The Emergence of Sarah

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A new job leads to a double life
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‘I’m a crossdresser’.

A short, simple statement of fact. So easy to type, not so easy to say. I lie here looking at her; watching, waiting. My heart pounds. What is she going to say? What is she going to do? She moves. Pulling away from me; throwing back the covers and scrambling out of bed. No words, no expression. Is this it? Have I just thrown away the past 25 years with those few words? My mind races; going back to before.

I haven’t always been like this. My interest in dressing is quite new. I guess it started when we both changed jobs. In my old job we had moved around a lot, but Elaine had always worked found work as a carer; looking after old or young. She was always happy helping people; it was one of the things I loved about her. For my part I was happy too. We were ‘the ideal couple’. Happily married, nice kids, nice home, etc. Elaine enjoyed her work but it always came after me and the kids and the house. Sure I helped out but the house was her domain and that suited us both.

But everything evolves. The kids grew up and moved away. My contract ended and we moved back to my home town, bought our own house, and started a new life, just the two of us. Elaine found a job as a carer straight away and I soon found a new job, but it meant working shifts. Still the money wasn’t bad, and Elaine arranged her calls to match my hours, so we still had time together. Then after a few months she fell ill. Nothing serious, but she had to stay off work until she had her operation. The hospital promised to call her in as soon as possible, but because it wasn’t serious she wasn’t a priority, and she would have to wait a little while. The days stretched into weeks; the weeks into months. And still no date for the op.

At first it was ok. She caught up on her reading, and her stitching. She spent time gardening, and enjoyed doing little projects around the house. Gradually though she changed. She lost her sparkle, and started withdrawing. Then one day I had a brainwave. Caring wasn’t the only thing she was good at. She was multilingual. Why not a change of career? It had worked for me. Reluctantly she agreed, and we went to work. There was nothing in the local papers, or the job centre. Then we tried the net. The results were amazing, more jobs than we ever imagined. That night we wrote a CV and emailed it to a few. I came home next day to find her sitting on the couch, grinning like the cat that’s got the cream.

“Guess what!” she exclaimed before I had time to open my mouth. “I’ve got a phone interview tomorrow!” She bounced of the couch, and threw her arms around me.

“They need a translator, and they’re going to phone me and see how good I am!”

She was excited. The old Elaine was back. The rest of the evening passed in a whirl. She couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop talking. She was bouncing around, full of nervous energy. In the end the only way to calm her down was to take her to bed and try to work some of it off.

Next day I left for work at 5.30. When I came home at 2 she was on the phone. She was held her finger to her lips, obviously this was the interview. I made a brew and waited. Eventually she put the phone down and turned round, a big grin on her face.

“I’ve got the job!” she squealed, “I start tomorrow”.

“What am I going to wear?” the smile disappeared, “I haven’t got any office clothes”.

“You’ve got your grey suit” I said, trying to be helpful.

“That’s ancient, I can’t wear that. I’m going to have to go shopping”.

Two minutes later she was gone, leaving me sitting and wondering what had just happened. She came back a couple of hours later, laden with shopping. There were suits, blouses, shoes, you name it. Best of all, there was new lingerie. All sorts of ‘frillies’, which I didn’t really understand but knew would look good on her. That evening I was treated to a display of lingerie, the likes of which is normally reserved for catalogue and magazine pages, and which had a wondrous effect on both of us. Still, it helped us to sleep well afterwards.

Next day she was up at the crack of dawn. The only drawback of the job was the distance, at least an hour away, and that on a good day. I came home at 2 to an empty house. I wandered about and tidied up a bit, trying to remember what was supposed to go where. She finally arrived home about 6.30, looking tired but happy. This soon became our daily routine, and we both settled into it quickly enough. Because she was away all day the housework started to suffer, so I decided to try it, it only seemed fair. After a few days I found it wasn’t that bad, and actually enjoyed some of it, although it never looked as good as when Elaine did it. Still at least it was tidy.

The best part was the laundry. Each day I would come home and take the clothes from the bedroom and sort them into piles for washing. I found that I enjoyed the feel of her lingerie in my hands. The feel of the lace and silk. Her scent on them, especially if she had been feeling horny the day before; even more so if she had left them on as we made love. Little did I realise that this was the start of a slippery slope.

