Because the store had been so busy all morning, the staff hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up the changing stalls. There was a stack of women’s clothing on the little bench. There was even a brand new pair of red lace panties on the top of the stack, even though there was a sign that said, ‘Please do not try on underwear.’
I got undressed, and then I found myself looking at the little stack of clothes. There was a green dress, a black bodysuit, a couple skirts, and two identical white blouses in different sizes. But it was the pair of red lacy panties that seemed to steal away all of my attention. I found myself staring at the little undergarment, strangely curious to know how it would feel on my body. I slipped out from my boxers and then I carefully stepped into the red panties. I pulled them up my legs, and then I found myself wishing I had a razor, so I could shave away my hair, so that I could see how I would properly look in the little panties.
They were tight, but not too tight. I actually liked the way the little lacy undies felt, holding my cock and ball sack firmly in place. And even with the body hair, I liked the way my legs looked, framed in a sexy way. I extended one leg forward and pointed my toes. If only I had red nail polish to match the panties…
Someone knocked on the door, making me perk up. I reached down and covered my crotch with both hands. Then I grabbed my t-shirt and yanked it down to cover every little bit of that red lace. “What is it?” I asked, worried that door would open, despite the lock that was turned.
“You’ve been in there a while. I’m just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m almost done.”
The woman walked away but my heart continued to pound uncomfortably into my ribcage. I took a deep breath and then I looked down at myself. I slipped my boxers over my panties and then I tried on the jeans. They fit just fine, so I bought them. I left that store with the panties on underneath everything.
I was going to leave the mall with my new jeans and my excited heart, and then a little skirt caught my attention in a window. It was green and plaid, much like the skirt the girls wore at the bar next to our office. It was short and cute and I wanted to try it on, even though the thought alone made my heart pound with panic. I took a deep breath and then casually sauntered into the store. Like the other stores, it had men’s clothes on one side and women’s clothes on the other side. I grabbed a few things from the men’s side, drifting closer and closer to that skirt that was on one of the middle tables. I waited until no one was looking and then I snatched it, stuffing it between pieces of clothing. Then I sauntered over to the changing rooms. I waited in line for a room while my heart continued to pound as if it was about to explode in my chest.
I slipped into a room and then I took a long, deep breath of air into my lungs. My face was hot and beads of sweat were tickling the back of my neck. Why was I so nervous? Why was I nabbing women’s clothing to try on, like some sort of twisted pervert?
I looked down at the skirt. I slipped out of my pants and boxers and then I slipped the skirt up, over my red panties. It felt strange: so light, almost like I was wearing nothing at all. And in a way, I wasn’t wearing anything at all. The skirt was covering me, but it was just hanging there. My legs were still exposed, even under the skirt. My heart was pounding even harder now, even though I was in the safety of a locked changing room.
It was a tiny skirt—tiny enough that I was able to bunch it up underneath my pants, along with my boxers and my panties. It looked a little bit like I had fat thighs, but I didn’t look strange enough to stop as I left the store. My heart nearly stopped entirely as I walked through the detectors at the front of the store. I was worried there was some hidden monitoring device on the skirt—but there wasn’t. I was free to go home with my stolen women’s clothing.
Though I wasn’t finished, so I didn’t go home. Now, I had panties and a skirt, but I still needed a top, and maybe a pair of stockings or some sort of accessory. I cruised around the mall looking for the perfect piece to go with my skirt, and then I spotted it in the window of a women’s department store. I nearly went in, but I managed to stop myself. “Are you insane?” I whispered to myself. So I didn’t go inside. I managed to turn myself around, and then I headed to my car so I could get home.
But the weird urges weren’t gone. I had my panties and my skirt, and now I wanted to see my legs without hair. The getup was pointless otherwise, right? So I got into the shower, ran the water hot, and I used my face razor to shave away all of my leg hair, leaving my legs smooth and soft, just like a woman’s. I used both of my hands to feel up and down my legs. It felt so nice, as if that was the way they were supposed to feel. I put my panties back on, and then I put on my skirt. I ended up taking pictures with my phone, and then I would stare at the pictures, trying to decide if I could tell they weren’t actually female legs.
