Abby's Panties

Theresa let it drop. She knew, as I did, that talking about your exes and divorce on a first date, even if it wasn't a true date, wasn't something that should be done. She was divorced, too, and I could tell by the way she spoke that she was still hurt. Maybe she had some lingering feelings for her ex as much as I did for Abby.

The four of us danced, sometimes as a group, sometimes paired up. We were joined on the dance floor by a trio of raucous gay men, having the time of their life. Their laughter and joyful demeanor were infectious. I bought them drinks and even had a slow dance with a man for the first time in my life, learning how to be led instead of leading.

Mostly I spent time with Theresa. She was warm, had a sharp wit that had me laughing at the most inappropriate things, her sense of humor matching mine, and she was achingly lovely. Her hair was a color halfway between red and brown that seemed to shine when it caught the light just right. Her eyes were the dark color of roasted almonds. When she smiled, her face lit up, like that of a child opening presents on Christmas day. When we danced, I could feel the warmth of her body and I felt my pulse quicken at the way she looked at me. There was a fire in that accepting gaze, one that shouted desire and familiarity all at once.

Marilyn interrupted one dance, handing her empty glass to Theresa to refill her drink. "She's been hurt before," she scolded, holding my hand in a vigorous grip. "I won't let you hurt her again." We danced to Ariana Grande, but my focus wasn't on the music or the lyrics, they were on Marilyn and the threatening compassion in her words. Had I ever had a friend like that? One that would stick up for me no matter what? Abby had been like that until I cast her aside for something far less meaningful.

I nodded. "I won't."

Marilyn considered me then flashed me a smile. "Good." We danced until Theresa returned. Ariana yielded to Sia singing Big Girls Don't Cry while Marilyn yielded Theresa.

"You're a good friend, Mary," I said as Theresa cut in.

She gave me a nod, raised her fresh drink, then returned to Carly.

Theresa was bright enough to know what happened and caring enough to let it drop. My esteem for both escalated.

The night ended with a hug amongst friend and a quick peck on Theresa's cheek. We made plans for a true date on Tuesday night. "Just a quick dinner," Theresa had said. "We both have work in the morning."

"I can call in sick," I said. Her eyes went wide, then a smile crept onto her face. Nodding she said, "good to know, but I can't." She made a noise of disgust, like finding a swarm of maggots crawling on your garbage can, "budget meetings."

I laughed, gave her another quick peck. It wasn't until I called Tuesday morning that I discovered, hidden amongst Theresa's laughter, that when we made our date. Theresa wanted to meet John.

(iii)

We had dinner at a local seafood place serving fried catfish, blackened grouper, shrimp in just about every way Forrest Gump's Bubba could imagine, and iced tea so fresh and crisp that it ought to be illegal. The key lime pie was good, but their banana pudding was heavenly. We were sitting in a booth, "someplace quiet," I had asked when we were seated. We were alone in the far corner of the restaurant. A single man was eating a piece of salmon two tables away. Country music was playing softly, Patty Loveless crooning about shackles and chains.

Theresa was wearing a sharp dark blue business suit, the color of the deepest ocean. The jacket had short sleeves and only one button. She was wearing a cream-colored blouse and beneath it I could just make out the faintest tinge of her black bra. I found it fascinating that I wondered where she bought it. Did it come from Victoria's Secret, or did she order it online like I did?

We were escorted to a table where an attentive waitress took our orders. We made small talk, the way new couples did, not broaching the deeper, taboo subjects. She was feeling me out, searching for what I couldn't say. The conversation stayed light until after our meal had been delivered. As the meal progressed, our topics became deeper, more meaningful.

"How's work getting on without you there so much?" she asked, taking another bite.

I shook my head, "Good. It's like they don't need me there. I don't know if that should make me happy or hurt my feelings. Business is good. Maybe better than it has ever been, and I've cut my hours, for, well, you know why."

Theresa nodded but said nothing.

"It's like I'm more productive now that I'm there less. My ex used to tell me that would happen. 'John,' she'd say, 'you don't need to be there so much. You'll find work will be easier if you're not there all the time.'"

"We have meetings all the time, God, so many meetings, and once they city brought in a consultant to talk about the importance of having a life outside of work. They talked about burnout and put up graphs on how taking time away from work made work more productive. Guess you're learning that."

