“You know I accidentally hit the spacebar yesterday when I was typing and the word Therapist became ‘The Rapist’. My mind can't deny the force of its perception that therapists may be considered by some to rape our minds,” Julia Wallace said.

“An interesting insight Miz Wallace, why don’t you take seat,” Susan Bradshaw said, indicating a plush padded armchair.

“Aren’t I supposed to recline on a couch and tell you my darkest secrets,” Julia replied a little cattily.

“If you prefer. I have one right there up against the window,” Susan smiled and indicated an upholstered chaise lounge.

Julia made her way over to the sofa and put her purse on the little table on which sat a box of tissues and a crystal water jug with two matching glasses on coasters. So far it was exactly what Julia had expected a therapist’s office to look like. It was all wood panelling, padded furniture, low lighting and plush carpet. Designed to make the patient feel comfortable and secure she supposed.

Susan Bradshaw appraised her latest client. Julia was tall and elegant, her breasts were proportional to her frame but Susan guessed that Julia had some work done because they were very perky for a woman in her forties. Her waist was slim but her buttocks were rounded, possibly but not necessarily enhanced. Julia’s attractive face was framed by a blonde tease, her lips were full, her green eyes enhanced by eyeliner, mascara and eyeshadow; she wore a little too much makeup for Susan’s taste. Her fingernails had been recently manicured and were painted ruby-red to match her lipstick. Julia was what Susan’s mother referred to as ‘mutton dressed as lamb’.

Susan watched Julia remove her jacket and her high heels, four-inch Louboutin's, her legs were clad in diaphanous, almost transparent nylons, the reinforced toe and ankles giving them away. Julia ran a hand down a shapely calf and smoothed out wrinkles that didn’t exist, before she lifted her legs onto the sofa and lay back, making herself comfortable.

Julia was wearing a stylish red power suit, likely Prada or Dior, it was definitely designer-labelled. Susan Bradshaw also wore a skirt suit, but hers was grey and not designer, nor were her heels Louboutin’s nor was her hosiery as sheer as Rebecca’s. Not that Susan was wearing H&M mind you - Susan’s clothes were stylish and far from cheap, but they were not couture.

Susan settled into a plush seat beside the chaise lounge, smoothing her skirt under her and placed a notebook in her lap and took out her pen.

“You were referred to me by your doctor because you are having trouble sleeping, having nightmares and have a general feeling of being watched and followed, what is sometimes referred to as scopophobia. Is that correct?” Susan began.

“Yes, I suppose that sums it up but they are not really nightmares. They are recollections of things that happened to me in my past. Things I had suppressed but now the memories keep reoccurring,” Julia replied.

Julia’s voice was deep and husky and what some men would consider sexy. The pitch of it reminded Susan of a younger Kathleen Turner as did Julia Wallace’s appearance to some extent.

“Doctor Brigance was reluctant to share much more with me. He said it was best that my judgement not be clouded by preconceptions, which I thought was a little strange,” Susan observed.

“At my request,” Julia said pointedly.

“Okay, so where shall we begin?” Susan sensed an air of entitlement coming from Julia Wallace and couldn’t help being a little pointed herself.

“Let’s begin at the beginning shall we? You’re the psychiatrist, you can tell me to move along or to go back as you see fit,” Julia folded her fingers across her midriff which Susan guessed cattily was flattened by a girdle or Spanx.

“Ok then, let’s start,” Susan poised her pen over her notebook.

“My first recollections are of sitting on the plush carpet in my mother’s rather expansive living room. In my eyeline, everywhere I looked there were ladies legs clad in nylons and they fascinated me. In those days women wore skirts or dresses when they went visiting and unlike the brainwashed young women of today, they always wore hosiery,” Julia began.

“I was fascinated by the lustre of the nylons, by the texture, they seemed exotic and uniquely feminine,” Julia recalled, a fond smile on her face.

“I remember reaching out and tracing the backseam on an older lady’s stocking and mother being totally embarrassed by my actions. She scolded me and sent me to my room. After her little tea party, mother came up to my room and told me that little boys didn’t touch ladies like that,” Julia recollected.

Susan dropped her pen and looked confused until the penny dropped.

“Doctor Brigance also failed to tell me that you are a transgender woman,” Susan, poured water into the glasses to deflect her surprise.

