Y is for Yvette

It was when I was surfing 'unofficially' at work, I'd delayed just by few minutes going to my break so the office would be empty. Jenny had surprised me by coming back for her bag, and very sweetly asked if I wanted to have lunch with her and James, and Maria and Annabelle. The chance to spend some time with Annabelle was too tempting, I closed down quickly and dashed out to join them.

But the problem arose precisely fifty-five minutes later when I returned. My Manager was sat at my PC, he'd logged on and was scrolling through some figures. But down the left-hand side of the screen, whether he'd noticed the contents or not I didn't know at that time, was my 'History' listing. On the rare occasions when I'd been tempted to look at T-stuff while at work, I'd been very careful to delete any evidence of where I'd been surfing as soon as I'd finished it. But it had been the thought of Annabelle, gorgeous well-endowed Annabelle, that had caused me to hurry. OK so I'd intended doing the deleting straight after lunch, but Mr Willis was sat at my PC!

"Sorry George, my PC seems to be playing up. I won't be a minute, you weren't in the middle of something were you?"

"Er - no." Had he noticed? That right there, between 'Tally UK plc' and 'Theatre Arts' on the left of the screen, was the link to 'Tgrrls-UK'? He seemed not to have done, he scrolled down whatever he was looking at, seemed satisfied with what he'd been looking for, and closed IE down. I breathed a sigh of relief and, within a minute of getting back on my keyboard, I'd deleted the offending History item.

Yes, I know an expert could have tracked my PC use, but I knew the company didn't actively do that. There had been a memo about staff limiting their personal use of PCs and not spending too much time on e-Bay and so on, basically saying they didn't intend monitoring our use and they trusted staff. And no, I didn't do much surfing of that sort of thing at work, very rarely in fact. It was just that once I nearly got caught.

Nearly? That's what I thought. I settled down, worked through the afternoon, even went in to Mr Willis on one occasion to ask him about a problem with one particular invoice. It wasn't until just before the end of the day, when quite a few staff were already hanging around with their coats on, that Mr Willis invited me into his office. By then I hadn't actually forgotten about the incident at lunchtime but I did think I'd got away with it.

"Right now. George," he said as I sat in his office. "About your surfing, this lunchtime."

I was dismayed, worried that I might not have got away with it and even more that it might mean I got a bad reference when I left. Part of the reason for taking the job on a six-month contract was to gain some experience and to get a good reference.

"Mr Willis, I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."

"I know it won't."

What did that mean? Was I getting the sack? OK so I'd only a month of my contract left but the sack? That would look awful, it was going to be hard enough getting another job without that on my record. Mr Willis looked at me sternly, then continued.

"No George, I'm not giving you the sack. You've done a good job here and we could really do with you staying until Stephanie comes back. But - no more surfing in work time. OK?"

"Oh yes. I mean no. Sure."

I was wondering if that was the end of the interview. I was about to stand up and leave when my boss said something else.

"George. Do you dress yourself?"

I hesitated. The question seemed somewhat kindly meant, I hoped that the truth would be treated sympathetically.

"Yes."

I was nervous, I'd never admitted it to another human being, the only other 'being' who'd seen me dressed was Mickey, my mother's cat, some years earlier.

"I'd like to see that, George. I've been fascinated by cross-dressing for some years but, being married, you know, I've not been able to ..."

He faded to a halt. I smiled.

"My wife is away at a meeting on Friday evening. How about coming round and showing me what you look like? You could even leave a little early on Friday to prepare, I can swing that."

I was amazed. Shocked. But I knew what I had to say.

Which is why, at just after six o'clock on the Friday evening having finished work at three and gone home and packed, I was ringing the doorbell on my boss's house. He opened the door and reached down to grab my case.

"Come in, George. Can I get you a drink?"

"Er - I don't think so, Mr Willis."

"Do you want to get started? You can change in the guest bedroom, there's an en-suite in there. Will that be OK?"

"Er - yes" was my muttered reply.

Mr Willis left me to it, I started the shower that would start my transformation. In the previous day or two since Mr Willis's offer I'd done a lot of thinking, as any tranny would in that sort of situation. I'd got past my initial worries very quickly - did I want to do this at all? Of course I did! After what Mr Willis had said to me I was confident that I wouldn't get the sack if I refused. Mr Willis had admitted too much, he wouldn't dare, not that I wanted to be at all nasty about it.

