The Awakening
By
Michele Nylons

Part One – The Woman In The Mirror

Dark; then light; my eyelids flutter.

“Can he hear us?” a woman’s voice.

Dark; then light.

“He’s still comatose; but he’s improving,” an authoritative male voice.

Light; now dark, the dream returns.

I’m inside the mirror but I can’t be seen. I try to reach through the glass but I can’t. I try to speak but I am mute. I am a floating entity who exists behind the looking glass.

The woman is attractive for her age; early forties? She’s seated in front of the large vanity mirror; she’s finishing her makeup, applying a final coat of face powder. She wears too much makeup but it suits her.

Dark ruby-red lipstick; her lips are full and they glisten in the harsh lights of the vanity mirror. Her cheeks are rouged, accenting her well-defined cheekbones. Her eye makeup is striking. Black eyeliner carefully applied to her upper and lower eyelids. She has contoured each of her eyes, the black eyeliner begins in the inner corner of her eyelids, across the lash-line to the outer corners of her eyes, sort of like an Egyptian courtesan.

Black mascara; her lashes are coated so thickly you might think them false. Eyeshadow, blue-green blended into mauve and possibly even some purple. It extends beyond her eyelids almost to her brows, which are hidden by the bangs of her hair. A classic bob, brunette with subtle dark-red highlights.

She’s preening now; a few strokes with the hairbrush, blending eyeshadow with her fingertips; a final flick of the powder brush, then she runs a finger along the edges of her lips. Her nailpolish matches her lipstick. She puckers and air-kisses her reflection; she smiles and is at once beautiful and radiant. The silver drop-earrings that dangle from her ears peek through her hair. The earrings match a necklace that adorns her throat; the rings on her fingers are also silver.

She stands. As she walks away I see the rest of her. Slim. Mauve satin blouse, navy-blue skirt, black high-heeled pumps. The hem of her skirt teases the backs of her knees. Taupe stockings with black seams. I smile. Who is she? Do I know her!

Dark again.

“It’s a good sign Mrs Nyland,” the doctor nods at my erection and at the smile on my face.

“He’s obviously having good dreams in there,” the woman replies, a little embarrassed.

The doctor nods and lifts the chart at the end of my hospital bed and scribbles some notes.

I wake from my coma four hours later almost three months to the day of the accident.

“Thank god Michael!” the woman smiles; but there are tears in her eyes.

She hugs me and I try to respond but I can’t form the words I want to say to her. My arms feel like they have lead weights attached. I lift them up with great difficulty and drape them around her shoulders. It’s the best I can do to comfort the woman sobbing against my chest.

“Who are you?” I manage to croak.

“Your wife,” she sobs.

It’s almost another month before I was allowed to return home, still suffering from transient lacunar amnesia. Some things I can remember like they only happened minutes before, and some things I can’t remember at all. The doctors say that hopefully my memory will fully return, but not to expect too much too soon.

Nadine is my wife. I remember her now. I know I love her and I know we were high school sweethearts. She is an attractive woman for her age but she is not the woman I dreamt about in my coma. She wears hardly any makeup and seldom wears skirts and satin blouses; she’s a pantsuit and cotton shirt girl. Sensible shoes and minimal accessories, that’s her. Her hair is usually kept up; tied in a neat bun or swept back in a ponytail.

She nurses me until I am fully recovered and am ready to return to work. We work together trying to recover my memories and most of them have returned and I am keen to regain my life. I can live with the memory gaps that I can’t fill; they will either return or they won’t. I remember the accident too; I was clipped by a car whilst riding my bike.

We haven’t had sex yet. Not for lack of trying; we have kissed, cuddled, fondled and caressed, but I remain impotent. We talk to the doctor about it and he says it might take a little time for my libido to return.

I wake each morning with a full erection and a fading memory or the woman in the mirror. My wife has tried to take advantage of my morning wood, or ‘nocturnal penile tumescence’ as my doctor calls it, but my erection diminishes with the memory of the woman in the mirror.

I finally return to work and am greeted with much love, hospitality, and accolades regarding my tenacity and my determination to recovery from my accident. Most of my work colleagues have visited me at home and eventually I remember them all. My boss promised me my job would be waiting for me if I recovered and he lived up to his promise.

I am a salesman for a large publishing house; one of the best salesmen in the state apparently. I soon get back on the horse and am selling my quota plus. I think some of my best sales are made because some of my clients feel sympathetic for me, but who am I to reject their generosity? After a few weeks its business as usual.

Now if I could just get my sex life in order!

And then Nadine surprises me.

I come home from work one evening after working late and find the lounge room is gloomy, lit only by a single floor lamp. Nadine stands in the pool of light. She looks awesome!

She’s wearing a black pleated mini-skirt, split at the side. Her long legs are clad in sheer hosiery; flesh toned stockings with dark welts, I can see them through the split in her skirt. Her feet are shod in silver high-heeled sandals displaying the dark reinforced toes and heels of her nylons. A shimmery long-sleeved red blouse made from satin or similar fabric. It’s partially unbuttoned and I can see her pert breasts cupped in a black lace bra.

She has let down her hair and combed it out; she wears it parted down the middle with bangs. Her makeup is wicked. Heavy black mascara and eyeliner, blue-green eyeshadow, rouged cheeks and red lipstick. Her nails are long and red; they must be falsies but they look great!

She looks so sexy! My cock begins to harden and tents my pants.

“Yep I knew it!” she smiles.

“What?” I stammer.

“I thought the accident may have changed you; but it obviously hasn’t,” she says sounding a little disappointed.

“The last few years of our marriage you were only ever able to get it up if I dressed like this. Like a slut,” she explains.

“Really?” I reply but my eyes are scouring her body, entranced by her.

My penis is rock hard and throbbing.

“I keep these clothes and others like them at the back of my wardrobe and when I want servicing I dress in them and put on my slutty makeup,” she gives me a wicked smile.

“It’s the only way you can get it up so I live with it.”

I cross the room and fall on her.

My hand goes under her skirt and caresses her thigh stroking the creamy skin above the welts of her stockings. Her hand reaches out and squeezes me through my trousers.

“That’s the Michael I remember,” she moans and then her lips crush mine.

She pushes me down onto the couch and straddles me, pulling at my belt and zipper. Her skirt has ridden up showing off her stocking tops and my fingers rake her thighs. I now remember now how I love the feel of her stocking-clad legs. Her heavily made up face is a picture of concentration as she pulls my belt free of the loops and unzips my fly.

“Come on honey; fuck me! Fuck me like you used to!” she sighs and kisses me again.

I can feel her panty-clad mound against my erection and I hump her as she grinds her crotch against mine. She isn’t the woman I see in my dreams each night but she’s making me horny as hell.

My hands find her ass and I squeeze her buttocks; her hand snakes between our bodies and she grips my penis and slides it inside the gusset of her panties and she wriggles her ass and positions me inside her hot wet labia. She slowly lowers herself onto me and impales herself on my penis.

“Ohhhhh!” she moans and begins to fuck me.

I can taste her lipstick and smell her perfume; my fingers explore her sleek stockinged legs and panty-clad ass. I grunt into her mouth as I rise and fall in time with her.

We orgasm together; her vagina quivers and milks me of my seed as I empty myself deep inside her. Our tongues are entwined as we paw, kiss and molest each other. We grind and moan and wriggle and sigh; lost in the pleasure and satisfaction of our first climax since my accident all those months ago.

We slowly come down from the peak of our pleasure and my wife remains astride me, kissing me, she smiles her gratification. I kiss her and smile back.

“That was lovely,” I whisper.

“You never have a problem getting it up when I dress like this,” she beams down at me.

I frown.

“We’ve talked about it, it’s just a fetish you have,” she goes on.

“Started with you asking me to wear stockings and heels and progressed from there. Now you can only perform while I’m dressed like a whore.”

“I’m sorry,” I say; but I’m still trying to get to grips to with what she’s telling me.

“No need. We saw a counsellor a few years ago and went through the whole rigmarole. Then we searched the web and discovered that CFNM is a common fetish that some men have. Whatever it is, I’ve been over it for a long time now. You like it. It gets you aroused and you always give me a good fucking,” she smiles down at me.

“CFNM?” I ask.

“Clothed female, naked male,” she smiles.

I smile back.

“I really do seem to like it,” I grin up at her and she giggles.

She can feel me becoming tumescent again inside of her.

“I was sort of hoping the accident might have cured you of your fixation but it obviously hasn’t. Not to worry, I don’t mind that much; it’s kind of kinky,” she says and begins to ride me.

“Well it’s good that I know what turns me on,” I say as I rise to meet her thrusts.

“Shut up and fuck me,” she lowers her mouth to mine to shut me up.

Later we lie side by side kissing like teenagers. I can’t keep my hands off her stocking-clad legs and her satin-pantied ass. I feel great, extremely satisfied.

But deep inside me there is still a longing, a feeling that I am missing something. My thoughts wander back to the woman in the mirror, but my wife has other plans. Her fingers find my manhood and we are off again.

The next day I find the laptop.

I tried every combination I could think of. My name, Nadine’s name, combinations of our social security numbers, birthdays, but the laptop won’t let me past the password protection.

I found the laptop in the bottom drawer of my desk; it’s a Sony Vaio notepad. Under the laptop is a set of keys. Nadine says she’s never seen the laptop or the keys before but they are obviously mine. Try as I might, I just can’t remember the password for the computer or what the keys are for. I can’t even remember ever using them.

It costs me sixty dollars to get the laptop unlocked at ‘John’s PC Sales and Repairs’ at the mall. John calls me to tell me he has hacked into the computer and it’s ready to be collected. I go down to the store the next afternoon; the shop is empty except for John and I.

“Sorry it took so long,” John says apologetically.

“It’s ok; I don’t even know what’s on it,” I say scratching my head.

“Yeah, right!” John’s smile is loaded with sarcasm.

“Really,” I reply, “I don’t.”

“Sure,” John continues to beam at me.

“Just so you know; I’m into the scene,” John says, seriously now.

“The scene?” I haven’t a clue what he is talking about.

“The scene hun,” he winks at me.

“Hun?”

The guy’s a fucking weirdo; I drop three twenties on the counter and leave with my notepad.

I take my laptop home and open it up and reset the password. I check the ‘my documents’ folder and find nothing there, nor in any of the other folders. Internet Explorer has no favourites and the browsing history has been wiped; it’s almost like the computer has never been used. I’m tempted to take it back to John’s and have him check the file system but after the way he behaved I decide against it for now. Besides Nadine has other tasks for me.

Now that I am fit and well she wants us to have a good clearout; she will go through the house, room by room and I get to clear out the garage and the attic. The garage only takes a couple of hours but the attic is full of junk; old furniture and brick-a-brack. I work my way through it methodically removing items we no longer need until I come across an old trunk at the very back of the attic.