“Oh yes Doctor Bradshaw, I thought it best that I tell you that myself. Is that going to be a problem? You're not some kind of TERF are you?” Julia sniffed.

“Absolutely not. You are not the first transgender person I have treated but it does introduce another dynamic. Transgender women are far more likely to suffer anxiety, depression, self-harm, eating disorders, substance misuse and other problems. People who have gender dysphoria also often experience discrimination, resulting in stress,” Susan tried her best not to sound like she was lecturing Julia.

“Well darling, that sums me up very succinctly. Shall I continue?” Julia had a knowing smirk on her face that unsettled Susan a little.

She picked up her pen and nodded for Julia to continue while she scribbled down some notes.

Julia continued…

*****

Julian Wallace’s fascination with nylon stockings continued to develop until it became a compulsion. There was nothing sexual as yet about his fetish, he was simply mesmerised by sheer hosiery. He knew that he needed to keep his obsession a secret. His mother had told his father about the time that Julian had touched Mrs Tanner on the legs at the tea party and his father had given him ‘a strict talking to’.

So Julian began to collect nylons and hide them. He would take his mother’s discarded nylon stockings from the tidy in her bedroom before the maid could empty it. He would fondle the hosiery, rub them on his body and sniff the remnants of his mother’s perfume and the salty redolence of her feet. At night he would put them on under his pyjamas but they were too big for his scrawny legs and would bag and wrinkle and fall down during the night but they were comforting.

As he got older he also became fascinated with what his mother referred to as ‘foundation garments’: knickers, slips, corsets and ‘step-in’ chemises, which were usually made of silk, crepe de chine, silk charmeuse, satin or nylon. These items were a little harder to acquire and usually required a trip to the laundry basket where he would ‘borrow’ the items for a time and then return them.

Alone in his room he would dress in knickers, stockings and a slip or a step-in and he often slept in them. He knew what he was doing was wrong but he didn’t know why. Why couldn’t boys dress in soft sensual undergarments and wear stockings instead of cotton underpants and scratchy woollen socks?

As she grew older, his sister Belinda stopped wearing cotton knickers, linen petticoats and long woolsocks and was allowed to wear foundation garments similar to those worn by her mother. As Belinda was a year older than Julian, this worked to his advantage because she was a similar size to him so he began to borrow her ‘unmentionables’ without her consent.

In those times children were to be seen and not heard and were hustled away when grownups were talking about ‘grownup things’ and sent to bed early. They were expected to play in the garden during the day and up in their bedrooms in the evening or if it was raining.

Julian preferred his own company and would spend hours in his bedroom luxuriating while wearing his sister’s hosiery, knickers and foundation garments while reading her magazines. He was still prepubescent and there was nothing sexual in his actions, he simply felt right when he wore ladies clothing. He’d shown no interest in sports or male-dominated activities and preferred art, poetry and looking at fashion magazines with Belinda. His father insisted that he take up some ‘manly pursuits’ so he took up tennis and badminton and was forced to join the Boy Scouts.

Of course the inevitable happened. He always locked his bedroom door when he was ‘playing dressup’ as he called it but one day he forgot and Belinda barged into his bedroom and found Julian dressed in one of her satin full-slips, a pair of her nylon knickers and wearing a pair of her discarded nylons.

Of course she burst out laughing and teased him. What was a thirteen-year-old boy doing dressed in ladies undergarments? Julian broke down and sobbed, begging his sister not to tell their mother and father or anyone else for that matter and her love for her brother overcame her surprise and natural inclination to tease him endlessly.

She locked the door and asked Julian to tell her why he was wearing her clothes. He explained to her that he wished that he had been born a girl. He loved women’s clothes and loved all things feminine. He loved the way women deported themselves, their femininity and grace. He adored the softness of their voices, their mannerisms and their pursuit of gentler things.

Belinda had always suspected that Julian was different. Much to the chagrin of their father he often presented effete and had shown no interest in camping, watching football or other manly exploits. Their father had even threatened to send Julian to boarding school to ‘toughen him up’. Belinda was aware of Julian’s gentler side and now she understood why he preferred his own company or hanging out with his sister and her friends.

They made a pact and swore that it would always remain only between them when Belinda decided to help Julian become Julia. They agreed that it needed to be conducted with the utmost secrecy. They would only do it when they had the house to themselves.

