Introducing...

...The youngest daughter of the legendary J. Peasemold Gruntfuttock Esquire..

Foreword.
An eon ago when searching for confirmation of my identity, and reading voraciously, I found reference in a psychological text that suggested that soft-porn could be used as a means to diagnosis of sexual deviancy – as it was called in those days.
Crudely, if a man’s in-built inclinometer raised itself whist reading, the subject matter was quite indicative of deeply held needs. Personally, at a time pre-dating the Internet, I found H.E Bates story “The Triple Echo” gave me all the indication I needed and confirmed the path I eventually followed.
The idea that porn could help confirm identity stuck with me and this is the first piece I ever wrote. I bring it here for completeness

"So 'ow did ya get 'ere then?" A deep, rough but friendly-sounding, cockney-accented voice asked.

"It might help if I knew where 'here' was!" replied a voice more, much more, cultured than the first.

"Alright, keep your 'air on! I’m only asking.”

"Look sorry... what did you say your name was? - I know you're trying to be helpful but I'm damned if I can work it out."

"Look mate, what if you tell me what you were doing ... y' know, kind of before, like... Most of those that come 'ere, y' know, sudden like, find it’s best"

"What do you mean 'those that come here suddenly'? Does it happen a lot then?"

"Look mate, I'm only trying to help. Why don't we start from the beginning... again?
My name's Indie an' it's my job to see you’re okay, an’ all that. And to see you get put where you belong... So to help me with my job. I need to know something about you... alrigh'?" The glottal-stop punctuated the cockney speech.

"All right. But it would help to know where this is, then perhaps
I can work out how I got here. And why is it so dark? Am I dead?"

"No! No! … No, Mate. Not dead! And it’s not a good idea to tell you everything first off. Believe me... do it my way. I've seen hundreds like you - all sorts of lost souls they are when they first come in here. Don’t know who they are, 'alf of them.
No! So just tell me what you were doing, before like. It'll come to you slowly and then it wont be so much of a shock. Some of them go off their heads in here, they do."

"But why is it so dark? I can only just make you out from that blue florescent print on your tee shirt."

"'Electric blue they call that. You'll get a tee-shirt in a minute. But we have a few things to sort out before that. Know what I mean? So, like I say, tell me what you were doing ...before."

"Well... well... umm... I think... well I was on the computer.
Yes, on the computer... in the bedroom. The study my Mum calls it..."

"Brilliant I knew it would come back to you. Always does. Well, nearly always. Anyway get on with it... you’re in your Mum's study..."

"Yes, that's right I'm on the computer in her study. I've always disliked that word... study... it's just so pretentious don't you think?"

"I would if I knew what it meant. Just keep to the facts will you. Tell me about this study then. What can you see... what can you see in your mind’s eye – kind of like?"

I can see...I can see... Well, as I said it's a bedroom. A small bedroom, you understand... a third bedroom in a three bedroom house... a box really. There's a desk, or is it a bench along one wall? The computer is on that. It’s green."

"A green computer!?"

"No! Stop interrupting, will you? It's... it is a green desk; I can see it! And next to the computer on the green desk is a TV on a wall bracket, so I can watch... whatever. It's a sort of a mini-communications centre. There's a tiny stereo next to the computer screen used for Mum's mp3s. Ooh! And she uses it to listen to the radio too, sometimes."

"The radio? This day and age? Anyway, get on with it! You’re remembering ain't you!"

Yes! Yes I am remembering aren't I? So I'm on the computer... there's a wardrobe with a single large painted flower on each door that I notice when I first come in. There's a chair of course and..."

"What's on your computer screen? Can you read it?

"Why is it so dark in here? I can see more blue glow coming from over there. Are there other people over there?"

Yeah! Those are some of the groups – well - gangs really they are – you might wanna join... when we've got you sorted out. Anyway, can you read what's on your screen?"

No, I can't read it... but... but I think I know what it says. I think... Oh shit! It's coming back to me. Oh my God! The stuff is about me! There are horrible, untrue things written about me! It says... it says... I'm a trans... I'm a trans..."

"Transvestite! you’re a transvestite! I knew it soon as I saw you! Least you’re in the right place then."

"I'm not a trans... I am NOT a trans... whatsit!!"

"Yes you are! you’re a transvestite! They all are in here mate! Well nearly all... You just possibly just might be one of those... umm... aah... 'transsexuelles'. Quite tasty some of those are, believe me! Well we'll get you sorted out in a bit, mate. Anyway, you were saying you’re a transvestite."

"No I wasn't! I was saying there's something written on the screen that says I'm a trans... vestite.
There's a big difference you know. Just because someone puts a label on you doesn't make it true. You seem to like labelling people?"

