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A Sissy Start
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I must have been 2 maybe 3. I can't say for definite if it was my earliest memory but it must have been close. Mother and Father were keen Scottish dancers. They must have taken me. Pictures show me in a kilt and traditional dancers shirt complete with frills at the throat and wrists. None of that I can remember. What I do recall is a lady, short hair, late twenties, deep dark eyes commenting what a pretty girl I was and she'd love to take me home. I'm not sure if kids that age are supposed to have any sexual feelings but I can still recall the thrill of the prospect of being taken home by that attractive young lady and being raised as her daughter. If only....My young childhood was interspersed with moments like that. Being mistaken for a girl when in the supermarket with Grandmother (what a pretty granddaughter you have according to the checkout girl), mother being asked if she would like anything for her daughter while shopping in M&S. The thrill of being called "Shirley" by my military Uncle who was trying to shame me into getting by long curly strawberry blond hair cut. If only he knew his words had the exact opposite affect.I knew I was different. Was any other boy at my infant school insanely jealous of the sky blue Gingham Dresses the girls wore while I was condemned to wear a grey shirt, grey shorts and a tie. What I would have given to have my hair tied in pretty pink bows, the white soaks and baby Jane shoes the girls had. To join in their laughs, gossip, giggles and games.Into an all boy junior school. A mass of drap grey black and white boys. As if they wanted to squeeze all fun and colour from the world. The only plus side was that boys had to play the girl parts in the nativity and school plays. Of course I was always Mary at Christmas, Dorothy in the wizard of Oz, singing 'I'm so pretty' from West side story dressed in a gorgeous pink frock. Heaven
It was not to last long. A few years later the school became mixed. No more girl roles, but happily no more uniforms . And Caroline. Oh Caroline. My sweet desk mate. Her fiery red hair in platts, her gypsy blouse. Her tartan pinafore dress.Her cute little pink card. Her snow white immaculate tights. Blue clear eyes. Red pouting lips. Her fragrant scent. Oh how I wanted to be Caroline.
So of course it was no small transition to wear my sisters clothes when adolesance came knocking. 13.Dressed in one of her blouses in front of the bathroom mirror I experienced my first orgasm as I beat on my ever hungry cock. . Green with delightful small red rose print, puff short sleaves , Peter pan collar, translucent green buttons it fitted my small body perfectly.I was so turned on. I loved that blouse and the performance was repeated many times till lastly and much regret, I was forced to admit it my beloved blouse no longer fitted my ever growing body.But no problemI happily found that I was now mother's size.A whole new world of adult bras, knickers, girdles stockings, heels. Racks of dresses, skirts blouses. Always terrified of either getting caught or leaving tell tale signs of what I'd been up to, the attraction was too strong. I lived to have the house alone so I could indulge my passion for the feel of soft silky textures next to my skin. Nylon on my legs. The squish of a flowing skirt, the restrictive feelings of bras and girdles.Tottering around on heels. The look of necklaces earrings and bracelets. The taste of lipstick. All intoxicatingAs my teenage years progressed these too were to be left behind betrayed by my ever growing statue.It was time to start assembling my own wardrobe, make up, heels. Wigs that I could barely afford. With the added thrill of the embrassment of buying all from real (mostly charity) shops. (no Internet in those days girls) Uni and leaving home were beckoning....New opportunities, new adventures... a new chapter.But that is for another .dayday
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Posted on : May 2, 2022
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