Unlike most of the other junk up here the trunk and the area around it are free of dust and although the trunk is old it’s still in good condition. I switch on a floor lamp that is conveniently located right next to the trunk. There is a padlock on the front of the trunk; quite a substantial one too. I scratch me head for a minute and then I remember the keys I found in the same drawer as the laptop. I haven’t been able to find out what the keys are for but I know that one of them is a Chubb and I think it might fit this lock.

I still can’t recall why I might keep something locked away up here but I have to say I’m a little excited at the prospect of opening the trunk. I get the keys and confirm that Nadine is still busy cleaning out the other rooms. I figure that if I’m hiding something valuable up here it’s possible I might be hiding it from her too.

I’m quite disappointed when I open the trunk; it’s full of Nadine’s stuff. The top layer is made up of skirts and blouses, similar to the style of clothing she wore when we made love last night. I close the lid of the trunk and lock it. I decide I will ask Nadine whether or not she wants to keep the trunk and its contents or if it’s all just more junk.

As I slip the keys back in my pocket I remember what she said to me: “I keep these clothes and others like them at the back of my wardrobe and when I want servicing I dress in them and put on my slutty makeup.”

If she keeps her slut clothes at the back of her wardrobe what are the ones in trunk for? And why do I have a key?

I decide that she is the only one who can answer these questions and continue cleaning out the last of the junk. Two hours later we are both tired and dusty but we have gathered a considerable amount of superfluous brick-a-brack; enough to hold a garage sale, with the remainder to go down the dump. Guess who gets the job of taking the trash down to the dump?

By the time I get back from the dump Nadine has showered and is sitting at her dressing table drying her hair.

“I’m drying my hair here so you can use the ensuite bathroom honey; so shower up and we can get dinner,” she smiles at me.

When I come out the bathroom half an hour later I am pleasantly surprised to find Nadine is wearing a basque, black stockings, high-heels and a ton of makeup and perfume. We fall onto the bed and any thoughts I had about asking her about padlocked trunks are immediately forgotten.

It’s a few days later and I can’t sleep. I sit in the den sipping single malt scotch whisky playing with the Sony laptop. I find myself opening the ‘folder options’ feature in ‘my documents’. I click the ‘show hidden files’ button and apply the settings and my life suddenly changes.

A hidden folder named ‘MN’ suddenly appears and I open it. Inside are myriads of other folders, including some labelled: pictures, video, contacts, favourites, msn email, to name but a few. I try hard to remember why I might have a laptop that appears to be squeaky clean of any data but has a plethora of hidden files and folders.

I open the ‘pictures’ folder and find a group of subfolders inside; one of which is labelled ‘recent pics’. I open this folder and there she is!

The jpg images inside the folder are all of the woman who keeps coming to me in my dreams; the brunette with the classic bob and subtle dark-red highlights, black eyeliner and mascara, multi-hued eyeshadow, rouged cheeks and lipsticked lips. She is wearing the same mauve satin blouse, navy-blue skirt, black high-heel pumps and taupe stockings with black seams, as the woman of my dreams.

She has struck various provocative poses, including some pictures where she is air-kissing the camera and a few where she has raised the hem of her skirt up her thighs revealing her stocking tops. Then I get a real shock. I open another subfolder labelled ‘XXX’ and this time the woman is in various stages of undress; everything from lifting her skirt up to show off her pretty pink panties, to a couple of pictures where she is clad only in bra, panties, suspender belt, stockings and heels. But what is most astonishing is the woman is sporting a large erection. She is a he!

I close the windows but I have to admit I’m intrigued. The woman is a transvestite. The woman of my dreams is a transvestite?

I open the ‘favourites’ folder prepared to be shocked but I find only a couple of Internet links. Whoever owns the data on this laptop seems to be very generous when it comes to storing images but frugal when it comes to storing data and links.

I click on a link labelled ‘TVChix’ and Internet explorer takes me to a web page titled: ‘Michele_Nylons Adventurous Transvestite’. I check out the profile but I’m confused. It describes a person in their early forties who likes to crossdress and meet other transvestites and what are described as ‘admirers’ for casual sexual encounters. Accompanying the profile are numerous pictures similar to the ones I found in the ‘pictures folder’ of the laptop.

I notice a link to an email address: michelenylons@msn.com and copy the link. I’m going to get to the bottom of this! Why is this Michele Nylons person the subject of my dreams? Why did I dream of him or her in my coma and why are the dreams recurring now that I have mostly recovered from my coma?

I close down the browser and open the file labelled ‘msn email’. I find a single link that takes me to a hotmail account. The password is obviously saved to this computer as I’m logged in straight away and I furiously click on the ‘New Email’ button. I want to find out who this Michele Nylons person is and why I have so many pictures of her (I can’t help but think of the person as a her even though she is a transvestite), links to her web site, and why I keep dreaming of her. I compose an email pasting her email address link into the address bar.

‘Dear Michele Nylons, my name is Mike and I have recently recovered from an accident resulting in me being comatose for a considerable time. I now find that I have pictures of you and some personal information about you that I find a little disturbing. If you are a friend of mine and I have forgotten about you because of my memory disorder which the doctors call transient lacunar amnesia, which means I don’t remember some things from before my accident, please let me know how we know each other and explain why we are friends.’

It is with some trepidation that I compose this email. I might find out some things from my past that are best forgotten. Am I one of these ‘admirer’ type people? Am I attracted to transgendered males? What the fuck is going on? I hit the send button and a take a large gulp of scotch.

Within seconds I see an alert telling me that I have new email and the inbox opens automatically. The message reads: Dear Michele Nylons, my name is Mike and I recently recovered from an accident ……………’

The email has arrived at its destination; the same place from which it was sent! This inbox belongs to Michele Nylons. I take a closer look at the inbox. Michele Nylons has thirty-seven unread emails.

My consciousness fades and I think I’m going to faint, then I am stunned into coherence as I begin to realise what is happening. I open the ‘pictures’ folder again and closely study the stunning mature transvestite featured in the images. I am shocked! I am she and she is me! A silly impulse makes me think of the Beatles song ‘I Am the Walrus’ and I burst into uncontrollable laughter.

I stop laughing as the gravity of the situation occurs to me. Suddenly I join the dots. The woman in the mirror, the woman in my dreams, the secret laptop with the hidden files, the pictures, the secret hotmail account, the trunk in the attic, it begins to make sense…The trunk in the attic!!!

I drain the last finger of scotch and race up to the attic.

I unlock the trunk rummage around; under layers of skirts, blouses and lingerie I find a number of pairs of high-heels. I hold up a pair of cherry-red, platform soled, high-heel pumps. They are size ten. I don’t know too much about women’s shoe sizes but I doubt that Nadine is a size ten! I kick off my slippers and my feet slide effortlessly into the high-heels. They fit perfectly and I stand up in them and am surprised I have no problem keeping my balance. I take a few tentative steps, unconsciously I adopt a womanly gait, placing one foot in front of the other as I stride like a catwalk model across the attic floor.

My mind fills with vague memories of sleek stockinged legs and feet shod in expensive high-heels gliding along the floor. Long legs, well-formed calves and thighs; my legs!

I look down at the ridiculous sight of my feet shod in the cherry-red pumps with my legs clad in my cotton pyjama pants. Then I hear footsteps on the attic ladder.

“Mike? Mike? What the fuck is going on up here its three in the morning?” she calls.

I come out of my reverie and quickly kick off the high heels, jam them into the trunk, throw the clothes on top and slam it shut.

“Sorry hun I couldn’t sleep,” I reply as Nadine's head pops up over the trap door.

“So you decided to parade around the attic like an elephant on steroids? It was so loud! What the fuck were you doing?” she frowns.

‘Trying on some high-heels that I have just found out I like to wear!’ I think to myself but of course I answer differently.

I look around the attic and quickly spy my ski boots sitting in the corner next to some bindings and skis.

“Er… I tried on my ski boots; I’m thinking the ski season isn’t that far away,” I stammer.

Her face breaks into a huge grin.

“You silly boy! That coma really fucked you around Mike. You haven’t skied for years!” she laughs.

“Now come back to bed and maybe I can help you sleep,” the smiles seductively at me.

True to her word when I come back to bed she’s lying on the covers dressed in the same basque, stockings and high-heels that she wore the last time we made love. She’s put on a little makeup and perfume and combed her hair.

I kneel at the foot of the bed naked, my erection proud and rampant. I slip out my tongue and lick her slim stockinged ankles, taking her feet in my hands I massage her calves and she sighs. I slide my tongue along her legs and I spend a few minutes teasing the fine wrinkles in her stockings at the backs of knees. She shudders and her fingers twist my scalp.

“You know how to get me going Michael Nyland,” she groans.

I continue the journey up my wife’s elegant legs stopping at the tops of her stockings to explore the dark welts and the smooth creamy skin of her thighs. She guides my head to her crotch and I lick her mound through her black satin panties. They are moist and pungent with her juices.

“Stop that! You know what I want!” she pulls aside the gusset of her panties and forces my face into her sex.

My tongue explores her labia and the finds her hooded clitoris. It is erect and as soon as I lick it Nadine pushes my face into her groin and writhes against me.

“OOOOhhhhhh!!!!!” she moans.

I lick her clitoris with long slow strokes and gradually increase the speed; my wet tongue lapping her sex and I taste her sweet secretions. Her heels are drumming on the bed and I know she is close to climax. I frantically suckle her sopping vagina ensuring my tongue lashes her clitty. I grasp her hips and force my face into her sex as I lap, suck, lick and caress her.

“OOOOOOOhhhhhhh Fuuuuuuuck!!!” Nadine entwines her fingers tightly in my scalp and holds me against her as she orgasms.

I lick and suck her to climax and then ease off as she begins to come down. I know her clitoris gets really sensitive after she comes. I lick it a few times and then I feel her pulling my hair. She pulls my face up to hers; she’s sweating a little and her mascara is smeared. It makes her look even sexier. She kisses me; exploring my tongue with hers. She opens her legs for me and I slide between them; her stockings feel exquisite on my bare flesh.

“Put it in me Mike! Fuck me!” she moans and reaches down and places my penis at the entrance to her hot wet vagina.

She lifts her legs and wraps them around my flanks and pulls me to her. My rampant penis slides inside her hot, buttery hole and I hump away as she kisses me and rakes my flanks with her high-heels, goading me on like a rider on a horse.

I slam my turgid member in and out of my wife for about thirty seconds before I feel my orgasm approaching. Nadine is coming again too and she pants her sweet breath in my ear whispering obscenities and drums her heels on my back to encourage me. I empty my seed deep inside her, grinding the base of my penis against her pubis so that I am stimulating her clitoris.

We remain wrapped in each other’s arms kissing and stroking each other. Then Nadine reaches around my body and pulls off her high-heels.

“I’ll leave the rest on; I’m too tired to change and we both have work in the morning,” she whispers.

“Don’t get any ideas big boy, I know you love me dressed this way but I need my sleep,” she smiles and nuzzles my ear and squeezes my deflating penis.

We both get comfortable; she’s lying in my arms and my penis is pressing against her stockinged thigh as we both drift off to sleep. I am confused. All through our intense love making, magnificent as it was, I imagined that I was in Nadine's circumstances. That it was me dressed in basque, stockings, heels and makeup and being made love to.

