The first time she pulled sheer nylon hose over freshly shaven legs, she had experienced a truly shocking sexual thrill, a gasp of fierce pleasure exploding from her mouth, and for a brief moment she had felt as if she would pass out from the almost overwhelming impact of this ever fascinating and endlessly erotic material on her smooth, ultra-sensitised skin. And even now, as she checks her bronzed, perfectly shaped legs for even the tiniest speck of hair, she is filled with a teasing anticipation at the thought of their impending envelopment in soft, endlessly caressing hose.
By the same author:
THE LAST STRAW
SILKEN SLAVERY
COMPANY OF SLAVES
SILKEN SERVITUDE
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Epub ISBN: 9780753535974
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This book is a work of fiction.
In real life, make sure you practise safe, sane and consensual sex.
First published in 2006 by
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Copyright © Christina Shelly 2006
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Contents
1A Different Centre of Gravity
2En Femme
3Outside the Envelope
4A New Love
5A Cruel Desire
6At Helen’s House
7The Space Between
8Bought and Sold
9A Jewel in the Crown
10A Plundered Soul
11A Goodbye
12Secret Selves
1
A Different Centre of Gravity
Eve is finally ready for her debut. She steps with a gasp of nervous excitement into the crisp evening air and feels an electric shock of fear and arousal course through her carefully prepared body. It is early winter and already the night-shrouded streets are bathed in the unsettling glow of an orange electric light. She feels her heart pound against her chest and hears her high heels strike the tarmac of the driveway. Everything sounds and appears louder and clearer; her senses are heightened. Her mind is flooded with tension and desire. She is in a world of beautiful, anxious clarity.
She points a key at her modest red Peugeot 206 and presses a black button set into its hard body. The car’s head and taillights flash brightly and briefly. A sharp mechanical click echoes down the quiet street. She opens the driver’s door and looks down into the dark interior. Then she looks up and around, suddenly aware of potential others. She imagines people staring from curtained windows, armed with cameras and phones. Any second she will be exposed not as beautiful, graceful Eve, but as her other self – as Adam.
She climbs into the car, taking care to lower her bottom on to the driver’s seat first and then carefully and slowly pull her black nylon-sheathed legs, held modestly and elegantly together, into the dark space beneath the steering wheel. Even so, the short skirt rises up to reveal her shapely thighs and a hint of red panties. She cannot resist a gasp of pleasure at her own feminine beauty and its erotic revelation. Her long legs are momentarily revealed in all their lithe geometric perfection beneath the street lighting – legs, wrapped lovingly in soft, expensive nylon, that stretch down to feet held beautiful captive by a pair of black patent leather, stiletto-heeled court shoes. She has deliberately chosen the three-inch heels tonight: nothing too spectacular for the challenge of the interview.
She straightens the black-and-white check mini-skirt and runs her hot hands over her nylon-sealed thighs. She feels her sex, her paradoxical male desire, stretch angrily beneath the body-shaper and fails to suppress a moan of almost painful arousal.
‘Oh God,’ she mutters, her eyes closed, her hands slipping beneath the skirt and pressing against the warm gusset of the panties.
Yes, she never imagined it would be like this. Within a few minutes, she is lost in angry sexual excitement, overwhelmed by her first foray into the world outside her modest, three-bedroom house. She lowers the window and lets cool evening air flood the car, gasping down deep breaths and trying desperately to bring her arousal under control. She grasps the steering wheel and stares down at her surprisingly small hands – hands whose long, false nails have been painted the same cherry-red as her lips. She breathes in the rose-tinted aroma of the subtle French perfume purchased especially for this evening and tries to find an element of balance, of poise.
‘You can do this,’ she whispers. ‘You can.’
She removes a shaking hand from the steering wheel and inserts the key into the ignition slot to start the motor. She feels the slight, even vibrations of the new engine pass through her body and the rush of need and panic slowly passes. She presses the soles of the court shoes against the control pedals, creating a counter-pressure against the heels as they press into rubber matting. A few days before, she had driven to work as Adam, in business suit and tie, but once in the car, she had slipped into the shoes she wore now, a trial run with heels to ensure that tonight would not be undermined by a mere technicality.
She drives the car out on to the street. A few minutes brings her to the main road that leads through the city to the nightclub. She finds herself becoming more confident, more relaxed. The terror of the last few hours finally begins to pass. Now on the move, she is making real the thing she has so long wanted to happen. And it is this simple fact that fuels her confidence. As she drives through the busy city on this cool October evening, she experiences the sense of achievement that has been lacking for so long. Suddenly, Eve is shockingly real: the beautiful alter-ego, previously locked tightly within the confines of the house, and before that in the London flat, has been released. The she-male genie has been summoned from the lamp.
