Three Times A Lady


“Er – is this for a man?”

She surprised me. Elaine that is, the woman at ‘Transform’. How the hell had she known? I mean it was really for me but I had to admit there was a man involved. About 35, slightly plump but well built. I didn’t know his name but – yes, this was for him. But how had she known? I’d come into the store an several hours earlier and asked the question nearly every tranny wanted an answer to.

“Elaine. You know, maybe you don’t remember, you said last time I came in for a dressing session. That in the right light and with the right make-up I could look really female? That if I was willing to go all the way, for a really sexy look, you could hide the maleness? Well did you really mean that?”

Elaine had looked me over again once more, carefully. Then she had filled my heart with delight.

“Yes I did. Not quite in full daylight honey but in artificial light or maybe in the evening, you know, if you were willing to go – all the way.”

“All the way?” I asked, not being totally sure what she meant.

“Well we’d have to make sure absolutely everything about you which could be considered male was in some way masked. Ultra-close shave, long feminine wig, you know, make up and jewellery taken to extremes so that you’d look like – well – a bit of a tart, to be honest. So dolled up you couldn’t possibly be male.”

“And you could do that?”

“At a price, yes but it would take time honey. Three or four hours maybe.”

Three or four hours? I’d waited years for the chance, what did that matter?

“OK. Go for it”.

And indeed we’d gone for it. As I waited for the clock to tick round to 8 o’clock my mind went back a week.


….. back to the Friday before, when Marcia had told me she’d had a phone call from an old school friend of hers, Fiona, that Fiona’s husband was supposed to be taking her to Nice for a few days but he’d had a sudden rush on at work and couldn’t make it. And would Marcia like to join her for the trip. All paid for, sorry about the short notice.

‘Would I mind?’ Marcia had asked me.

Mind? The thought of – for several days, on my own, able to – well, you know…… Could I? Of course I fucking could.

“Well it’s a great opportunity, go on, do it, don’t mind me, I can manage for a while on my own.”

I hadn’t had so much time on my own since we’d been married, over ten years earlier. Hadn’t had a chance to – well, you know …….


…. back to the Saturday, Marcia out shopping all morning, quick dash for new clothes, travel stuff and so on.


…. back to the Sunday and Monday and Tuesday, helping Fiona to pack and to make sure she had everything she’d need.


…. back to the Wednesday, leaving work early so I could drive Marcia to the airport, to meeting Fiona again, to watching their plane take off. And planning all I was going to do in the time I had to myself. Dashing home, then a long hot bath and total body hair depilation. Worry about explaining to Marcia later.

After the bath, eagerly anticipating the evening’s fun. Fun? Yes fun but a different sort of fun this time. I was going OUT! I’d headed straight for the bath when I got home to wash away all my male smells. Getting out of the bath I wrapped myself in a thin negligee and then began the process of becoming Bethany. I shaved my face incredibly closely, hot water, new razor etc. Twice. Then I went to the spare bedroom where I had all my ‘Bethany’ items spread out on the bed and hung in the wardrobe.

I tucked my cock and balls between my legs before pulling up my lacy black panties, then pulled on my waist nipper to reduce my waist to just about 24 inch. The padded Wonder-bra gave me a bust many women would be pleased with. At each stage I rather vainly admired myself in the mirror, checking I looked just right. Next came the stockings, black and sheer, so flattering. Then it was time for my make-up. I sat at the dressing table and spent over an hour getting the look right. Just a little bit tarty but classy is how I would describe it. Black eye-liner, mascara, bright red lips are all part of the look. I have two wigs, one blonde, one black, I chose the blonde one, shoulder length and curly. I did my stick-on fake finger nails and my favourite colour of nail polish, a deep cherry red, just the sort of thing a ‘professional’ woman might wear.

Cosmetics completed, I add some jewellery; two gold bracelets, a thin gold anklet, a necklace and ear-rings, of course. I love big hoop dangly ear-rings.

Strange that I always do jewellery before I dress but that’s the way it is. Within minutes I was indeed dressed, in one of my wife’s ‘business’ suits, a deep charcoal colour with an extremely thin white stripe in it. Skirt – short but not too short, and the cream blouse revealing just a little sex hikayeleri of my enhanced boobs. Just a little, when I had the jacket open which I did. A quick spray of perfume and was ready for the evening.