What is happening to me?

To be continued……………………

The Awakening
By
Michele Nylons

Part Two – Resurrection

Up in the attic I turn on the standard lamp, unlock the Chubb lock and open the trunk. Nadine is out for a few hours so I can take my time and fully investigate the contents of the trunk.

There are layers of skirts; blouses and lingerie all neatly folded. I take one of blouses out of the trunk and try it on. I’m not really surprised to find it is a perfect fit. I fumble with the buttons because they are on the opposite side to the buttons on my men’s shirts. Similarly when I try on a navy-blue skirt it also fits me. Vague memories return to me of wearing the garments but nothing tangible.

I have already tried on the cherry-red, platform-soled, high-heel pumps so I know they fit. There are other pairs of women’s shoes in the trunk all size ten. They range from strappy sandals to high-heeled pumps. I put them aside and study the lingerie; panties, bras, slips, suspender belts, stockings, pantyhose; all manner of underwear in various colours and styles. They are intriguing but I don’t waste time trying them on; it’s pretty obvious they will fit.

I’m getting towards the bottom of the trunk now. I find a hard plastic case, which I open and am shocked to find a pair of lifelike latex breasts. I put that aside and find another small cardboard box. Inside is a cellular phone and charging unit. I turn it on but the battery is very nearly flat so I put it aside for further perusal. I find a large makeup case full of cosmetics and a smaller makeup case with a compact, lipstick, eyeliner, blush, eyeshadow and eyeliner pencil and other cosmetics. A small jewellery case is next; I open it up and find a small collection of silver jewellery similar to that worn by the woman in my dreams. I find two ladies handbags, one black patent leather, the other metallic silver.

Right at the bottom is a small address book, which I place next to the mobile phone. I put everything back except for the phone and the address book and make my way back to the study where I put the phone on charge.

I fire up the Sony notebook and log into Michele Nylons’ hotmail account. Of the thirty-seven unread emails, most appear to be junk so I ditch them. I’m left with about half dozen emails that look legitimate. I open one with the subject: ‘Where Are You Michele?’ It reads:

‘Michele honey,

Where have you been? The girls miss you and I do too; not to mention our bevy of admirers. Please don’t tell me you have given up the scene?

xxx
Vanessa’

The return address is vanessa_satin@Yahoo.com. It’s dated about three months ago.

I’m intrigued and decide to reply to Vanessa to see what information I can glean without giving away too much.

‘Vanessa,

I was unexpectedly called away and was not contactable. Sorry about that but I’m back now. Please provide me with as much information as you can as to what has happened while I was away.

xxx
Michele’

The other emails are of a similar vein; from what I presume they are from other transvestites and those admirer persons. They lament my absence from the crossdressing scene and some are quite vulgar and explicit. I log into Michele’s TVChix page and once again read her profile. I notice she has posted her email address and a cellular phone number in her contact details. What’s the bet it’s the number of the mobile I have charging on my desk?

I flick open the phone and find a few telephone numbers in the contacts file. Vanessa’s number is there (at least I assume she is the same Vanessa who emailed me) but the other names do not ring a bell. I look at the outgoing calls register and see the last call I made was to Vanessa two days before my accident. There are a few text messages as well and they seem to all relate to setting up meetings.

To say I am intrigued would be to put it mildly. I am dumbfounded but very fascinated about what seems to be a very secret and personal part of my life that I cannot recall no matter how hard I try. I peruse the pictures in the MN file and I must say I am captivated by the images of the woman in those pictures. Am I really her? She’s very sexy; if you look closely you can tell she is a transvestite but she is stunning all the same. I find that I am becoming aroused.

That evening I get a reply from Vanessa: ‘Let’s meet at the Early Bird Coffee Shop at 6 pm tonite’.

I feel the trepidation but I am excited as well. I have no idea what this Vanessa person looks like. Will she come dressed as a woman or a man? That’s my first thought. I debate for hours as to whether or not I should meet this person but in the end my curiosity overcomes my anxiety. I make up an excuse for Nadine and drive downtown to the coffee shop.

I sit nursing a skinny latte looking around the place but there is no one there I recognise. At 6:15 a handsome man in his forties sits down opposite me. He is lean, tanned and his hair is rather long but very well styled. He is carrying a diet soda and I notice he has long elegant fingers with rather long but spotlessly clean fingernails.

“Ok Michele there is obviously something very wrong with you,” he says without any preamble.

“You didn’t give me the all clear signal and you seem not to have a clue who I am,” he sips his drink and raises his brows waiting for my reply.

“All clear?” I ask.

“When we are meeting in drab; rubbing a hand through our hair indicates we are free and clear to meet and won’t be embarrassed if someone not in our scene is in the vicinity,” he explains.

“There is something seriously wrong with you isn’t there?”

I didn’t really know where to start so I told him everything that had happened to me, starting with the dreams I had while I was in the coma; concluding with me sitting here across from a total stranger who seems to know more about me than I know about myself.

“Amazing!” he looks extremely puzzled.

“I suppose I should introduce myself; I’m Vanessa. I know it sounds strange me having a woman’s name but that’s how we work,” he begins.

“We?” I ask.

“We are a group of what are known as ‘closet’ transvestites. That is we regularly meet in secret and only our friends and select people are invited.”

“We only know each other by our femme names; we are discreet and anonymous. We stay in contact by email or cell phone and we seldom meet in drab,” he concludes.

“Sort of like AA?” I joke, but it is not well received.

“Drab?” I ask.

“Yes dressed as men. It’s really only you and I that get together like this occasionally to discuss club business,” Vanessa took another sip of her soda.

Why am I thinking of him as a her? This is all very confusing!

“Look I can see that you are very confused and I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose all of your memories like that,” Vanessa went on.

“But in some ways I envy you. You will get to experience the delight of crossdressing for the first time all over again.”

“That is if you want to?” Vanessa raises her eyebrows again.

I frown, unsure of what I really want.

“Those dreams; you are the woman in those dreams. Your experiences with your wife? Why do you think you can’t get it up unless she dresses that way? Why do you envy her being dressed that way and imagine that it is you dressed in sexy lingerie and being submissive?” her gaze is intense.

“Look we can’t really discuss this here. We usually meet at the Southside Inn every couple of weeks. I think you and I should meet there alone and we can see if you still have urge; see if you still want to be part of the scene,” Vanessa finishes her coke and stands up, obviously about to leave.

“I’ll email you the details. You can make up your mind if you want to meet me when I it set up. I hope you come Michele; you used to love being in our select little club; you and I were the founding members and the leaders of the group so to speak.”

“I miss you,” Vanessa says and turns and walks away.

So I sweat over the next couple of days. I am tempted to open the trunk again and maybe try on some of the clothes; try to put on some makeup but I just can’t imagine doing it. Then the email from Vanessa arrives. It is very specific. It goes into great detail as to what items I should bring to the meet, how to the meet and concludes with ‘turn on your cell phone at 7:00 pm Friday, wait outside the Southside Inn’. Sure enough, there I am at 7:00 pm Friday, parked outside of the hotel with a small suitcase packed as directed by Vanessa.

The cellular phone sat on the dash and buzzes at exactly 7:00 pm. The message reads: ‘room 213’ and with some trepidation I take the small case and enter the hotel; step into the elevator and press the button for the second floor. I knock on the door to room 213 and it opens a little. I push it open and step inside.

Vanessa looks magnificent. She is wearing a figure hugging red lamē dress with silver sequins. Her hair is a blonde wig piled high with a perfect fringe just above her eyebrows. She wears lots of makeup and it is perfectly applied. Her long legs are clad in shimmering flesh-toned hose, with darker fully-fashioned heels and back-seams. Her shoes are red high-heeled pumps at least four inches high.

Her attention to detail is rigorous; even her elegant fingernails are painted with cherry-red nailpolish and gold bangles grace her wrists. A matching pendant hangs around her neck on a gold chain, gold drop-earring dangle from her ears and gold rings adorn her fingers. She looks sophisticated and sexy; I feel myself becoming aroused.

She looks nothing like the man I met at the Early Bird Coffee Shop. She is stunning. I stand there staring at her in awe.

“Sit,” Vanessa points to the bed and I obey.

I drop my small suitcase and watch the beautiful transvestite pour us both a glass of red wine.

“Here,” she hands me a glass and I sip it.

“You like what you see I take it,” she smiles at me.

I nod, not really able to speak.

“Good, now take a shower and call me when you’re finished,” she says.

I do as I’m told still full of trepidation. I come out of the bathroom dressed only in a bath towel. Vanessa removes it and smiles at my erect penis. I can’t stop staring at her. She reaches out and glides a finger slowly along my shaft; I nearly climax; it feels so sensual. Vanessa smiles.

“The same old Michele is still in there. Now just let me do what I need to do. Just sit down and relax,” she smiles again.

I glance at the queen size bed and notice that Vanessa has laid out the things she told me to bring. The satin, lace and nylon look quite mystical and inviting in the darkened room.

I notice she had laid out a set of hair trimmers, a razor, shaving cream, nail clippers and depilatory cream on the dressing table. I sit down and sip my wine and let her do what needs to be done. I instinctively trust her. Her perfume smells wonderful as she fusses around me, clipping my pubic hair, shaving my torso and my face, shaping my eyebrows, shaving my legs, arms, and the backs of my hands. She starts with the electric trimmer and progresses to the razor, frequently changing the blade.

Vanessa fusses and tuts, taking a sip of wine occasionally; I’m not really hirsute but it still takes her the best part of an hour to rid my of my body of what little body hair I have and to shave away my pubic hair.

“Jesus Michele how could you let yourself get so hairy?” she asks.

“And how could Nadine stand it?” she takes a little sip of wine.

“You know about Nadine?” I ask.

“I know you told me that she loves that you keep your body shaved.”

“We keep our private lives to ourselves but pillow talk extends to our sex lives, so yes you’ve told me about your relationship with Nadine, just as you did at the coffee shop yesterday and I have told you about my wife Jeanette,” she answers.

“You know my male name is Jim and I know yours is Mike, but that’s about as much as we know, or want to know about each other’s personal lives. It’s one of our rules,” Vanessa explains.

“Rules?” I ask.

She just smiles and points at the mirror.

“Take one last look at Mike for a little while; the next time you look in the mirror you will see Michele,” she grins.

She pours me another glass of wine and then she gets busy. She applies a thick coat of foundation to my face and neck and sets it with a liberal dusting of matching face powder. She then goes to work on my eyes. She brushes mauve eyeshadow onto my eyelids working from the inner corner of each eye to the centre above my pupils. She works the powder upwards right up to my eyebrows and then applies a coat of light blue out to the far corners of my eyes, lightening the makeup as she works it up to my brows, blending the two shades.

She reaches for some pink eyeshadow and applies it liberally around the edges of the two other coats of eyeshadow; blending the eyeshadow with a small brush, making final adjustments with her fingertips. I stare at myself in the mirror as my face is slowly transformed.