I wasn’t long before I started using them if I played with myself. I would come home and pick up what she had worn the day before. As soon as my fingers brushed against them I would feel myself harden. A few seconds and I would be lying on the bed, jeans and boxers down, playing with the knickers or the stockings, stroking myself, my cock hard. I’d lie there feeling the silk and lace in my fingers, stroking my rigid cock, thinking of how she had looked as she undressed, wondering what she was wearing today. It never took long, a couple of minutes of stroking and I was ready, spurting cum all over my stomach, and then wiping it away with the knickers, feeling slightly guilty. I soon found it was even better if I wrapped the knickers round my cock, while I ran the stockings over my legs, remembering the feel of her stocking clad legs rubbing against me.

Then one day she came home looking excited but a little guilty.

“They want me to go to Prague” she said, excited. “They’re setting up a new office and want some of us to teach the new staff how to use the system”.

“Oh”, was all I managed.

“I’ll be gone for a week” she explained, “Monday to Friday, all expenses paid”.

“You don’t mind do you?” she added, looking guilty.

“Of course not” I replied.

Monday arrived and she was off to the airport first thing. I went off to work and came home as usual. Straight away I was upstairs, looking for the knickers she had worn over the weekend. I liked Mondays as there was a collection of knickers from the weekend waiting for me. My cock was rigid before I even found them. In no time at all I was on the bed stroking, with the thought that I had plenty of time, and no rush to wash them. I could use all 3 sets. I was laying there, my cock wrapped in pale blue silk, a black stocking rubbing my leg, when it suddenly hit me. I was alone; there was no rush, why not see what the stockings felt like from the inside. My heart started pounding, I couldn’t do this, it was wrong; but who would know?

I lay there, my thoughts whirling like a dervish. Slowly, hesitantly I undressed. I looked down. The stockings were there, lying on the floor where I had dropped them. Hands shaking I reached for them. I had seen her do it so many times, it looked easy. I picked them up. Slowly I bunched one up, and slid my toes in. The feeling was electric; any doubts vanished. I slid the stocking up my leg, smoothing out the wrinkles, feeling the elastic grip my thigh. The second one quickly followed, and I lay back. I looked down, gazing at my legs in her stockings, feeling them clinging to me. I rubbed a hand over my leg and my cock jerked, god this felt so good. Quickly I grabbed the knickers ready to wrap them round my cock. And stopped. In a flash they were round my ankles and sliding up my legs. She was a little smaller than me, but they fitted. I adjusted the elastic round my hips, feeling the thong slide between my arse cheeks. By now my cock was rigid, twitching, constrained by the lace of her knickers. I reached down and rubbed it through the material. It was too much. I lay there feeling dazed, watching the spreading stain on the material.

I spent the rest of that day in a daze. The feeling of her knickers and stockings was heavenly, yet I felt guilty. I had taken of the knickers and thrown them in the wash. I wandered round for a while in the stockings, constantly smoothing them, enjoying them, and hitching them up every few minutes. After I while I went back to the bedroom and grabbed another pair of knickers. I was hard again. I slid into them, a black silk pair, with lacy trim. The suspender belt was next to them. I picked it up. Without thinking I put it on back to front, snapped the fastener closed and spun it round. I laughed. She didn’t realise what a good teacher she was. I grabbed one strap and tried to fasten it onto the stocking. I soon stopped laughing. This wasn’t so easy. Eventually after much tugging and pulling I managed to attach all 4 straps. I tried a few steps. The straps held the stockings perfectly. Feeling happy with myself I sprawled out on the bed. I ran my hands over my legs, feeling the straps rubbing my legs as I moved. I was in heaven. My hand grazed my cock, rubbed it. This time I didn’t cum. I lay there contented, gently stroking, enjoying the feeling. Gradually I stroked harder, faster, watching my cock grow, the head poking out of the waist band, and suddenly thought of her hand doing it. A few more strokes like that and I came. I lay back enjoying the afterglow.

The sound of the alarm jolted me awake. I came to feeling confused. It was dark, what time was it? Then I remembered. I put the light on, looked down and saw my legs sheathed in nylon, red marks where the suspender had dug in whilst I slept, and a sticky patch on my stomach. A sudden wave of guilt came over me. As quickly as I could I undressed and threw them in the wash basket, ashamed of myself. I took a shower and went to work.

