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FATEFUL KISS PT. 01
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Unexpectedly kissing a colleague has consequences...
3.3k words
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DamianCD
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"You're so pretty." The words had escaped me.

What had possessed me to say such a thing? We were alone in my office,
Allison and I, having a work meeting. As we were discussing our latest
design, she had stepped closer to me in order to draw on the whiteboard,
and, at that moment, I could not hold the words back any longer.

I was so engrossed with her. "Pretty" does not begin to cover it, she is
an apparition. Lithe, and so graceful in her every move. Her face,
framed with wavy cascading brown locks, looked chiselled by Hephaistos
himself, with an aquiline nose, high cheekbones and doe eyes surmounted
by arched eyebrows.

She is also brilliant, our joint designs always improving on previously established standards. I was so taken with her. We were on friendly
terms, but our relation had always been strictly professional.

So, my awkward compliment was quite unexpected. She looked so surprised.
My tone had been explicit, this was no disinterested compliment, but a
clear admission of desire and longing.

"I thought you were gay! I thought of you as my friendly gay colleague!"

She thought I was gay? I had been pining for her for years, and she
thought I was gay? I guess it was my fault, never making a move, always admiring her from a distance. Well, that stopped now. In one bold
instant, I kissed her. She broke the kiss and stepped back. This time,
she was visibly angry. And for good reason, that was very inappropriate.

"Damian!," she shouted. "How could you do that! Explain yourself!"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you like that, but put yourself in
my shoes: I've had a crush on you for more than 2 years, and still you
thought I was gay. I was trying to be bold and confident, but I
misjudged my course of action."

"That you did," she said, her ire softening somewhat. She stayed silent
for a few moments, then continued: "tell you what, I'll forgive you, but
you'll have to atone for this."

"How?"

"Well, you invited me to walk in your shoes, how about you walk in mine?
Both figuratively and literally."

"I don't understand, you want me to wear your shoes?"

"Yes. But not only my shoes. All my clothes. For a whole week. That's
the price to pay if you want to remain on good terms with me, and if you
want to avoid me going straight to HR."

Pleading ensued, but I was always going to accept. Truth be told, the
threat of involving HR was unnecessary, I could not bear the thought of
her remaining angry at me. I still didn't know the specifics of her
proposal, but I could just take time off that week, no one but her would
know.

"Ok, I'll do it."

"Alright. Next week, you'll be wearing my clothes." As if she had read
my mind, she added "and no taking time off. You're wearing them at work,
or the deal is off." She had me. This occurred on a Tuesday, so I had
time to mentally prepare, but could not wiggle out of this.

The rest of the week went by uneventfully. Allison and I barely talked,
working on separate projects.

By Friday, I was wondering whether she'd go through with this. Maybe she
had forgotten, or maybe she had cooled down and decided against it. But,
as people were starting to leave, she came to my office and handed me a
bag: "your clothes for Monday."

In the bag, conservative, professional women's clothes. A blue shirt
barely distinguishable from the one I was wearing if you weren't paying
close attention to the cut and the side of the buttons. A pair of black
slacks, again relatively neutral. I was relieved. Maybe people wouldn't
notice, maybe I could get away with this relatively unscathed.

As Allison was leaving my office, she instructed: "there are two other compartments, for shoes and underwear. Wear it all, and nothing else."

I checked out the rest of my Monday outfit: the underwear was not
conservative at all: red panties in some glossy material with lace
inserts and the matching bra. Still, the panties would be hidden and I
could hope the non-padded bra would be similarly undetectable under the
shirt.

The shoes, on the other hand, would be in plain sight. They were black
ballet flats. A clearly feminine design, but not eye-catching. People
don't look at plain black shoes, right? I closed the bag and left for
home. Once there, I pondered: was I really going to go through with
this? This was insane! I'd be a laughingstock!

But I had to. As I was resigning myself to that notion, a thought
occurred: maybe the clothes wouldn't fit me! I was slight of build, but
surely not enough to fit into the clothes of a woman as gracile as Allison.

I undressed and stared at the contents of the bag. I grabbed the panties
and pulled them up my legs. They were a bit tight, but not excessively.
The bra was next, and I fumbled a while to clasp it behind my back
before resorting to clasping it in front and then turning it around. It compressed my chest, but its cups remained empty. Trousers next. Again,
they were tight, but again, I would be able to wear them. The shirt fit strangely, given my lack of breasts, but well enough.

