered, “And I promise you, there is no feeling of Bi and there is certainly no inclination of being gay – I don’t feel any urges in that way at all. But,” I added, “how about we stop talking for a while and let me show you how all this affects me and how it can make us both feel?”

“Just one other question,” she added.

“Go ahead,”

“Do you have a female name for when you’re dressed?” she asked.

“I do, and it’s Georgia,” I offered.

“Georgia…hmmm…well at least it’s a pretty name. I like it actually – it kind of suits you too,” she added.

Smiling at this, I laid her down beside me and for a long moment made her feel as though she was the only woman on the planet. I didn’t allow her to take off any of her clothes – I kept her blouse completely undone, but partly on. I hiked her skirt all the way up around her waist and told her to leave her heels on too. I removed all my male-drab but left all my femme attire on. The only thing I asked her to do, which I did also was to remove our panties and then put our pantyhose back on. I made sure she felt that wonderful sensation when satin & sheer rubs together, and the diaphanous pleasure of running pantyhose over pantyhose, pressing my legs deep up between her legs feeling the moisture starting to seep from her warm pussy.

I leant down and lightly bit at her nipples, brushing my hardening nipples against hers, I spent ages finger-fucking her wet pussy through her pantyhose, bringing her close to orgasm many times, but not letting her cum yet. I even knelt up over her chest and leant forward pressing my hardening girliecock against her breasts and lightly pressing it against her mouth – which she willingly opened wide to suck and kiss at me with.

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