My interest in dressing developed subliminally throughout my early years of sexual exploration, like an undercurrent or sleeping partner - sometimes dormant other times awake. The darker fetish side had mostly taken a back seat since puberty as I had probed the boundaries my more 'conventional' sexuality, finding great pleasure in the submissive nature of my first female sex partners, perhaps feeding off the echoes of Gaynor in their easy capitulation to my 'kinky urges'. My reading of their tacit admissions, simply a manifestation of their innermost desires to be used.
In the moments when my darker fetish side awoke it grew incrementally, from being fascinated by the simple caress of a chiffon scarf over my skin to systematically plundering my Mum's neglected evening wear and lingerie. Eventually though the TVslut flip side of my slightly Dom nature emerged as a welcome alternative to the 'norm'. So, up until my 16th birthday I was content to make do with what ever was at hand in the musty confines of the large Victorian wardrobe in the spare room; ancient patent court shoes, silky scarves, suspenders, girdles and my favourite - a large sheer scarlet wrap, which after much experimentation I wore like a halter dress. it's hem way above the knee showed off my bare cheeks beautifully. In sultry low light the privacy of my bedroom would afford a discrete stage for me to indulge my dressing kink. A little lipstick, flirting with the mirror, practicing femme walks, provocative dance movements and of course ultimately wanking my stiff little clitty. This fetish soon became a firmly established behaviour and favoured sex activity, a slippery slope, a taboo helter skelter, call it what you may it ticked the 'Forbidden' box my young libido required. Now as a 17 year old my burgeoning TV sexual persona way taking shape and it drove me relentlessly forward to the next tabboo barrier.
In the autumn of their marriage my parents resolved to holiday separately, but on occasion they would find a bargain on Teletext and would jet off to a Greek Isle together. These 'parent-free' occasions would afford me the space I desperatley craved to experiment and expand the furher development of my dressed self.
On one such stormy night a milestone was reached. I had the house to myself and with heavy rain and gales lashing the bay windows I excitedly prepared to indulge Charla in an evening session of 'mirror tease'. I recall a heady thrill of danger in the air as I arranged the mirrors to afford myself multiple views then a particularly strong gust of wind blew in the curtains of my bedroom. I teetered over to close the window and looking out at the deserted suburban street blurred by the torrential rain, I realised that that night I could go beyond the milestone through the next taboo barrier and venture out dressed for the first time. Whether it was the notion that no one was about or that I simply was feeling daring I cannot truly say but I determined to venture outside wondering why I hadn't dreamed of doing so before that moment. From the giant wardrobe I fished out an old chocolate brown faux fur coat of my grandmothers. I slipped it over shoulders a la Jane Russell, it covered my skimpy ersatz outfit and with a wildy beating heart I made my way out of the front door. The rain had subsided leaving a clear but gusty night, I clicked down the driveway, the first thing that struck me was the gorgeous sensation of the cool air rushing around my legs and my bare thighs. I gathered the coat tightly around me and walked a little way down the street my heart in my mouth in fear and thrill of the danger of discovery but the street was utterly deserted.
This exciting adventure merely whetted my appetite and the next night I dressed adding a heavy and rather inexpert application of make up and a headscarf to help disguise my sister's ill-fitting hairpiece. I drove my Dad's Fiat to the nearby promenade where there were public lavatories, set deep into the concrete sea defences, they were, dark, dank and always deserted. I timed my walk from the car to the entrance expertly, setting off as the last car headlights faded away. The distant roaring of the waves crashing on the rocks filled the night air as I peeked into the forbidding doorway. I took a couple of steps inside to look around, what little light there was from the streetlights was filtered through the dingy, wired glass of cracked windows. My high heels clacking and the water dripping through the leaking roof set to the heavy beat of my heart seemed to be playing my favourite song....
'She's totally committed
To major independence
But she's a lady through and through
She gives them quite a battle
All that they can handle
She'll bruise some
She'll hurt some too
But oh they love to watch her strut
Oh they do respect her but
They love to watch her strut....'
Tension evaporated as a wicked slutty smile spread over my face, as I made my way to the cubicles that lined the very darkest end of the toilets. I found a hook on the back of the vandalised door of the very end stall, slipped off my coat and hung it up. Now just wearing the sheer scarlet wrap over a pair of panties and my Mum's black heels I edged out and strutted to the entrance and posed by the door, mentally playing the song in my head - loud! I thrilled as my skin goose bumped all over as the cool damp air wandered over my semi naked flesh, hardened my nipples and ruffled the silky material against my body. I danced back into the gloomy interior. A shadowy reflection appeared in the grimy full length mirror set in the far wall. The vision of this hybrid creature, my unique creation, was so thrilling. I had moulded a vision of a new being, I luxuriated in the touch and the sight of my new self being pleasured. I eyed this stranger up as I caressed, smoothed and stroked - revelling in my new persona, I was a budding TV and as I strutted around the dank toilet I smiled at the realisation that this was just a tentative begining and that I would be nurturing this vision and these urges to a more refined fruition.....
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