I looked at myself in the mirror: my bra was hidden from some angles,
but gave the illusion of small breasts from others. I would have to
constantly be on vigil to keep it hidden.

Finally, I tried on the shoes. To my dismay, they fit decently as well.
Despite being alone, knowing that I was wearing women's clothes made me
feel very self-conscious, and knowing these were Allison's clothes
aroused me slightly.

I decided to keep the clothes on for the rest of the evening to get used
to them. If I was going to wear women's clothes at work, I should first
be comfortable with wearing them alone in my own home. In fact, I would
wear them all weekend.

By Monday morning, I had gotten used to the clothes, but still had
reservations about going to work in them. Nervously, I put them on.
Nervously, I stepped outside and locked my door. Nervously, I climbed
into my car. Nervously, I drove to work. In an advanced state of panic,
I entered and rushed to my office, where I hoped I could hide most of
the day. I was wearing Allison's clothes at work!

I tried to focus on my work, but I knew people had seen me. Stan had
stared at my chest inquisitively as I was greeting him, perhaps
glimpsing the shape of my bra. I had overheard Janice and John talk
about me.

I was mortified. Allison came into my office. I stood up, so she could
see I was indeed wearing the whole outfit. "Show me the bra and
panties." I showed her a glimpse of my bra strap and lifted the side of
my panties. "Good."

The day went by relatively uneventfully. There was the odd whisper, but
nothing more. Some people noticed, others did not seem to or pretended
not to. Gradually, I began to relax a bit. A week would not be easy, but
I could bear this, I thought.

At the end of the day, Allison gave me another bag. My clothes for
Tuesday. I opened it immediately. Grey slacks, not too dissimilar from
the ones I was wearing, but the top was a lot less neutral: a black
satin blouse. I protested, but Allison wouldn't hear it.

A new set of underwear (black) was included, but no shoes. I was keeping
these on, apparently.

Once home, I reflected on what I'd done. I'd spent the whole day at work
in women's clothes. I still couldn't believe I that had, and that I'd
probably do it again the next day. I resolved to immediately try the new blouse, and rushed to my full-length mirror. It was undeniably more
feminine than the one I'd worn all day, but there was still a chance,
albeit slim, that it'd be confused for a man's satin shirt.

And so, the next day, I was once again at work in women's clothes. This
time, the comments were not only behind my back: "hey, Mark, nice
shirt," said Alex, his words dripping with sarcasm. Anna similarly
complimented my blouse on a separate occasion, but she seemed sincere.
Later, on my way to lunch, I overheard the sniggers of some of the
warehouse staff I passed. One of them even wolf-whistled me, eliciting
great laughter from his friends.

Still, I focused on my work and the rest of the day went by quietly. As
was quickly becoming a ritual, after most people had already left,
Allison delivered me a bag of clothes. I opened it and brought out the
first item: "a skirt? Allison, you can't be serious!"

"I am. You accepted to wear my clothes for a week. My clothes include
skirts. Did you really think you'd get away with a week in somewhat
androgynous women's clothes? Tomorrow, I want to see you in that skirt.
I provided pantyhose to wear with it." With those words, she left and I examined the contents of the bag in more detail. The skirt was a black
pencil skirt. Holding it beside me, I determined that it would just
about reach my knees. Alongside the skirt, another satin blouse, white
this time. The promised pantyhose were there, with a new set of white
satin lingerie. A new pair of shoes was also provided: another pair of
black ballet flats, but these came with bright white satin bows on top.

My mind in turmoil, I drove back home. I couldn't do it. I couldn't go
to work in a skirt! But I couldn't disappoint Allison, either. And if I
did, these two days were for naught. I did not know whether I would go
through with it or not, but in case I decided to, I had to try this
outfit on.

As I grabbed the clothes out of the bag, a note fell down: "look up
'tucking'. You're going to need it." Mysterious. I made a mental note to
do so, but first proceeded to put the clothes on.

I was wearing a skirt! Never thought I would, but there I was. And a
problem was evident: a very unsightly bulge distended the front of said
skirt. Was that the "tucking" mentioned in her note? I immediately
opened my laptop and searched it. Yes, it was, and I instantly knew I
was going to spend a frustrating evening trying to make it work. By late evening, I had found a setup that worked: no visible bulge at all, and
it was finally secure and pain-free.

The image in the mirror was not as bad as I thought it'd be. I could
almost pass as a flat-chested woman from the neck down. In fact, my skirt-framed and hose-clad legs looked quite good, I had to admit.