There was a knock at my door, making me jump to my feet. I quickly pulled off the skirt, but I didn’t have time to change my underwear, so I just slipped my jeans over my panties before rushing over to answer the door. It was my neighbour, Cassidy. She was smiling at me. “Can I borrow a cup of flour by chance?” she asked. “I just ran out and I’ve already got the oven set for this batch of cookies.”
“Sure—of course. Help yourself.” I moved aside and realized my hands were trembling. I hid them behind my back and forced a big smile. “Just help yourself to whatever you need in the kitchen. The flour is on the bottom shelf of the pantry, right there. You got it.”
She looked at me curiously, as if she was trying not to laugh. “I just need a cup. I’ll bring you a few cookies once they’re done,” she said. She got her cup of flour, and then she walked by me and left with a cute, “Thank you!”
But once again, it was her outfit that I found myself admiring, and then thinking about once she was gone. She was wearing the cutest white, floral dress that extended down to her knees. She had white heels on, with black stockings that covered her legs—or maybe they were leggings. I especially loved the way her curly hair bounced as she pranced back towards her apartment so she could make cookies. But I wasn’t admiring her in a lustful way. In a weird way, I actually felt jealous.
I wanted to know how that felt, skipping freely in a swaying dress, feeling the bounce of tight locks on my head. I found myself on my computer, looking at different wigs. They were expensive—for good ones, anyway—but I just wanted to wear one, even just for five minutes. I put a wig into a cart and then I started filling out my credit card information. But I managed to stop myself, closing my eyes and saying, “What the hell is getting into you? Where is this nonsense coming from?”
I tried to think of what I could have done to make these strange feminine thoughts start emerging in my head. And that’s when I remembered the drug trial. I became frozen in my seat, a cold sweat suddenly bathing the back of my neck. Was it possible? Could a drug trial fill a man’s head with female thoughts? Was that the strange side effect that my drug rep had been alluding to?
No—it was impossible. No drug can make a man have a woman’s thoughts, unless the drug contained estrogen or some sort of female hormone. But even then, how was that possible? I tried searching for the drug online, even though my rep told me not to. I couldn’t find very much information on it—nothing I could understand, anyway. All of the articles written about it were written for scientists and doctors, with long words that were far outside of my vocabulary. But I did find a post on a lonely website, written by a very confused man.
“I really need help,” he said. “I’ve been taking these pills that my doctor gave me—I don’t know what they’re called—but I swear they’re turning me into a woman. I can’t stop taking them because they’re actually helping with my arthritis—I’ve got terrible arthritis that stops me from doing anything (and I’m a pianist). But each day, I feel more and more like a woman. Is that even possible, or is this insanity in my head? Have I gone crazy? Someone—anyone—please help!”
A knock at the door stol
e my attention. I quickly closed that browser window, worried the person at the door might see over my shoulder and be able to read the tiny letters from across the room. I knew it was a stretch, but the very last thing I wanted was for someone to think that I was turning into a woman. I wasn’t turning into a woman—I was just having weird thoughts that seemed to belong to a woman, or to a cross-dresser (and I was neither).
It was my neighbour, back with a big smile on her cute face. “The cookies are done. Would you like to come over to try one? They’re still warm.”
“Sure,” I said, slipping my shoes onto my feet. I was happy to have the distraction.
I’d never been inside of her apartment before. I was surprised by the pink walls and all of the pink appliances. Even her television was pink—I didn’t know you could get a pink television. “Do you want one or two?” she asked.
“One to start, I suppose,” I said. “I just had dinner before you knocked.”
