Catalog Shopping

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It's tempting to blame it all on my mother; haul out some psychobabble about how I was raised and childhood trauma and such. Tempting, sure, but anyone who has stayed awake through biology class knows that it's really all due to my father. Four sisters, one lone male - me. It's a biological fact that the male determines a child's sex at conception, but you try growing up as the last child with four sisters.

About the time I came along Dad got religion - I mean big-time fundamental, off-the-wall, praise-the-lord-and-pass-the-bigotry, patriarchal religion.

Mom didn't.

Not only did Mom not get religion, she had the nerve to get her Masters Degree in Biology (she has a doctorate now) while she was pregnant with me. Dad worked in the trades - a pretty good plumber from what I understand - and apparently it galled him that Mom wasn't content to stay at home and keep popping out more babies for him. He packed it off to Costa Rica when I was four to follow Reverend Shoutsalot and his crew to found a New Babylon or some such, so I don't really have more than a few vague memories of him.

Mom stopped going to church, and I haven't darkened the door of a church, cathedral, temple or mosque other than to attend a couple of weddings. Never met God, don't have a personal relationship with Jesus, keep Kosher or follow Allah as the one and only god. Likewise Hindu, Buddhist, Confucian or any of the multitude of religious icons in this world. Just take it that I'm a heathen and you've got the picture.

With that out of the way, we go back to the psychobabble. Naturally I was raised as a living doll by my sisters, and I loved every minute of it. I swear until I went to kindergarten I just didn't realize that boys and girls were all that different. (I'm told that really bugged Dad.) I attended the usual tea parties and played Homemaker with my sisters and even had a couple of mani-pedis on special occasions. Of course we carefully removed the nail polish Sunday night before school - by then I knew the difference between boys and girls and that difference could be painful.

Now about this point in these stories the guy goes on about what a failure he was as a man, how nothing ever felt right. Just pick your favorite cliché and insert it here. Sorry folks, but that isn't me. I never hated being a man, but I have always had a strong feminist sensibility. Just- call me a Sensitive New Age Guy. I played sports (little league, I ended up the pitcher for a while), acted in high school plays. Men's parts - sorry if that isn't what you were hoping for. One side effect of being on stage was that I sat at a mixed table at lunch, none of this segregation by sex that is so often the case.

I took both Home-Ec and Shop. Mom tells me that at one time keyboarding (typing) was pretty much a girls-only class because girls needed it to be secretaries. With computers anyone who can't touch type is at a real disadvantage nowadays. In other words, I wasn't stereotypically a man or a woman. I keep my hair long, my body strong and my attitude liberal.

So, after telling you all this you might expect I would gravitate toward an academic or maybe traditionally feminine job, but you'd be wrong. I'm a Building Inspector by trade - ironic, eh? I actually take after my absent father because I like the work. He is more than welcome to keep the religious crap, though.

So after all that we can finally get to the story I want to tell. It starts in the spring of 2020 with a visit to my mother, something that happens every couple of weeks. As usual, I had to dig out a place to sit among the books, magazines and printouts that cover every surface. Since we kids have left she's given up even trying to keep up with the reading material. We are all voracious readers, so it doesn't bother us to do a bit of excavation to have a visit. It usually means we get to take home a pile of interesting things to read ourselves.

The visit was great and I left with half a dozen books. On the way out, Mom asked me to take a pile of magazines and catalogs to drop in the recycle bin outside, so I added several inches to the pile. Naturally, I ran into Mrs Hawthorn next door and had to spend a little time gossiping. I dropped the pile in my back seat and proceeded to catch up on what happened in the neighborhood, then drove home completely forgetting about the recycling. Thus the piles in my apartment increased in proportion the the decrease at Mom's place.

We all know what happened next - quarantine, panic, lockdown, confusion and a big mess we're still sorting out. Survival mode. As low man on the totem pole I was the one who got the pink slip when construction dried up. Between unemployment, the government stimulus and my savings (I had a very nice portfolio, what else did I have to spend it on?) I was able to be rather comfortable if I watched my outflow carefully.

I soon ran out of new books to read. Fortunately for my sanity there is lots of stuff online to read, so I expended my horizons considerably. Between books I turned to the magazines and catalogs from Mom. That's where I fell in love.

OK, make it a crush.

The family runs to large women, so I have grown up surrounded by Lane Bryant and Women Within catalogs, stuff that caters to the big, beautiful woman. I've spent more than a few hours in plus size women's shops over the years as well. As someone who will read cereal boxes and the entire medical sheet included with a prescription, I paged through the catalogs for large women since they were there. That was my downfall. She was my downfall. I really liked one of the models.

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You have to realize that I hadn't seen anybody but the food delivery guy in three weeks when I first laid eyes on her. Not having a current girlfriend, I suppose I was overly susceptible to the feminine charms of the lady. I really liked her smile and I have always had a secret wish to have my hair in cornrows. And I liked her dress, there was something about that particular picture that moved me.

That's when I lost my mind - I ordered the dress.

The catalog had one of those convenient size charts right in the middle so I knew what to order. Of course I went to the website and ordered online, I was not going to fool around with order forms and snail mail. Maybe I should have, it might have given me time to realize just how stupid ordering a dress for myself was. In only seconds I was embarked on a whole new pathway in life, but I had yet to realize it.

 

A week or so later there was a package in the mail room for me. I picked it up (masked and contact free) and brought it up to the apartment. I opened it and immediately felt pretty stupid for buying myself a dress. I mean, really! So I put it on a hanger (Mom would never treat her clothes in less than perfect fashion.) and hung it in the closet, a reminder of what happens when you get over-enthusiastic.