She had taken the afternoon off work and slept little that night. At work in the morning, it had been impossible to concentrate, inspiring looks of concern from her handsome, maternal secretary, Angela. By two p.m., she had been standing before the full-length mirror in her bedroom facing Adam, the male reflection, the self presented to the world as her authentic being, the self she had known for many years as a lie, a construct forced upon her by the values of an oppressive and deep
ly flawed society.
Then she had begun the ritual of transformation from male to female that had become an inescapable and marvellous fact of her double life, a ritual she had practised for twelve years, a ritual whose fuel was desire and the events of a rain-soaked evening two weeks before her sixteenth birthday.
As she negotiates the city traffic, Eve contemplates her past and her future. She feels the teasing embrace of the gorgeous red satin blouse against her silken arms, a blouse that tightly covers the full, perfectly formed bosom provided by the erotic genius of the body shaper. Once again the image of Aunt Debra enters her tormented mind. She switches on the CD player. The exquisite, sensual music of Antony and the Johnsons fills the car. ‘One day I’ll grow up and be a beautiful woman.’ The haunting, haunted falsetto inspires more memories of a very special dressing.
It has taken just over three hours to create the look she needs, the look she is sure will impress Priscilla Rouge, the club’s chairperson, and thus guarantee her admission to the Crème de la Crème; the look already demonstrated in the portfolio of images she presented as part of her formal application to join the country’s most famous transvestite club – an application rooted in her terrible desire to escape the loneliness of her private dressings following her recent move from London. Now it is time to change everything. She is twenty-eight years old and overwhelmed by fear. Her life as a man, as Adam, is an elaborate deceit sustained through her time at university and through her career as a junior manager in one of the country’s largest financial corporations. She, as he, agreed to move to a better job in the new national headquarters because he knew the lie and the fear it disguised could not be prolonged further. And now it is time to face this fear head-on.
Earlier, she had stared into the mirror and felt a terribly familiar and still very powerful thrill. Eve revealed. Eve created. The masterpiece of herself. A disturbingly real creation, made more so by naturally feminine features and a slender physique. How easy, she thought, to walk the streets like this, to ‘pass’ in the public universe of others. Yet also, how hard. For it wasn’t just a matter of looking real: it was a matter of feeling real, of having the confidence to announce herself without doubt or fear as Eve. No more secrets. No more lies. Only dazzling, gorgeous truth.
She had looked at herself in the mirror and felt pride and desire. ‘I am this beautiful woman,’ she had whispered.
Adam’s deliberately short, dark hair had been hidden beneath a blonde wig, a cascade of elegant, erotic Monroe waves that brought Eve’s large, crystal-blue eyes alive in a way far removed from the effect of her naturally dark hair. Make-up had been applied sparingly: she had nurtured her skin very carefully since Eve’s birth and become expert at removing every trace of facial hair. There was no need for the layers of melodramatic cake favoured by so many cross-dressers; a little light foundation, a touch of pale-blue eye shadow, a hint of blusher and a striking cherry-red lipstick that matched her nails and the shimmering, sexy blouse. This was all she needed to create a strikingly believable illusion.
The neck of the blouse had been tied with an elegant fifties-style bow. The blouse had been carefully and seamlessly tucked into the check mini-skirt and sealed in place by a thick black leather belt fitted with a diamond-shaped buckle. The skirt reached no further than the middle of her shapely thighs and allowed a complete view of her perfect model’s legs. Her legs: wrapped, as always when Eve, in the sheerest of nylon hose. Tonight, a pair of expensive Falke tights, 20 denier nylon – jet black. Tights that teased her very sensitive, silken skin with soft fetish kisses every time she moved. Tights that inspired more furiously erotic memories of the original encounter that had exposed the truth of Eve.
As she had so very carefully drawn the shimmering, ultra-delicate material up her freshly shaven legs, she remembered the first time she had experienced the incredible pleasure of pulling sheer hose over exposed and aroused skin, a moment that had ensured her lifetime addiction to the gentle pleasures of femininity. And as she recalled her dreadful, terror-streaked arousal at this first contact, she remembered the smile of Aunt Debra, the beautiful, loving woman who had encouraged her to dress. Indeed, the tights she had used on that fateful afternoon had been her aunt’s, taken from a drawer in the bedroom soon after Adam had been discovered exploring the secrets of her underwear drawer and the large wardrobe that contained her dresses and shoes.
Yes, Eve had always been there, deep within Adam, hiding, waiting for the right moment. And it had taken the intervention of a sympathetic woman, of a thirty-five-year-old divorcee, to ensure her first, startling revelation.