That very first outing, I’d researched it well. The car park was usually deserted in the evenings, in the daytime it served the council offices to the west and, in the school holidays of course, the small area of parkland to the east. But after about 7 o’clock it was empty, nobody there except maybe one or two cars for people dog-walking in the park, even though they weren’t supposed to do that in the public park. To the south, the service road and to the north, well, one of the attractions.

The toilets, there for the park-goers in the summer and for anyone else caught short in the car park. I’d done my research, called in on my way home and a couple of times later in the evenings. I knew exactly what time the old guy came along to lock them, I’d reckoned that at that time of year I could drive there, wander around in the open air unseen for maybe half an hour in the gathering dusk and still be on my way about twenty minutes before he turned up. Just in case he was early.

Ok so I couldn’t really pass as a woman but in the absence of company I could ‘be’ female in that one way, have just one small quantity of vicarious fun.

I could go into the ‘Ladies’.

OK, I know it sounds silly but life’s like that isn’t it? I mean, people spent fortunes on little glass-like lumps of minerals or chasing an inflated sphere of plastic or leather around, why the hell couldn’t I have my own bit of stupid fun, just going into the Ladies’ toilets wearing a skirt?

OK, so I was ready. I peered out of the window, looked up and down the street, nobody about, that’s one of the advantages of suburbs, nobody walks at least not much. A car passed, then it was quiet again. OK, now for it. With speed but not haste I grabbed my bag and my keys, slipped out of the front door and into the car and drove off, along the street, past the shops, nobody gave the car a second glance, and I was out of town heading for the parkland and for ‘my’ car park. True to form when I arrived it was totally empty, everyone at home watching the soaps or the football or whatever, just me, alone, ready for my first, my very first, ‘public’ outing.

OK, not really public. There were a few houses along the path behind the ‘toilets’ side of the car park square, anyone looking out of their upstairs windows would get a good view of whoever was in the car park. But from that distance I was totally certain they wouldn’t be able to tell my true gender. My height was my only problem really but in only 4″ heels I was no taller than many other tall women, I knew I could get away with that. Nobody would be dashing out of their house to run across and taunt a sad ‘tranny’ on her first outing.

I parked, not right up against the building but about forty yards away, I wanted to – well, you know.

And I did. I opened the car door and experienced for the first time the thrill of exposure as I watched my nylon-clad leg step out onto the gravel. My skirt rode up a little – I shivered at the excitement of it all. I stood and reached down for my bag, then slung it over my shoulder and slid my long red-tipped fingers down my skirt to smooth it out. I blipped the car alarm and set off walking, towards the building I could see so far away. The sound of my high heels on the tarmac, the swish of my skirt as I stepped out in short steps, the skirt restricting my movements, the feeling of the slight breeze across my hair, the gorgeous bounce of my false boobs as my feet hit the floor, all these experiences, all the aspects of dressing I’d read about in other TV tales or stories on the Net, I was there, myself, experiencing them all.

I approached the door, the portal to a world I’d never before been able to enter, the ‘Ladies’! I pulled the handle and walked in. OK so it wasn’t all that different from the ‘Gents’, except there was no trough, and more cubicle doors. And in here at least the mirrors above the basins were in better condition, maybe it’s intrinsic to gender, the vandalism that is, OK there was some but overall the facilities were in better condition that in the equivalent establishment next door. I knew. I’d been in there too. But for now, I was a ‘Lady’, entitled to be there, I glimpsed my reflection and smiled internally. I liked what I saw.

I took a few moments to look around, not that I needed to perform in there at all. I’d made sure of that before I’d come out, didn’t want to be caught short in any way like that. I took my lipstick from my bag and leaned over the small basin to freshen up in the mirror, again not that I needed to of course but it felt good. Then I turned, opened the door again and stepped out, heading towards my car.