"I am." I took a bite of buttery scampi. "I wish I'd learned it earlier. I had a good teacher, but I was a lousy student."

Theresa glanced around to make sure we were alone. "Tell me about Jordan."

I loved how she had checked to see if anyone could hear before she asked, how shew was protecting my secret. My esteem for her, already high, grew another notch. "I keep a clean house," I laughed at that.

"What?" Theresa asked, missing the joke.

"I'll get there," I said, picturing the hours I'd spent dressed as a maid in my own house cleaning what had already been cleaned just because I enjoyed the fantasy. I took a sip of my own tea. "One day I was cleaning behind the washing machine when I happened on a pair of panties. My ex called them her period panties. They weren't special in any way. They were dingy. There was a huge dust bunny hanging onto them. I found them, feeling a wave of bittersweet sadness. Nostalgia's like that, I guess.

"I don't know why but I put them on." Now I was the one looking around to make sure we were truly alone. "I'd never had any desire to wear panties before. I just wanted to be closer, well, the why of it doesn't matter since I'm not sure myself. Something happened though. Wearing them was a little naughty and I'd had far too little of that. I liked them. A lot."

I explained my fascination and my online shopping and how I'd set the goal of heading to the mall, dressed as Jordan. I explained how I wanted to go shopping in person instead of with the click of a noisy mouse. I told her about everything I ordered and how I'd spent hour after hour making up my face, only to wash the color away and start again. Practicing until I got it right.

"My favorite thing must be my new maid's dress. I had it custom made. It fits perfectly. It's snug just about everywhere. At the neck there's a pair of little metal gromets." I took another sip of tea before looking around again. Still safely alone, I continued, "and through those loops you can attach a little padlock, like one of those you put on luggage before letting the airline take your bag away."

"You can lock the dress on? Why?"

I gave a shrug and a smile, explaining my fascination with the lock. "The idea of it was exciting. Everything about my new, fetish I guess, has been thrilling. The first night I got the dress I was giddy with anticipation. The only other time I'd felt that way was at my wedding, right before they played the music that would send my bride down the aisle where I was waiting with my all our friends. I was breathless, wanting to try that dress on, but I had come up with an idea while I was waiting.

"As soon as the dress arrived, I grabbed a brand-new luggage lock and carried the two keys to my mailbox that was right on the main road of my subdivision. It wasn't that long of a walk, but that didn't matter. I was excited, terrified, anxious, thinking I should stop my plan but unable to do so. I put the keys in the mailbox then raced back up the driveway. My hands were trembling as I put on the maid's dress."

I took another sip of tea. Theresa was staring with rapt fascination, caught up in my tale. Her eyes were wide and there was a smile playing with the corners of her mouth. She was no longer looking around. I held her focus.

"It fit perfectly. I had been worried my measurements were off, and if they were it was miniscule. The dress was comfortably snug. It hugged my breasts. It was tight at the throat, but that was the point. It wasn't supposed to be easy to remove with the top buttons done up. I pulled a petticoat in place. The skirt had been short before, stopping about mid-thigh. With the petticoats it became even shorter. The tops of my stockings were visible as were a few inches of my garter belt. In back, even the black lace of my ruffled panties were visible. It was obscenely decadent. And I loved it.

"Before I could change my mind, I locked the dress on, putting the hasp through the two grommets and pushing the hasp home. The sound that lock made was deafening. The keys were in the mailbox. The only way to get them was to walk there, fully made up as a saucy, slutty maid."

Theresa took my hand, her big eyes lighting her face. "Oh, God, that's hot."

"It was. It was all I could do to not..." I didn't need to continue. Theresa's nod let me know she understood what I left unsaid.

"I cleaned a little, but my heart wasn't really in it. Mostly I spent the time, waiting for the sun to set, mincing from one mirror to the next to look at myself. The skirt is so short. I bent over just to watch the skirt ride even higher. I looked like a slut and felt just as dirty. No, I felt filthy and I loved it. And with it locked on, I couldn't take it off if I wanted to. Not then anyway. I had to wait until the sun went down. Well, I didn't have to, but I wasn't about to let my neighbors see me dressed like that."