That lasted until the next morning. I was standing there in my pajamas wondering if it was worth getting dressed to spend another day sheltering in place. There was the dress, still hanging there. I shut the closet door but it didn't do a bit of good; the dress was still there. I showered and shaved and deodorized and the dress was still there. I opened the closet door and sure enough: the dress was still there.

What the hell? I put on the dress.

I looked in the mirror.

My favorite model did not look back at me. I looked funny in a dress. So much for that, back into the closet and on with the day.

About an hour later it struck me that most women wear a bra under their dresses. Maybe if I…

What the heck was I thinking. No!

Two hours later I was consulting the size chart again. I went on line and found a bra I liked and ordered it. 42A came closest since I don't have any breasts. Go figure…

 

A week or so later there was another package in the mail room. This time I didn't hesitate, I stripped, opened the package and put on the bra. Not a problem, I may not have a current girlfriend, but I haven't been celibate and I have four older sisters. Bras hold no mysteries to me, unless you want to count just why I would have bought one for myself.

The dress looked the same on me. Naturally, I realized that it was not the lack of a bra that made the difference, it was the lack of boobs. I felt like a boob. Singular. As in not thinking things through.

This time I didn't take the dress off, no one was going to see me and I wanted to get some use out of my new clothes. I sat down at the computer and ordered the same bra in a 42D. If you look at my true love in the picture you might guess she is well above a D cup. If it works for her…

That done, over to Amazon for breast forms. Of course I knew about breast forms - I have sisters. Impatient sisters while they were growing up, so they got a little help. I needed a lot of help but the answer was the same. Wow, two exclusively feminine orders in one day! Addiction here we come.

 

Two days later the forms were here, after all I do have Prime, but no bra. My sisters were no longer impatient but their brother certainly was. Just for the fun of it I typed 'bra' in the Amazon search bar and was ready to kick myself in the fundament. They had more bras than my large lady's store and they would be here faster. The things you learn…

It occurred to me while looking at all those bras that women wear panties with their bras. Back to the size chart, but this time to Amazon first. They would be delivered tomorrow.

 

At long last everything was here. I read the instructions on the forms and felt pretty weird shaving my chest. Not that I'm all that hairy, but if it hurts to rip off a bandaid I sure wouldn't want to remove something the size of those forms with my hair glued to them.

Finally, shaved, dried and glued I settled into my very own bra. The dress felt better already with breasts to shape it and, wearing my dress I looked in the mirror.

Much improved, but my black Oxfords really were just wrong! Back to the size charts, ordered some pumps with a two inch heel. High enough for a novice. Thinking ahead, I also got a six-pack of pantyhose and more panties. Oh yeah - an apron for washing dishes. Since the forms were glued on and should be good for a week or so, I'd need a couple of more bras…

Shopping can be fun. Shopping can be addictive! Did I say something about being careful about spending? I had all the time in the world so I comparison shopped and found the sales and special offers. Maybe I'd have to include a few pounds of bologna with the next grocery order and live on yogurt for a while to balance things out.

The next morning I realized that I had been a tad overzealous with a D cup. Those things flopped all over the place when I was trying to sleep. So I discovered sleep bras, and while I was at it a couple of nightgowns. You know how it goes - those catalogs are irresistible, especially when they're on a computer screen. I did feel a small sense of betrayal when I ordered a dress that my favorite model wasn't wearing, but not enough to avoid clicking the 'Complete Purchase' button.

I was a kid with a shiny new toy. Suddenly being kept in my apartment wasn't quite so bad when I could wear a dress and feel my breasts bouncing. Then I discovered the Big Closet and I had a whole new genre of literature to keep me enthralled. I was no longer a weird guy alone in my apartment, I was a weird guy who had a shared interest with lots others scattered around the globe.

Learning how to follow after my actual sisters kept me amused until we were able to go out again. I was almost sad when I got the notice that I was going to be back on the job next week. Tonight I'm going to see Mom and the girls for the first time in months. I've promised them a surprise.

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Comments

No one complains

erin's picture

No one ever complains about having a BigCloset.:)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Hearts and closets

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Can never be too big. :D Great story, Ricky!

Emma

Seduction of Beautiful Dresses

BarbieLee's picture

It's the temptation of evil. It wasn't Satan who made beautiful women and designed sexually attractive dresses for them. No it was God. How else was mankind going to be fruitful and populate the earth? Salt the world with beautiful women so men can't resist.What's the next best thing to mail order bride? Mail order the dress she's wearing. If one can't have the real thing, settle for next best.
Isolation is the bane of all as it drives the males and females into a rutting frenzy. Cross dressers and transsexuals come out of the darkest closets to hold, hug, wear the dresses if they can't have the real thing, the female body.

Thought I'd post some links to seductive women. Dang all I brought up was naked women. Okay, beautiful women? Someones have been along too long if they thought those women were beautiful. Glamor Shots? Pictures of women before makeup. Most women need makeup. I gave up. Isolation has destroyed people's minds. As I glance in the mirror, it's a good thing. I'm accepted now as a woman by those female starved men as I pull out my blouse and look down at my boobs. One of the balloons is deflating. I need to put another tire patch on it. Is it too much to ask for another pandemic?
Hugs Ricky
Barb
Life is too short to take seriously. Have fun with it. God has a sense of humor, He made me.

Oklahoma born and raised cowgirl

Tire patch?

You haven't gone tubeless? Maybe a tube top? I never tire of asking such questions.

Run-flats?

Works well on cars, might be an idea here. (Snerk!)