I’d had a totally awful thought that it might be stolen while I was in there, it did seem awfully vulnerable all alone porno hikayeleri in the car park. But as I emerged into the dusk, all set to walk back proudly and femininely and drive home in a very self satisfied way, I looked. The car wasn’t alone. There was another one. I listened, I heard the engine stop, I saw the car door open and a guy get out and head towards me. Obviously he had done just what I had been determined not to do, he was indeed ‘caught short’ and needed the loo!

I realised afterwards that it would have been so easy to get out of it, simply to turn and go back in, let him reach his own destination, then skip out to my car and drive off. But I just didn’t think of that. I was so set on getting to my own car that it just didn’t occur to me to change direction. Walking towards my own car. And almost directly towards this guy. I couldn’t help it, I was trapped, I had to go through with this.

I tried to concentrate as I walked. It was indeed just beginning to get dark, maybe I could get away with this, maybe he wouldn’t notice. I strolled on, about half-way there we approached each other. Should I speak? English diffidence took over, no I wouldn’t, I’d just walk straight past him. But – he was looking at me. From five yards away, he was looking.


That was all he said. The one work. Not even a ‘good’ in front, though that was understood in his words, he’d cut it short. But I had to reply. Hell, I had to get the voice right.

“Good evening”

The very first two words I’d spoken to anyone ‘as a woman’. And I thought there and then that I had got away with it, I just kept on walking, noticing a brief smile as he walked right past me, giving him a quick smile back as my heart pounded fourteen to the dozen. I’d done it, got away with it, not just walked, swung my boobs, showed off, basically to myself but I’d also indulged in ‘social intercourse’ in some sort of way, OK all I’d done was say ‘good evening’ to a guy but that counted, didn’t it?

I was shivering with excitement a little as I drove back home, I calmed down and sneaked into the house. I had that sorted out, how to park just under the tree beside our drive so that I couldn’t be seen by any neighbours who just happened to be there.

I stripped, changed and spent an hour in front of the TV with a beer, contemplating my very first real ‘outing’ as a woman. I’d loved it. I wanted to do it again and I knew I was going to. The next night, in fact. I couldn’t miss the opportunity. Nearly twenty-four hours later I was dressed – again. Almost the same outfit, different blouse though, same suit again same stockings, same shoes, same anticipation. The same venue, I’d thought, just to do that again would give me such a buzz.

I pulled into the car park at just about the same time, empty again, this really was a good spot for it. I parked in the same place and enjoyed again the thrill of swinging my nylon-covered legs out of the car onto the tarmac. I stood and closed the door and turned towards the small building on the edge of the car park. I stopped. Another car was coming into the car park. Not in itself amazing but – it was the same car as yesterday, I was sure. Yes, same colour, same make, same model, same registration number I thought. The door opened. Same man! He was looking towards me.

In that situation it’s obvious to me now what I should have done. Turn round, get back into the car and drive off. Get out of there quickly. But I didn’t. I’d ‘passed’ as I’d walked past this guy yesterday. I could do it again. OK, he might think it odd that the same woman was there visiting the loo again. It never occurred to me to wonder why the same man was there. I was just thinking ‘I gotta do this again’.

So I did. I slung the chain of my bag over my shoulder, breathed in, and put my best be-stockinged and high-heeled foot forward, strolling as steadily as I could towards this guy and past him towards the toilet building. As I passed him he turned and reached into the car, we didn’t do any sort of conversation this time but we did when I returned after doing my lipstick again. After spending a minute or two inside the toilets I’d come out again and set off to walk past this guy towards my car.

“Evening again” he’d said, smiling once more at he but without a hint of recognition.

I mean he obviously did recognise me as the woman he’d seen the previous day but there was no indication that I’d been ‘read’.

“Hello” I muttered and strode past him to my car, getting in and driving off once again in some sort of disturbed state.

But happy, oh so happy, that I’d done this again. But I did ponder somewhat about the guy, why he was there. Trying to put myself in his shoes, to think why he was there. Maybe he DID go there every single night, a brief stop-over on his way home, not too keen to get back to the wife. Or maybe it was just co-incidence. Or. Just maybe. Maybe he’d liked what he’d seen that first evening and come seks hikayeleri back on the off-chance of having another look. Would I have done that, if I’d seen such a woman in such circumstances? Probably not. But maybe I would have.