But the other question - what was I going to wear? I'd spent the whole of the previous evening looking through and sorting through the alternatives, lingerie, wigs, shoes, all the trappings and trimmings of my transvestism. I'd ended up with one basic outfit which I decided to wear at first, for my 'revelation', and a couple of alternatives if Mr Willis wanted me to change at all during the evening. With my case open on the bed I took out and separated my outfits, still very nervous at the thought of actually being seen - in some way - as a woman.

But there was a lot to do first. I stripped totally and walked through into the small en-suite bathroom of the Willis's guest bedroom. I soaked my skin and then shaved the hair from all my body parts carefully, leaving a cute little triangular patch above my penis. Next I applied hair remover over my entire body. After cleansing off the excess hair remover, I noticed how smooth and stubble free my body parts had become. I showered again to complete the job.

I wrapped a huge towel around my clean-shaven body and danced over to the dresser where I had previously laid out my lingerie. I picked up the stretchy, lacy red garter belt with the attached straps and the matching red G-string.

As I pulled the G-string up my silky legs, I felt the first real tactile stimulation of the experience. I could feel the chills running up and down my spine, the touch of satin and lace running up my long smooth legs was a definite turn on. By the time I wriggled the G-string over my balls, my cock showing signs of arousal. I managed to calm myself down and unpacked my new silicone breast enhancers. They were satiny and felt like jelly, the very latest model fake breasts had a self-adhesive backing to allow me to go bra-less if I so chose. I'd chosen carefully, large but not too large, the D-cup and would be a definite fit on my lean body. The taut, life-like dark nipples jutted out almost a half-inch!

I laid on my back on the bed and carefully positioned my new breasts in place. It took only a few minutes for the adhesive to dry, but it seemed like ages. I felt for my bra, but remembered I left it on the dresser. I was afraid that my new breasts would fall off from lack of support.

I walked gingerly as my new breasts bounced somewhat but each step made me more confident. As I walked past the make-up table, I slowly took my hands away from my chest. My new breasts felt heavy and awkward at first. Then I watched my life-like tits jiggle and bounce as I lightly jumped up and down. I knew right there and then they'd been worth every penny.

I hooked my new red satin bra at the front and slung it around so the cups were under my breasts. Then I pulled the straps over my shoulders, it fitted quite tightly and definitely provided much needed support to my new breasts. The special bra had gel built into the cups that added almost an extra cup size. It was a great choice for the occasion, the sheer material would let my fake half-inch long perky nipples protrude through the tight top I planned to wear.

My next decision was stockings. I'd had a big decision to make there, I couldn't decide between two pairs I liked very much. In a way I was acting more like a woman, I couldn't make a decision. Should I attach the garters to stockings or wear the stay-up pair? As I sipped on my glass of white wine, I decided to go with the straps with the sheer black, back seamed stockings with frilly and fluffy lace at the top.

As I seductively pulled each stocking up my smooth leg, the same sensation hit me, but this time my girl-cock couldn't swell or rise because the thong was performing its job. I could already feel pre-cum secreting into my satin G-string. I gingerly adjusted the thicker black seam that ran up the back of my legs. As I looked in the mirror, I made sure both seams were perfectly straight and centred.

My next plan was to do my makeup sitting down in front of the three-way mirror. My clean-shaven face was smooth, but decided to use a very light beard cover anyway. The creamy substance would help preserve my smooth look. Then, using tweezers, I plucked my eyebrows one by one. OK so it was painful but it was worth the effort.

I looked in the mirror and smiled. Using a soft, sexy, higher pitched voice that I had often practiced at home, "Wow, girl, even without makeup, you are gorgeous!"

I squealed with delight at the thought but then realised I was being a bit silly. There was still much to be done. And so I did, using a darker foundation than my normal skin colour. I applied powder with a brush taking off the shine, and then complemented it with a rose blush on my cheeks. When I inspected my work in the mirror, there wasn't a hint of any lines or makeup shadow. I picked up my new false eyelashes, thick and black, and with excited shivering fingers I glued them in place..

Extra jet-black liquid eyeliner was used to cover some of the excess glue. I combed out my bottom lashes and applied three coats of black mascara matching the top lashes. Again I drew a line with liquid eyeliner on the bottom lid to a little farther out than the corner of my eye, adding a little extra swoosh up giving my eyes a sexy look. With steadier hands, I painted my thin brows dark brown, positioning the thin pencil a little higher up than my normal brow-line.