Belinda took a strange delight in transforming her brother from a scrawny boy into a pretty girl. And as brother and sister entered their later teens and Belinda was allowed or wear makeup and Julian was allowed to wear his hair longer, ‘Julia’ blossomed. Julian’s features were similar to her own and with a little makeup and teasing of his long locks she could morph his face from that of handsome young man into that of a very fetching young woman.

She taught him how to wear her clothes properly. She even used their pocket money to purchase a pair of high heels that fitted him, which she kept openly in her own closet with no one suspecting that they weren’t hers. Julian soon became adept at transforming himself into Julia and using Belinda's clothes and the cosmetics, hosiery and the heels they had purchased just for him he would spend hours as Julia, sometimes with Belinda but often by himself.

Their parents were social butterflies. Their father spent his evenings at his Gentleman’s Club or took his wife out on the town with friends or business colleagues and their mother was most happy when she was out with her husband or socialising with her girlfriends. Their parents spent most evenings and weekends away from the house and now that their children could look after themselves there was no need to employ a babysitter.

“Look what I found at Sainsbury’s,” Belinda held out several packages that immediately drew Julian’s attention.

“They’re sheer tights and all the girls are wearing them now that hemlines are receding. The American’s call them pantyhose,” Belinda offered Julian a package of the Pretty Polly sheer tights.

Julian removed the cellophane and carefully removed the item which immediately fascinated him. The ‘panty’ part of the garment was seamlessly attached to the sheer stockings. One of the issues that Julian faced when he transformed into Julia, besides the obvious fact that he didn’t have breasts to fill the cups of the brassieres, was the unsightly bulge in his knickers.

Julian had tried hiding his genitals by pushing them back into the crotch of his knickers, especially the tighter pairs, but inevitably they became untucked and often ruined the look he was trying to project. This became even more of a problem when Julian entered puberty when he was plagued by unwanted erections caused by the diaphanous undergarments rubbing on his privates.

As soon as they had the house to themselves Julian began his transformation into Julia and he stepped into the tights, rolled them up his legs and pulled the panty tight around his buttocks and pubis, tucking his genitals between his legs. The tights held everything in place and when he pulled on a pair of satin knickers over the tights he was pleased with the results. Looking in the mirror he had a perfect ‘Vee’ between his legs rather than an unsightly bulge.

Julian had to admit that he preferred stockings to tights but the tights were a godsend as far as providing him with an aesthetically pleasing contour in his pubic area.

Eventually Belinda’s interest in dressing up her brother waned and while she allowed him access to her wardrobe she insisted that he purchase his own clothes. This was inevitable anyway because although Julian had a svelte body his proportions changed considerably. His legs were longer, his shoulders wider and his hips narrower than his sister. Belinda allocated a section of her wardrobe where Julian could keep his clothes, shoes and his makeup kit but her interests were now directed elsewhere.

Belinda had discovered boys and she and her girlfriends went out to the pictures and to coffee shops and to dances with boys and when she turned nineteen Belinda went off to college and was only home on the weekends and holidays and seldom stayed in the house because she was popular with her girlfriends and the gaggle of gentrified young men who followed them around.

At eighteen years of age Julian found that he had the big house to himself on most evenings and weekends and he spent as much time as possible presenting as Julia. He found that he was most at ease when he was Julia. He’d developed a raspy sexy voice and mastered feminine mannerisms, learning from women that he admired, watching them on the television. He had an extensive wardrobe secreted in his sister’s closet and so long as he maintained his grades and ‘behaved himself’ his parents showed little interest in his after school pursuits.

When Julian transformed into Julia he thought of himself only in the feminine. She was Julia, a teenage girl and Julia's male alter ego simply disappeared.

*****

“Of course I got caught,” Julia emerged from her reverie and the tone of her voice changed.

Susan Bradshaw sensed Julia’s unease and reluctance to continue but she gently encouraged her patient to preserve. Whilst Julia’s formative years were fascinating, they didn’t appear particularly traumatic.

“You got caught? You mean someone found you presenting as Julia when you had not yet come out as a transwoman?” Susan asked softly.

“Transwoman?” Julia snorted.

