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Message-ID: <37797asstr$1028938202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Julie Moody <swanjulie0608@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Rest Room Queen (tg, oral, interracial, rom)
Date: Fri,  9 Aug 2002 20:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "restroomqueen.doc" begin>

This is the first story I've ever submitted, so any feedback will be
welcome.  To email me, just remove the nospam content in the address below.







   Rest Room Queen

   By Julie Moody (swanjulie0608.nospam@nospam.yahoo.com)

   (tg, oral, interracial, rom)





   With a small duffel bag hanging over my shoulder, I entered the
department store, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.  This wasn't
the first time I had undertaken this particular pursuit, but I was still
tense, anxious and excited.



   It was a summer day, with typical mid-Atlantic humidity.  I picked up a
shopping cart, feeling uncomfortably hot and sticky.  Even in an
air-conditioned store, summer days don't mix with wearing a pair of sheer,
thigh-high, gartered nylon stockings, and a tight girdle, under men's blue
jeans.



   I headed first for the men's clothing section, beginning a ritual I had
run through dozens of times at this store.  I randomly removed several
men's dress shirts from the shelves, neatly pressed in their rectangular
plastic packaging, and threw them into the cart.  Did I plan to buy them?
Not on your life.  Placing them into the cart amounted to "bearding"... 
concealing the items I was really in search of.



   I passed through the underwear aisle, and obtained a few pairs of men's
briefs, along with a couple of sets of white crew socks, just for good
measure.  I took a deep breath, and ready to once again commence with the
pursuit of my fantasy, headed over to the women's apparel area.



   That familiar feeling of euphoria overwhelmed me.  So many beautiful
clothes...  and so little time, and so little money.  The initial
trepidation about being caught looking at women's clothing had long ago
passed; I learned that few if any shoppers paid any mind to those around
them, being too wrapped up in their own concerns.  For a short while, I
just wandered the aisles, imagining myself in the various outfits, until I
realized that I had come here with a purpose.  Then again, I always came
here with a purpose, and it never changed much.



   I got down to business.  I had to pick one, and only one outfit. 
Decisions, decisions.  What look did I want today?  Despite the abundance
of clothing, the style variance was limited.  I longed to be able to carry
out this plan in a more upscale store where I could find clothing that was
trendy, or elegant, or sensuous, or even slutty.  But I knew that this
particular store had some unique features that made it perfect for what I
wanted to accomplish.  And so far, it had served me very, very well.



   First of all, there were the shopping carts...  an invaluable accessory.
They made it possible to carry out my plan without being ogled, or being
wrongly suspected of shoplifting.  Then, there were the men's and women's
fitting rooms...  unusually close together, and intermingling of clothes of
both genders on the racks of tried-on clothing was commonplace.  And
finally, there was the men's restroom...  in reasonable proximity to the
fitting rooms, yet concealed way back in the corner of the store.  Few
customers were even aware of its existence.



   I decided that a cute, demure outfit was the order of the day.  I
quickly found a mid-length floral print skirt that I fell in love with.  It
had pink, peach, and light orange flowers on a white background.  Looking
all around me to make sure no one was looking, I quickly held it up to
myself.  It came to just above the knee.  Perfect.  Not too short, but
short enough to reveal a good bit of my freshly-shaven legs behind those
nylon stockings.



   Now it was time to complement the skirt with a top.  I love playing
mix-and-match.  With the hot weather and all, I wondered if it would be
appropriate to take a chance and choose a sleeveless top.  But I decided
against it, figuring it wouldn't flatter me, despite my somewhat slight,
five-foot-ten frame.



   I selected a nice, tight, short-sleeve pink ribbed top to go with the
skirt.  Next, it was over to the shoe department.  I wear size 10 women's
shoes, which means the selection is limited.  I almost chose a sexy set of
three inch heels with straps, but I glanced at my somewhat conservative
outfit and instead went with a white set of pumps with one-and-a-half inch
heels.  I smiled to myself...  the school teacher look.  With this attire,
I'd appear as if I was on my way to the first day of classes in September.



   With my goodies in the cart, casually mixed in with the masculine items,
I strolled past the fitting rooms.  I stopped outside the men's restroom.
Looking around again to make sure the coast was clear, I carefully removed
the feminine items from the cart, and entered the men's room.



