The Awakening Ch. 02

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Part Two — Resurrection

Up in the attic I turn on the standard lamp, unlock the Chubb lock and open the trunk. Nadine is out for a few hours so I can take my time and fully investigate the contents of the trunk.

There are layers of skirts; blouses and lingerie all neatly folded. I take one of blouses out of the trunk and try it on. I’m not really surprised to find it is a perfect fit. I fumble with the buttons because they are on the opposite side to the buttons on my men’s shirts. Similarly when I try on a navy-blue skirt it also fits me. Vague memories return to me of wearing the garments but nothing tangible.

I have already tried on the cherry-red, platform-soled, high-heel pumps so I know they fit. There are other pairs of women’s shoes in the trunk all size ten. They range from strappy sandals to high-heeled pumps. I put them aside and study the lingerie; panties, bras, slips, suspender belts, stockings, pantyhose; all manner of underwear in various colours and styles. They are intriguing but I don’t waste time trying them on; it’s pretty obvious they will fit.

I’m getting towards the bottom of the trunk now. I find a hard plastic case, which I open and am shocked to find a pair of lifelike latex breasts. I put that aside and find another small cardboard box. Inside is a cellular phone and charging unit. I turn it on but the battery is very nearly flat so I put it aside for further perusal. I find a large makeup case full of cosmetics and a smaller makeup case with a compact, lipstick, eyeliner, blush, eyeshadow and eyeliner pencil and other cosmetics. A small jewellery case is next; I open it up and find a small collection of silver jewellery similar to that worn by the woman in my dreams. I find two ladies handbags, one black patent leather, the other metallic silver.

Right at the bottom is a small address book, which I place next to the mobile phone. I put everything back except for the phone and the address book and make my way back to the study where I put the phone on charge.

I fire up the Sony notebook and log into Michele Nylons’ hotmail account. Of the thirty-seven unread emails, most appear to be junk so I ditch them. I’m left with about half dozen emails that look legitimate. I open one with the subject: ‘Where Are You Michele?’ It reads:

‘Michele honey,

Where have you been? The girls miss you and I do too; not to mention our bevy of admirers. Please don’t tell me you have given up the scene?

xxx

Vanessa’

The return address is [email protected]. It’s dated about three weeks ago.

I’m intrigued and decide to reply to Vanessa to see what information I can glean without giving away too much.

‘Vanessa,

I was unexpectedly called away and was not contactable. Sorry about that but I’m back now. Please provide me with as much information as you can as to what has happened while I was away.

xxx

Michele’

The other emails are of a similar vein; from what I presume they are from other transvestites and those admirer persons. They lament my absence from the crossdressing scene and some are quite vulgar and explicit. I log into Michele’s TVChix page and once again read her profile. I notice she has posted her email address and a cellular phone number in her contact details. What’s the bet it’s the number of the mobile I have charging on my desk?

I flick open the phone and find a few telephone numbers in the contacts file. Vanessa’s number is there (at least I assume she is the same Vanessa who emailled me) but the other names do not ring a bell. I look at the outgoing calls register and see the last call I made was to Vanessa two days before my accident. There are a few text messages as well and they seem to all relate to setting up meetings.

To say I am intrigued would be to put it mildly. I am dumbfounded but very fascinated about what seems to be a very secret and personal part of my life that I cannot recall no matter how hard I try. I peruse the pictures in the MN file and I must say I am captivated by the images of the woman in those pictures. Am I really her? She’s very sexy; if you look closely you can tell she is a transvestite but she is stunning all the same. I find that I am becoming aroused.

That evening I get a reply from Vanessa: ‘Let’s meet at the Early Bird Coffee Shop at 6 pm tonite’.

I feel the trepidation but I am excited as well. I have no idea what this Vanessa person looks like. Will she come dressed as a woman or a man? That’s my first thought. I debate for hours as to whether or not I should meet this person but in the end my curiosity overcomes my anxiety. I make up an excuse for Nadine and drive downtown to the coffee shop.

I sit nursing a skinny latte looking around the place but there is no one there I recognise. At 6:15 a handsome man in his forties sits down opposite me. He is lean, tanned and his hair is rather long but very well styled. He is carrying a diet soda and I notice he has long elegant fingers with rather long but spotlessly clean olgun porno fingernails.

“Ok Michele there is obviously something very wrong with you,” he says without any preamble.

