Trick of the Mind - 04 by Maeryn Lamonte Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — Written From The Heart Thanks to Wren Erendae Phoenix for editing/proofing. “You know what I’d like right now?” There was a twinkle in her eye and I sensed something coming that I wasn’t sure I was going to like. She looked me directly in the eye and smiled, “I’d like a peek at what you’ve been enjoying all day long.”

A sensation of cold flooded through me. She couldn’t be asking what I thought, could she?

“Wh-what?” The stammering was getting to be a regular feature around Jenny.

“Something you said earlier about not being able to dress up because you were afraid of Dave barging in. That kind of implies you have some clothes stashed away here somewhere. You said yourself that Dave’s hardly likely to come back tonight, so here’s your chance. Rather than rely on what that freak Mysterio did to you, why not do it for real? I won’t peek while you’re changing, honest.”

“I only have a few things that I picked up from various charity shops, it’s hardly presentable.”

She crossed her arms and tossed her head.

“Humour me.”

I admit I didn’t put up much of a fight. Somehow this was something I wanted as well, besides I was interested to see if my perception would shift if I wore real girl clothes.

I told Jen to lean up against the door in case someone else decided that tonight was a good night to start invading my privacy, and to close her eyes.

I pulled down my suitcase and selected everything I needed. Bra, panties and tights, a sleeveless floral print summer dress made out of cotton with a plunging neckline and flaring skirt that came down to just above the knee and a pair of sandals with half inch heels, then keeping my back to her, I took off the shirt and jeans I’d been wearing as well as my socks and boxers, each item of clothing returning to its mundane masculine appearance as soon as it was removed, and slipped into the female underwear.

The bra clipped in the back, but I’d practised enough times that I was able to do it up swiftly. A couple of pairs of socks balled up and filled the cups, and then I gathered up the sheer tights and slid them up my legs with an easy familiarity. My legs were getting hairy so they neither looked nor felt as good as I remembered from when I was younger.

Next I stepped into the dress, pulled it up over my shoulders and zipped up the back. A small amount of contortion and the clip at the top fastened leaving me with just the sandals to put on.

A brief moment buckling them in place, then a second or two more straightening out seams in the mirror. I turned to Jen, still obediently standing against the door with her eyes closed.

“Are you sure you want to see this?” I asked. “I mean I look like a bit of a plonker.”

Jen opened her eyes and smiled; I’m not sure how much out of satisfaction and how much out of amusement. She stepped forward to poke and prod, made me twirl a few times then sit down, stand up, walk and the like.

“You could pass very easily,” she said. “I mean we’d have to get rid of the body hair,” she indicated my arms chest and legs, “style your hair a bit,” it was already long enough, “and give you one or two coaching tips, but you’d make a very passable woman indeed. How do the clothes look to you?”

I gazed at myself in the mirror and for the first time since the previous evening I actually appeared to be wearing what I’d put on. Somehow that was a relief.

“They’re the same.” I let out a sigh.

For the next hour we continued to make out, only this time Jen was feeling up my dress for real. We were both incredibly turned on by it and at one stage Jen’s hand was most definitely heading inside my knickers when I grabbed her wrist.

“Just what kind of a guy do you think I am?” I put on an offended tone.

We collapsed onto the bed giggling our heads off and the moment was broken. I pulled the duvet over both of us, feeling very much less vulnerable now that my clothes were hidden.

We lay together for a while. I gently stroked her face and whispered, “Let’s take this slow.”

I felt her nod and we snuggled closer.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For trusting me with this.”

“I don’t think I’ve told you anything you haven’t figured it out all by yourself.”

“I know but you didn’t have to admit my suspicions, or talk about it, or get dressed for me. You’re something special, Richard.”

That moment was truly the closest I have ever felt to complete contentment. Unfortunately it didn’t last long.

“Damn!”

“What?” she said.

“I’ve just laddered my tights.”

Our giggling brought an end to a perfect evening.

“You’d better change back,” she said. “I need to get back home before I get myself a reputation and you get into trouble for keeping girls in your room past curfew.”

I glanced at my alarm clock. It was quarter to ten.

I climbed out of bed and told her to close her eyes. I stripped off the ruined tights and tossed them in the bin. A little twisting and both the dress and bra were off, last came the panties before I climbed back into the clothes I’d been wearing earlier. From my perspective I might as well have not bothered, because as soon as the jeans and shirt were on, I felt a shift in perception and looked in the mirror to find me looking back out wearing my own summer dress. I could even see and feel the bra with its hosiery enhanced bust. The only difference was that my tights were no longer laddered.
I gathered up the clothing, folded it and put it back into my suitcase, which went back up on the wardrobe.

“Not sure you want the cleaner to find these,” Jen said picking the ruined tights out of the waste basket. “I’ll get you a new pair next time I go shopping.”

“Let me walk you back to your place?” I asked.

She must have seen the hope in my eyes.

“OK.”

She tucked her arm through mine and we walked down the path to her hall of residence.

The round trip took forty five minutes, including saying goodnight, and since ten thirty was a little late to start revising, I had a quick shower and pulled on what ended up as a pair of Persian style pyjamas. Back in trousers, albeit ones that ballooned out from my legs so much they might as well have been a skirt. They were also sheer, leaving very little to the imagination as to what was underneath.