Using a combination of charcoal and blue eye-shadows, I coated my upper lids until they were filled in perfectly. It took three coats to blend and colour my eyes properly. At the corner of each eye I flared the charcoal-and-blue powders upwards to match the flare in my eyeliner. Finally, a light sprinkling of gold glitter was applied on my wet painted eyes.

The extra flare of eyeliner and eye-shadow gave me - dare I sat it - 'bedroom eyes'! I started shaking in anticipation again. I had to stand up and move away for a minute, but before I got up, I took one more glance at my treated face in the mirror.

Crossing over towards my jewellery box I decided to put on my three inch gold hoop earrings. They felt heavy at first, but after looking at the very female-looking 'woman' in the mirror, I no longer felt the weight. Instead I felt the dangling and swinging of my newly purchased jewellery.

Then one ring on each finger of the right hand. The same on the left hand, except for my ring finger. I didn't want to scare any gorgeous hunks away this evening. I turned in the mirror and looked from every angle. Nearly done.

"My lips and my hair," I mouthed silently.

I strutted back to the makeup table. With dark red lip liner, I pencilled in full pouting lips. Then I coated them with a thick, creamy, "blood-red" lipstick and my lip-gloss. A very kissable combination! At that stage I really didn't have much of an idea what Mr Willis had in mind for the evening but, looking the way I did, I hoped against hope there would be at least one kiss involved somewhere along the line.

To top things off, I dug into a wig box and picked the "hair" I'd ordered online five months ago. It was my favourite and still in perfect shape. A blonde wig pre-pinned up at the back and curly at the top. It had one seductive tendril spiralling down each side of my pretty face. The curl went past my ears and sensually onto each shoulder. I made sure my there wasn't any hair covering the gold hoop earrings. In front, the three-inch straight cut fringe was perfect, stopping just above my raised eyebrows.

As I turned sideways, big mirror allowed me to reveal my long smooth kissable neck. I felt so pretty, yet so trashy. The lights in the city were starting to come on, as the sun was setting over the buildings on the horizon. I knew I had a minute or two to relax. I quickly took a sip of my wine, wanting to see the lipstick smudge on the glass. The sensation was coming back and my cock was trying to work its way through my G-string! More fluids were leaking, just like a girl! When I put my hand to my crotch there was no sign of a cock. It was still smooth and flat. And a little moist.

It was time to get dressed for my sort-of 'date' with my boss. I clasped my bra, and readjusted the cups to push my fake tits together and up to produce a very impressive-looking cleavage. I pulled out a red lycra micro-mini skirt. The material was just stretchy enough to fit tightly over my hips and my bum. After I slipped it on, I ran my hands around my curvy hips.

The red size 10 micro mini skirt did indeed fit skin tight around my hips and arse. It looked astonishing next to my flat stomach. The skirt was just about long enough to cover the frilly, fluffy stocking tops, but the thought of that just added sexual frisson to my dressing up. The top I'd decided on was a tight white nylon halter that would cover my bra straps and shoulders, yet would show my bra through it. The three-quarter-length sleeves had a thicker black seam down the back side of each arm matching my stocking seams. It was so tight I struggled while putting it on, but finally succeeded. I knew it was the perfect choice. The top showed a hint of my red satin bra and displayed quite some cleavage.

It fitted snugly over my shoulders and arms. It barely covered the bottom of my breasts exposing most of my skinny rib cage and flat firm stomach. I could feel my fluids leaking even more, I was so excited.

The shoes had been an easy choice. It was a no-brainer that I chose my shiny red patent platforms with double two ankle cuffs fastened with gold buckles. The bright red platforms were two inches at the toe and the gold stiletto spikes that matched the ankle buckles were almost six inches tall.

Six months earlier, I had purchased my first pair of three-inch heels and practiced at home, then I'd moved up in height with each purchase over the coming months. Yet in my highest heels yet I had the feeling I was on stilts. The practice and training had been worth the effort because the "fuck-me" stilettos made my already long legs longer. When I walked, my bum wriggled, my stockings swished, and my steps became daintier.