"Please half-close your eyes for me; here comes the hard bit; the eyeliner." Vanessa says, concentrating on her task.

Vanessa carefully delineates jet-black eyeliner as close as possible to the lash line of my upper and lower eyelids . She starts in the very corner of each eye and works outwards applying three coats and touching up where necessary so that my eyes are framed by the black makeup.

"Open your eyes; lift your head up but look down at my tummy and keep still for me Michele; I'm going to do your mascara next," Vanessa explains.

She brushes thick black mascara onto my upper and lower eyelashes; fiddling a little as she works. She explains that because my eyelashes are very fine she has to apply plenty of the product to get a good effect. Then she brushes blusher to my cheeks, feathering it along my cheek-line and smoothing it up so that it almost merges with my eyeshadow. Finally she dusts my whole face and neck with a coating of sheer-glow finishing powder, being careful not to smudge my mascara and eyeliner. My face is already starting to look feminine.

"Ok Michele I want you to play particular attention to how I apply your lipstick; it’s a two-coat product and you need to get the first coat right because its very difficult to remove," she lectures.

She opens a long slim box containing two thin tubes and unscrews the first tube to reveal an applicator coated with plum coloured liquid lipstick. Vanessa paints my lips with the colour coat, carefully outlining my lip-line and then colouring in my lips applying it evenly. She has me bite down on a tissue to set the lippy and remove any excess.

Then she opens the other tube, the transparent topcoat, she waits a minute and then applies it liberally to my lips.

"Perfect," she whispers more to herself than to me, "now leave your lips parted for a second until it’s dry ok?"

I nod.

“Ok now lift your head while I fit your wig,” she says.

Vanessa specifically told me to bring the classic bob brunette with the subtle dark-red highlights and she brushes it out while I sit and let my makeup set. She places the wig on my head and fiddles and adjusts it until it is sitting perfect with the bangs straight. She brushes it some more and then she stands back to admire her work.

"Welcome back Michele!’ she says and spins to me around so that I am facing the mirror.

The transformation is astounding! I’m looking at the woman from my dreams! I reach out and lightly touch my reflection.

“It’s really me, I can’t believe it” I sigh.

“Ok let's get you dressed then," Vanessa said.

"Have a quick drink before we start," she said and we both take a gulp of wine.

I feel very nervous but also excited. I can smell and taste my makeup and it feels a little familiar now.

I stand before Vanessa as she clips a black satin and lace suspender belt around my waist. The silver clips tickle my thighs; they are cold against my skin.

“Sit!” she points at the bed, her red fingernail glistens.

I gasp and sigh with delight as Vanessa slides the sensuous nylon stockings up my legs and fastens the welts to the garters. She straightens the black seams of the sheer taupe nylons and smooths out the creases with her fingertips being careful not to snag them. My penis is becoming tumescent; the decadent feel of the stockings on my recently shaved legs, the taste of my makeup, the scent of Vanessa’s perfume; its all very arousing.

Vanessa smiles wickedly and tucks my semi-tumescent penis under my crotch and pulls a pair of white satin, boy-leg panties up my legs. The satin whispers against my sheer nylons; the feel is ecstatic! She smooths the panties around my buttocks and I shiver and moan.

“It feels so nice doesn’t it?” she whispers, stroking my stocking-clad legs.

“Yes it does. Did I really dress like this very often?” I ask incredulously.

How could I forget something that feels so decadent and sumptuous?

“You are so lucky to be experiencing this for the first time,” she smiles at me and slides my feet into a pair of black high-heeled pumps.

“Stand!” she commands and I obey.

She straps a white satin and lace brassiere around my torso and stuffs the latex breastforms into the cups. They feel strange but not uncomfortable.

“We sometimes use cosmetic tape or glue to hold our breastforms in place but we don’t have time for that tonight,” she tuts.

She’s in a hurry now and quickly buttons me into a mauve satin blouse and has me step into the navy-blue skirt. The hem of the skirt feels very sexy rubbing against my legs. She has me stand in front of the mirror once more and all vestiges of my male persona are gone. I am not Mike; I am the woman of my dreams. She clips silver drop earrings to my ears, fastens a matching pendant around my neck, slides rings on my fingers and fastens bangles and bracelets to my wrists.

“The final touch,” she whispers in my ear and then sprays a liberal amount of ‘Poison’ on my décolletage and cheekily sprays some under my skirt.

I feel so wonderful; feminine and sexy! The transformation is amazing. I don’t feel like Michael; I feel like Michele! I stare at myself in the mirror for a few seconds and then Vanessa spins me around and takes me in her arms.

She kisses me softly and I respond immediately.

The sweet taste of her mouth, the taste of our lipstick as our lips crush, the scent of our perfume, the soft embrace of our bodies. I am becoming tumescent; the soft satin material of my panties caresses the sensitive flesh of my penis. I begin to understand what Vanessa was implying when she told me she envied me the experience of dressing like this for the first time.

Our kisses become more frenzied and Vanessa pulls my body close to hers; my skirt and blouse rustle against her lamē dress, the feel of the soft fabric against my skin is electrifying. Her tongue slides into my mouth and I gasp as her fingers slide up my legs; the soft caress of her fingers on my sheer nylon-clad thigh is delightfully thrilling.

I respond and lift the hem of her skirt and stroke her thighs. She pulls me closer and out tongues entwine. I don’t feel like I am kissing a man; I’m kissing Vanessa. I also don’t feel anything like Michael anymore; I am Michele, brazen transvestite!

We fall onto the bed, she on top of me. She kisses me passionately while her hands explore my body. Eventually her hand slides up my thigh, across the welts of my stockings, and then across the band of pale tender flesh until her fingers rest on my panty-clad member.

“MMMMmmmm,” I groan as she squeezes it.

Vanessa breaks our kiss briefly and smiles at me.

“I knew you would like it,” she sighs and her face falls back to mine.

I reciprocate and slide my hand under her dress and find her manhood sheathed in sheer nylon panties. I trace the outline of her erection with my fingernail and she gasps in my mouth.

“You might have lost your memory but you haven’t lost your touch,” she gasps and pushes her crotch into my hand, encouraging me to stroke her.

She squeezes me and I take hold of her shaft and caress it; I stroke it through the gauzy nylon and feel it pulse and quiver in my fingers. Vanessa begins to masturbate me through my satin panties and the feeling is sublime. I feel feminine yet assertive as we mutually masturbate each other, slowly stoking each other through the silken fabric of our panties as we kiss and fondle each other. My other hand explores her stocking-clad thighs and she explores mine.

The pleasure I received from caressing my wife dressed in her sexy lingerie is but a pittance to the pleasure I am receiving from caressing Vanessa and being caressed by her in return. We are both gasping and groaning as the tempo of our foreplay builds. In the back of my mind I wonder where we go next; but I’m too engrossed in the pleasure I am experiencing right now to worry too much about that.

Then Vanessa abruptly breaks our kiss. She’s lying on top of me, looking down on me; her hands on my shoulders her legs between mine. She is staring me straight in the eyes.

“You are beautiful,” she sighs.

“As are you,” I whisper.

Her face falls to my stomach and she kisses me there, then she proceeds to work her way down my skirt kissing me until her lips find the hem. She is kneeling between my legs; I am prone on the bed. Her lips find my knees and she kisses them. I shudder.

She works her way up my thighs; softly kissing my stocking-clad flesh; her fingers stroke my calves, then the backs of my knees and then they too caress my thighs. She rucks up my skirt and I lift my head to see her face hovering above my groin. She lowers her face and I feel her soft lips nuzzle my cock through my silky satin panties.

“Oh God!” I groan as she kisses my shaft and tickles the glans of my penis with her tongue.

She takes my penis into her mouth and I think I will die with pleasure. She suckles it briefly through the satin panty material and then she uses her fingers to free my member from my panties.

Unencumbered by my underwear, she takes my naked flesh into her hot wet mouth.

“OOOOooohhhhh Vanessa!” I gasp.

I place my hands on her head and she slowly begins to fellate me.

Her tongue finds my fraenulum and teases it as her lips lock around the base of my penis. Then, as she lashes my glans with her tongue she moves her lips up and down my shaft. Her fingers continue to caress my silken-clad thighs and I lie back in utter bliss as my hands guide her head up and down my shaft. She relocates a hand to my groin and hefts my scrotum through my panties and gently squeezes it while her mouth continues to suckle my erect penis. I’m close to coming.

The sensation of being fellated by this seductive transvestite, whilst clad in satin, lace and nylon and wearing makeup, perfume, and high-heels is an experience I cannot describe. It is pleasurable beyond belief. As my climax approaches I close my eyes and the woman of my dreams; the woman in the mirror is there to greet me. She is smiling.

“OOOOoooohhhhhh!” I moan and writhe upon the bed.

I grasp Vanessa’s head and push it into my groin as I ejaculate. She sucks and slathers my member as my issue is unloaded into her warm moist mouth. Her tongue flickers over my throbbing glans while her lips suck my pulsing shaft as she milks my spend from me; her fingers gently caress my scrotum to encourage the last of my semen from my scrotal sac.

My feet drum on the bed, my high-heels clatter and my body twists and writhes with passion as the orgasm rages through my body. The sensation of the soft sensual lingerie on my tender skin, the feel of skirt, blouse, hose and heels; the taste and smell of makeup and perfume intensify my climax a hundredfold. I push Vanessa’s sweet face into my groin as the last of my issue dribbles from the eye of my cock. She kisses my slowly deflating penis and then my tender thighs. She slides my lipstick-stained penis back inside my panties and pulls down and straightens my skirt.

She smiles up at me from on her knees. She closes my legs and arises and then falls on top of me. She kisses me and I pull her close.

“Nice?” she smiles down at me and nod my assent.

“Now it’s your turn,” her smile turns into a grin.

I can feel her erection through the layers of lingerie, skirt and dress. It feels long, hard and thick. I imagine heat radiating from the tumescent organ although it is only my imagination. I reach down and feel it through the layers of silk, satin and nylon. It throbs in my hand and Vanessa smiles and pulls my face to hers.

Our legs intertwine and our stockings rasp as they come into contact. The feel of the gossamer garments brushing one and other is magnificently titillating. Vanessa pulls me close and rolls over so I am on top of her. I kiss her and push my groin into hers; I feel her hard cock pressing against me. She lifts her groin to rub it on my body and I smile. Now I am in control!

I lift up her dress and bunch it around her waist; my skirt has already ridden up. I lower my body to hers and our panty-clad members touch; hers fully erect, mine flaccid but still sensitive. I slide my stocking-clad legs along hers and I grind my pubis into hers. She sucks on my tongue and hisses as she feels of our satin-clad flesh rub together and our nyloned legs entwine.

I want to feel and taste her in my mouth but the feel of our lingerie-clad bodies rubbing against one and other is exquisite and I don’t want to stop. Neither does she apparently.

“Oh Michele; you are so beautiful! Mmmmmm I love what you are doing to me! Please don’t stop!” she begs.