I set my alarm 30 minutes earlier than usual and prepared two sets of
clothes for the morning: those Allison wanted me to wear, and one of my
normal suit and shirt combos. 30 minutes would be enough to decide which clothes to wear and, if I chose the skirt, to tuck. On that thought, I
took a much-needed sleeping pill and went to bed.

On Wednesday morning, my deliberations kept coming back to the fact that
I had little choice. If I didn't wear her clothes, Allison would resent
me and I might get fired over the kiss incident. Both of those outcomes
would be disastrous.

What's a little ridicule compared to that? Tremblingly, I tucked and
dressed. Getting into my car proved difficult, the pencil skirt making
it impossible to enter leg-first, the way I usually do; I had to sit and
swing my legs in. Thankfully, the skirt was not tight enough to impede
my reach of the pedals.

I started driving. Driving in such an obviously feminine outfit felt
strange. I was very nervous of being stopped by the police, or being
seen by other drivers, even though only my blouse could realistically be
seen. The time window during which I could still turn back, change and
arrive on time quickly dwindled, then disappeared entirely. I was committed.

Everybody stared, few were composed enough to comment. At least my
appearance took them by surprise. Most of the day passed by
uneventfully. Most people ignored my outfit, even when interacting
directly with me. I was still subject to some mockery, both behind my
back and to my face, but it seems most people were indifferent to my
rather sudden turn to crossdressing. A few were even supportive. In
fact, Anna decided to walk with me to lunch, intent on making my trek
through the warehouse more bearable. Allison, delighted that I was
wearing the clothes she had instructed me to wear, joined us. The jokes, mocking wolf-whistles and outright laughter of uncouth idiots are a lot
more bearable when engaged in pleasant conversation with two pretty women.

After lunch, I spent most of the day in my office until my latest bag
was delivered by Allison. Unsurprisingly, this outfit was even more
feminine than the one I was currently wearing. The usual satin blouse
was pink, and the skirt was shorter. I estimated it'd reach about
mid-thigh. A new pair of shoes was included, this time with kitten
heels. I was surprised to find a razor. "For your legs," she told me,
"no hose tomorrow, just smooth, hairless legs." For the first time, I
did not protest. Sure, this was more feminine and the shaved legs would
last even after the week was over, but if I could survive a day In a
skirt at work, I could deal with two more. So long as Friday's skirt was
not even shorter.

Back home, I took a brief rest from my difficult day, then proceeded to
shave my legs thoroughly. I then donned the heels, so as to get used to
walking in them. As the heel was rather low, I managed to get the hang
of it relatively quickly.

Thursday came and went much quicker than Wednesday. I was still an
object of fun, maybe even more so, as my heels now advertised my arrival
from further away, but I was better-equipped to deal with the ridicule.
I also caught a few men staring lasciviously at my legs before looking
up and realising their mistake. The first instance was somewhat
disconcerting, but the next few times were just amusing, they seemed
more embarrassed than me! Before I knew it, Allison was in my office,
handing me Friday's clothes. Satin blouse, as usual. This one is baby
blue, with lace inserts, transparent shoulders and a plethora of little
white bows everywhere. As I expected, another short black pencil skirt,
but this one in satin, stretching the limits of appropriate dress for
office work. The heels on the shoes were daunting: they were black
pumps. Long gone were Monday's androgynous clothes, she seemingly had
assorted the most feminine outfit she could think of.

I suppose that was the plan from the start, but had she given me these
clothes on the first day, I probably would have balked and refused.
Whereas after four days of gradually more feminine outfits, there was
little point. Since I was already wearing a pencil skirt, a satin blouse
and heels, why would I have refused this outfit? Because the skirt is
shinier? Because of a few bows on the blouse? Because the heels are
higher? Of course not. She had expertly manoeuvred me into
ultra-feminine clothing.

Once home, I immediately changed into the pumps. I needed to quickly familiarise myself with them. For some reason, I also wanted to try out
my new skirt. Although I had not immediately noticed it, distracted as I
was by shame and worry, the satin blouses had felt very nice on my skin,
and I wanted to see if the skirt would as well. The answer was an
emphatic "yes." Every step I took plunged my thighs in a world of bliss.
A good incentive to practice walking in pumps, as I would all evening.

As Friday morning came, I was much less reluctant to wear the clothes
than I had been the days prior. They felt so nice, and the feminine
image in the mirror, at least from the neck down, was growing on me. I
arrived at work more relaxed than I had been the days prior, too. Oh, I
was still nervous and ashamed of being seen like this, but I was more self-assured. I focused more on my work and less on what people thought
of my clothing. Allison and I spent much of the morning preparing for a
meeting with James, our direct superior, in the early afternoon. We then
went to lunch together.