   Inside, I quickly took a glance under the stall doors.  There were three
adjacent stalls, and in the farthest stall I could see a pair of feet
wearing casual brown loafers.  I ducked down a little more to get a better
view.  I could see tan slacks resting about the man's ankles, and above the
lowered trousers I caught a glimpse of ebony skin adorned with fine black
leg hair.  I smiled.  I wouldn't have to wait this time.  Taking a deep
breath, I entered the middle stall and locked the door, hanging my top and
skirt on the peg.  Then, I put my duffel bag on the floor and opened it up,
momentarily placing the pretty white shoes inside.







   As is often the case with men drawn to donning feminine attire, the urge
first surfaced during my early teen years.  I would wait for those precious
moments when the rest of the family was out of the house.  Then, I would
stealthily enter my sister's room and rummage through her closet.  Laura
was two years older than me.  However, she was still a few sizes smaller
than I was, and it was a struggle to slip into her clothes.  There was even
an instance when I tore one of her dresses in attempt to get into it, and I
was scared to death that my little secret was on the verge of being
discovered.  I returned the damaged clothing to its place in the closet,
and if Laura ever suspected anything, she never let on.



   I also tried on my mother's clothes on occasion, as hers were closer to
my size.  But I greatly preferred Laura's wardrobe.  Her taste was,
predictably, more contemporary and age-appropriate.  The sort of clothes
that I would wear if I was a girl.



   I often wondered about this strange fascination of mine.  I figured at
the time it was solely sex-driven, as these furtive dress-up attempts were
almost always accompanied by vigorous masturbation sessions.  I chalked it
up to typical teenage hormone-driven perversion, and thought I'd outgrow
it.



   But the freedom and independence that accompanies young adulthood
allowed me to explore feminine experimentation much further.  I moved out,
and got a real job; and soon, women's clothes purchased specifically for me
began to take up a part of my closet.  It was a hidden part, to be sure; I
still had no desire to be found out.  I became comfortable with buying
women's clothes; on the rare occasions when a store employee made a remark,
I replied with, "It's for my girlfriend" or "It's a birthday present for my
sister".  I experimented with makeup and jewelry, and eventually became
quite proficient at dolling myself up.  I even ordered a few wigs through
the mail.



   I started longing for more; dressing up at home, by myself, just wasn't
cutting it anymore.  I had become aware of a female side of myself that was
longing to escape.  There was also a simpler, more manageable problem.  I
found myself constantly returning items of clothing to the store, since I
was unable to try them on before buying them.  So one day, I decided to
just drop my inhibitions and use the fitting rooms in the store.  Wearing
panties and stockings under my everyday male attire, I nervously entered
the store...  the store that I would soon be frequenting on almost a daily
basis.



   My first stop was the shoe department; I selected a few different kinds
of sandals and open-toed styles.  Next, I decided to focus on dresses,
which were harder to fit visually, without actually being tried on.  I
picked out a few nice sundresses, putting them into a cart, and made my way
toward the fitting rooms.  There seemed to be more people than usual
clustered in the area, and I lost my nerve.  This wasn't nearly as easy as
I had expected.  What to do?  Then my eyes found the men's rest room, and I
realized that the stalls inside might provide the privacy I needed.



   But, I thought, you aren't allowed to bring unpurchased items into the
bathroom.  I wondered if it was worth the risk.  I looked around quickly...
then decided to make my move.



   A quick peek into the men's room...  I didn't see anyone.  I momentarily
ditched the cart outside the bathroom door.  Let's not overdo it, I
thought; I grabbed one dress and one pair of shoes.  As fast as I could, I
ran into the farthest stall, up against the back wall, and fastened the
latch on the door.  Done!  I was relieved that the floor and the rest of
the stall were immaculately clean.



   I got undressed, feeling much more relaxed.  As long as I didn't do this
too often, I reasoned, this would be a great way to try on clothes before
actually purchasing them.  The lack of a mirror bothered me a little, as
did the cramped quarters; but it would certainly reduce the amount of
clothes I returned after purchasing.