We caress, fondle and grope each other for what seems like an eternity. My hand finds her member and it is long, thick, hot and heavy. Her cock is so large that the head is poking above the waistband of her panties. I stroke the satin-sheathed shaft before my fingers explore the pulsing purple head; the eye sticky with pre-seminal fluid.

To my memory this is the first time I have touched a penis other than my own; although obviously this is not the case. Before my accident I apparently did this on a regular basis and I can now well understand why. I feel so feminine and sexy.

I can wait no more, and to Vanessa’s dismay I break off our embrace and begin my journey down her body; kissing and caressing her until I arrive at her feet. I kiss her ankles, enjoying the sensation and taste of her stocking-clad legs. I slide off her high-heel and take her foot into mouth, suckling the nylon-sheathed toes. She gasps as I taste her perfume and a scintilla of sweat. I run my tongue under her foot and she wriggles and writhes as I trace her calves up to her knees, where I explore the small wrinkles in her stockings at the back of her knees.

“Oh you hussy!” she moans.

I continue my journey with my tongue and lick her taunt thighs to the tops of her stockings. I pause to explore the dark welts of her stockings but am soon on my way again.

I don’t hesitate when I find her hard cock poking out the top of her panties. I engulf it with my mouth; pulling her panties out of the way so that I can get of much of her phallus as possible into my mouth.

Vanessa cries out and drums her heels on the bed.

“Oh you bitch! Suck me you bitch!” she wails and grips my head and pushes me down on her hard cock.

The shaft of her appendage feels firm and silky on my lips whilst the glans feels spongy and malleable. I explore it with my tongue, tickling her fraenulum whilst my lips slide up and down the shank. It takes me a while to get my breathing right as I suck on Vanessa’s hard throbbing cock. I don’t feel in any way homophobic; I’m not a man sucking another man’s cock, I’m a sexy tranny fellating my girlfriend. I’m comfortable with my sexuality and can enjoy this experience without the shame or disgust that I dreaded might be lurking inside my psyche.

Vanessa is enjoying my ministrations.

“Oh yessss Michele; suck me you whore! Suck me and make me come!” she gasps and pushes my face up and down on her cock.

I feel a sense of power even though I am the one doing the sucking. I slow the rhythm and then increase it when I feel like it; I suck and slather Vanessa’s member, teasing her as she writhes and moans on the bed. I can sense that she wants to climax but I hold her back, slowing down the fellatio as I see fit.

“Oh you bitch! Let me come! Make me come Michele!” she begs.

I am keen to taste her load; I have no memory what semen tastes like but I imagine it will be exotic and sensuous judging by how readily Vanessa gobbled down my issue.

I lock my lips around the long thick shaft of Vanessa’s penis and slide my tongue around the corona of her glans and begin to suckle her cock as my head rises and falls in her lap. I increase the tempo and feel her penis begin to pulsate in my mouth. She is ready.

I reach up and take her hands in mine and squeeze her fingers as my cock-sucking reaches crescendo, my lips clamp her shaft and my tongue lashes her glans, bringing her to climax.

“Ohhhh you sexy bitch!” she groans, and rips her fingers from mine and pushes my face down onto her pulsing flesh.

My mouth fills with warm musky viscous fluid. Vanessa is coming in my mouth. I suck and lick her quivering pole, encouraging her to empty her seed into my willing mouth. I swallow some of her load to make room for the seemingly endless flood of semen that is erupting from her cock.

“Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!” she moans as her body writhes and quivers on the bed.

I greedily suck the precious elixir from Vanessa’s pulsing erection. I carefully glean the last few droplets of the precious fluid from the eye of her cock as my lips suckle her slowly deflating member. I become aware that I have sprouted another erection and it is tenting my skirt and panties.

Vanessa lovingly eases my face from her groin and coaxes me up her body so that once again I am lying on top of my lover; our legs entwine. She kisses me passionately for a long slow beat and I can taste semen on her breath, as I’m sure she can on mine. We kiss and fondle each other lovingly for a while and then we break for drink of wine.

She clinks her glass against mine.

“How was it honey? Your first transbian sex; or at least the first time that you can remember,” she grins mischievously at me.

“It was un-be-fucking-livable!” I grin back at her and we both begin to giggle.

“You really can’t remember ever doing this before?” she smiles inquisitively.

“God no! I would remember; that was just so amazing! So sensual! So??????? I just don’t have the words to explain how magnificent it was,” I say.

“Well who says we’re finished?” she smiles seductively and reaches for me.

Two hours later we lie in each other’s arms now stripped down to our lingerie but still wearing our high-heels. Our makeup is smudged and our nylons have runners. Our panties are stained with each other’s semen and we are both sated.

“Can we do this again?” I look up into her eyes.

“Oh I’m only just starting you out honey! Next time we will party with some admirers,” she smiles.

I frown. I hadn’t thought of having sex with a man. Vanessa senses my trepidation.

“Don’t worry Michele you are going to love it!” she beams at me.

“If you think tonight was great, just wait until you get fucked for the first time!” she laughs.

To be continued……………………

The Awakening
By
Michele Nylons

Part Three – The Cost of Doing Business

The woman is slim. Mauve satin blouse, navy-blue skirt, black high-heeled pumps. The hem of her skirt teases the backs of her knees. Taupe stockings with black seams. She’s attractive; heavily madeup and her black bob is obviously a wig but of good quality.

She falls to her knees and smiles. A faceless man approaches; his fly is undone and an enormous erection pokes out of his trousers. Her hand snakes out and she caresses the pulsing manhood quivering only inches from her face. As her fingers encircle the phallus I notice her fingernails are painted ruby red. She leans forward and engulfs the proffered organ with her mouth; her lipstick matches her nailpolish.

I wake up with a start; I’m sweating and sporting an erection. The dream is still vivid in my memory and I lie there thinking about it. Is it a dream or a repressed memory?

The woman in my dream is me. I know that. Even though I am a middle-aged man in my early forties named Michael Nyland. The woman in my dreams is named Michele Nylons and she is an attractive, sexy, middle-aged transvestite. And; as I just stated; she is me!

“Mike?”

My restlessness has woken Nadine, my wife.

“MMMMmmm! Is that for me?” her hand slides under the covers and gently squeezes my erect penis.

She is still dressed in sheer crotchless pantyhose and the satin baby-doll pajamas that I coaxed her into wearing to bed so we could make love. She still wears the makeup I need her to wear to fulfil my fantasies and it has smeared and her eyes are panda-like because of her smudged mascara and eyeliner. For some inexplicable reason it makes her look even sexier. The high-heeled sandals she wore during our lovemaking lie discarded on the floor beside the bed.

Nadine was so exhausted after our session that all she could do was kick off her heels and crawl into my arms and fall asleep. We both have work in the morning after all.

I’m surprised that she is not too tired and sore to want any more sex but her hand is coaxing my erection to full tumescence. She rolls over and snuggles up beside me; placing a nylon-clad thigh over my torso, seductively rubbing it on my sensitive skin. Her hand continues to caress my manhood.

“Quickie?” she smiles at me in the dark and then kisses me.

Her breath tastes of red wine, which we drank during our lovemaking, and sleep. Her body reeks of stale sex and perfume. She is still sexy as hell, even with her smudged makeup, stale breath and her bruised and semen-clotted vagina.

I roll her on her back and my tongue slides into her mouth at the same time as my erection slides into her buttery cunt. Her legs instinctively ride up and pantyhosed thighs caress my flanks as I begin to fuck her with long deep strokes.

There is no need for foreplay; her vagina is still soggy with a coagulation of semen and vaginal juices and my hardon is rock-hard from my dream.

“MMMMmmm! Come on; do me Mike! Make me come!” she whispers in my ear and then bites the lobe as an added incentive.

I drive myself deep inside my wife and then begin to jackhammer my cock in and out of her; she responds by rising to meet my thrusts and rubbing her legs on my body, spurring me on. He cunt is wet now; not from our previous lovemaking, but from fresh vaginal juices. She is moaning, her tongue working its magic in my mouth.

We climax together; grinding. Our bodies locked groin to groin, our pubic bones clash with the dull pleasurable pain that only intense sex seems to illicit. Nadine rakes my back with her fingernails while her feet drum on my body coaxing me to empty my seed deep inside her.

I feel her vagina quiver and squeeze my ejaculating penis, as it only does when she is experiencing the most intense of orgasms.

We lie locked together like two dogs tied by the knot until both of us are sated. I feel runnels of semen and cunny juices flooding from Nadine's puffy vagina; they soak into her pantyhose.

Eventually Nadine extricates herself from underneath me. She kicks off her pantyhose and throws them on the floor. She rummages around in the bedclothes and eventually finds her panties; she pulls them up her legs and scrunches then around her ample ass without any pretence of behaving ladylike.

She rolls over and kisses me and as she does she cunny-farts.

She smiles at me in the dark.

“Oops!” she giggles.

“It’s your fault anyway. God my cunt is sore!” she pecks my cheek and turns her back to me, spooning, she pushes her behind into my groin but she is sweetly snoring in seconds.

What Nadine doesn’t know; or need to know; is that when I climaxed I was thinking about the woman in my dream engulfing the erect penis of a stranger. I was thinking that I was that woman.

Don’t get me wrong; I love my wife and I love making love to her. Our sex life has never been so good; well not since I came out of my coma; I don’t really know what it was like before that but Nadine tells me it’s currently the best it’s ever been so I believe her.

The fact that I only get aroused when she wears lingerie, high heels, makeup and perfume, sexy skirts, dresses and blouses, does not inhibit our lovemaking. Nadine has been well aware of my fetish for years now she tells me. She knows my peccadillos and, other than the inconvenience of having to dress and make herself up; it actually works to her advantage.

If she wants sex; voilã, all she has to do is dress accordingly. And she has admitted that since I came out of my coma our lovemaking has increased both in frequency and intensity and that she is more than satisfied. What she doesn’t know is that I own nearly as much sexy lingerie, and as many skirts, blouses, high-heels and as much makeup as she does.

Or that I regularly meet another transvestite by name of Vanessa at the Southside Inn and dress up in said accoutrements and have what we call transbian sex. That’s transvestite-on-transvestite sex for the uninitiated.

And I have to admit that until a few weeks ago I was the uninitiated! Apparently before my accident, about four months ago now, I was quite a regular participant in the underground transvestite scene. Then I had my accident and was in a coma for three months and when I regained consciousness I had lost certain parts of my memory; memories mainly regarding my sexual peccadillos.

I discovered the truth about my crossdressing past and then contacted Vanessa who has been leading me through the magical world of crossdressing and transvestism, which I find fascinating and extremely sexually rewarding. We have met three times now at the Southside Inn but I can tell Vanessa is getting a little impatient with me.

She wants me to experience a transvestite party where I can explore sex with other transvestites and admirers (who I now know are men that - well they admire transvestites) but I’m too scared to move beyond my intense foreplay and fellatio sessions with Vanessa.