The meeting went smoothly. James had looked quizzically at my outfit,
but refrained from making a comment or questioning me about it. The
awkward moment passed, Allison and I explained our new design, to a
positive reaction from James.

After the meeting, I spent a couple of hours alone in my office. For the
first time in this crazy week, I was glad of my outfit. These clothes
felt and looked very nice. The enormity of my situation hit me again: I
was wearing women's clothes at work! And very feminine ones, at that! In
fact, I hadn't seen any woman wear a more feminine outfit than me: many
wore trousers and those few who did wear skirts approximated my
Wednesday or Thursday outfits more than today's. This time, this notion elicited more excitement than dread, though.

The day over, I was preparing to leave when Allison once again arrived
in my office. As I was starting to enquire as to the purpose of her
visit, she cut me off: "you're so pretty." With those words, she kissed
me. My heart beating faster than ever, I returned the kiss. At the same
time, I felt her hands on my sides. They caressed their way down until
she was fondling my arse through my satin skirt and pulling me closer.
The kiss lasted a blissful eternity. When our lips finally parted, she
said: "thank you for this week. This was important to me, you've really
shown a willingness to see things from the perspective of women."

"I had no choice. I couldn't bear the thought of your scorn. Had I known
I'd get such a reward at the end, I wouldn't even have complained!"

"I have another reward planned: I took a reservation for two at Chez
Pierre, tomorrow evening. My treat. I hope you're available."

"I am. I will gladly go to the restaurant with you!"

"You don't have to, but I'd like you to wear this tomorrow," she said,
opening a small, white cardboard box she had been carrying. In it, a
dress. A "cocktail dress," she called it.

The dress was cyan, of the most shimmering satin I'd ever seen. Unlike
the skirts I'd been wearing the past three days, the dress' skirt was
flared. It stopped just above the knee, so my legs would once again be
exposed. As would my shoulders and arms, seeing the tiny straps that
would hold the dress up. She also handed me a new set of pink underwear
to wear with it. The label informed me the set was pure silk. The bra
was strapless, which would help given the dress. A layer of foam inside
held its cups in shape. The bottom piece was rather long, "French
knickers," she informed me. There was no doubt in my mind, no
hesitation: I'd be wearing those clothes tomorrow... and I'd be enjoying it.

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COMMENTS (9)
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9 COMMENTS
Anonymous16 days ago
Liked it so far hope you continue

DamianCDDamianCD23 days agoAuthor
@Anonymous: Allison isn't meant to be a crossdresser herself, but you
can choose to read this story as if she was (for now, at least). This
story is inspired by a fantasy I had about Jennifer Morrison (Dr.
Allison Cameron on House M.D.).

Anonymous26 days ago
I really like the progression of this story. Next, maybe we'll see the
the makeup lessons, the whole hair thing , learning how to walk like a
woman, and be more "girly" etc. Is Allison actually a crossdresser
herself? Time will tell, dear reader. Staying tuned.

DamianCDDamianCD28 days agoAuthor
Thank you all for your kind comments. I was worried about posting a
story that involves no actual sex (at least in this part, the planned
future parts will).

Especially since this is the first piece of creative writing I publicly
share (I've written a few others, some I plan to submit, some I will
discard - particularly the early ones, they were really poorly written).

@SamanthaSatine: thank you, I do try to choose my words very carefully, otherwise it could just be a two-line story: "man is tricked by crush
into crossdressing at works, ends up liking it. Gets date with crush at
the end."

There are still a couple of lines I'm not really happy with (one of them
a late change that just doesn't work), but overall I'm quite satisfied.

BrendaNWBrendaNW29 days ago
Lovely story ... I know that he isn't gay but I think she is very
interested in women 😊 Tiffany

FATEFUL KISS PT. 02
STORY INFO
The lure of a woman and the lure of women's clothes.
3.7k words
4.8689813
PUBLIC BETA
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2 Stories15 Followers
I left the office in a daze. Over the week, my anxiety had progressively
waned, and had now been entirely replaced by euphoria. I was going on a
date with Allison!

With newfound confidence, I walked to my car and drove home. At this
point, I could obviously have changed to masculine attire, but I did not
want to. Quite the opposite, I was enraptured with softness of the satin
on my skin and the deliciously feminine appearance of my image in the
mirror. I knew at that moment that women's clothes would become a
long-term fixture of my wardrobe, but not to what degree or in what
form. I had instantly decided to wear the dress Allison gave me
tomorrow, but what next? The answer could wait, tonight I was merely
going to enjoy both these delightful clothes and the anticipation of
tomorrow's date.