“You didn’t give me the all clear signal and you seem not have a clue who I am,” he sips his drink and raises his brows waiting for my reply.

“All clear?” I ask.

“When we are meeting in drab; rubbing a hand through our hair indicates we are free and clear to meet and won’t be embarrassed if someone not in our scene is in the vicinity,” he explains.

“There is something seriously wrong with you isn’t there?”

I didn’t really know where to start so I told him everything that had happened to me, starting with the dreams I had while I was in the coma; concluding with me sitting here across from a total stranger who seems to know more about me than I know about myself.

“Amazing!” he looks extremely puzzled.

“I suppose I should introduce myself; I’m Vanessa. I know it sounds strange me having a woman’s name but that’s how we work,” he begins.

“We?” I ask.

“We are a group of what are known as ‘closet’ transvestites. That is we regularly meet in secret and only our friends and select people are invited.”

“We only know each other by our femme names; we are discreet and anonymous. We stay in contact by email or cell phone and we seldom meet in drab,” he concludes.

“Sort of like AA?” I joke, but it is not well received.

“Drab?” I ask.

“Yes dressed as men. It’s really only you and I that get together like this occasionally to discuss club business,” Vanessa took another sip of her soda.

Why am I thinking of him as a her? This is all very confusing!

“Look I can see that you are very confused and I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose all of your memories like that,” Vanessa went on.

“But in some ways I envy you. You will get to experience the delight of crossdressing for the first time all over again.”

“That is if you want to?” Vanessa raises her eyebrows again.

I frown, unsure of what I really want.

“Those dreams; you are the woman in those dreams. Your experiences with your wife? Why do you think you can’t get it up unless she dresses that way? Why do you envy her being dressed that way and imagine that it is you dressed in sexy lingerie and being submissive?” her gaze is intense.

“Look we can’t really discuss this here. We usually meet at the Southside Inn every couple of weeks. I think you and I should meet there alone and we can see if you still have urge; see if you still want to be part of the scene,” Vanessa finishes her coke and stands up, obviously about to leave.

“I’ll email you the details. You can make up your mind if you want to meet me when I it set up. I hope you come Michele; you used to love being in our select little club; you and I were the founding members and the leaders of the group so to speak.”

“I miss you,” Vanessa says and turns and walks away.

So I sweat over the next couple of days. I am tempted to open the trunk again and maybe try on some of the clothes; try to put on some makeup but I just can’t imagine doing it. Then the email from Vanessa arrives. It is very specific. It goes into great detail as to what items I should bring to the meet, how to the meet and concludes with ‘turn on your cell phone at 7:00 pm Friday, wait outside the Southside Inn’. Sure enough, there I am at 7:00 pm Friday, parked outside of the hotel with a small suitcase packed as directed by Vanessa.

The cellular phone sat on the dash and buzzes at exactly 7:00 pm. The message reads: ‘room 213’ and with some trepidation I take the small case and enter the hotel; step into the elevator and press the button for the second floor. I knock on the door to room 213 and it opens a little. I push it open and step inside.

Vanessa looks magnificent. She is wearing a figure hugging red lame dress with silver sequins. Her hair is a blonde wig piled high with a perfect fringe just above her eyebrows. She wears lots of makeup and it is perfectly applied. Her long legs are clad in shimmering flesh-toned hose, with darker fully-fashioned heels and back-seams. Her shoes are red high-heeled pumps at least four inches high.

Her attention to detail is rigorous; even her elegant fingernails are painted with cherry-red nailpolish and gold bangles grace her wrists. A matching pendant hangs around her neck on a gold chain, gold drop-earring dangle from her ears and gold rings adorn her fingers. She looks sophisticated and sexy; I feel myself becoming aroused.

She looks nothing like the man I met at the Early Bird Coffee Shop. She is stunning. I stand there staring at her in awe.

“Sit,” Vanessa points to the bed and I obey.

I drop my small suitcase and watch the beautiful transvestite pour us both a glass of red wine.

“Here,” she hands me a glass and I sip it.

“You like what you see I take it,” she smiles at me.

I nod, not really able to speak.

“Good, porno now take a shower and call me when you’re finished,” she says.

I do as I’m told still full of trepidation. I come out of the bathroom dressed only in a bath towel. Vanessa removes it and smiles at my erect penis. I can’t stop staring at her. She reaches out and glides a finger slowly along my shaft; I nearly climax; it feels so sensual. Vanessa smiles.