We talked some more and then shared the banana pudding. It was every bit as good as advertised.

After dinner we went to a little dance club. Theresa and I danced some, shared a couple laughs and even more conversation. The hours raced by thanks to my delightful date. She kept touching my arm and didn't pull away when I touched her. Those touches were tentative but promising.

It was nearly midnight when I dropped her off at her apartment. "I had a good time," she said, the two of us standing in front of her door. She was squeezing my hand. Her cheeks were flush; her hair slightly disheveled by the cool breeze that kept the trees softly swaying, the leaves singing a serenade.

"I'm glad," I said, before offering to take her out again.

She shook her head but the smile on her lips didn't fade. "No, John. My next date is with Jordan. I want to go shopping with her."

I swallowed, "I think she'd like that."

"Good." She surprised me with a kiss on the cheek. "I'll pick her up on Saturday."

"Okay."

It was my turn. I gave Theresa an equally chaste kiss. Walking away I was awash with feelings. I had had an amazing night with an equally delightful woman. We shared much. Even as I drove home, feeling terrified that my goal of shopping as a woman was soon to be realized. I wanted it and Theresa wanted it. There was something tantalizing in how Theresa accepted Jordan. Theresa seemed equally as fascinated with this new part of me as I was. Was Jordan going to be around forever or was she a passing fancy? I had no way of knowing. Right now, it felt like she was a part of me, one that I'd never chase away. If that was the case, then having a woman that was accepting of her was more than I could hope for.

I made it home and sent Theresa a text, thanking her for the lovely evening. She responded with a little yellow emoji blowing a kiss followed by a message about Jordan and their upcoming shopping trip. Theresa was going to have fun. With luck, I would too.

Chapter 5

(i)

The work week was a continuation of the week before. The job wasn't any less stressful, but how I handled it was. I was more focused, more at ease. I was quick with a smile, or a joke, and slow to anger. I was able to delegate even more. Even with my reduced hours, the balance sheet continued to rise. Maybe there was something to having a life outside of work. Theresa had said that the city brought in experts to teach them that. Why had it taken me so dreadfully long to learn that simple little secret?

Every afternoon as I left the office, Alice would give me a knowing smile. Once again, she asked, "who is she?"

I smiled before giving a noncommittal shrug.

"I knew it. Good for you."

Good for me indeed.

(ii)

Saturday morning, I woke up early. Theresa was due to pick me up at ten. I needed the extra time to get ready. Going out in public, dressed as a woman, was scary enough when it was dark out and you were amongst like-minded individuals, hiding in a darkened bar where music was playing so loud it made you squint. It was a far scarier situation to be out during the day, going where if you were made, you'd be shunned or ridiculed or even worse. You couldn't be arrested for cross-dressing, but could you be thrown in jail for being a man hiding out in the women's dressing room? Even as innocent as it would be, I could easily imagine the arrest, the trial, and the shame of being eternally branded a sexual predator. I had to be cautious. Going with Theresa would make it easier. Having an accomplice would make the shopping trip far less frightening.

I showered and spent a good forty-five minutes shaving everything from top to bottom. I even shaved the tiny patch of hair on my big toes.

With my body once again free of any stubble, I moved to the bedroom mirror, wiping it with the palm of my hand. I had my laptop open to the YouTube pages I'd saved in the off chance that I needed a refresher. I didn't need any reminder; I was far too practiced now. Foundation, eyeliner, mascara, rouge, lipstick, lip gloss. I put it all on effortlessly. The makeup softened my face while adding a subdued splash of color. I knew I was a man, but my reflection was that of a woman that wasn't beautiful but was cute enough to turn the eye of a guy. I wasn't looking for that, but it was the best I could hope for.

I chose my underwear next. I started with my gaff. I had three of them now. They held the biggest secret out of site, holding my penis down and back, leaving a nearly undetectable bump. They were too tight and fairly rigid, but they helped hold me in place no matter what dirty thoughts I was having.

Next, I donned some black stockings. The stockings helped to mask my slightly knobby knees and they helped with my transformation. Every item of women's clothing I wore was just another brick in the façade I was building. A black garter belt held up the stockings. Black panties went on next. I chose a full bra that was a little tight. The tighter bra helped hold my breasts in place. I hadn't yet sprung for the glue, but I was certain I would soon enough. The idea of seeing my breasts unfettered was eerily appealing.