Waking up on Saturday, I showered, freshly shaved my legs and
immediately put on my new underwear. I now understood the lure of pure
silk: the polyester satin had felt very nice but these were on a whole
new level of delectation, gently caressing my skin with every move. I
then tried my dress, in case it didn't fit and I needed to come up with
a different outfit. A worry quickly dismissed: the dress fit me
perfectly. I donned my high heels, walked to my full-length mirror and
was stunned by my own reflection. The person in the mirror was
ostensibly me, she (for the image was undeniably a "she") had my head,
but I could not recognise my body on her. The dress accentuated the
relative slenderness of my waist and emphasised my hips. The bra created
the illusion of small to medium breasts on my chest. I'd estimate them
to medium B cups. Finally, as I'd already noticed yesterday, the heels
made my legs look sharper and my feet daintier. I spent a few minutes
indulging my freshly-awakened inner Narcissus before resolving to change
for now. Can't risk creasing my dress before tonight.

I gave no thought to male clothing, nor even the women's slacks I'd worn
Monday and Tuesday, I knew I'd be wearing a skirt. I quickly settled on
an outfit composed of my satin skirt, combined with the white blouse
from Wednesday and the assorted ballet flats. A hint of my pink bra
shone through my blouse, but it did not matter, as I'd be staying home
until the evening.

After lunch, I spent much of my time practicing feminine mannerisms.
Some, I had picked up unconsciously. For instance, even on Wednesday, I
had already adopted the habit of smoothing the back of my skirt as I sat
down. In other ways, though, much of my mannerisms were still very
masculine. Of course, with no makeup and no real way to feminise my
haircut, I'd still look like the man in a dress that I was, but I still
felt it important to try to act as feminine as I could learn to in a few
hours.

The appointed hour approached and I gleefully changed into my dress.
Within the span of a week, I had gone from reluctantly donning women's
trousers and a woman's shirt in my own home to happily wearing a dress
in public. At this point, the thought was more amusing than anything. I
had been leashed by my inhibitions and the codes of society, keeping me
from wearing the clothes I enjoyed. Although at the time, I did not know
I'd enjoy them.

We met in front of the restaurant, as arranged. As pretty as Allison was
in office clothes and minimal makeup, nothing could have prepared me for
the enthralling vision of her in a cocktail dress and full makeup. Her knee-length dress was purple, with an A-line matte satin 2-layered skirt
and an off-the-shoulder bodice embroidered with lace and gemstones. The
dress presented with a cincher belt, accentuating her tiny waist.
Allison's neck was adorned with a string of subdued, small green gems.
She wore matching rings and earrings. Above her eyes, a shadow with a
gradient from pink to deep purple, her lips the perfect shade of pink.
To complete the outfit, her dainty feet were encased in purple
stilettos. She radiated elegance and poise with every gesture.

For a brief moment, I had been left speechless, giving her the
opportunity to speak first: "you look lovely."

"Thank you. You are nothing short of stunning. Literally. Your beauty momentarily deprived me of the ability to think or speak. Aphrodite
herself would be jealous." I knew it sounded corny, but I meant every word.

"You exaggerate."

"I do not. At this moment, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever
seen. And I'm including celebrities!" Again, I had blurted out an
unfiltered thought, realising too late how it sounded.

"Well, thanks. Here, this is for you," she replied, handing me a pink
clutch purse. I grabbed it without question. She had been thoughtful, if
I was going to wear a dress, I should be carrying a purse. I immediately inserted my wallet, which I'd been carrying in my hand for want of
pockets, inside the purse.

"Thank you. Shall we?" I said, gesturing towards the door.

"Let's."

We entered. A lot of eyes turned to us, be it to admire Allison's beauty
or gawk at the freak standing beside her. Both, probably. We gave our reservation and were led to a table.

Being in a dress in public still felt deeply surreal, but just as
enjoyable. It rendered the experience of the date much more magical than
if I'd been in drab male clothing.

She broached the topic of the past week and my decision to wear the
dress today almost immediately after we ordered: "I'm glad you chose to
wear the dress."

"Instantly knew I would when you presented it to me."

"You really seem to enjoy wearing it, and much more relaxed about what
people think of you than a few days ago. I take it you'll be wearing
women's clothes again in the future?"