"Well its my job init? So if you’re not a trannie... what are you? Come on! What are you?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know why someone says you’re a trannie?"

"No. What did you say your name was?"

"Indie."

"Look Indie, I think the stuff says I like dressing as a girl."

"You think? You must know if you like it or not?"

"But I don't... honest Indie. Are you an Indian is that why your name's Indie"

"No! Nothing so crass mate! I was always called Indie, right from the start. I was the first one here, I was. I live down that track over there. Prime position it is - where I live! I can see everyone that comes and goes. My job's to help you find your own place, and help sort out the folks you'd like to be with while you're 'ere kind of like"

"'While I'm here...' do you mean I can go back?"

"Oh No! Ha! There’s no going back. Best to go forwards. We only goes forward round 'ere. But we gets in quite a spin sometimes with all the comings and goings. Quite a spin!"

"Well may I go forwards out of here, then Indie?"

"'Fraid that's not up to me, little one. Now why don't you tell me about when you first dressed as a girl... That's what you here for really... to tell your story, like.
Tell you what! To get you started on your tale... about dressing and that... why don't I take you to meet some of the others in here and you can ask a bit about their stories. Y'know how they got started. Were they forced, blackmailed or trapped? Did they have a wicked sister, brother or mother. Did they have time on their hands? Were they left alone in the house?
So many tales! They’re all different. But there again they’re all the same... If y'know what I mean?
Come on... over here. Be quick! Mind that track... it's full And watch that sector gap! If a bit of you ends up in there you dead meat! Come on over here but CAREFULLY!
Now, from 'ere you can see much, much more. This the hub of things. Now, can you see how it's all laid out? Can ya? See all those ring roads? And there’s lots of groups camped along side 'em. Y'know all those electric blue glows over there... in that big bunch... can you see 'em? And those over there... Look! Can you see em?"

"Ye... s, just?"

"Well, little one, those over there, they're a gang called the 'Doms' - best avoid them if you possibly can - they just like running' everything and everyone. But that's where I was clever, see?
I put 'em next door to the 'Subs'. Now THEY like being told what to do!! So the Doms and the Subs get on famously and they don't ever bother me.
Doms can be a bit of a mixture, see... some gay men who don't like to admit it. Y'know what I mean? And some Dom Lesbie women who just love having power over poor weak effeminate little boys - so watch you don't get caught here young 'un. The Subs are trannies - y'know - transvestites, kinda like, who like being pretend women an' just love being told what to do and having their botties spanked.
Some like having weights 'ung from their doodahs! Urgh!! Let's get a bit closer and I can read some bits of a tale for you. See if it takes your fancy like... here you go! Ready?"

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Agatha entered the room to find Robin sobbing. He was still curled on the bed wearing the sensuous satin and lace creation she had forced him into earlier. He was bound and but not gagged.
"Roll over and let me look at you, sissy!" Agatha commanded, standing gloating, as the archetypal PVC-clad dominatrix she was.
Robin, fearful of again crossing her and the punishment that might ensue, rolled over on his back as she commanded.
Unfortunately, for Robin, he revealed his member to be rising to attention. Agatha's eyes almost imperceptibly flicked to take in his tumescence in the burgundy-coloured laced-edged panties she had dressed him in last evening. But quickly her eyes moved on to the soft rising swell of his breasts. She always started with their breasts.
"My!" said Agatha, "That bra looks good on me but on you it is wicked. Even with you lying on your back, dear, I can see that my pop-up, push-up creation is doing wonders for you. You love it don't you my sweet baby?"
Almost unspeakable humiliation had been caused Robin the previous evening when Agatha had dressed him in her silky underwear, bound him and carried him like a small, helpless soft-toy into the bedroom.
She had told him that anyone pretending to be a man with such a small 'cockette', as she insisted on calling it, was doomed to spend his days as her servant and that his cockette was to be removed - "So your panties will fit better, sweet baby." she had said.
With her return, Robin was once again reminded of what a helpless wimp he was.
"I see baby likes the idea of not having his cockette messing the line of his dear little panties. Would you like me to play with it one more time, my darling little baby girl?" she asked.
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"I don’t think I want to hear any more of this, Indie" Why are Doms so hurtful to Subs and how can having to wear girls panties in such awful conditions give anyone a boner?

"A boner, eh? Well! Now you asking something ain't you? See what I didn't really explain to you, is that mixed in pretty close with Doms and Subs, is a group of infiltrators. Bloody infiltrators! I can't seem to separate 'em out. They run me ragged they do!"

"What's an 'infiltrator' Indie? And why don't the Doms and Subs
do something about them?"

"Who are they?" They're the S&M gang that's who - sadomasochists the lot of 'em - bit loony if you ask me. But it's what ever turns you on I s’pose."

