Chapter 1
The Beginning

Not really sure where to start, I guess it should be back several years ago, no, more like a lifetime ago.  I have always been a cross-dresser although in those days we were called several other less savory things.  Queer, fag and sissy just to name a few.  Life was not quite as liberal as it is today.

Now we have a limited acceptance and in some circles actually a place we can call our home.  I mean now one can actually go out dressed to the nines with other “girls” and have a great time watching a movie, eating dinner or just shopping. Yes, we still get the stares and the occasional question, “why is he dressed like that?” Now if one is careful and meticulously applies all the correct camouflage, one can mingle with the general public with little or no problems.

In that other lifetime I tried oh so many times to “get out” only to be beat back into my closet with my suitcase full of emotional stress and guilt. Yes, life then was very different from today and I guess that is when I made my first wish to be a GG, for just one day.  I truly wanted to experience life as a woman, feel all the emotions both good and bad, first-hand.  My dream was to be asked out on a formal date and dance the night away in a blue satin gown with my long blonde hair flowing down across my bare shoulders.

I dreamed that night starts with all my clothes lying out across my bed just longing for the moment to caress my soft smooth body.  My dressing table is neatly arranged with makeup, combs, powders, and perfumes all anxiously waiting to cast their spell of beauty for this magical night.

The transformation begins with a long hot bubble bath, you know one that wraps the body and soul in sweet smells of fresh flowers and leaves the skin pedal soft.  The warm water washes away all the days tensions and fills the soul with anticipation of what the night will bring.  The legs are of course pampered to obtain an extra smooth feel so as not to disagree with a new pair of silky nylons used later to frame their long statuesque shape.

The hair is also given some special attention by applying an extra rich shampoo and conditioner; gently, massaging them in so as to cap each strand of golden hair with a shimmer that will crown the finished product.  After this glorious cleansing comes the patting dry of every inch of this soothed body and readying it for the nights festivities with a liberal portion of lotion and powder.  You smell the two aromas mixing together and filling the dressing room with its erotic vapors.  They coax the soul toward tempting personal pleasures and give way to just enough to settle the urge.  Now weak from this brief fantasy you move to the bed to start a slow reverse striptease revue.

First come the panties, not just any old pair of silk drawers either. For this night requires a shear lavender bikini thong that hugs the hips and caress the division of a soft round derriere.  Slowly, one leg at a time steps into the silky openings and gently slid them up into place. A slight undulation from side to side helps fit the front panel down over a now moist love port while the satin thong strap seats deep out of site.  A quick glance in the mirror reveals a snuggly fitted shear lavender sheath held in place by two spaghetti lace ribbons and stating to the world all is secure and ready for a night of your life.

That same glance in the mirror also reminds me that this sensual movement has brought my breast to full bloom.  They are firm with nipples tensed to a point.  Running a slow tender hand down over each one and causes a tremble as fingers softly glide over them.  They are so warm and soft to the touch and again I have to remind myself to tend to the task at hand or my date will become a thing of the past.

PAST!!! This is a dream I am talking about and has nothing to do with my situation now.  I have let myself get off track from the intent of writing about what has happened over the last few days.  I have to keep telling myself to stay focused and report only the facts or there in no hope of returning up the path forced on me. I mean only a few hours a go I enjoyed a sensuous affair that brought all my emotions to boil and ended with an eruption to climax all that I have felt before.

She is a seductive temptress who I met while simply performing my weekly shopping chores at the local Safeway.  I was picking through the usual selection of melons when she bent across the counter and ask, “which melons looked the best?”  I really was taken by surprise because one moment it was just me at the counter and the next thing I knew this curvaceous strawberry blond was leaning over toward me posing the question.

I almost fell over the edge of the stand because my eyes locked on a dark blue silk Halston blouse with a collar lifted in the back and angled down to a point, four buttons from the top.  This frame revealed a portrait of creamy soft skin plunging deep down between two of the most luscious breast I had ever seen. Now don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t a vulgar site in any way but it did set the imagination to running wild with anticipation. The crowning jewel of this vision was a pear shaped emerald the size of a quarter, set on a beautiful antique gold locket and suspended on a gold angel hair chain.

It was as I watched this pendent move back and forth in perfect rhythm with her swaying hips that I realized the stone matched the color of her deep green alluring eyes. The two sets of gems multiplied their attraction to the point that I was sure one was ineffective without the other.  At this point, which seemed like I had been locked in her trance for hours that she once again ask for a recommendation as to which cantaloupe to buy.  This short statement snapped me back to reality and as we both straightened up over the counter I mentioned “ the sweetest are firm in the hand and have a soft push-back at he navel.”

This statement added to our already evident embarrassment and our eyes tried to turn away to tender the flushness felt in our faces but with no avail.  We both smiled at each other and exchanged names as polite stranger do or at least they used to do.  As the name “Rachel” rolled across her full primrose lips I found myself saying it over and over again in my mind.

It was amazing that her name just happened to be the most wonderful name in the world to me.  It was my mother’s name and this brought back a flood of wonderful memories from my childhood.  Even the spelling was the same and not many keep this simple arrangement of letters once they realize the myriad of French pronunciations and writings.  Most want it to be more sophisticated and change the spelling by adding or dropping letters to try to heighten its appeal or so they think.  Not my mother!

She always pointed out quite clearly to anyone who attempted to rename her that the six letters in her name were meant to reflect exactly who she was; nothing less and nothing more.  Yes, my mother was her own woman in a time when most of her gender were subjected to a life of “barefoot and pregnant.”  She had to be as we were on our own making it in the world after my so called “father” ran off with a bar-girl when I was three. I can still remember mom setting me on the edge of her dressing table and telling me “you have to stand up for who you are and what you believe in. That way you are a catalyst in the world and not just a part of the day to day mix.”

She lived by these words too.  When most women stayed home and kept the house, “Rachel Halstenson” carved a niche in what was then an all-male corporate banking world and raised me to the best of her ability.  Mom was a tall curvaceous woman who could play the female part as needed to get in the door and then prove there was a very logical mind inside this vision of womanhood.

I guess it was she that taught me the proper way to dress like a lady, not to say my mom forced me into wearing women’s clothing.  No she believed a man was a man and a woman was a woman, but she did let me watch her dress as she readied for work, a job interview or a date. As she dressed and I would ask question about why she wore so many different things.  She would laugh and explain that a woman needed certain things to make her feel special and it all started with the way she put her clothes on.  To just throw clothes on was a wait of time and effort.  To take the time to meticulously choose and place each article of clothing in its proper order started off the day’s adventure with confidence.

She explained that a woman’s dress reflects the way she feels inside and is a clue to her direction in life.  Mom always wore business attire to the office but with a definite flair to the sensual.  She loved to turn a head or get a little whistle.  She said it always boasted her confidence and made her feel a little special.  I would always give her a whistle as she left for the office or as she dropped me off at school.  She would always say” Why, thank you kind sir!’ in a sweet yet inviting voice. I’d turn and give her a wink, as she would drive off.  I miss those days terribly and wonder what advice she would give me now in my current dilemma. Having her gone some ten years now does not comfort me or help me see a way out of this unbelievable turn of fate.