“The same old Michele is still in there. Now just let me do what I need to do. Just sit down and relax,” she smiles again.

I glance at the queen size bed and notice that Vanessa has laid out the things she told me to bring. The satin, lace and nylon look quite mystical and inviting in the darkened room.

I notice she had laid out a set of hair trimmers, a razor, shaving cream, nail clippers and depilatory cream on the dressing table. I sit down and sip my wine and let her do what needs to be done. I instinctively trust her. Her perfume smells wonderful as she fusses around me, clipping my pubic hair, shaving my torso and my face, shaping my eyebrows, shaving my legs, arms, and the backs of my hands. She starts with the electric trimmer and progresses to the razor, frequently changing the blade.

Vanessa fusses and tuts, taking a sip of wine occasionally; I’m not really hirsute but it still takes her the best part of an hour to rid my of my body of what little body hair I have and to trim my pubes.

“Jesus Michele how could you let yourself get so hairy?” she asks.

“And how could Nadine stand it?” she takes a little sip of wine.

“You know about Nadine?” I ask.

“I know you told me that she loves that you keep your body shaved.”

“We keep our private lives to ourselves but pillow talk extends to our sex lives, so yes you’ve told me about your relationship with Nadine, just as you did at the coffee shop yesterday and I have told you about my wife Jeanette,” she answers.

“You know my male name is Jim and I know yours is Mike, but that’s about as much as we know, or want to know about each other’s personal lives. It’s one of our rules,” Vanessa explains.

“Rules?” I ask.

She just smiles and points at the mirror.

“Take one last look at Mike for a little while; the next time you look in the mirror you will see Michele,” she grins.

She pours me another glass of wine and then she gets busy. She applies a thick coat of foundation to my face and neck and sets it with a liberal dusting of matching face powder. She then goes to work on my eyes. She brushes mauve eyeshadow onto my eyelids working from the inner corner of each eye to the centre above my pupils. She works the powder upwards right up to my eyebrows and then applies a coat of light blue out to the far corners of my eyes, lightening the makeup as she works it up to my brows, blending the two shades.

She reaches for some pink eyeshadow and applies it liberally around the edges of the two other coats of eyeshadow; blending the eyeshadow with a small brush, making final adjustments with her fingertips. I stare at myself in the mirror as my face is slowly transformed.

“Please half-close your eyes for me; here comes the hard bit; the eyeliner.” Vanessa says, concentrating on her task.

Vanessa carefully delineates jet-black eyeliner as close as possible to the lash line of my upper and lower eyelids . She starts in the very corner of each eye and works outwards applying three coats and touching up where necessary so that my eyes are framed by the black makeup.

“Open your eyes; lift your head up but look down at my tummy and keep still for me Michele; I’m going to do your mascara next,” Vanessa explains.

She brushes thick black mascara onto my upper and lower eyelashes; fiddling a little as she works. She explains that because my eyelashes are very fine she has to apply plenty of the product to get a good effect. Then she brushes blusher to my cheeks, feathering it along my cheek-line and smoothing it up so that it almost merges with my eyeshadow. Finally she dusts my whole face and neck with a coating of sheer-glow finishing powder, being careful not to smudge my mascara and eyeliner. My face is already starting to look feminine.

“Ok Michele I want you to play particular attention to how I apply your lipstick; it’s a two-coat product and you need to get the first coat right because its very difficult to remove,” she lectures.

She opens a long slim box containing two thin tubes and unscrews the first tube to reveal an applicator coated with plum coloured liquid lipstick. Vanessa paints my lips with the colour coat, carefully outlining my lip-line and then colouring in my lips applying it evenly. She has me bite down on a tissue to set the lippy and remove any excess.

Then she opens the other tube, the transparent topcoat, she waits a minute and then applies it liberally to my lips.

“Perfect,” she whispers more to herself than to me, “now leave your lips parted for a second until it’s dry ok?”

I Porno izle nod.

“Ok now lift your head while I fit your wig,” she says.

Vanessa specifically told me to bring the classic bob brunette with the subtle dark-red highlights and she brushes it out while I sit and let my makeup set. She places the wig on my head and fiddles and adjusts it until it is sitting perfect with the bangs straight. She brushes it some more and then she stands back to admire her work.