She went into her very pink kitchen and grabbed a pink plate. The cookies were, of course, glazed with pink frosting. Though they did look good. She brought the cookie over to me and said, “Enjoy!” I took a bite and nearly burned the inside of my mouth. The cookies were fresh out of the oven. I opened my lips in an attempt to blow out the trapped steam. “Sorry. Are they still too hot? You can let it cool for a minute.”
I managed to swallow the steaming hot bite. Then I turned and looked around at her art on the walls, which was very modern: shapes and colours but seemingly no topics. “Cool place,” I said.
“Have you never been? Have we lived next door to one another for all these years, and you’ve never seen my apartment? That’s so strange. Though I suppose I only just saw yours earlier. Isn’t that crazy? Can I give you the tour? Oh—can I offer you a drink? I’ve got lots of beer that I’ll never drink. I don’t even like beer. It was left in my fridge. Won’t you have one?” She didn’t wait for my response before running to the fridge to grab a beer. It was a Bud Light. I accepted it, still grateful for the distraction from my feminine brain chemistry issues. Though as I cracked the beer, I couldn’t help but notice Cassidy had changed her outfit slightly. She was no longer wearing the tights under her dress. Now her legs were exposed. And she wasn’t wearing the white heels—now she was wearing black strappy heels, that weren’t too different from the strappy heels I saw on that street corner. They made her feet look so cute, and they exposed the pink nail polish that perfectly matched the shade on her walls.
I took a long sip from my beer, closing my eyes and trying to will away my strange desire to stare at her feet. “Over here is the bathroom,” Cassidy said. So I followed her to her pink bathroom.
“Your husband let you pain everything pink?” I asked with a chuckle. But I kind of liked it, even though it was overly feminine. There was something about it that seemed very cheerful and inviting. Or maybe that was just another one of my strange new female thoughts
“My boyfriend,” she said. “No—my ex-boyfriend. He let me paint everything a few weeks before we split up. He still hasn’t come for all of his stuff. That’s even his beer you’re drinking. But don’t worry—he won’t notice it missing. He’s a drunk. You could drink the whole case and he would probably think he did it himself before he left.”
I suddenly regretted mentioning her relationship status. I awkwardly followed her to the next room: the office. “I never really use this room. I was thinking of turning it into a shoe closet. I have so many shoes. You should see all of the shoes I have.” She laughed and my heart stuttered. A small part of me really did want to see all of the shoes that she had, but I fought that tingling idea away. “And then there’s the bedroom,” she said, opening the bedroom door.
The room was pink: walls, bed sheets, nightstands—everything. Even the lingerie that had been left draped on the bed was pink. Cassidy’s cheeks turned red and she scurried forward and snatched up the lingerie. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I thought that was put away.”
I smiled with red cheeks of my own. “I’m sure you look very pretty in it,” I said. Though I wasn’t sure why I said it. I didn’t mean to come onto her. I wasn’t trying to hit on her, or even feed her a compliment. I really don’t know what I thought. I cleared my throat and felt my cheeks becoming warmer. I parted my lips in an attempt to take the comment back, but I wasn’t sure how to do so. So I just took a long sip from my beer, nearly finishing it off.
Her face was dark red now too. “Thanks,” she said. “My ex never liked it. He thought it made me look slutty, and he hated that.” I just smiled and nodded my head and took the final sip from my beer. “Can I get you another one of those? I have lots. Seriously—drink all of it. I need the room in my fridge if I’m going to be doing this much baking. I’ll go get it for you.” She scurried by me with a strangely nervous scuttle, her chin pressed to her collarbone. She got the beer quickly and cracked it for me before I had a chance to decline the offer. But I needed the booze, so I took it and drank half of it when she wasn’t looking.
I was hoping the alcohol would settle my racing heart and my flickering mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about damn shoes—and that beautiful pink lingerie. I kept picturing myself in it, and I was even starting to think of ways I could snatch just one piece to bring back to my apartment. It wouldn’t be hard. All I would have to do is excuse myself for the bathroom and then slip into her bedroom along the way. I watched her put the lingerie away. I knew it was on the top left shelf inside of her closet.