“That term had not even been used back then as far as I know. I didn’t even know what I was. All I knew was that I was comfortable being Julia and when I presented as Julian most of my time was spent thinking about how I was going to dress as Julia soon as the opportunity presented itself,” Julia waved her hand flippantly.

“Go on please,” Susan encouraged her patient.

Julia cleared her throat and continued.

“On Friday nights mother and father usually went out into the city and stayed out until the early hours. As soon as they left I’d go up to Belinda’s room and transform into Julia. I’d come downstairs and raid the drinks cabinet, my drink of choice was gin and tonic. I would read magazines or watch the television or put on music and dance by myself. Sometimes I’d invent an imaginary partner: no one that I actually knew of course, but some handsome anonymous apparition; a chimaera, if you will,” Julia sounded a little embarrassed.

“I was still unsure of my sexuality. I liked girls but mostly I would mentally critique their looks or envy what they were wearing. I was attracted to boys too but not in a physical way, at least not yet. I imagined that I was Julia and my male chimeras were suitors, vying for Julia’s attention and Julia’s company,” She admitted.

“Of course I knew about sex. Daddy had given me ‘the talk’ and presented me with a handful of rubbers and told me to sew my wild oats but not to bring shame on the family by impregnating some ‘lower-class floozy’,” Julia actually laughed a little when she said this.

“I was inquisitive of course but still a virgin at eighteen. A fellow on my badminton team had pointed out a girl named Rita Mitchell who he claimed was loose with her virtue,” Julia cleared her throat again.

“ ‘Back in primary school she’d show you her knickers for a bite of your toffee apple and her morals haven’t changed as she’s grown older,’” my pal had commented.

“I managed to catch Rita outside the badminton arena where she had snuck off in a dark corner for an illicit cigarette. It was a sordid little exchange. She let me feel under her skirt and she pulled down my shorts and touched me on the willy and I came all over her tights,” Julia actually giggled.

“It cost me five quid and my dignity,” Julia huffed.

“Also I’d found my father’s pornography collection in his study. You know the usual men’s periodicals: Club International, Fiesta, Escort and alike. Lots of upskirts, ladies dressed in stockings and knickers and so-called true confession stories of sordid sex. Then I found the explicit stuff. Men and women engaged in fellatio, cunnilingus and coitus. These I’d borrow and at the end of the evening I’d masturbate into a nylon stocking because: one - I liked the feel of nylon on my penis and two - it didn’t make a mess,” Julia turned to Susan.

“When I looked at the pictures of couples fucking, I’d sometimes imagine that I was the man, but mostly I wanted to be the woman,” Julia confessed.

“Does that shock you?” Julia saw Susan shake her head as if it was nothing and continued.

“Anyway I digress,” Julia took a deep breath.

“Uncle Charlie was what we called a ‘rogue’ in those days. He drank too much, got away with making lecherous comments but he was the life of the party and one of my father’s best friends. He wasn’t actually my uncle per se but in those days polite children called their parents close friends aunty or uncle,” Julia continued.

“This is one of those memories that has only recently surfaced and causes me shame, regret and self-loathing,” Julia paused to take a sip of water.

“I remember it like it was yesterday. It was Friday night and I had the house to myself. I was dressed in Pretty Polly Sheer Perfection fifteen denier tights in a shade called ‘Moonlight’. Over them I was wearing a pair of white satin boy-cut knickers and I wore a matching brassiere. I’d stuffed the cups with old tights because I had not yet acquired breastforms,” Julia described the garb wistfully.

“I’d selected a navy-blue skirt-suit. I liked it because it had a tight pencil skirt that chafed rather pleasantly against my lower thighs and underneath the jacket I wore a mauve satin blouse and of course I was wearing my black high heels. My makeup was heavy but perfect and I’d styled my hair into a bob with a straight fringe,” she recalled.

“I’d had a few drinks and was playing the music rather loudly. I remember I was dancing by myself to ‘I Hear You Knocking’ by Dave Edmunds when I became aware that there was someone standing in the doorway to the lounge room and I froze. I stared at Uncle Charlie and he was staring at me,” Julia’s complexion paled.

Julia took a beat and then she told the whole sordid story without pausing.

“‘Hello Belinda, I didn’t expect you to be home,’ I was shocked to see my Uncle Charlie glaring lecherously at what he thought was his niece,” Julia swallowed as she related her tale.