   I stood naked in the stall, then slipped on the shoes...  a pair of
white sandals with ankle straps.  I relished the feeling of standing nude
in a men's room wearing nothing but women's shoes.  I slipped into the
sundress, a pretty lavender number which reached down to about mid-thigh.
Very sexy in a subtle way, and a nice fit; I decided to buy it.  Then,
suddenly, something happened that made my entire body tingle with fear and
excitement.



   I felt a rough, forceful hand rubbing and caressing the lower part of my
leg, right above the ankle straps.



   I was paralyzed; I realized that in my haste, I hadn't bothered to check
if anyone was in the adjacent stall!  And the gentleman next door, looking
under the stall partition, had no doubt seen my feet adorned with women's
shoes; perhaps he had also gotten a glimpse of my dress as I slithered into
it.  And now, he was coming on to me.



   My sexual experience up to that point was limited; but the partners I
had been with had all been female.  Yes, I enjoyed feminine
experimentation, but it had never ventured into sexual territory.  I had
never seriously considered having sex with a man, even dressed as a woman.
But I suddenly grew more and more excited at the thought.  And my lack of
protest toward his advances was telling him all he needed to know.



   A rustling next door told me he was getting to his feet; at this point I
became really frightened.  Was I about to get beaten up, assaulted, or
violently raped?  He unhooked the latch on his stall, and walked out... 
and headed toward my stall.  I couldn't move.  Should I undo the latch, or
not?



   He made the decision for me.  One quick shove with both hands, and the
door flew open.  The latch was defective, and he apparently knew that.



   I felt my knees grow weak; I sank back into a sitting position on the
toilet seat.  I looked up at the man who had so rudely violated my space.
He was tall and large.  A blue-and white bandanna adorned his head, with
disheveled long dark hair protruding from the sides, partly confined in a
ponytail.  His fair but rough-hewn face was accentuated with a scraggly
beard.  He was wearing a tank-top T-shirt with raggedy cut-off shorts held
in place by a thick studded black belt.  A large pot belly spilled out from
under the T-shirt.  He had hairy shoulders and arms, as well as several
tattoos.  Biker boots completed his attire; he looked like a gang member. I
was petrified.  There I was...  this leering, menacing brute in front of
me, and I was wearing a dress!



   "Well, look at you," he said with a sneer.  "Aren't YOU a cutie!" He
unbuckled his belt, and let his shorts drop to the floor.  His rock-hard
penis pointed straight at my face.  I looked up at him, and he responded
with a lascivious grin.  I nodded ever so slightly, not believing my own
brazenness.  He stepped toward me.  Deep down inside, I knew what I wanted,
and he was about to give it to me.



   "This super-macho guy thinks I'm hot.  He thinks I'm a babe," I thought
to myself as I parted my lips, and the engorged head of his thick, stubby
cock passed between them.  I closed my eyes, and all I could think was,
"I'm a woman, and I'm gonna make this man come in buckets."



   He came ferociously in no time.  I took his load in my mouth, and
swallowed it all.  And the scariest part was, it turned me on.  I had
always enjoyed dressing as a woman.  Now I found that I enjoyed being a
woman sexually.



   My biker dude didn't stick around; he was clearly only interested in the
novelty of it all.  He hiked up his shorts and immediately departed the
premises.  He never uttered another word, and I never saw him again.  With
the salty taste of his semen still in my mouth, I locked the door, and just
stood there in my lavender dress and white sandals, contemplating the
situation.  I was appalled, fascinated, and horny, all at once, over what
had just transpired.  I knew that from that moment on, my life would never
be the same.  Something had been awakened within me.



   I began to frequent that store, and that men's room.  I found that the
store staff paid little or no mind to what took place in the vicinity of
that bathroom.  It wasn't too long before I had another sexual experience
of the same nature with a different man.  And then another.  I learned that
this rest room, due to its well-concealed location, was a meeting place for
local men who were cruising for sex.  It was the perfect situation in the
perfect location.



   And, was I ever the novelty act!  I became very popular.  I felt like
the queen of the men's room.  Before too long, a few guys were meeting me
regularly.  We would make dates to meet in the rest room, and often, they
would tell me what type of outfit to wear.