It was a quiet day at work and my mind was working overtime. Why had I done it? It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t right. What if someone found out? But it had felt so good. I could still remember the feeling of the stockings, of the knickers. My cock started to swell. I pushed the thought away, but it continued to lurk at the back of my mind. My cock was agreeing with it. I couldn’t get comfortable, I couldn’t concentrate, and the boss was giving me funny looks.

“Are you ok?” he asked looking puzzled.

“Yes, just feel a bit tired” I lied, “I didn’t sleep too well last night, and I feel a bit rough. I’ll be ok”.

“Yeah, well it’s obvious you’re not with it, so sod off home and get some rest”

“I’ll be ok” I answered, “honest”.

“If you can’t concentrate somebody’s liable to get hurt” he growled, “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, Fuck off home”.

There was no arguing with that, and he was right. If I wasn’t concentrating somebody was liable to get injured, and knowing my luck it would be me. I took it steady driving home, trying to concentrate, while the memory of the feelings kept trying to push themselves to the front of my brain. I got in and went and sat down. Then got up to make a brew. Then opened the fridge and closed it. I was going in circles. Trying to avoid what I knew was coming, and not really succeeding. Eventually I gave up trying, and headed upstairs.

I headed for the wash basket in the bathroom and stopped. I walked into the bedroom, reached for her lingerie drawer, and opened it. I stood there, mesmerised, spoilt for choice. What should I pick? Silk, satin, lace? And which colour? I closed my eyes and drew something out. Satin, I could tell by the feel. I opened my eyes. I was holding a pair of bright red knickers, a lace insert in the front. I was hard now, my hands trembling. I reached in and took out the matching suspender, and the bra. From the other side I picked a pair of stockings; tan, seamed. Quivering with anticipation I dressed. First the stockings, then the suspenders and the knickers. This time I got it right and put the knickers on over the top of the suspenders. Finally the bra. Although we’re both fairly slim, I am a little bigger in the chest, but I managed to fasten it. It was tight, but not uncomfortable. I stood there enjoying the feel of the material, any doubts finally chased away. I was hooked and I knew it; and I didn’t care.

I paced around the bedroom feeling intoxicated, light-headed. I could feel the stockings clinging to my legs, the suspender straps rubbing over my skin as I moved. My cock was hard inside its satin prison, and my nipples were hard inside my bra. Then I saw my reflection. I stood there looking at myself, shocked. I had somehow imagined that I looked good like this. How wrong I was. My legs looked too fat, I had no waist, and although I had a bigger chest, it didn’t fill out the bra like hers did. I stood up straighter, sucked in my stomach and tried to push out my chest a bit more. It helped but not a lot; but what the hell, it felt good. I went into the bathroom and took her silk robe off the back of the door, slid it on and tied it.

I spent the rest of the day like that. My mind was clear now; the whispering, nagging doubts were gone. It might not be normal, but it felt good, and more importantly I felt happy. I wandered around the house doing various chores, then sat and watched TV. I had calmed down a little but my cock was still reminding me that it was there. Every so often I would reach down and stroke myself, or run my hands over my bra and feel my nipples harden. I was on a high but it was more sensual than sexual. I was aroused but not to the point of needing to relieve myself. Finally I wandered off too bed, feeling slightly disappointed as I undressed. I slide the gown back on and lay in bed. I drifted off to sleep, gently stroking myself with the corner of the gown.

The next 2 days followed a similar pattern. I would return home from work and head straight for the bedroom. Once there I would spend ages going through the drawer, examining the various sets of lingerie, enjoying the feel of the material on my fingers, feasting my eyes on the colours, trying on different knickers. I also became more adventurous, trying basques and other exotic items. I loved the way these hugged my body, and how my cock could grow without being constrained by a waist band. I found myself lying on the bed stroking myself, imagining what it would be like to fuck Elaine whilst dressed. The thought of 2 pair of stocking clad legs rubbing together, or her hands stroking me through the knickers was a real turn on, and usually required a change of lingerie. I also took to wearing one of her nighties to sleep in, drifting of to sleep with the feel of satin on my body.

On Friday morning I awoke from another deep and restful sleep, feeling happy and at peace with the world. Then it hit me. She would be back from Prague later that day. This brought things up which I had been avoiding. How long could this carry on? How long until she suspected? I could carry on dressing for a couple of hours each day, but what if she came home unexpected? There was already a collection of lingerie which needed washing before she arrived. I decided that I would stop. After all, I would soon be able to see her dressed, and she looked a heck of a lot better than I did, and I would still get the feel, even though it would be from the other side. That day when I got home I resisted the urge, and set about preparing for her return.