“‘Hello Uncle Charlie,’ I replied. I remember that my voice was barely audible above the music. I used the feminine rasp I had been practicing,” Julia explained.

“‘Wait a minute!’ Charlie stalked across the large room and lifted the tonearm off the record and I knew that he’d seen through my ruse,” Julia continued.

“The room was suddenly filled with silence as Charlie turned and appraised me and then he said: ‘You're not Belinda. Is that you Julian?’ Charlie seemed perplexed and I have to admit that I was flattered that I had passed so easily as a girl,” Julia smiled wanly at the memory.

“‘I call myself Julia,’ I explained a little defensively. And that was how the evening began,” Julia sighed then continued.

“Charlie didn’t do much at first other than compliment me. He poured me another drink and sat down next to me – not too close mind. He told me I was beautiful and feminine, so feminine in fact that he had at first mistaken me for my sister. He told about when he was in the Navy how the sailors would frequent Bugis Street in Singapore and go with the ‘ladyboys’ who he said were almost unclockable.”

“I knew what he meant by go with but I pretended that I didn’t. I wanted Uncle Charlie to leave but I also wanted Uncle Charlie to stay. He was being polite and flattering and also a little covetous. He kept saying things like ‘your secret is safe with me Julia’. I knew that he was using my femme name and fawning on me to gain my trust but I also knew that by saying my secret was safe with him was his way of subtly blackmailing me,” Julia paused to take a sip of water.

“He plied me with more drinks and he kept getting closer until he was sitting right beside me. I was scared. This man was in forties and was a man of the world and I was eighteen and still in school. When he put one hand on my knee and crept the other along back of the sofa behind me, I knew what he was going to do. I dreaded it but I wanted it. I didn’t want my uncle to molest me but I wanted him to keep telling me how beautiful and ladylike I was. I wanted him to treat me like a woman,” Julia continued.

“When he kissed me it was awful but it was also wonderful. It was awful because his mouth tasted of Scotch whisky and cigarettes and because he stuck his tongue in my mouth. It was wonderful because it was my first kiss as a girl and it proved that men found me attractive enough to want to kiss me. At first I was passive and just sat there and let him kiss me, his fingertips circling softly on my knees, stroking my tights,” Julia’s breathing became deeper and drowsier as she related her tale.

“I returned the kiss and Charlie took me in his arms and kissed me deeply, his hand slid under my skirt and I was terrified but I was mesmerised. He kept telling me how beautiful I was as his kisses became more languid and his hand burrowed deeper under my skirt until he his fingertips found the lace edge of my satin knickers.”

“I let him molest me, putting up the meagerest of protests, trying vainly to remove his hand from under my skirt but my attempt was feeble. I liked the feel of his manly hands on my thighs, I liked that he stroked my nylons and my knickers, I liked that his lips were pressed against mine passionately and that his tongue was exploring my mouth. I liked his manliness juxtaposed to my femininity.”

“When he took my hand and placed it on his manhood I faltered. I made a feeble attempt to extricate myself but he held me tighter, kissed me harder and stroked the front of my knickers. He fumbled with his flies and my hand brushed against his fleshy rod. I was both terrified and fascinated. This was wrong in so many ways but what could I do? He would tell mommy and daddy that their son was a crossdresser, a homo, a noncer.”

“I think I knew deep inside that he wouldn't be able to do so without incriminating himself but it justified my actions when I gripped his tool and began to stroke it. I was petrified and dumbfounded and outraged but for some reason I kissed him even harder and I slid my leg over his so that I could rub his penis against my nylon-sheathed thigh. I wanted nothing to do with his awful appendage, it revolted me whilst at the same time I yearned to feel it on my flesh and I coveted it.”

“Uncle Charlie was gasping as he kissed me deeply and his hand kept rubbing my silky knickers and my tights and I felt a warm glow coming from my groin. I too was breathing raggedly as I returned his kisses and slid my leg up and down his thigh and worked my fingers up and down his steely pole.”

“The taste of the man, the feel of his angular body against my soft feminine form, his lips pressed on mine, the fluttering of his fingers on my knickers, his hand buried under my skirt, my high heels dangling, the taste of my cosmetics, the smell of my perfume – I can feel all that even now but I had buried this memory for so long.”