   At first, I waited for the men to approach me.  But then I became
bolder. I would slip a pair of ladies' shoes onto my feet, and dangle one
foot close to the partition, in full view of the occupant of the next
stall. A few men would become alarmed, or grossed out, and hastily left the
bathroom.  But if they stuck around, and passed the "shoe test", I knew I
was home free.  I made the middle of the three stalls my place of
operation, so that I could double my chances of success.



   My inhibitions became considerably lowered in every respect.  I began
dressing up more and more at home.  I was still afraid to go out in public
en femme; but gradually, I found myself spending the majority of my time in
female mode when alone in my apartment.



   At the store, I refined my modus operandi until I had it down to a
science, and typically made two or three trips a week.  I began bringing
accessories along in a duffel bag; wig, panties, bra, breast forms,
stockings, jewelry.  Except for the wig and breast forms, I purchased all
those items in that particular store, and kept the receipts, lest I be
questioned as to the contents of the bag.  I could deal with the
embarrassment of being caught with women's attire, but not with the legal
hassles involved with being suspected of shoplifting.



   I also brought along lipstick and a powder compact, which I kept in a
purse inside the bag.  Obviously, a bathroom stall is not an optimal place
for makeup application.  I did the best I could, which meant a minimal
amount of makeup applied in a less than precise manner.  But none of the
men I met ever complained about how I looked!  I would select an outfit,
depending on my mood, whether I was meeting anyone, or if I was just trying
to find myself a new partner.  I would hide it in a cart under men's
clothes, bring it to the door of the men's room, and remove the outfit,
ditching the cart and the men's clothes in the process.  I would change in
the middle stall, and I became adept at dolling myself up very quickly.  I
would wait for someone to show up if necessary; it usually didn't take
long. When a "friend" appeared in the next stall, I would slip over into
his quarters and suck him off.  Not once did I ever ask for or receive
reciprocation; as far as I was concerned, that wasn't part of the scheme.
Afterwards, I would change back into male mode and quickly wash off any
makeup in the sink.  Outside, I would casually slip the women's clothes
back onto the rack near the fitting room, where they would be combined with
other tried-on clothes.  There were a few close calls, but I never got
caught.



   I would then head home, put on feminine attire once again, and relieve
my own horniness through masturbation.  I would fantasize about what it was
like to really make love to a man as a woman, and increasingly, my
fantasies involved my having a pussy.







   I glanced under the stall partition at the pair of brown loafers, and
hoped that the owner of those feet was prepared for the surprise he was
about to get.  I vowed to give this man all I had, if he would be a willing
partner.  It had been several months since that initial rendezvous with the
biker, and despite many similar experiences, I had never been with a black
man.



   I shed my male clothes, until I was standing there wearing only white
lace panties, a matching girdle, and my nylon stockings.  I felt free,
open, and deliciously feminine.  Months ago, when I had my first encounter
in this room, I was nervous and afraid.  But now, I had a plan, and the
determination to carry it through.  In my mind, I was a confident woman who
knew what she wanted.



   It was time for the shoe test...  but on this occasion, I had a better
idea.  I positioned my nylon-covered foot near the partition, just inches
away from my neighbor's own foot.  With my toe, I girlishly traced a large
heart on the floor.  I had no intentions of being subtle!  I waited for his
reaction.  Would he get up and leave, or would he respond in a favorable
manner?



   The answer was...  neither.  Oddly, I detected no reaction at all on the
other side of the partition.  I was momentarily flustered; this had never
happened before.  He didn't respond to my rather direct hint.  But neither
did he flee from it.  So I decided to spice things up a bit.  I positioned
my duffel bag near his side of my stall, so he could have an easy view of
everything I removed from it.



   I launched into my usual preparatory routine.  First out of the bag and
onto my body were a white lacy bra, size 40-D, and a pair of silicone
breast forms that filled out the bra quite nicely.  I cupped my substitute
breasts with both hands, admiring my ample endowment.



   With my titties firmly in place, I removed the white pumps from the bag,
placed them on the floor and stepped into them.  I took a quick glance
under the partition, realizing that if he was even marginally conscious of
his surroundings, he had to be aware of what was going on in the next
stall. Was he asleep, or too drunk or stoned to notice?  Or was he watching
me under the wall in rapt fascination, enjoying the way the whole scene was
playing out?  I could feel his eyes burning holes in the one-inch-thick
wood covered with gray enamel, but I had no idea whether or not it was my
imagination.