By the time I heard her pull up in the driveway, I had finished all the laundry, and everything was back in its rightful place. I had made a clean sweep of the house to make sure there was no evidence, and I had bought flowers and wine; mainly because I was looking forward to her return, but to be honest, partly out of guilt. I was out of the house like a shot. She was getting out of the car as I got there, looking hornier than ever. She was tall and slim, with the highlights in her red hair catching the sun. She had a tight sweater which clung to her figure, and a short skirt topping her gorgeously long legs. As she slid out of the car her skirt rode up, giving me a glimpse of stocking top, and more. I pulled her to me, kissing her, my hands running over her hips and down, tracing the suspender straps. She pressed herself against my rock hard cock, wiggling her hips. God I wanted her. I wanted to just push her against the car and slide right in.

“Hello” she said, a dirty gleam in her green eyes, “have you missed me?”

I didn’t bother answering, just pushed the car door closed, grabbed her hand, and half led, half dragged her into the house. I pushed her against the wall, and kicked the door shut. We were all over each other. I ran my hands up her back as my mouth explored her neck. She was wriggling against me, moaning, hands clawing at my shirt, pulling my head against her. I slid my hand round to the front and grabbed a breast, rubbing my thumb over it. I felt the nipple go even harder than it already was.

“Oh god” she moaned, shuddering, “oh god”.

“Missed me?” I asked, my voice struggling. I was still rolling her nipple, knowing it was hotwired to her pussy.

“You bastard”, she whispered, “you know I can’t resist that”

“You didn’t answer my question”, I replied, pausing in my nipple rubbing, and looking at her.

“You know I did” she groaned. “Now shut up and fuck me”.

Who was I to argue? I slid my hand down and under her skirt. My cock almost exploded as I touched the top of her stockings. Slowly I moved it up, over the inside of her thigh. Her legs parted slightly and I reached her pussy. I rubbed one finger along, tracing her thong as it slipped between her lips, feeling the heat and the wetness. By now she had my belt undone and was trying to undo my jeans with one hand. I pressed harder with my finger, rubbing and she gave up trying and hung onto my neck. She was close to coming, and so was I. I slipped my finger under the material, and into her, reaching for the G-spot. I found it and rubbed gently, the heel of my hand rubbing her clit. It worked, her arms tightened round my neck and her body went rigid as she came, moaning with pleasure. After what seemed like forever her body relaxed and she sagged back against the wall.

“Welcome home” I murmured as I kissed her neck, “now, shall we go upstairs?”

We took the stairs 2 at a time, her trying to take off her sweater, me undoing my jeans. As soon as we were in I pushed her onto the bed, and shoved down my jeans and boxers. My cock was rigid, almost painful, the head swollen and purple.

“Turn over”, I ordered.

“Hmmm” she murmured, “do you want me on my knees?”

“God yes” I croaked.

She rolled over, and came up on her hands and knees. Her skirt rode up showing her stockings tops, and her thighs, her thong tight between her cheeks. I knelt behind her, slid her thong to one side, and slid my cock into her. God she felt good. Her pussy was hot and wet, and I slid in with ease. She moaned. I grabbed her hips, pulling her against me, and started fucking her. Sliding in and out, hard and fast. She was pushing back against me, one hand reaching back to fondle my balls. I could feel the thong rubbing against my cock, and her stockings rubbing against my legs. The effect was overwhelming. I came, gasping; one of the most intense orgasms I could remember, almost painful as the cum shot out. Feeling drained, we fell over onto our sides. Holding each other and whispering ‘I love you’, we drifted off into the afterglow.

We spent the weekend on a high; making love, talking, and enjoying the feeling of two people being in love. But in the deepest recess of my brain the thought was still there. What if she found out? What would she do? I pushed it away. I told myself I was being stupid, she wouldn’t find out. I tried to bury it completely, but every so often it would come back. I found ways to fight it. I left tidying the bedroom until just before she was due home. I asked her to do the laundry, claiming that it seemed fresher when she did it. I found ways to keep myself busy, but the memories wouldn’t go.

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