Introduction
The start of a journey in the mind to a point of divergence where the reader is free to chose down which path he or she wishes to continue.

Of Paths to Take
 
Path to the Crossroads
By: Zylux

Money, why is there never enough of it? It is a question I have been asking myself all too frequently as of late. What little I make is quickly eaten up by rent, utilities, and (if any is left) food. It seems that there’s never enough for even the cheapest of pleasures, and it takes seemingly forever to save up to buy something for, well, lets just call it my secret passion.

It is a passion that reaches as far back as I can remember. It would seem that I have always been captivated by the feminine world. A world seemingly created to tantalize the sense of sight and touch. To draw one in, and retain them with things for the sense of smell and even for the sense of hearing. It’s a world I willing wanted to enter, possibly forever.

I shall always remember my first trip into that world. It began one summer day when I was eleven. I was getting the typewriter from the hall closet near my parent’s bedroom, when a large hanging rectangular cloth bag perked my curiosity. Mother was outside in the garden and sis was hold up in her room. Dad was of course at work, all of which meant I was, for the moment, alone and able to act on my curiosity. The front zipper was in two parts meeting at the middle of the bag. I pulled down the lower zipper and peered inside.

The bag contained mother’s older clothes, things that were of high quality but no longer in style and she couldn’t bring herself to throw away. One dress caught my attention, well the skirt of it anyway, as I couldn’t see the upper half with the upper zipper still closed. It was a full skirt in a large black and silver checkerboard pattern. The squares were separated by thin gold lines, as if drawn on by a pen. It was made of satin and felt smooth and cool as I ran my hands over it. Something inside of me wanted that dress, willing me to take it out of the bag and take it to my room. But I didn’t dare as the chance of being caught was just too great. I would have to wait for a more opportune time. And such a time came soon there after.

It was on a Saturday family night a week and a half later. The plan was for the whole family to go out to dinner at a restaurant and then a drive-in movie. My young mind saw a chance for me to be home alone for a few hours and acted upon it. I complained of a headache and nausea and asked if I could stay home. Finding a sitter at literally the last minute was iffy at best, and it looked like my parents would cancel the evening. Fortunately, I was able to convince them that I was old enough to stay by myself. Mom said that if I felt like eating something later, that there were leftovers in the refrigerator I could help myself to. With everything settled the rest of the family was off, leaving me to my own devices.

I waited for twenty minutes before doing anything, just to be sure that they wouldn’t return to get something they had forgotten. When I had felt that it was safe, I headed for the hall closet. My hand was shaking as I reached for and grabbed the door knob. I pulled open the door and stood for a moment staring at the bag with its hidden treasures. This time I opened both zippers and then spread the opening wide, revealing its contents.

There were many splendid clothes vying for my attention, but I was only interested in one. I seized the black and silver skirt and slid my hand up the dress to the hanger it was on. The hanger was hooked over a thick wire at the top of the bag and it was with some difficulty that I freed it. Instead of examining the dress, I bundled it up and headed for my room in the other half of the house.

Only in the relative safety of my room behind a closed door, did I look over my prize. It was more beautiful then I had imagined. The upper half was made of black satin with some gold metallic thread running through out it, giving it some sparkle. It was sleeveless with a round neckline just large enough for the neck in front and a keyhole opening in back, closed at the top with a loop and button. I was wondering just how one got into it when I discovered the side zipper. After unfastening the zipper and keyhole button and removing the hanger, I stepped back and stared at the dress laying front side down on my bed. It was calling to me, willing me to wear it.

Obeying the call I quickly stripped to my shorts, dropping my clothes on the floor, never once taking my eyes off the dress. Approaching the dress, I slipped both hands under the back hem of the skirt and worked them up to the armholes. I was trembling with excitement as I lifted the dress up off the bed with my arms. I paused for a moment, staring at the cool smooth satin mass on my arms, and then ducked my head down under the hem. I raised my arms up over my head holding the dress by the shoulders through the armholes. When the dress straightened out, I let go of it, letting it float down my arms under what little weight it had.

As I slowly lowered my arms, I looked down at that beautiful black and silver checkered skirt encircling my waist. A strange sensation came over me as I zipped and buttoned it up. It felt like I was in a dream, I just couldn’t believe I was actually wearing something so beautiful. I needed proof, I needed a mirror.

There was a full length mirror in my parent’s bedroom at the other end of the house, but that would mean having to leave the safety of my room, risking exposure. I was hesitant about leaving the safety of my room, but something inside me willed me to do so. I moved to my door and cracked it open allowing me to peer out into an empty hallway. I knew I was alone, but there was a small chance of someone seeing me as I crossed the living room/entry junction. Of course there was also the possibility of my family returning home early to worry about. I was considering making due with the bathroom mirror when once again something came over me. It was like I was quickly losing control of my actions. To my amazement, the bedroom door suddenly flew open, and then the hallway started to move past me, picking up speed as the front entry approached. I dashed across and into the hallway leading to my parent’s bedroom.

Inside the bedroom I paused to collect myself, not wanting to believe what I had just done. It was a dreamlike blur with a lingering sensation of the skirt rubbing against my legs. And there was also the sound, a marvelous rustling sound that was still in my ears. Before I could slip into some daydream, I remembered what I was there for and moved to the mirror with the dreamlike feel and sound of the skirt returning. It was all real, and the mirror confirmed it.