She tells me I used to be quite the slut! More than happy to gang-bang away the night with all comers (pardon the pun). But I’m reticent now. I like what I have with Vanessa; it’s sexy, sensual, discreet and mutually enjoyable. And I have to admit I’m scared of the thought of having sex with a man. Very scared!

Sure in my dreams I am more than happy to swallow the load of some faceless admirer but I just can’t bring myself to reconcile to the idea in real life. Wouldn’t that make me a homo? Not that dressing like a girl and sucking my new friend Vanessa’s cock while he is dressed as a girl is in any way homo! Is it?

The easiest way to deal with the situation is to just not to deal with it; to let Vanessa try to cajole me into attending a tranny party whilst still enjoying the fruits of her company. It’s been working for a while now so why disturb the status quo?

These are the thoughts that clatter around my brain as I fall asleep cuddling my wife.

Little do I know that my life as Michele is about to change and that I will have very little control over the circumstances of that change.

The next evening I’m in my study with the Sony notepad open and my ‘Michele mobile’ on charge. I’m hoping for an email or text from Vanessa to organise our next meeting. I open my hotmail account and among the junk emails that my junk mail filter has failed to auto-delete is an email from John@JohnsPCsalesandrepairs.com. I am about to delete it when I figure I better open it.

John was the guy who unlocked my Sony notebook when I discovered it a few weeks ago after coming out of my coma, but I couldn’t remember the password. I remember John carried on a little weird and kept going on about being into ‘the scene’ which I didn’t understand. I now presume he meant the crossdressing and transvestite scene; not to subtly letting me know that he is an admirer. He must have seen some of the hidden files on my notepad, which fills me with a little trepidation but I open the email anyway. It might just be a warranty issue or maybe he put me on his adverting mailing list.

The email reads:

‘Michele,

You must remember me from when I cracked open your laptop for you. I must say I found the contents of the MN folder very interesting, exciting, and very much to my taste.

If you are interested in meeting an avid admirer I would love to meet you.

xxx
John’

Fuck! Now I have this guy pressuring me as well as Vanessa! Well I’m not going to be coaxed into doing something I don’t want to. I draft a reply and send it:

‘John,

I don’t understand what the fuck you are talking about! I don’t know any Michele or know of any hidden MN folder and can’t understand why you would be an ‘avid admirer’ of a salesman who works for a mediocre publishing house!

Mike’

As soon as I’ve sent the reply I realise my mistake. If I don’t know anything about Michele and the MN folder; how come I’m logged into Michele’s msn email account?

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I rant.

“You must be really horny or very angry,” Nadine calls from the other room; the satire in her voice evident.

“Shall I break out my high-heels and stockings or a bottle of scotch?” she chuckles, leaning against the doorjamb of my study.

She’s not long home from work and is wearing a grey business suit, tan hosiery, black high-heels and full makeup. She crosses her ankles knowing she looks sexy as hell.

“Break out the scotch; I’ll take you as you come,” I slam down the lid on my notebook and leap up from behind my desk; my erection is tenting the front of my trousers.

Nadine makes a show of running away from me but she is giggling. She falls on the couch in the lounge room and her skirt rides up exposing her luscious, silken-clad thighs. She makes no attempt to pull her skirt down.

“If you fuck up this suit Mike you’re paying for the dry cleaning! And this will be the third pair of expensive pantyhose you’ve ruined this month!” she whines, but I can tell she wants it as much as I do.

I’m in the office the next day when my world is turned upside down.

I receive another email from John the PC guy but this time it has been delivered to my work account. This is very disturbing! Is this guy some sort of stalker? Only one way to find out!

I look around the office to ensure no one can see my work station and open the email.

‘Michele honey,

Why are you playing so hard to get? I know who you are and what you do, and even who you do it with. See attached files.

xxx
John

PS. It only takes a click of my mouse and the attachments can be sent your wife’s work and home email accounts and also all of your work colleague’s accounts. You do look stunning and quite unrecognisable as Michele but once I tell them that Michele is really Michael under all that makeup and the wig; I’m sure they’ll join the dots. As Dave Edmunds is want to sing: “There are some things you can’t cover up with lipstick and powder”…’

I become very pale and I think I’m going to faint. I begin to tremble and I can’t control my breathing. With extreme trepidation I open the attached folder.

It comes to me as no surprise that the folder contains a number of pictures of Ms Michele Nylons (AKA Michael Nyland in drag) dressed in her whorish best; some of them with her sporting a rather large erection.

You wouldn’t know it was me. That is to say you wouldn’t know it was me unless someone told you it was, and then you would look very hard and determine that indeed it was me!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Before I have time to panic another email arrives from the same address.

‘Michele,

I know you have just opened my previous email (god its good being a computer-nerd sometimes; cloning, phisting and tracking cookies are my stock in trade) so you know what I have on you. I also have your entire email address book from this PC and I have been monitoring the Sony notepad that you use at home.

I know you have been active with Vanessa (another girl I’d like to meet but let’s not digress for the moment) at the Southside Inn and that will suit me just fine.

Be there tonight at 8:00pm, make some excuse to Nadine I don’t care what, but just be there! Be dressed; I don’t want to meet Mike. I now your cell phone number so I’ll call you at eight and you will give me the room number.

Let’s just call this the cost of doing business!

It’s that simple Michele! Don’t fuck this up! Just remember: one click and everyone knows your secret!

Kisses,
John

PS. Can’t wait!!!!!!!!’

Needless to say I spend the rest of the day fretting. I try to contact Vanessa on her mobile phone but it is turned off and I am too scared to email her because I knew John is monitoring my email.

It eventually becomes obvious to me that the only way to deal with this mess is to meet this asshole. The hold he has over me is particularly ironic, as I have only really just started crossdressing. Blackmailing bastard!

I am too worried to work so I make an excuse and go home. Being not long out of a coma has its advantages; if I say I feel sick, them I am immediately allowed as much sick leave as I need. I ruminate on the problem for a long time while watching the minutes and hours slowly tick away. Then it comes to me! Fight fire with fire!

If I set up a camera and microphone in the hotel room I can get the necessary material I need to blackmail him back. In the first instance I will have footage of him meeting a transvestite in a hotel room and secondly I can secretly get video and audio of him admitting that he is blackmailing me. This seems to be the best plan. Lure him into a false sense security and let him think he is in control then turn the tables on him!

It’s only 3:00pm when I enter the internet café and log onto the net. I stay well away from my Michele Nylons msn account and Google John’s PC Sales and Repairs and go to his businesses homepage. It doesn’t take me long to find out that my nemesis is in fact John Steele, the owner and manager of John’s PC Sales and Repairs. A few searches later and I’ve found his Facebook wall. Fuck I love how people are prepared to tell you all about themselves on the Internet.

The irony is not lost on me that John used cyber tools in order to get the information from my computer and my TVChix page that he needed to blackmail me.

I find out that he is forty-four and married with two grown kids. That’s all I need really to blackmail him back; the fact that I will expose him to his family as a transvestite admirer and or to the police as a blackmailer. Satisfied that I have what I need for now I print the information I need and head home, stopping on the way at a computer hardware store (needless to say not John’s) to get the other items I need to make my scheme work.

I fill my small suitcase with the things I will need and head off to the Southside Inn and get a room.

I’ve texted Nadine that I’m working late and then going for drinks with the boys so I will be home late; incongruously the same excuse I have been using to cover my meets with Vanessa. Another thing that bothers me is that John specifically used Nadine’s name in his email; but now I know the name of his wife!

I’ve tried to fill the suitcase with the least revealing and un-sexy items out of my extensive collection but I need to keep in mind that for my counter-blackmail to be effective; it must look like he is meeting me in flagrante delicto. I open the case and arrange clothes, underwear, shoes, makeup and wig, ready for me to wear.

But first I need to make sure the other essential items that I need for tonight are going to function correctly. I open my notepad and insert a small wifi receiver into one of the USB ports and install and open a program that comes with the hardware I have just purchased. I take a small remotely controlled video camera and directional microphone device that is roughly the same shape and size as a tube of lipstick and turn it on. On the screen of my little PC the hotel room comes into sharp focus. I say a few words and note that they are being recorded on the audio monitor and then play back the little sequence.

Perfect! My plan should work! Now where to hide it? I look at my watch and notice that time is running out. After a few minutes of trial and error I have the camera hidden away between a couple of magazines on a corner table. After another couple of minutes remotely adjusting the field of view to take in the whole room I hide the notebook under the bed, ensuring it is still receiving and recording data from the camera.

I shower and change and am ready to receive my unwelcome guest at 7:30pm. I take a half-bottle of Shiraz from the minibar, I hate the way hotels and airlines think they have the right to charge you double the price for inferior drinks, but I pour myself a glass anyway. My lipstick leaves a red imprint of my lips on the glass.

I have selected a charcoal-grey business suit, the most demure of Michele’s ensembles, and a cerise satin blouse. Underneath I’m wearing a red satin and lace bra and matching full-cut panties. I’m wearing taupe, sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose; no need for stockings and suspenders tonight as I won’t be undressing. I’ve chosen patent leather black high-heeled pumps, and I am wearing my usual extravagant amount of makeup. I’ve accessorised myself with jet-black, shoulder-length wig, silver jewellery, and a few perfunctory squirts of Poison, my favourite perfume.

I look attractive rather than seductive. I’m happy with the look; sort of overdone businesswoman; you know the type, the forty-year-old professional who is trying too hard to look young.

I sip my wine and watch the bedside digital clock count down. As it clicks over to 8:00pm exactly, my cell-phone rings. I answer it.

“Room 217,” is all I say.

I quickly pull the notepad computer from under the bed and click ‘record’ on the open program and slide it back into place. I check myself out in the mirror and brush a few stray hairs back in place and touch up my lipstick. As I drain the last of the wine from the bottle into my glass I notice my hand is shaking. I’d probably be sweating too but I’ve cranked up the air conditioning.

There is a single knock on the door and I nearly drop my glass. I take a quick gulp of wine and walk over to the door; I want John to see me holding a glass of wine and looking casual; I want him to think he does not intimidate me.

I look through the peephole. It’s him. The asshole is even wearing his work polo; the company logo and his name embroidered above the breast pocket.

I open the door and he quickly brushes past me into the room. He’s obviously not keen to be seen here; which gives me more confidence in my plan.

I close the door and turn around to face him. We both look each other over. John is looking all of his fort-four years. He’s average height and build with a little potbelly just starting to show. He is not unattractive I suppose; dressed in tan chinos, polo, and suede work shoes. His hair is starting to recede.

He’s taking me in, taking his time to look me up and down. He breaks into a smile.

“Mag fucking nificent!” he grins stupidly.

I’m very much aware that we are being filmed and that I need to trap him as soon as possible so that we can end this charade and I can get my life back on track.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“You Michele. You look magnificent. Even sexier and beautiful than you look in your pictures,” he replies.

Haha! He is falling into my trap.

“What pictures?” I ask.

“What the fuck is this? Twenty questions? Jeopardy? You know what fucking pictures!” he’s getting a little angry.