"S-a-d-o-m-a-s-o-c-h-i-s-t ?"

"Sadomasochist little one. Oh no! Not so 'little' now! You've got bigger... sudden like.
Nah! Nah! I don’t mean that! Take that stupid grin off you face! I don’t do innuendo!
What I mean is ... All of you has grown since you arrived, innit? Not sure where I'm gonna put you now.
Anyway, as I was saying - sadomasochists are people who like giving and receiving pain; that's mental pain as well as the usual kind you understand? Most times a sadomasochist gets to be a pretty complex character as they grow up. An' they sort of get mixed up with the Doms or Subs. So is a Dom mainly a Dom or mainly a Sado (that’s a pain giver - got it)? Or is a Sub mainly a Sub or mainly a Masochist – that’s a pain lover? Strewth! I can't sort 'em out! So I just let 'em get on with it, keep away from them and minds my own business I does... Know what I mean?
You clearer now little one? Did any of that appeal to you? No? Shall we move on then? Come on, jump over this segment. I'll take ya somewhere I think you'll fit quite nicely. Here cop a load of this! Pin your lug-holes back... I'll read you some more."

*****************************************************************************

Darren hastened away from 'Victoria's Secret' anxious to try out his new purchases. The clerk in the shop had smiled seductively at him as she rang up his treasures. He had bought a dozen sumptuously, seductively feminine silk bra-and-pantie-sets; a black heavily laced and boned corset that promised to reduce his already tiny waist to a mere whisper of 18 inches and three of the most gorgeous peignoirs one could ever hope to own. For a woman it would be heaven, for Darren it promised to be bliss!
He was a fortunate boy, having been born with genes that predisposed him to be the svelte-like creature he was.
The clerk had smiled at him and lisped breathlessly, "I've written my phone number on the back of the receipt... call me... if you want anything. Anything at all!"
Darren walked along the mall and entered the first shoe shop he came to, without hesitation. He was walking on air, buoyed by the expectations of soon trying out his new underwear. He sat in the ladies section and waited for the clerk. Darren explained his 'sister’s' need for a new pair of black court shoes with a 5 inch heels, size 11 double E fitting, and how miraculously he just happened to have exactly the same foot measurements as hers so he could make sure they would fit his sister. The clerk beamed her pleasure at serving such a kind, considerate, generously spirited young man and sped off to search the stock room for the common place every day shoes that Darren had requested he buy his ‘sister’.
The clerk returned almost immediately clutching a shoe fetishists orgy in her hands. "Would you like to try these on Hon?" she asked him.
She reached for a new pair of sheer nylon foot stockings and told Darren to slip them on instead of his own woollen socks. He did so and gently eased his feet into the delicate but magnificent high heels.
"Walk a ways up the shop Hon and make sure your Sis will like them."
Darren did just that. He walked effortlessly in the heels as if he had been born with them on. "I'll take them", he announced.
Rushing to let himself in to his immaculate loft apartment, Darren sped to his 'special' dressing room. He stripped and quickly ran a bath and luxuriated in the heavy scent of expensive perfume and bath oils. He had no need to shave... anywhere... ever.
Drying and powdering himself, with increasing urgency he expertly donned the saucy black full-cupped silk 40DD bra. He reached to his dressing table and clasped the silicone inserts he had already purchased from a well-known web site catering to the needs of cross-dressers.
The garter belt was next; it sat prettily about him with the stocking clips competing with each other to gently caress the smooth checks of his well-rounded ass as they dangled languidly down. He sat on the bed and correctly eased a gossamer stocking up each leg just as he had read about so often in the soft porn fiction of which he was so fond.
Once the stockings were clipped to his garter belt he marvelled at the feelings almost overwhelming him. Why were only women supposed to wear such glorious clothing? He could not be a pervert for just wanting to feel what women do. Could he? No!Quickly dismissing such thoughts from his mind he stepped into the tight fitting panties. He eased his member back between his voluptuous thighs and pushed his seed pods up and inside himself. The panties held him in place perfectly. When he looked down he saw the unmistakeable soft undulations of a woman's delta. Suddenly feeling a woman's need for modesty he ran his arms into the soft draping peignoir and let it fall about him. Finally, and before he dare look at himself in the wall-to-wall mirror doors he slipped his Cinderella feet into his 5 inch heels. Now he was ready! Or should he use the female pronoun when describing himself. Deciding: "Yes!" And quickly choosing to call herself Andrea when like this, she gathered her senses.
Her member, somewhere deeply buried below, strained to be free. She slowly lifted her eyes and feasted on what she saw. Long fine, but full, blond hair cascaded like a waterfall about her shoulders. Her skin was the texture of fine porcelain, full luscious, deep-throating lips sat expectantly beneath a small, pert and delightfully-turned-up nose. She took it all in; her face; her hips; the feel of the silk and gossamer nylon; the sweet scented perfume that gently hung about her. Slowly she opened the peignoir and let her delicate hand reach into her panties. Her hand expertly retrieved her member and she creamed instantly. In what like seemed like forever load after load of spermatozoa, swimming for their lives, pulsed from her and soaked into her beautiful silken underwear.