“Welcome back Michele!’ she says and spins to me around so that I am facing the mirror.

The transformation is astounding! I’m looking at the woman from my dreams! I reach out and lightly touch my reflection.

“It’s really me, I can’t believe it” I sigh.

“Ok let’s get you dressed then,” Vanessa said.

“Have a quick drink before we start,” she said and we both take a gulp of wine.

I feel very nervous but also excited. I can smell and taste my makeup and it feels a little familiar now.

I stand before Vanessa as she clips a black satin and lace suspender belt around my waist. The silver clips tickle my thighs; they are cold against my skin.

“Sit!” she points at the bed, her red fingernail glistens.

I gasp and sigh with delight as Vanessa slides the sensuous nylon stockings up my legs and fastens the welts to the garters. She straightens the black seams of the sheer taupe nylons and smooths out the creases with her fingertips being careful not to snag them. My penis is becoming tumescent; the decadent feel of the stockings on my recently shaved legs, the taste of my makeup, the scent of Vanessa’s perfume; its all very arousing.

Vanessa smiles wickedly and tucks my semi-tumescent penis under my crotch and pulls a pair of white satin, boy-leg panties up my legs. The satin whispers against my sheer nylons; the feel is ecstatic! She smooths the panties around my buttocks and I shiver and moan.

“It feels so nice doesn’t it?” she whispers, stroking my stocking-clad legs.

“Yes it does. Did I really dress like this very often?” I ask incredulously.

How could I forget something that feels so decadent and sumptuous?

“You are so lucky to be experiencing this for the first time,” she smiles at me and slides my feet into a pair of black high-heeled pumps.

“Stand!” she commands and I obey.

She straps a white satin and lace brassiere around my torso and stuffs the latex breastforms into the cups. They feel strange but not uncomfortable.

“We sometimes use cosmetic tape or glue to hold our breastforms in place but we don’t have time for that tonight,” she tuts.

She’s in a hurry now and quickly buttons me into a mauve satin blouse and has me step into the navy-blue skirt. The hem of the skirt feels very sexy rubbing against my legs. She has me stand in front of the mirror once more and all vestiges of my male persona are gone. I am not Mike; I am the woman of my dreams. She clips silver drop earrings to my ears, fastens a matching pendant around my neck, slides rings on my fingers and fastens bangles and bracelets to my wrists.

“The final touch,” she whispers in my ear and then sprays a liberal amount of ‘Poison’ on my decolletage and cheekily sprays some under my skirt.

I feel so wonderful; feminine and sexy! The transformation is amazing. I don’t feel like Michael; I feel like Michele! I stare at myself in the mirror for a few seconds and then Vanessa spins me around and takes me in her arms.

She kisses me softly and I respond immediately.

The sweet taste of her mouth, the taste of our lipstick as our lips crush, the scent of our perfume, the soft embrace of our bodies. I am becoming tumescent; the soft satin material of my panties caresses the sensitive flesh of my penis. I begin to understand what Vanessa was implying when she told me she envied me the experience of dressing like this for the first time.

Our kisses become more frenzied and Vanessa pulls my body close to hers; my skirt and blouse rustle against her lame dress, the feel of the soft fabric against my skin is electrifying. Her tongue slides into my mouth and I gasp as her fingers slide up my legs; the soft caress of her fingers on my sheer nylon-clad thigh is delightfully thrilling.

I respond and lift the hem of her skirt and stroke her thighs. She pulls me closer and out tongues entwine. I don’t feel like I am kissing a man; I’m kissing Vanessa. I also don’t feel anything like Michael any more; I am Michele, brazen transvestite!

We fall onto the bed, she on top of me. She kisses me passionately while her hands explore my body. Eventually her hand slides up my thigh, across the welts of my stockings, and then across the band of pale tender flesh until her fingers rest on my panty-clad member.

“MMMMmmmm,” I groan as she squeezes it.

Vanessa breaks our kiss briefly and smiles at me.

“I knew you would like it,” she sighs and her face falls back to mine.

I reciprocate and slide my hand under her dress and find her manhood sheathed in sheer nylon panties. I trace the outline of her erection with my fingernail and she gasps in my mouth.

“You might have lost your memory but you haven’t lost your touch,” she gasps and pushes her crotch into my hand, encouraging me to stroke her.

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