I pulled a black pleated skirt up my legs, zipping it behind my back. The skirt wasn't terribly short -- it ended just below my knees. I liked the way it waved, like a pennant in a storm, when I swayed from side to side. A simple red blouse decorated with heart-shaped polka dots went on next. I clipped on some earrings -- getting my ears pierced was something else I had planned but hadn't yet been brave enough to do. Two bracelets went on my left wrist. Three on the right. I put a simple golden chain adorned with an equally golden cross went around my neck. The accessories helped pull the eye away from imperfections in the transformation, giving an onlooker something to study instead of any inconsistencies they may spot.

I ended with my auburn colored wig, settling it against my head and pinning it in place. I combed my faux hair, fluffing the slight curls at my shoulders. I stepped from the mirror, eyeing myself critically. I thought I looked good. The time I had spent practicing with my makeup evident in my reflection. I was a comely woman and I was probably my harshest critic.

I glanced at the clock. Theresa was surely on her way. I picked up my newest acquisition. A bottle of perfume -- Bloom by Gucci. It was something else used to mask who I truly was. Most women didn't leave the house without a fragrance wafting delicately from their skin and I would be no exception. I sprayed my wrists, before rubbing them together, then added another spritz to each side of my neck. Good enough. Or so I hoped.

In the living room I set my purse by the front door, before pacing, waiting for Theresa to arrive. When I heard her pull up, I took a deep breath, bracing myself as best I could, before heading out to greet my date. She was dressed in a simple tan blouse with a single button at the throat and a pair of thin, black slacks. She wore a pair of cork wedges that somehow matched her blouse. She had small hoops in her ears and a lone onyx bracelet on her left wrist.

"You're went all out," Theresa said as she examined me in the bright sunlight. She eyed me, at first critically, looking for any flaws, anything that would point out that I wasn't what I appeared to be. Then here critical eye changed, she started looking at me not to criticize but to analyze. "Just look at you."

I knew how I looked. Since I found this, what - fetish, lifestyle, distraction - I lived in front of a mirror, learning all I could to get ready for what Theresa and I were about to do. "What do you think?"

"I know you're a man, but, if I didn't," she shook her head, "I'm not sure I'd guess." Her voice was full of incredulous awe.

That was the best praise imaginable.

Theresa drove to Perimeter Mall, a large shopping complex anchored by Dillard's, Nordstrom's, Macy's and Von Maur's. They had dozens of stores catering to women's fashions. Inside you could buy things from slutty to sexy, frumpy to fabulous. On the drive over, Theresa kept glancing at me, a grin on her lovely face. "I just can't get over it," she said, "you look great."

I felt my cheeks flush with color, "thank you."

We pulled into the mall parking lot, stopping outside of Macy's. "Come on," she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "This is going to be great."

And it was. At first, I was terrified, feeling that every lingering glance my way was full of scorn. I was sure that the domed security cameras were focused on my face and in some hidden back room, a horrid piece of computer software was displaying my undecorated face as well as my real name and sounding a klaxon demanding I be arrested at once.

Theresa was there to reassure me, though. She offered me gentle smiles, tiny, comforting touches, and unfeigned praise. Slowly I began to ease up. I felt a smile come to my own face, tentative at first, then more often and for longer spans of time. As the morning progressed, I no longer looked away from other shoppers and I stopped worrying about the camera's pointing down. I wasn't there to steal. I was there to shop.

And shop we did.

Theresa would go from rack to rack, occasionally holding a shirt to her chest or a skirt to her hips. Mostly she would browse and call me over, holding similar items up for me. "This matches your skin tone," she would say, or, "this would look good on you," or, "what do you think of this?" She was having fun and her mood was infectious. She laughed when she pulled the top of my shirt down to check the size.

"You could have just asked," I scolded, rolling my eyes, and laughing.

"Where's the fun in that?"

We kept shopping. I matched Theresa's actions, moving hangers along the metal bars to get a better look at the pattern on a blouse, or to touch the material to see how it felt against my skin. Theresa began filling her arms with skirts and blouses and dresses. When she got to the jeans she asked, "what size pants do you wear?"