************************************************************************

"He looked back at himself in the mirror, but this time, his body spent, he saw himself with with an overwhelming feeling of loathing. He ripped all that was girlish from him and dived for the shower to clean away all the crap".

"Does it really say that last bit, Indie? Did she, did he, did he really rip all those lovely things off? I wouldn't have!"

"Argh! the mist clears even more, as they say little one! Nah! that last bit... well, not bit - bytes really or data words, moreover, those were mine.
You see what you have here is your ‘Fetis’ infiltrated with your ‘Perfs’. And before you ask... A Perf is all very unlikely... They don't half con themselves Perfs do."

"But, but..."

“I'm explaining ain’t I? So don't interrupt little one. Christ look at you! You've grown again! I really dunno where I'm going to put you.
Anyway... A Fetis always has bags and bags of new underwear and stuff; and impossibly high heeled shoes; or kinky little black PVC or leather numbers. Quite few like women's uniforms - Army and Navy y'know, and French Maids; especially French Maids. What they likes to do is to get all dolled-up in the stuff, walk around a bit... and wank. They wank usually as soon as they see themselves. Can't help it see. But old hands can keep going a bit longer. Don't smirk I told you I don't do innuendo!
What the stories don't tell you though is that as soon as all these wankers jerk off, they usually gets to hate themselves for doing it in the first place.
All that pleasure gets trumped by loads of grief."

"Oh I see. I don't want that!"

"'Course you don't. Nah! You’ve got to be true to yourself but you've also got to be true to life.
That’s it! Be true to life!'
That's where the Perfs fall down. That last story had a bit of Perf in it.
Perfs are simply perfect - or think they are. It's never a story about a balding guy of 60 something with a beard shadow that looks like a rice paddy and a beer gut that must have run up the national debt to buy. Nah, your Perfs always are too small to be men but just perfect to be women. Everything about them is... well perfect. Shapely legs instead of the usual chicken drumsticks; narrow waist instead of endless fat falling over a belt; pert breasts on a hairless chest instead of... well you gets don't you? Who are they trying to kid? Who are they fucking trying to kid?
And what’s more, all these tales, they all start the same; well most of them. Dad is no-where to be seen. Dad has either divorced or died in a plane crash, killed in a war somewhere or crashed a bus, truck or car down a ravine leaving a mother and son with a large insurance settlement which secures their futures. So they choose to go off and live as mother and daughter? Why for fucks sake? And don’t get me started on ‘magic’! Just don’t!
So many stories; so many the same. Now, where was I before I went off on one?”

“Indie, you were helping me look for a place to stay while I’m here.”

Ah! Yes. Of course! I remember. Let’s look around. What do you see here? Oh! sorry! I forgot! You can't read, can you?"

"There's nothing to read is there? All I can see are some feint blue circles and lines in the road."

Circles an' lines in the road? I'll 'ave you know those circles and them lines are some of the finest binary digits in 'ere... I put 'em there me self!”

"But what about the 'Fetis'? Should I stay with them?"

"If you'll take my advice, no. Most Fetis are all right but they are pretty self contained and don't seem to want friends. They spend most of their time in a cycle of dressing up, wanking, cleaning up an' recovering. But they only tell you to you face about the dressing up bit and the wank - they call it waves of pleasure. You didn't see Darren/Andrea whatsit phone that shop assistant and ask her out, did you?"

"Oh! The one in Victoria’s Secret... No! He didn't did he? I would have! I imagined she was nice!"

"Oh! you liked her did you? So you’re not gay then... or there again..."

"No I like girls, but... but I get jealous of them! I want to be a girl. Mum's written some stuff on the computer about me that says I should have been born a girl but I don't look very much like one... Indie?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. I mean... thank you for helping find out about... about what I am doing here. I think I know now... I feel more complete, more whole, you know, than when I first arrived?"

"Well that's it, init, little one? You hadn't all arrived! Only the first bits of you were here. Let me look at you now you're all complete.
Err... you look about 20k... CR check okay. Yep! Exact is close enough! I think I've got just the right place for you. A few loonies, but nice ones... and of course, Harry Benjamin helps me keep the infiltrators out. Just slip on this T-shirt before we go – it’s got a big blue TS on the front. Don't you look a grand lass?

"Come on! I'll read your story back as we run along these tracks... ready?"

Cambridge Romano Anglo Press

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