I slid into bed luxuriating in the feel of my imaginary nightclothes and made sure that I had some tissues close by in case my dreams became erotic again. As it was I slept peacefully and awoke with the rising sun feeling bright and refreshed.

There was a tradition in my family that on Sunday’s you dressed in your best. At home, it usually involved a visit to our local church - an old and sleepy place of the sort that breeds traditions . Even away from home as I was, the inertia of tradition still held strong, and as soon as I was up and washed, I pulled on a pair of Chinos and a plain white long sleeved shirt. It wasn’t that I intended to go to church or anything, but Sunday dressed in scruffs didn’t feel right.

What followed didn’t feel right either, but it was kind of expected seeing as I’d woken up looking like I’d escaped from a harem. The familiar perspective shift took over and I stepped over to the mirror for a better look. The dress I was wearing was stunning. Burgundy silk gathered at the shoulders in two gold broaches and falling in elegant folds to a deep cleavage, cinched at the waste and billowing out into a full skirt that fell just below the knee. There was no ornamentation on the dress other than the rich fabric and the way it arranged itself in shimmering folds.

My legs were sheathed in sheer stockings of real silk and I could feel the elasticated straps of the suspender belt shifting as I moved. My hands and arms were encased in close fitting cream gloves that reached up past my elbows; an oddly delightful experience in itself. I slipped on my trainers and leather jacket and waited for the perspective to shift again, half knowing what was to come. Looking again in the mirror I saw myself now wearing matching burgundy patent leather court shoes with about a two inch heel, and wrapped around my otherwise bare shoulders was a shawl made of cream lace.

I knew this outfit. When I was fifteen I had attended my cousin Susan’s wedding where my other cousin, Emily, had been maid of honour. From the moment I had first seen her wearing the dress I had hardly been able to take my eyes off her. I think she must have thought I was checking her out because once or twice she gave me a smile and a wink, but it was only the dress that caught my eye, so elegant in its simplicity, that I found myself looking again and again.

After the reception, we had gone back to my uncle’s house where my cousin had gone straight upstairs and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Everyone had collapsed in the lounge, exhausted and gratified with how well the day had gone. I had made some excuse to leave the room and had sneaked upstairs.

It didn’t take me long to find my cousin’s room where the dress and accessories had been thrown carelessly onto the bed. I had known it was wrong, but somehow I couldn’t stop myself. I closed the door and stripped off my clothes.

The strapless bra had been first, padded out with my socks — my cousin wasn’t very well endowed so they worked well enough. Then came the suspender belt and silk stockings which introduced me to a whole new sensual experience. Petticoats came next; three of them, soft cotton with lace trim and full bodied. When I finally slid the dress over my head my heart was pounding so fast I thought I might faint. I slipped on the shoes and gloves which were very nearly my size, pulled the shawl across my shoulders and started to parade back and forth in front of the mirror.

I stayed too long. My family had begun to wonder where I was and had come looking for me. It was my uncle who found me. He was at so much of a loss at the site of me standing in his daughter’s dress in front of a mirror, he had just closed the door again, and for a brief few seconds I was filled with a mixture of dread and hope. Then the door had opened again and, without a word, he had grabbed hold of my arm and marched me downstairs where he paraded me in front of the rest of my family.

My cousin had screamed and run out of the room sobbing that she could never wear that dress again. My uncle and aunt had been apoplectic with rage; how dare I behave in such a depraved and perverted manner and under their own roof too. My parents had flown off the handle as well. I was disgusting, they didn’t know me, thank heavens the bride and groom had left on their honeymoon rather than having something like this ruin their special day. The only person who didn’t have anything to say was my sister who just sat quietly.

I was made to change back into my clothes and we left for home as soon as I was ready. One month’s worth of my pocket money was given to my uncle and aunt to have the dress dry-cleaned, because 'who knows what I might have got up to whilst wearing it', then we drove home in an icy silence. I had tears streaming down my face the whole time, but my parents were too affronted to notice or care.

Later my sister sneaked into my room and tried to cheer me up. She told me the only reason my cousin had been so upset was that I had looked better in the dress than she had, then she apologised that it wasn’t that much of a complement as my cousin was a bit of a moose. She had me smiling in a short time and I have always been grateful that she looked past my misdeed and helped me out of my misery that night.

Things changed after that day. We never spoke of it again, but my parents never looked at me in quite the same way; there always seemed to be some shadow of deep disappointment at the back of their eyes. As well as that, on the very few occasions we’ve had to visit my uncle and aunt since the wedding, the welcomes have been noticeably frosty and Cousin Emily has always found some reason to be somewhere else.

The only good thing to come out of the situation was that my sister and I drew quite a lot closer. In her words, she didn’t think it was fair for the fossils to go all postal on me like that, and she wanted me to know that she cared. In subsequent years she even helped me with my forbidden pleasures, buying me clothes from charity shops and covering for me when I was changed in my room and Mum or Dad were looking for me.

I loved this dress for its simple elegance and the delightfully sensual feel it gave, but I also hated it because it represented the break in my relationship with my parents. Somewhat dejectedly I sat down to some more revision.