“I remembered that I was hyperaware of my clothing, my high heels, my hair tickling my face, his tongue in my mouth, my pathetic struggles. Then I became aware that his penis was throbbing in my hand. I felt his scalding issue spatter on my legs. I felt my fingers become sticky. I felt his spunk begin to soak into my nylons. I smelled the musky scent of his semen. An overwhelming sense of satisfaction washed over me,” Julia sighed.

“And like that… it was over. I had been abused and despoiled by my uncle. But wasn’t I as much to blame?” Julia posed a rhetorical question.

“Uncle Charlie quickly disengaged. He stood up and put himself away and reminded me that my secret was safe with him so long as I kept schtum about what had happened between us. He told me that I was quite the floozy and temptress and I was both confused and flattered. His tone had changed. The veiled threat was implicit. He told me that if I was good girl that we might do something like this again,” Julia shuddered as she lay on the divan.

“I told him that we wouldn’t and that I hadn't liked it and he just laughed and said that I had confused wouldn’t with shouldn’t and he kissed me quickly and left,” Julia was visibly shivering as she told her tale.

“He left me like that. Sitting on the couch with my skirt hiked up, my makeup ruined, the taste of him in my mouth, his semen spattered on my thighs, cooling as it soaked into my tights. I had to keep my skirt hiked up when I made my way upstairs to my bedroom so that his spunk wouldn’t stain my skirt,” distaste and repugnance was evident in Julia’s tone.

“It was only when I took off my skirt that I realised that I’d ejaculated into my knickers and tights. I briefly recalled the delightful overwhelming feeling of satisfaction that had washed over me when Uncle Charlie rubbed my genitals through my knickers and tights as his cock juddered and spluttered in my hand and I realised that I had had an orgasm,” Julia sounded regretful.

“I rinsed my unmentionables in the sink and hung them over the radiator to dry in Belinda’s bedroom. I undressed and put away the suit and blouse. I wiped away my makeup and I showered and I went to bed wearing babydoll pyjamas and promised myself that it would never happen again. I blamed Uncle Charlie or taking advantage of me and I blamed myself for not putting up much of a fight,” Julia said defiantly.

“When I woke up in the morning I realised that I had had a nocturnal emission but the provocative and salacious dream that caused it had drifted away from my consciousness. It was something to do with a faceless man taking advantage of me and me eventually capitulating,” Julia recalled.

“So that was the first time I was violated by my Uncle Charlie,” Julia came out of her reverie and looked directly at her therapist.

“You mean there were others?” Susan Bradshaw asked but she knew that of course there would be others.

Once older men who find weakness in a young woman they will continue to exploit it until they are reported or they are caught. Which begged the question…

“Did you tell your parents about what happened? Did you report him?” Susan asked.

“I told you. I have only just started to remember what happened to me. Up until recently my memories of that evening are that Uncle Charlie found me dressed as Julia and he complimented me and we had a couple of drinks and he swore he would tell no one and then he left to join mummy and daddy for dinner,” Julia quipped quite snappily.

“I repressed the sex part… the violation; if that’s what it was,” Julia sat up and snatched up her purse and pulled out a vape.

“Do you mind? It won’t smell,” Julia waved the Elfbar at Susan.

“No go ahead,” Susan had recently switched vaping herself and dug out her own device and began to puff.

“There is a lot to unpack here,” Susan patted her notebook.

“I must ask if you want to report Charlie to the authorities. The United Kingdom has no statute of limitations for criminal offences beyond minor summary offences,” Susan stated.

“It might prove difficult. Uncle Charlie died quite a few years ago. He was destitute and penniless if that is any consolation,” Julia chuckled dryly.

“But I’d like you to come back for another session. I find you easy to talk to and I have much more to tell,” Julia blew out a stream of raspberry-cranberry vapour.

“Therapy works differently for different people in different ways. Make an appointment with my assistant and we can talk again soon,” Susan said soothingly.

“I feel better already, just getting it off my chest. And there is so much more to tell,” Julia alighted from the chaise lounge, smoothed her skirt and reached for her jacket.

She stepped into her Louboutin's, snatched up her purse and left the room leaving behind the scent of Dior Poison.

Susan went over to her desk and pressed a button on the intercom and asked her assistant to send in the next patient. She was aware that her knickers were a little damp and she admonished herself for being aroused by Julia’s story.

To be continued…