But I pushed that thought away. My heart stammered, and I bit down hard on my tongue. When Cassidy went to use the bathroom, I whispered, “Get a hold of yourself,” aloud. I knew it was a perfect opportunity to run and nab something—if not the lingerie then maybe a pair of panties or a cute skirt, or maybe a pair of heels. I didn’t have any heels to complete my sissy outfit.
But I fought back that urge as well. I took a deep breath and finished my beer—my third beer. Or was it my fourth? I’d lost track of how many beers Cassidy had given to me. And I’d lost track of how long she’d been in the bathroom for. It had been a while. Maybe she was fixing up her makeup. Maybe she would be a while. Maybe it really was the universe telling me to go and nab something. I could easily stuff a pair of lingerie panties into my pocket. I rose to my feet and took another deep breath. Then I started to step down the hall. I turned the corner and saw her bedroom door. I stepped slowly, listening carefully for the bathroom door that was around the next corner. I was close—just a few more steps.
I reached for the handle and turned it carefully, so that the sound of the compacting spring wouldn’t alert her. I pushed the door slowly and I took a step into the bedroom. And then she spun around and gasped. I hopped back.
She was standing in the middle of her bedroom, looking at me with wide eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked, covered herself up with both of her arms.
“I’m sorry—I was just—I wanted to see your bedroom again. I—I just really liked the way you did it up. I didn’t know you were in here. I thought you were in the bathroom.” And that’s when I noticed that she was wearing that pink lingerie. And she really did look beautiful, with her smooth legs bare for me to see. The front of the teddy cut down to her sternum, showing off her entire cleavage, and the little number also left the sides of her boobs exposed. My heart skipped a beat. “You look really nice,” I said. “But what are you doing?”
Her face turned red. “I was going to try to seduce you,” she said awkwardly. “I don’t know why—I just thought that maybe it would be fun. I swear I didn’t bring you over to seduce you. It’s just—when you told me you thought that I would look good in the lingerie, well—I wanted to look good. I never heard stuff like that from my boyfriend—my ex-boyfriend. Would you please sleep with me?” She sounded slightly desperate. She was fragile, her ego shattered by this boyfriend who left her alone with her pink apartment. Maybe she was desperate for some validation—a reminder that she was a beautiful woman.
I walked into the room. I wasn’t terribly fond of the idea of sleeping with my next-door neighbour, but I was excited to have the opportunity to remind myself that I was still a man, with manly desires. I could still get it up for a pretty woman in lacy lingerie—and I was already getting it up. I could feel my cock throbbing in my new jeans. I stepped up to her and gently put my hands on her bare sides. Her skin was soft and warm, the way a woman’s skin should be. And it was nice to feel so much attraction towards a woman. I may have had a few rogue feminine thoughts in my head, but I was still a man.
I slid one hand up to gently cup her face. I tilted her head back and then I leaned in for a kiss. She was stiff and tense. My lips were probably the first she’d kissed since her boyfriend left her, and they were probably the first she’d kissed that weren’t his in God knows how long—maybe many years. Her lips were soft and they seemed to melt as soon as her body relaxed. She softly opened her mouth and allowed my tongue inside. She didn’t stop my hand from exploring her body, though she did tense up a number of times. She became especially tense when my hands slip up her breasts, catching a quick feel. She relaxes as soon as I had her tits comfortably in both hands, and I squeezed firmly. She even let a little reluctant moan slip out from her lips.
I walked her back into her pink bed, and then I laid her down onto her pink sheets. I stared down at her while I pulled off my shirt. Then I reached down for my belt buckle and paused. I remembered that I was wearing the red panties. My heart froze momentarily as a lump formed in my throat. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
It took a moment for me to break free from my paralysis. I looked into her eyes and slowly nodded my head. “Everything’s fine,” I said. “I just really like that painting on the wall there.”
Big Hard Girls Page 57