That Thursday night I tossed and turned. I was certainly going to ‘dress’ the next night, had to, it was my last chance for a while. But – in what way? I was certainly going out again but where? Somewhere different? Or the same place? And If I chose the same place, did I want that guy to be there again? I decided. Yes I did. And this evening was going to be a little different. I had the excuse, end of the week, people dressed differently at the weekends. That business suit had stood me in good stead for three evenings but this time I could wear something else. Something less formal. More attractive maybe?

Which is how I ended up, that Friday evening, in ‘Transform’ at 5 o’clock, asking Elaine, seeking her opinion and her expertise. And dressing up like I’d never dressed up before. That’s when she asked me.

THE question.

“Er – is this for a man?”

I had to think. I couldn’t deny it. But I didn’t really want to admit it, it was too big a step. Tranny? Yes. Bi-curious? Maybe. But did I actually want to dress for a man? I daren’t admit it.

“Well, in a way.”

That was all I could say really. And I was ready, Elaine had done a good job on me. I stood there ready, beside the door, I took one last look in the mirror, to try to convince myself that this was going to work. Like many trannies I really did think that in the right circumstances I could pass convincingly as a woman. True or not, I did believe that, it was the reason for my question to Elaine, the reason for spending all that money and time in the ‘Transform’ store that afternoon. And now, just before 8 o’clock in the evening on a fine Friday evening in early summer, I knew I was as ready as I was ever going to be.

The business suit was gone, as was the smart cream blouse and the foam pads inside my bra. This time I’d gone for the real thing. It had cost me several hundreds of pounds but it was worth it. Silicone breast forms combined with tight black full-discipline basque to give me a much more desirable feminine figure. A tight slinky white top, with a plunging neckline revealing a deep dark impressive-looking cleavage, tight black mini-skirt, leather with a wide gold belt matching my choice of jewellery, rings and earrings, two bracelets and a necklet. The same wig, I couldn’t really change that, after all I was supposed to be the same woman though dressed up for the weekend, but Elaine had done a great job on my makeup, it was lovely, coal-black mascara to finish off my almond-shaped eyes, deep glossy lipstick to match my extra-long nails.

I really did feel as ‘lovely’ as I had ever done before. Elaine had been right, I was sure. OK I looked a tart but a female tart, at least that was my own opinion. A tranny like me couldn’t have asked for more. I slipped on the black jacket I’d brought with me, picked up the bag containing my ‘drab’ clothes, and stepped out onto the street.

“Good luck” called Elaine. I was going to need it.

I had parked as close to the front door of the shop as possible, so that without running or calling attention to myself I could get to the car and into the driver’s seat. I turned the key and drove off. Starting out from there instead of from home meant that I had further to go to get to my intended destination but that didn’t worry me. Safely cocooned in my car, I drove along the outer ring road round to the motorway and headed south. My heart was still fluttering, but I was having the very best time, looking round at the other cars, hoping nobody would spot anything wrong if they saw me. I was safe in the knowledge that I couldn’t very well be approached while we were all on the move.

As I came off the motorway I checked the time. Just right, a couple more miles, then I pulled into ‘my’ car park and looked round. Yes. He was there! The maroon hatchback was parked in the same spot as on the previous three nights. I drove past and pulled into my own by-now-regular parking bay. I switched off my engine, checked how I looked as well as I could in the pull-down mirror and smiling as I saw my long red talons pushing the dark blonde curls away from my face. Ready!

I opened the door and slid my long stockinged legs out for the last time, appreciating the fact that I was showing a lot more thigh in my tight micro-skirt. I stood and closed the door, slung my bag over my shoulder, and locked up. I turned. The next few minutes was about to be the highlight of my cross-dressing life, walking past HIM.

I set off, yet again appreciating the breeze on my nylon-clad legs but this time there was more. My heels were higher, totally slutty 6″ black patent stilettos, my skirt was shorter and tighter, my tits seemed much bigger and heavier and though I say it myself, very well presented. Aren’t Wonder-bras superb? I strode out in short-ish steps, restricted by the tightness of both my basque and my tiny leather skirt, I was loving it. As I approached THE car, the guy inside got out and stood by the door. I strode on and looked towards him.

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