I take a sip of wine trying to look composed.

“Look; you know why we’re here so stop being so bloody coy!” he growls.

He’s looking at me very intensely now and alarmingly I notice he has a full-blown erection bulging the front of his pants. It’s time to turn this conversation around and get this guy admitting to blackmail so I can bring this farce to a close.

“We’re here because you blackmailed me into being here aren’t we?” I smile sarcastically at him.

I am totally unprepared for what happens next. For a soft looking forty-four year-old John is extremely agile. Before I even realise what is happening he leaps across the room and pounces on me. I’m caught totally unaware as he tackles me and throws me down on the bed. My wineglass goes flying but that is the least of my worries. John is astride me and I am lying prone on the bed with my skirt riding up high on my thighs.

“We’re here because of the pictures I saw of you on your computer and on your webpage. I know you’re active in the tranny scene; you’ve been meeting with Vanessa but you didn’t want to meet with me. Well now we are meeting!” he snarls.

Then he lowers his face to mine and tries to kiss me. I’m struggling and wriggling on the bed but he’s astride me and I have to admit he is stronger than I am. I realise I won’t be able to stop him kissing me without suffering some sort of physical discomfort but I also realise that my camera is filming us and this will support my allegations that he is blackmailing me. It will prove to whomever I need to that this man is a transvestite admirer and a blackmailer.

I stop struggling and let him kiss me. He slides his tongue into my mouth and kisses me passionately. I am forced to admit that it is quite exciting to know that I can get a man worked up like this. As I am no longer struggling he stops holding me down. He slides his legs along the bed so he is lying on top of me; he’s still kissing me while he does this and I have to admit it feels pretty good.

Instinctively I respond; I kiss him back and put my arms around him, pulling him to me. As well as feeling pretty good this will look good on video.

“MMMMmmmm, Michele you feel and smell so wonderful; I’ve wanted to do this for so long honey,” he sighs and kisses me again.

He strokes my face as we continue to kiss and cuddle. I figure I’ll let him make out with me for a while and then drop the bomb and tell him I’ve got it all on video. I can feel his hard cock through his pants and the material of my skirt. It’s like an iron bar and he’s pushing it against my body as we kiss. Again I am impressed that I can so affect a man.

John slides a hand down my body and begins to stroke my legs; his ministrations are quiet sensual and over the panting and groaning and I can hear the rasp of his fingertips on my pantyhose. He strokes my thighs and little sparks of delight run up my legs to my groin; I’m becoming tumescent.

“MMMMmmmm, nice,” I whimper.

I’ll coax him on a little more; it will give me more evidence to blackmail him.

He’s thrusting his body against me harder now and his kisses are becoming more passionate, his fingers are raking my thighs and I can tell he is extremely excited.

He lifts himself off me briefly and I’m a little disappointed that he has stopped kissing me but then I hear the unmistakeable sound of a fly being unzipped and a belt buckle being loosened. I am about to object when John lowers his face back to mine and starts kissing me again; I can feel his cock through my skirt as he humps me. As long he is just dry humping me I’ll let him carry on what he’s doing.

It does feel nice and I feel quite feminine lying under a man who is taking great pleasure from kissing and fondling me. My thighs are tingling from his continued caresses and my own cock is hard inside my pantyhose gusset. As John dry humps me he is unknowingly rubbing my satin panties against the nylon gusset of my pantyhose and the sensations on my penis are unbelievably arousing.

I’m kissing him quite arduously now; my own tongue sliding around his mouth, my arms locked around him pulling him to me as I lift my body to meet his thrusts. I suppose that he is leaving silvery trails of pre-cum on my skirt and the thought adds to my excitement. I decide I will let him come on me and I can come in my panties without him knowing. Then; after he has finished ravishing me, I can counter-blackmail him.

Suddenly his hands stop raking my thighs and I feel them at my skirt. He’s trying to hike it up further and I try to stop him. We struggle against each other, he trying to ruck up my skirt up my waist and me trying to push it down. What is bizarre is that we keep kissing and humping. The room is filled with our moans and sighs.

Eventually he wins out and he succeeds in hiking my skirt up and he immediately pushes his groin against mine so that his hard throbbing penis is rubbing against the front of my panties. It feels so hard and warm against me. Then his erect phallus finds mine and he pushes his naked cock against my panty-clad member and starts to slowly massage our appendages together.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he groans and lowers his face to mine.

It feels so good that I lift my legs up and wrap them around him to pull him closer. The feel of his steel-hard cock rubbing against mine through the layers of panty and nylon is exquisite! I’m close to coming and we are both rutting at each other with vehemence.

“Oh Michele you are so beautiful and this feels so magnificent honey. I knew I would get you to like me if you gave me a chance,” he looks deeply into my eyes as he humps away at me.

I’m both flattered and enraged. I’m flattered that he finds me so sexy and beautiful; and lying here underneath him dressed in lingerie, skirt, blouse, heels and makeup I must admit it feels very feminine and sexy. But I’m enraged that he thinks that a little kissing and cuddling has made me change my mind about him and his coercive ways.

“Well this does feel good honey but it’s a shame you had to blackmail me into me letting you dry-hump me,” I smile up at him and then pull his lips to mine.

His shirt has come loose and free of his pants and I rub my nyloned legs on his flanks, knowing that he will love it as I love it when Nadine and Vanessa do it to me.

Suddenly John breaks the kiss and stops humping me.

“Blackmail you into letting me dry hump you Michele?” he says.

“Nah. I’m not blackmailing you into dry humping me. I’m blackmailing you into letting me fuck you!” he hisses.

John moves quickly again and before I can stop him he slides his cock under the leg opening of my panties and his cock comes into contact with my pantyhose-sheathed appendage. I struggle and try to push him off me but John hangs on and probes at my groin with his hard phallus. I drum my heels on his back and push at his shoulders to try to dismount him.

“Get off me you fuck!” I shriek.

“Bullshit! You like it,” he whispers in my ear as his cock slides sensuously against mine.

“Ok; but you are not going to fuck me buster,” I smile up at him, enjoying the sensations and thinking the threat of being penetrated has passed.

We continue to kiss and fondle each other, John’s hands stroke my pantyhosed legs rubbing them from knee to gusset and back again.

“MMMMmmm, that’s nice,” I moan.

I become worried again when John takes my hand and leads it between our bodies and pushes it inside my panties. It’s obvious what he wants I reluctantly take his hard cock in my hand. It actually feels quite erotic; the velvety flesh of his glans contrasts with the sleek, veiny hardness of his shaft. I rub my thumb over the eye and feel a bead of pre-seminal fluid seep from it. John groans and I slowly squeeze his manhood and begin to stroke it.

It’s not only pleasurable; it’s also empowering, having this man virtually eating from my hand simply by wanking his crank and rubbing my nylon-shrouded legs on his body. Of course the irony is that I respond the same when my wife does the same to me. But feeling it from the feminine perspective is for more intense; it’s even more intense than the transbian sex I’ve been having with Vanessa.

John is no longer stimulating my penis, which is better for me in a way. I can concentrate on pleasuring him and bringing the evening to an end. I’m kissing him arduously, working my legs and body against his now shirt-less torso and slowly masturbating him to climax. I must be doing a good job because he is grunting and writhing on top of me whist fucking my hand and kissing me so hard that our teeth occasionally crack together.

John pushes my hand away from his penis and lowers his groin to mine again; rubbing his hard cock on my semi-erect member. My cock hardens quickly as his erection rubs against my pantyhose-sheathed penis. He seems to be close to climax, he’s panting into my mouth and he impatiently pulls at my panties so they don’t interfere with our cock-on-cock humping.

I lower my legs from his body so he can pull my panties down; which he does quite violently, leaving them dangling from my left ankle as he slides his arms under my knees and lifts my legs up high. He lowers his cock back onto mine and I lock my ankles behind his back as he frantically humps me, frotting away with vigour.

The gusset of my pantyhose is soaked with our pre-seminal fluid and I’m sure it is about to become saturated with our scalding hot semen. I’m close to coming and I’m pretty certain he is too. I squeeze my legs tight and wrap my arms around him in a lover’s embrace in expectation of a mutual orgasm as we fanatically kiss.

Suddenly John adjusts his position slightly and pushes his cock into the crevice of my pantyhose-clad buttocks and begins to push. I know immediately what he is trying to do.

“No!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I scream.

John holds me down with his bodyweight as his hand quickly reaches down and tears a hole in the gusset of my pantyhose and his hard cock quickly snakes inside my pantyhose and pushes against my puckered anal bud. Despite my desperate struggles he manages to spit into his hand and lubricate his shaft, he spits again and rubs his saliva on my virgin sphincter.

“Please don’t!” I sob, but I am defeated.

The head of John’s penis pushes my sphincter open and he enters me. I’m surprised that there is no real pain; his saliva has obviously provided lubrication and allowed for an easy insertion. I feel full; but there is not the sharp pain I was expecting. This goes to the truth that Vanessa told me; that before the coma I was quite partial to being fucked, sometimes three of four times a night apparently. I suppose all that cock up your ass over a period time must loosen up the anus!

John continues his assault until his cock is buried deep inside me. He lies still for a while, while I get used to his girth. I begin to realise that if I concentrate I can relax my anal muscles. Then the feeling of fullness begins to slowly turn to pleasure. The nerves of my sphincter radiate little sparks of delight but the most intense sensations emanate from my prostate gland.

I stop struggling as little waves of gratification radiate from my anus; John feels me cease fighting him and slowly he begins to fuck me. I lift my face to his and kiss him. He releases my legs so I can reposition them around his torso in the missionary position. I know he wants me to rub my nylons on his body and I oblige; I rake his back with my fingernails and spur him on with my high-heels.

“Go ahead John fuck me! Fuck me!” I cry and lift my buttocks to meet his thrusts.

“MMMMmmmm! You sexy whore!” he hisses and then we kiss again, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths.

I can feel John’s glans rub against my prostate and rings of pleasure run up and down my anus; my sphincter responds as his shaft slides in and out emitting its own tingling ripples of pleasure. I am amazed at how erotic and sexually stimulating being fucked like this really is. Despite being forced to participate, I am glad now that I have overcome my trepidation about being fucked. Image how good it’s going to feel when I’m a willing participant?

I feel totally feminine lying underneath John; wantonly giving myself to him; the feel of hose, heels, and skirt, the taste and smell of makeup and perfume, its what I imagine it must be like for Nadine when I am fucking her.

John eases his penis in and out my anus with long slow thrusts as I raise myself up to meet him. Then he begins to quicken the pace, fucking me faster, his groin thwacking against my soft buttocks. I grip him tighter with my arms and legs and push up hard against him to coax all of his length inside me as he fucks me.

"Oh fuck me honey!" I moan and began to push back against him as he slides in and out of my tight passage.

My cock is fully erect in my pantyhose and it is rubbing against John’s belly as he fucks me. The incredible sensations coming from my anus combines with the electrifying pleasure from my nylon-sheathed cock is bringing me close to orgasm.