   I stepped into the pink and white floral print skirt, then swung side to
side a few times, enjoying the way the soft material swished against my
thighs.  The matching pink top was next; I drew it over my head and down
over my well-filled bra.  I looked down, and saw my breasts protruding
outward, and the pretty skirt flowing down alongside my hose-wrapped,
shaven legs.  From the neck down, I was as female as I was going to get.



   I tried to squat down and see if I could get a glimpse of my neighbor,
but all I could see was his shoes, his lowered trousers and the briefest
flash of his glistening black skin.  There was no visible reaction from him
that I could gauge.  It was simultaneously maddening and exciting.  I hoped
he was taking note of everything that was leaving that bag.  I didn't want
my well-orchestrated reverse striptease to go to waste.



   Next, I grabbed my purse.  From it, I removed a heart-shaped pendant
necklace, a gold-plated bracelet, a woman's watch, and a pair of clip-on
earrings.  One by one, I put each item in my hand, lowering it to reveal it
to my anonymous neighbor, before donning it.



   I still saw or heard nothing from the other side of the partition. 
Exactly what was he doing?  Was he masturbating?  I hoped not, for I wanted
to be the one to tend to any sexual desire he might have.  I was already
aroused, myself...  my erection was pressing against my white panties.  A
male sexual urge kept in check by female restraints.



   Now came the tricky part...  makeup.  I quickly but carefully applied
subdued pink lipstick, to match my outfit.  I couldn't bother with
concealer or anything like that; not in this cramped space.  So I just
powdered my face a little, then I thought...  how about some eye makeup?  I
had never tried that before one of these encounters...



   I had practiced this countless times previously, albeit in my own
bathroom with a large mirror, counter and sink.  Using the mirror in my
compact, I attempted to apply mascara and a touch of blue shadow, to
accentuate my blue eyes.  I could have used a third hand for this, but all
things considered, I didn't do a bad job.



   I looked at my bare fingernails...  there wasn't much I could do about
those.  I would have loved to apply some press-on nails, but there wasn't
time.  So, I removed one last item from my bag...  a wig box.  It contained
my favorite wig...  a wavy, shoulder-length, auburn, sassy yet classical
style that fit me to a T.  I lowered the wig, hoping my friend next door
got a good look at it, then slipped it onto my head.  With a brush and
comb, I fluffed it out and tried to get it as tame and styled as possible.
I looked at myself in my compact mirror...  no, it wasn't perfect, but it
would have to do.



   I quickly sprayed on a small amount of Gloria Vanderbilt perfume, then
looked myself over in the mirror one final time.  I thought about my quiet
and reserved neighbor next door, and said out loud, "He'd better be worth
it, 'cause girl, you've NEVER looked this good before..."



   I stepped toward the stall door and opened it, as my pumps clip-clopped
on the tile floor.  I wondered what my guy was thinking at this point in
time.  I confidently approached his stall, and with a gentle push, I
knocked the door open.  The latch was defective, and I knew that.



   After all the preparation, it was time to come face to face with the
object of my attention.  And what I saw caused me to wonder what I had done
to deserve such a stroke of good fortune.  He was a tall, well-built,
devastatingly handsome man with flawless dark caramel-colored skin,
close-cropped hair, a smooth clean-shaven face, and deeply piercing dark
eyes.  He was taller than me by at least four inches, which would have put
him at six-foot-two.  He appeared to have just come from work; he was
wearing a light tan-colored short-sleeve business shirt, and slightly
darker tan cotton slacks.  The trousers, in the same state as when I
entered the bathroom, still rested on his shoe tops; his briefs were inside
the trousers.  My eyes climbed his exposed, dark, moderately hairy thighs,
and then encountered something that took my breath away...  the most
beautiful cock I'd ever seen.  At least nine inches long, fully erect,
circumcised, dark, and smooth.  A thick yet neatly trimmed nest of pubic
hair rested above it, and below it hung two enormous balls. 
Appearance-wise, he was totally flawless.  This man was too perfect; my
brash confidence faded once again into uneasiness.