Yet the traces of Eve had been in him, in Adam, even before this first true revelation – in his slender build, in his elegant movements and gentle personality. At school, he had found himself drawn to the company of girls and was immediately labelled a sissy by boys eager to hide their own doubts in the rituals of nascent masculinity. But this deliberate and hypocritical contempt never spilled over into violence or the other, less overt forms of bullying. For despite his strangely feminine character, Adam quickly proved himself a fine athlete and an academic high achiever. He held the school record for the 1500 metres and, by the time he was fourteen, was a member of the county swimming team. This evidence of the more ‘male’ virtues secured a certain degree of safety from bullies, but did little to prevent him being excluded from male society and quietly mocked by his male classmates. Yet this had never upset him. The girls loved him in a totally unsexual way. He was a very special boy who seemed to understand and respect them: handsome and gentle, yet often painfully shy. A number of the girls had tried to move beyond friendship, to something more intimate and sexual. But, despite his obvious heterosexual interest, he had backed away, frightened in some indefinable way, as he was to remain frightened for the next twelve years.
Then there had been the strange, profound encounter with Aunt Debra, the moment that had changed everything, that had exploited his helpless interest in the details of girls, particularly their dress, their movement, their physical engagement with the world, and transformed it into a new reality: the reality of Eve.
Debra was ten years younger than his mother, who was already ill with the disease that would kill her before his sixteenth birthday. Indeed, he had been sent to spend the Easter holidays with his aunt after his mother had gone into hospital for the first exploratory operation.
At the time, it had been regarded as a relatively minor matter and the journey to Aunt Debra’s country cottage as something of an adventure. Yet the anticipation Adam had felt was more than that of a youth undertaking a special journey: at the heart of his excitement was an inescapable sexual thrill. For Aunt Debra was a true beauty, a striking brunette in her mid-thirties with a mysterious past and present, who now lived in a beautiful, sleepy village. She had visited the family home in London perhaps twice a year and, since his early teens, these visits had been events of an increasingly heightened, eroticised reality. As his male desire emerged from the initial rapids of puberty, one of the first, and perhaps the most powerful, sexual attractions he had felt had been towards his gorgeous aunt. Like his mother, she was a buxom woman, yet she held her ample form within a strange halo of sexual beauty and physical grace. Added to this was a striking style in dress and appearance that made her appear truly gorgeous and deeply elegant. Poor Adam was hooked by the time he was thirteen, a fact his aunt clearly recognised and exploited with teasing remarks and a general flirtatiousness that he had tried to laugh off, but which always left him with a painful erection and the furious, almost irresistible urge to masturbate. Indeed, his first, very powerful wet dream was fuelled by haunting images of Aunt Debra, images that had teased his conscious and unconscious mind for over fifteen years.
In the image of Aunt Debra he had found a very pure expression of the contradictory forces that struggled deep within his increasingly powerful and will-destroying sexuality: the desire for the female and the desire to become feminine; a heterosexual orien
tation combined with a deeply feminine personality and a deep, burning sexual attraction towards everything associated with the feminine. Much as he found himself drawn to her stunning, plump form, he also found himself fascinated and intensely aroused by the trappings of her elegant, scrupulous femininity, particularly her clothes and the delicate intricacies of her make-up. In itself, this fascination was nothing new: the girls at school provided the same source of endless interest. Yet with Aunt Debra, this interest was framed and very effectively fuelled by a powerful sexual desire, and this was the catalyst for Eve – the water that fell upon the tormented ground of his soul and helped to ensure the growth of a helplessly beautiful she-male.
Then he had found himself alone with Aunt Debra in her isolated home, willingly trapped in a tiny bit of paradise. And it was here that his aunt had inspired the first true revelation of Eve.
It had been a few days into his visit. During the daytime his aunt worked, her exact employment always unclear and certainly never discussed in any detail. Thus he was left to explore the striking, ancient house and the beautiful grounds, including a large private wood that surrounded most of the house. Yet, even after just a few days, he found himself too tormented to appreciate his impressive surroundings. To be near Aunt Debra so consistently was just too distracting. At first, he had been very nervous and, to a certain extent, embarrassed. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered, and also very pleasant and constantly attentive. To make things worse, she seemed intent on firing up his helpless sexual interest by wearing the most delightful and intricately feminine attire. He found himself confronted by tight, often surprisingly short skirts showing off her large, yet strikingly shapely bottom and very long, firm legs, legs that were always wrapped in various shades of soft, shimmering nylon, and very clearly and deliberately on display, proclaiming their beauty and perfection in daring, fetishistic detail, and always perfectly completed by a variety of high-heeled shoes, normally of black patent leather, and always verging towards the deceptively soft edge of the sado-erotic.
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The Secret Self Page 1