“Oh Michele I’m coming! I’m coming! I’m going to come in you, you slut!” John screams and jackhammers in and out of my bruised anus.

I rake his body with my nails and heels and slide my pantyhosed legs along his flanks encouraging him to unload his seed. I raise my ass up off the bed and grind against him.

John unloads his semen inside my back passage; his cock pulses and quivers ejecting steams of hot semen. I feel my anus fill with John’s scalding load, triggering my own orgasm.

His cock is fully embedded in my ass, his scrotum tickling my pantyhose-clad buttocks his whole body is quivering. We kiss passionately, our tongues entwine, lips mash, as we slather and paw at each other.

My orgasm wracks me and my penis throbs and expels my issue into my pantyhose. John pushes his belly against mine; he must be feeling my hot load soak through my hose and scalding his belly. He slides a hand between us and milks the last of my seed from my pulsing member.

I slide my nylon-sheathed legs up and down John's torso and pull him harder against my body; my fingernails rake his back and our lips crush together; our tongues intertwine. I drum my heels against John's hard buttocks as the final throes of desire wrack our pleasure-fused bodies.

We kiss and cuddle as John’s penis slowly deflates inside me. He hunches up a little and his cock slides out of my anus and a dribble of semen runs from my sphincter and soaks into my hose. John places his soft cock on mine and rubs it a little.

“MMMMmmm,” he moans.

He lifts his face from mine and looks at me seriously; he tenderly strokes my fringe away from my eyes.

“I’m sorry I forced you,” he says.

“You’re an asshole!” I reply just as seriously.

I see the hurt look on his face.

I can’t help but break into grin.

“But you’re an asshole who knows how to fuck and make a girl feel feminine and sexy,” I smile and kiss him quickly.

“I have to go,” he says apologetically.

“So you’re the kind of guy who fucks a girl and runs?” I giggle.

“There are plenty of other times to come,” he smiles back.

“You wish!” I say sarcastically.

“I still have all that stuff I emailled to you” he smiles back.

“You mean the stuff you blackmailed me with?” I say, setting the trap.

“Yes, the stuff I blackmailed you with,” he smiles.

I’ve got him now. But the whole context has changed. I need to think things through.

John climbs off me and quickly gets dressed. I just lie there watching him, a little amused.

He bends down and kisses me.

“Til next time,” he smiles.

“Yeah. Maybe,” I smile whimsically back up at him.

“No. Til next time!” he says seriously, but then he winks at me and his face breaks into a grin.

I lie on the bed, my skirt still rucked up, my panties around my ankles, my anus dribbling semen from my ripped pantyhose, and my makeup smeared as I contemplate what to do next. I also conjure up memories of the past hour or so, my anus throbbing with a strangely satisfying bruised feeling. My cock begins to harden again.

“What the fuck; I’ve paid for the room! I might as well use it!” I say to the empty hotel suite.

I reach under the bed and pull out the Sony notepad. I cue the video to where John has just entered me and press play. I masturbate myself to orgasm as I watch John fuck me on the small screen.

To Be Continued……………………………

The Awakening Ch. 04
By
Michele Nylons©

Part Four – Michele Returns

The woman is slim. She is wearing a cerise satin blouse, black leather skirt and black high-heeled pumps. Flesh-toned fully-fashioned stockings sheath her long well defined legs. She is wearing a blonde bob, her bangs direct your gaze to heavily madeup eyes, and she's wearing glistening ruby-red lipstick. She is mature but sexy in a sluttish sort of way.

She lowers her face to a semi-tumescent penis and slowly takes it into her mouth. Her long elegant fingers, glistening with silver rings and ruby nailpolish stroke the shaft of the penis until it becomes fully erect in her mouth.

She looks content; she looks aroused. The front of her skirt bulges as her own erection strains the material of her black satin panties and tents the front of her skirt.

Looking around the shadowy room other figures come into view. Four other women, two dressed similar, two dressed only in lingerie and high-heels, are involved in sex acts with naked men. All of the people in the room are at least thirty, some of the women are large but their clothing and makeup camouflage their flaws and they are still attractive, some of the men are a little chubby but the women don't seem to mind.

The room reeks of perfume and sex; and muffled groans, gasps and little cries of delight fill the air.

A thwock, thwock, thwock, sound comes from a dark corner where a man is fucking one of the women who is balancing on her high-heels whilst bent over a chair. The sound is enunciated whenever his groin slaps against her creamy white buttocks; he holds her by the straps on her garter belt and furiously pounds away at her ass.

An orgy is taking place. A transvestite orgy.

Back to the woman in the cerise blouse; her name is Michele Nylons and six months ago you would never have found her participating in such debauched activity. Six months ago she didn't even know she was a transvestite!

The previous week, Michele, or Michael Nyland as she is known in her male circumstance, was still partly amnesiac and could only remember the occasional glimmer of her transvestite lifestyle. She had been in a coma and had emerged with amnesia, her memory had returned, but the not the part of her memory associated with her crossdressing peccadilloes.

These memories had slowly returned helped by another transvestite named Vanessa (it is she who is bent over the chair being fucked vigorously by an admirer) who reintroduced Michele into the world of transvestite sex. Michele was later blackmailed by John Steele, the owner of John's PC Sales and Repairs. He had found incriminating evidence on Michael Nyland's notepad when he repaired it.

He had lured Michele to a hotel room where he had forced himself upon her but she had soon capitulated and began to enjoy the solid fucking she received at his insistence.

Only last week Michael was in the attic rummaging around in the trunk where he kept Michele's accoutrements hidden away from his wife, when he had inadvertently stepped back into the trap door and fell to the floor banging his head.

In an instant, the repressed memories of his life as the undercover transvestite flooded back into his brain. As he sat there rubbing his head, a smile crossed his face as he recalled the absolute pleasure he received when he was dressed as his alter ego Michele Nylons, in the company of his transvestite girlfriends, tending to the needs of randy male admirers and horny crossdressers.

It was that simple! A knock on the head had caused the complete amnesia from which he recovered over the course of several months. The repressed memories of his alter ego, the transvestite Michele Nylons, had been slowly returning with help of Vanessa and the blackmailing of Michele by John Steele. Then a simple knock on the head had restored Michael/Michele's complete memory.

Michele had immediately contacted Vanessa.

"Let's do it again soon!" Michele had exclaimed excitedly into the phone.

"Do what?" Vanessa replied, totally puzzled.

"I'm back honey! Michele's back! The memories of my secret transvestite life have returned and I love them! I want us to have a party to celebrate!"

"God girl! You sound like one cock hungry transvestite!" Vanessa giggled.

"In very short time you've progressed from a reluctant participant in a secret transvestite tryst; to a full on crossdressing slut," she laughed.

"I can't wait! I've been missing out on so much fun for so long! You get on the phone and send out the emails; I'll set up our usual hotel room." Michele was excited; the anticipation almost overpowering.

"Friday. The usual place!" Michele hung up.

And that's how I came to be here now; the feel of silk and satin caressing my body, the stockings encasing my legs, the taste of lipstick and makeup, the smell of my perfume exciting me. It comforts me and makes me feel feminine and downright slutty. I can feel the hem of my skirt caressing my thighs and then a hand slides under the hem and strokes my stocking tops. My cock strains against my satin panties and I slaver at the erection in my mouth.

I lift my lips from the turgid member and look at the purple veins pulsing along the shaft and the engorged crimson glans; my lipstick is smeared on the shaft. I look up lovingly into John's eyes and see the lust; the lust that I have invoked. A feeling of power and sexual energy surges through me. I lower my face and trace the veins in his throbbing cock with the tip of my tongue and I'm delighted when I hear him groan.

When my lips kiss his fraenulum, the special little place at the base of the glans where it joins the shaft, he shudders and pushes my mouth onto his cock.

"God you're a teasing bitch! I love it when you do that!" he gasps.

John is seated on the couch and I'm kneeling along its length; my ass raised high as I suckle my man.

Then I feel someone lift my skirt. I smile to myself as I feel the couch groan under the weight as some stranger positions himself behind me. I wriggle my ass like a whore and am rewarded with a slap on my buttocks. The man spanks me twice and I moan around John's phallus but I don't stop sucking him. The man behind me is massaging the globes of my ass through my satin panties and then I feel him pull the gusset to once side, exposing my puckered sphincter.

I'm expecting a probing finger to explore my tight bud but instead I feel the head of a penis nestle against my anus. I can feel the cold slipperiness of the lubricant coating the head of the member pressing against the entrance to my tight hole.

He seizes my hips and pushes. At first my instinct is to move forward away from the intruding appendage but as soon as it slides past my sphincter I feel nothing but pleasure and instead I push back, encouraging the stranger to drive his phallus into me, right up to the hilt. As his groin rests against my soft buttocks and I feel his erection pulsing inside me I grind my ass back against him.

"Good girl!" the stranger moans and begins to slowly fuck me.

I luxuriate in the feeling as the man behind me slowly thrusts his hard cock in and out of me; the head of his penis finds my prostate gland and I can feel pre-seminal fluid leaking into my panties. My anus is a sponge of delicate nerves emitting wave after wave of pleasure as the man grinds away at me. I find the rhythm and rock back and forth in time with his thrusts.

I open my eyes and glance up at John who is smiling with pleasure; I'm suckling his cock in time with the thrusts of the man invading my anus. I slaver at the member in my mouth as my lips move up and down the shaft.

"Michele always did like a good spit-roasting," the man behind me says.

"She certainly seems to know how to deal with it," John smiles and lowers his hands to my face and guides me up and down his shaft.

Both men are now grunting and the man behind has quickened the pace; his groin slams against my buttocks as he drives his rock-hard penis in and out of my slick, tight ass. The sensation is incredible and I feel my orgasm building. I'm going to come soon; without even touching myself I'm going to come!

John senses the man behind me is building to a climax and he too begins to push his cock in and out of my lips faster and harder. I'm being assaulted from both ends and I love it.

Suddenly the stranger behind me grips my hips and slams his penis deep inside me and grinds against my soft, pliant buttocks. He screams.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm coming inside you, you sexy bitch!" he moans

I grind my ass back against him as rings of pleasure emanate from my prostrate and ripple through my anus; my semi-hard cock discharges into my panties as I feel the man behind me ejaculate deep inside me. John climaxes at the same time and floods my mouth with his hot issue; I swallow and keep sucking, draining him of his seed whilst grinding against the man behind me.

Fifteen minutes later I'm in the bathroom standing beside Vanessa fixing my makeup. I've cleaned my anus, changed my panties, brushed my teeth and rinsed with mouthwash.

"Fancy a drink Michele?" Vanessa smiles at me.

The sounds of the party are quite audible even though the bathroom door is closed. There has to be about eight or so transvestites and at least twice as many men crowded into the hotel suite.

"Oh I think so Vanessa. Then it's time for some more cock!" I reply.

Vanessa grins at me.

"The old Michele is back!" she smiles and playfully slaps my ass as we saunter out of the bathroom together.

The End.