"Definitely."

"Have you given any thought to when? Just at home? At work? On future
dates with me?"

"Thrilled to hear there'll be future dates with you. I'm actually
considering wearing women's clothes exclusively from now on. Every day, everywhere. In fact, I want to say goodbye to trousers, even women's
trousers, and any other garment I deem insufficiently feminine."

"Wow! That's a lot more extreme than I expected. Are you sure you
thought it through?"

"Well, see, I've reached that decision for three reasons. The most
important one is that you apparently like seeing me like this. You've
given me increasingly feminine outfits all week long for a reason, and I
think it goes beyond merely teaching me a lesson."

"Hey, don't go blaming this on me, you clearly enjoy wearing them!" she interjected, playfully feigning outrage.

"Enjoy? I love wearing these clothes, and that was to be my second,
somewhat less important reason."

"The third?"

"You said it yourself: I'm a lot less worried about what people will
think than I used to. I've worn women's clothes around colleagues and
now around complete strangers. If I can wear them around friends and
family, I have no reason left to not do it every day, and I expect most
members of both groups to be either supportive or indifferent."

"You'll need a whole new wardrobe quickly, then. How about we make our
second date a shopping trip, tomorrow?"

"Gladly. Speaking of shopping, how did you know my size?"

"I don't follow."

"You do. It's quite obvious that the clothes I've been wearing aren't
yours. I was too distracted by anxiety to realise it immediately, but
they're all several sizes too big for you. You bought it all
specifically for me, didn't you? You planned it all from the start, right?"

"... I did and I did, yes. I really wanted to see you in a skirt." She
pouted in feigned guilt, then unleashed her heart-melting smile.

"You devious woman," I retorted, in mock outrage. In truth, I was more
smitten than ever.

At this moment, the waiter arrived with our food. We devoted the meal to various subjects of conversation. We already knew each other as
colleagues, of course, but rarely had talked about domains unrelated to
work. Allison was as pleasant and witty a conversationalist as I'd expected.

We made plans for tomorrow, paid and, after an intense kiss goodnight,
departed to our respective abodes.

I shot out of bed and showered as soon as the alarm started blaring.
Allison and I had planned a long day's shopping. I quickly put on my
black lingerie set.

Desirous of maximising the femininity of my outfit, I wore my satin
pencil skirt and my pink blouse. I'd be walking a lot today, so I opted
to wear flats. Defaulting to the most feminine option once more, I
picked the ones with white bows.

A quick check for a skirt bulge: none to be seen. In a matter of days,
tucking had become second nature. I grabbed my purse and was out of the
door.

I drove confidently to the mall's parking lot, and walked through it no
less assuredly, a far cry from my first experience wearing a skirt in
public. To think that was less than a week prior!

I met Allison at the entrance. Her outfit was very similar to mine: grey
satin pencil skirt, white satin blouse and white ballet flats. She was
again resplendent.

We entered the first shop to bemused looks from the salesgirl. I did not
hold those looks against her, a man wearing clothes like mine was an
unusual sight. To her credit, she regained her composure and
professionalism quickly and raised no objections when we told her the
reason we were here.

Allison and the salesgirl were more experienced in picking women's
clothes than I was, so I was quickly swamped in various garments to try
out and ushered into a fitting room. The first item that caught my
attention was a red pleated skirt that struggled to reach my knees. I
swayed from left to right and took a couple of sharp turns in the
fitting room, enjoying the movement of the skirt around me.

As I solicited Allison's opinion, she made me walk in the skirt in the
shop, her smile telling me all I needed to hear: this was the first
skirt I'd buy for myself. I purchased a couple more items from that
shop: a yellow sundress with a motif of black lotuses and a pink sweater.

As we went from shop to shop, my hands began to fill with bag after bag. Eventually, my hands were full and Allison had to carry some. I'd
acquired a plethora of skirts, dresses, blouses and other feminine
garments: a simple black maxi skirt, a couple more short skirts, five
new satin blouses (Allison knew a place, and she loves seeing me in
satin as much as I love wearing it), a "little black dress", etc.

It was past noon when we decided to take a break. We carried the bags to
my car, then went for a quick lunch.

We'd covered clothes in the morning, now we moved on to lingerie. First, panties. Allison selected a wide assortment for me, in various colours
(shades of pink dominated, naturally) and cuts (boyshorts, knickers,
briefs... even thongs!). Some had lace embellishments, some had little
bows, some were plain. All had a glossy texture.


[continued in next message]

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