   I soon discovered that he had, indeed, been watching my performance.  He
smiled, and stood up to greet me.  I was growing horny, and his close
proximity increased my arousal.  The stall could barely accommodate two
standing people, and I drank in his closeness.  His cologne was
intoxicating; this clearly was a man's man.  His raging erection was just a
few inches from the top of my pink and white skirt.  "That was quite a
little act you put on for me," he said with a sly grin.  "My name's Carl,"
he continued, "What's yours?"



   I had no idea how to answer that one.  I nearly used my given, male
name. But here I was, presenting myself to him as a woman!  I ran through
several potential women's names in a split second, then stammered, "Ummm...
Julie." It was a name I'd always liked.



   "Julie," he repeated.  "You're a very pretty lady.  The kind I'd like to
get to know better."



   That's when he kissed me.  His lips melded with mine, his tongue passed
between my lips, and I grew weak in the knees.  My first kiss as a woman.
None of my prior bathroom friends had bothered to kiss me before.



   As the kiss ended, my hand brushed against his cock.  I couldn't
restrain myself any longer.  I touched is bulging manhood, gingerly at
first, then I wrapped my hand around it.  I squatted down, bringing it
close to my face.



   I first planted soft nibbles and quick licks on the underside of his
dick.  Then I turned my oral attention to his balls.  I sucked one orb into
my mouth, then the other; as my hand began to work his penis, up and down.
The head of his cock was rubbing against the front of my wig, and a few
drops of precum adhered to the fine artificial hair.  I knew I'd be washing
that wig later.



   With one fluid, uninterrupted stroke of my tongue, I traced a line up
the front side of his scrotum, between his balls, to the base of his shaft,
then straight up the underside of his penis to the tip.  Immediately, I
moved downward and engulfed him, taking as much of his gorgeous manhood
into my mouth as I could handle.  The suddenness of this maneuver had its
effect; he emitted a loud, "Aaaaahhhh..." and his hips began to grind back
and forth.



   I held still, and let him fuck my face.  He thrusted in and out, going
deeper and deeper into my throat until I could feel his pubic hair brushing
against my nose at the end of each instroke.  I began to softly massage his
balls while he vigorously pounded his dark rod in and out of my mouth.



   He ejaculated in a torrent.  His love juice filled my mouth; I had to
cup my hand under my chin to keep it from running down onto my ribbed top
and my skirt.  This is it, I thought.  The one encounter whose intensity
surpassed all the others.  I hoped it would be the start of something
special.



   I looked up at Carl; he was smiling down at me.  With my face covered
with ruined makeup and his semen, I must have been quite a sight.  He
pulled a handful of toilet tissue from the dispenser on the wall, and wiped
my face for me.  What a gentleman!  My heart was a-flutter.



   I could tell he was lost in thought.  Rather abruptly, he pulled up his
trousers.  "I should go now," he said.  "It's been...  fun.  Maybe I'll see
you around?" The question sounded rhetorical.



   "Okay, then," I replied; the disappointment in my voice was impossible
to mask.



   And so there I was; after what was by far my hottest restroom tryst to
date, I was alone and unhappy.  I began to wonder exactly what it was that
I was hoping for.



   I changed back into my male clothes, over in my own stall.  Never before
had this reverse transformation been so upsetting.  I then walked out to
the sink, where I gave my face a good scrubbing to remove all traces of
evidence of my recent activity.  I looked in the mirror, and saw a face
looking back at me that was all male.  Yuck.



   Suddenly, the restroom door opened slowly.  Startled, I turned around,
and realized that I had caught another lucky break.  Carl had come back! 
But why?  I wondered...  but he quickly provided me with an answer.



   "I...I had to think it over for a minute," he said, obviously ill at
ease.  "I was worried you'd be gone."



   I was intensely conscious of the fact that I was now in full male mode,
and wondered what kind of effect it was having on him.  "I was on my way
out," I said vaguely.  "A few seconds later, and you'd have missed me."



   I wasn't saying any more; the ball was in his court now.  "Tell you
what," he said, deliberately and softly.  "I'll buy you that nice outfit
you were wearing...  if you give me your phone number."