Keeping an eye on the mirror, I sucked in my stomach and tilted my shoulders back as I strolled across the room and back. I became more confident with each step. With my legs straight, I bent over my makeup chair to briefly check my painted face. With the help of the other mirror behind me, I noticed that my skirt was lifted up at the back, exposing half of my taut little bum! I even stayed in that position as I prepared to put on the last item, pressed fingernails.

My choice for the night was shiny red, matching my "blood-red" lipstick. A little glue and I was done. My quick manicure was close to professional. They were so bright and shiny they almost looked like wet paint. I then sprayed myself with Red Door perfume, on each wrist and a little extra on my lean neck and into my cleavage.

One final look in the mirror. There stood a slim, sexily dressed blonde staring back at me. Her legs were long, her heels were high, her gorgeously made-up face looked good, her seductive blonde hair pinned up at the back. I primped my hair a little, making sure it was still in place and smiled at myself in the full-length mirror. One more spray of perfume and a touching up of the lips. I picked up my red leather purse and literally threw a small makeup bag, my perfume and lipstick into it. Ready!

I opened the room door and stepped out into the hall. Hell, what on earth was my boss going to say. I went down the stairs, carefully in my high heels, and pushed open the door into the lounge. I stepped in and waited. A moment later Mt Willis must have noticed my fragrance, he looked up.

"O my God! Er ...!"

"Yvette" I said, very quietly. Mr Willis stood and moved towards me. He didn't speak.

"Well. What do you think?"

Mr Willis still stood there in stunned silence. Quite who or what he had been expecting I wasn't entirely sure, and it wasn't easy to gauge his reaction.

"Well?" I asked.

Mr Willis held a hand out. I took it and he guided me over towards the sofa.

"Here, have a seat and I'll pour us a couple of drinks' I certainly need one."

"Me too" I added. He did himself a scotch-and-soda and brought my own drink over to me. I took a large sip and looked up at Mr Willis through my long black eyelashes.

"Before you say anything, Yvette, let me tell you - you make a foxy-looking woman!"

"Thank you, Mr Willis."

"I think in the circumstances, Yvette, you can be less formal. After all you're not at work now. I'm Steve." I smiled as I looked at him, briefly imagining myself as Yvette seated at my desk in the office. I took another sip of my gin-and-tonic.

"OK Yvette. I have to say I wasn't sure how convincing you'd look but - I'm impressed, very impressed indeed. So, do you want to tell me about - all this?"

His eyes looked up and down my body. I relaxed, partly because of the gin and partly because my boss seemed to be so understanding. I sat up a little and crossed my legs, noticing the hem of my skirt rising a little to reveal just the tops of my stockings. I reached down a red-talonned hand to tug it down a little.

"Well - er, Steve - this isn't really all new. I've been a secret cross dresser for years. And since my wife died - this is difficult to say - I've decided that I want to be able to dress and look the way I want to when I want to."

Steve sat for a moment taking it all in. He knew that I'd had a difficult time since my wife died. He and all the staff at the office had been very supportive when she had been diagnosed and in the twelve-or-so months we'd had together before the end.

"George, I mean Yvette, this is almost too much. Are you going to be this way all the time, are you going to - you know - have an operation maybe? THE operation?"

I smiled.

"No, Steve. I'm going to be male and dress as I normally do for work and dealing with most of the people I know. But when I am home and on my own I will be 'Yvette'. We've known each other for a long time and I needed someone to share my secret with. I'm not sure I'd have dared reveal myself like this to anyone else."

Steve sat sipping his drink and thinking, looking me up and down.

"Well, Yvette, this is going to take some getting used to. But - hell, you do look damn sexy as a woman!"

He smiled and held out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Yvette."

I took his hand and squeezed it gently so relieved that I'd got it right. It could have gone so wrong, but Steve had really come through for me

"Thank you so much Steve, you don't know what this means to me."

So we sat there for ten or fifteen more minutes, Steve asking me about my dressing, what I liked to do, what sort of clothing I liked to wear, that sort of thing. I revealed the origin of my 'femme' name, the original 'Yvette' was a French transvestite, the first I'd found on-line when I'd first got the Internet, and the first I'd really admired for her bravery in 'coming out'. And I asked him about his own interest, about the web-sites he liked to look at and so on. Though there we were discussing tranny ideas it really did seem that Steve was treating me exactly how I wanted, as Yvette and not as George.