Mother was a little under the average sized woman, and I was tall for my age, but her dress was still too big for me. It would be a couple of years before I could properly fit into it, and a few more after that before it would no longer fit me. I ignored the loose fit and began exploring the dress with my hands watching myself in the mirror. Around the waist I found a couple of string loops and guessed that they were for a belt. That something in me just had to have a belt, so I opened up my mother’s closet and looked inside.

Hanging from a rack on the back of the closet door, I spotted a wide silver belt. I lifted it off a hook and tried it in one of the loops. It fit, and in no time the belt was around my waist with the buckle's clasp fastened in the last hole. I raced back to the mirror. It was a definite improvement, although the dress was still a little baggy on me. I didn’t care; to me it looked and felt fantastic. Some how I tore myself from the mirror and set off to explore the house and see what new sensations awaited me.

I spent as long as I dared in that dress, not wanting to take it off, but knowing I had to before the family came home. When I finally decided that risk of discovery was too great, I headed for my room and changed back into my clothes. The dress was put back on the hanger and bundled up along with the belt. I took the bundle back to the hall closet where the dress was straightened out and put back in the bag with some difficulty. The bag was zipped and the closet door closed. The belt was returned to its spot on mother's closet door. A final check around, to make sure that all was back as it had been, and then it was off to the kitchen. I made a quick dinner from the leftovers I found in the refrigerator. I stayed up a little while longer and then it was off to bed before the family returned. They were none the wiser.

From then on, I took every opportunity to be home alone as a chance to enter the feminine world. And after I grew into "my wardrobe" just wearing a pretty dress wasn’t enough, I wanted to explore the fit and feel of lingerie and even try my hand at adding a little bit of makeup. The end result was what one would expect from a child playing with something he knew nothing about. But to me, it was good enough for some daydreams.

Eventually, of course, I outgrew mother’s things, and a couple of years after that, the nest. Moving out meant that one door to the feminine world would close, but there were other doors I could try. Having my own apartment meant that I could acquire my own wardrobe and indulge in my secret passion on my own terms. Or so I thought, as it quickly became apparent that having anything worth wearing took money, and I just didn’t have, nor could get, a job that paid much more then minimum wage. That was just one of the unforeseen penalties of dropping out of collage to experience the wonders of foreign lands.

My wardrobe ended up consisting of items that had gone out of style and could be purchased on the cheep, and things scrounged from the trash. Most items required some modification to fit me and that meant I had to learn how to sew. A well used sewing machine was found and purchased at a yard sale. It took a lot of practice, but I did become good enough to modify things without it looking like it had been altered. Still, my meager collection of clothing left a lot to be desired and would only add to any bouts of depression brought on by my menial job and lack of money.

On the occasions when my depression would get the better of me, I have found that a trip to the mall could go a long ways toward a cure. I love to window shop at all the fashion stores that cater to women. There is something about all the stylish and feminine clothes that sends me off on wondrous daydreams. I probably should have been even more depressed at seeing all the wonderful things I would, in all likelihood, never get to wear, but I didn’t. Maybe I’m an optimist, or just a hopeless dreamer.

It was on one particularly depressing weekday morning off from work, that I departed for the mall with no clue that my life was about to go in an unimaginable direction. The trip to the mall went as it normally did and I had no trouble finding a parking space in front of a main entrance at one end of the mall, one of the advantages of being there during a weekday morning. Another advantage is window shopping without many people around to stare at me.

At first it looked like it would be an uplifting day as the new fashion season was being kicked off in every clothing store. But fortune was not with me, as the incoming fashions were not to my liking. The main emphasis was on the peasant and bohemian look with sleaze taking up the rest. Gone was any sense of style, class, and true femininity.

I only found disappointment in store after store and my depression only worsened. Soon, I could take no more and hastened out the nearest exit. As luck would have it, that put me on the other side of the mall, down toward the far end from where I had parked. It was a little disorienting, and I had to pause to get my bearings. That’s when I caught a whiff of fresh brewed coffee carried in on the breeze. It had several underlying aromas that told me that it had to be coming from a specialty shop rather than some restaurant.

Coffee houses are one of my guilty little pleasures, one that I rarely have enough money to indulge in. On that day, I did have enough money and figured, why not. If the latest fashions couldn’t cheer me up, perhaps some exotic flavored cup of strong coffee could. Turning into the breeze, I started to follow the sent to its source.

My trek took me to the far end of the mall grounds bordered by a main boulevard, across which was a collection of boutique stores. I quickly scanned over all the little stores, forgetting what had lured me there in the first place. One shop caught my attention and I just had to get an up close look.

I waited for a break in the traffic and then made a dash across the boulevard, ignoring the horn from one driver who I guess would have preferred I had gone down to the light to cross. The small parking lot in front of the shops was quickly crossed, and I found myself staring in the window of a small, high end and custom clothing shop for men and women. Of course it was the women’s half that had my attention. Little did I know then, but I had arrived at a crossroads that would take my life in a direction I could never have imagined.

The reader is now free to choose how he or she wishes to continue. Sorry for the lack of descriptions for each path, but then life doesn't come with a preview when we are presented with a choice of paths to take.