   At once, I completely forgot that I was standing there in male clothes.
I was thrilled beyond belief!  Carl was willing to look beyond the
masculine exterior, and saw only the woman who had pleasured him a short
while earlier.  Reaching into my duffel bag, I pulled out my purse.  I
wrote my phone number on a piece of paper.  I walked up to him and handed
him the number...  then kissed him full on the lips.







   Carl called me the next day, and the day after that.  I learned that he
was just a few years older than me, was a native of the area like myself,
and already was the owner of a very successful business.  We made plans for
a date the next weekend.  I had never been out in public dressed as a woman
before; but I felt like it was time.  Unlike those quick and crude attempts
at dressing up in the men's room, I had the time and the means to do it
correctly this time.  And I vowed to look my best for Carl.



   I had a chance to move beyond the limited apparel selection at the store
I'd been frequenting, and I eagerly did so.  I purchased an elegant maroon
sleeveless blouse and a short flared black skirt with white polka dots,
along with black open-toed shoes with two-inch heels.  I was glad that Carl
was tall; this enabled me to get away with wearing heels.



   I spent the entire day getting ready for our date.  I waxed my arms and
legs and applied lotion until my skin was baby-smooth.  Next came press-on
nails, which I had never been able to use during my restroom adventures. 
Dark red, long, and perfectly shaped.  I sat on the floor and meticulously
painted my toenails a matching red color.  Like never before, I
painstakingly applied facial makeup.  I combed and styled my wig until it
was flawless.  And this time, I eschewed any kind of hosiery.  After all,
it was summertime, and with legs like these, why not show them off?



   Finally finished, I looked myself over in the mirror.  I may not have
looked like a beauty queen, but I sure felt like one.  This sure beats
throwing everything on in a bathroom stall, I thought to myself.



   Carl picked me up at my place shortly thereafter.  He very thoughtfully
took me to a cozy, TG-friendly caf rather than a ritzy, upscale place,
realizing it was my first time out as a woman.  I soon lost any
reservations I may have had about taking this big step.  I was comfortable
with myself, and the woman in me was ready to blossom.



   After dinner, we went dancing, and then back to his place where I stayed
till the next morning.  We spent much of the night making passionate love
and talking.  As I lay there in his arms, he asked me, out of the blue,
"Tell me the truth.  That wasn't the first time you pulled that act in the
men's room, was it?"



   "No, it wasn't the first time," I replied.  "But it will be the last."







   That was five years ago.  Carl and I very quickly became a couple and
moved in together.  I encountered problems at work when I came out and let
it be known that I intended to transition to living full-time as a woman.
Management made things very hard for me, and as soon as they found a reason
to dump me, they did.



   My family also had difficulty accepting my decision.  Over time, though,
most of them came around and were tolerant, if not totally accepting.



   Carl stood firmly by my side and supported me, both emotionally and
financially, as I went through the difficult transition.  Early on, there
were countless therapy sessions and the sometimes unpredictable effects of
hormones.  We agreed that as soon as the process was completed, we'd move
to a different area and start fresh.



   So, a year ago, we moved out to California.  Carl started a new business
venture that is doing quite well.  After a lot of near-misses in my own job
search, I finally found a full-time position as a receptionist at an
accounting office.  I'm happy with my job, and the problems I experienced
with my prior employer are not an issue.  You see, I've managed to keep my
masculine past a secret from all but a few select people.



   I had facial plastic surgery that gave me features that were
unmistakably feminine.  Thanks to hormone therapy and breast implants, not
to mention dieting and a regular exercise program, I now have a figure that
is the envy of many women.  And as a result of sex reassignment surgery, I
am now able to receive Carl's love in the same manner as a female-by-birth
woman.



   And, four months ago, Carl made an honest woman out of me.  My sister
Laura was a bridesmaid; from the beginning, she was the one family member
who openly accepted my decision to become a woman.  As I stood there
nervously before the ceremony, in my beautiful wedding dress, she commented
that the dress did indeed suit me very well.  "It fits you much better than
that dress of mine that you ripped," she said, winking at me.



   "You knew about that?" I replied with a gasp, and we both had a good
laugh.



   I love my new life, and there's nothing I would change about it.  But, I
must admit...  I'm at a loss for words when someone asks me, "So, tell me,
Julie...  how did you meet your husband?"



   
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