The Wedding Proposal Ch. 01

This is a new version of a story I have published elsewhere.

I slowly let the sheer, white stockings glide up along my closely shaven legs. They were smooth as silk, and no hint of coarseness caught the fabric as I stepped into them. The broad bands of elaborate lace hugged my thighs and made me feel great. Six straps, each decorated with a small silk ribbon, held the stockings attached to the garter belt I wore around my waist. The coarse lace felt tight around my body, but I loved the feeling of the feminine garment. It filled me with joy and arousal. It made my heart race and my crotch tingle. Inside the delicate, white panties something began to stir and grow, pressing against the soft fabric and rising towards the ruffled hem.

I took my time and enjoyed the ritual. Each garment was carefully studied, and I smelled the cleanness of the lingerie before I slowly put it on. Every time it stirred new sensations in me, and each piece made me feel more and more like the person I wanted to be. I knew that no one would see me wearing it, but each item seemed to tamper with my mind and boost the confidence and sensuality I needed.

It was not strictly necessary to wear lingerie for what was to come. No one would see what was behind the wedding gown, but I wanted this to be as close to reality as possible. I was afraid of performing in this sham without doing everything to make it convincing. Not as much for the spectators as for myself. I knw that once I was walking down the aisle with dozens of eyes on me, I would need every ounce of confidence.

This was going to be the greatest and most terrifying adventure of my life so far. I had been crossdressing a few times in secrecy, but being asked to perform as a bride was beyond crazy. The proposal stunned me at first, but I knew that I had been fantasizing about this, and I would never have an opportunity like this again. Even though I found it absurd, I agreed to it with a heart pounding like a couple on their wedding night.

The corset hugged my faux breasts perfectly, almost making me believe that I could feel the lace chafe my nipples. The adhesive kept the forms firmly in place. My waist was cinched tightly by the constricting attire, rendering me unable to draw my breath fully. In spite of the slight discomfort, it served to spike my sense of femininity. In a weird way I felt I was supposed to suffer for feeling this pretty. I looked down at the curves it produced, and a rush of adrenaline surged through my belly. I was looking more and more like a real girl.

Ever since I was little, I had kept my hair at shoulder length, and I was very glad for the ability to style it in a feminine fashion. But I knew it was insufficient for what was to come. I needed to see a professional and had scheduled an appointment with a hairdresser down the road. That meant going out in public, and I was not by far ready for that. Still, I saw no other option. I was supposed to be ready in a few hours. Postponing would only serve to bolster my already sky-rocketing stress level.

Walking down the road with my hair loose and a tight pair of jeans over the lingerie felt like a necessary rehearsal. I needed to get used to having people's eyes on me. But they were in fact a lot less ogling than I had imagined. My mind had conjured images of snickering women and pointing children, but no one seemed to notice anything off about me. I was already smiling confidently as I entered the door to the salon and approached the pretty hairdresser behind the counter.

She already knew why I came and got right to work. Her smile and enthusiasm was contagious, and before I knew it we were chatting away like schoolgirls. She asked me all about the big day, the groom and everything that had to do with the upcoming wedding. I was immensely glad that Tony had planned a story in every detail, although he seemed to be the main character. There was some improvisation, but sitting in the chair with her fastening extensions and applying foundation, I found it easy to believe this was all real. Today I was a girl getting ready for her wedding, and she was doing her best to keep my spirit up. She never seemed to notice that I was really a boy. Or perhaps she sensed my nervousness and wanted to spare me the discomfort of her knowing. Either way, I enjoyed the fantasy as a would-be bride.

My heart kept fluttering the entire time, both from nervousness and joy. I had never been out in public as a girl before, but luckily there were few people out this early. The only other customers here were two elderly women with their heads wedged inside some big, round machines. They were too busy discussing some promiscuous celebrity in a glossy magazine to notice me.

With long, golden locks braided and curled, and marvelously laid make-up, I felt overdressed as I walked home, ready to don all the fabulous clothing I had laid out on my bed. My confidence was greatly improved by the visit, and I felt a little bit more ready for what was to come.

My friend Tony had been quite desperate to ask this of me. I only agreed because it was his last resort after years of effort. His family had arranged for him to marry a girl from their homeland, but he did not want to marry just anyone. He knew that the marriage would be a tragedy for them both, so he had convinced his family that he had found a great wife on his own.

This wife was, in fact, me. He had asked a number of female friends to do this, but they had all refused. Of course they had. Who in their right mind would agree to a crazy scheme like this? Run out of female friends, he asked the one male friend who would have the easiest time posing as a girl. I was not a very feminine boy, but my height was limited, and my masculine features not as obvious as with his other friends. When he asked me to pose as his wife in a fake wedding, I did not have the heart to let him down. I knew his entire future depended on this. A couple of days of anguish, fear and acting was a small price for me to pay to help my best friend. The relieved smile on his face when I told him yes was reward enough.

I looked over at the clothes hanger on the bedroom wall where the shining white gown was hanging. This was it. Somehow, I felt the gravity of the situation as the seconds edged closer. The silk fabric of the gown felt cold against my skin as I pulled it up along my body. The strapless top half of the dress fit snugly across my ample, fake bosom. With an awkward struggle, I managed to zip myself up, and the dress fit comforting and tight around my torso. Below the waist it widened into a confusing array of folds and decoration. Lace, tulle, rhinestones and silk, all arranged in a seemingly haphazard manner. If I had not felt utterly feminine before, I certainly did now. Only a girl could wear a wedding gown like this.

The crowning piece of the ritual was, ironically, a pair of Victorian, white leather boots with 5-inch heels. They were laced up the front and decorated with pearls and seams. Everyone had always talked about how difficult it was to walk in heels, but it had always felt natural to me. My body instantly aligned itself with the altered posture and balance, giving me a feminine grace as I strutted around on my toes. It was the one female skill I really found I had a knack for.

At the moment the final lace was tied, it was as if my mind flipped over. I felt complete. A nervous wreck, of course, but everything was perfect. I had been to weddings before, and whilst everybody talked about the lucky groom, I had always envied the bride. Today I got to experience the one dream I had never thought possible. Today I was going to get married.

The image I saw when I stared into the body length mirror in my room reminded me more of some fairytale princess than the skinny boy hiding inside. I had worn the entire outfit several times before, but never with such magnificent make-up and hair. And never with such fluttering belly and pride. I had to fight to keep the tears back, fearing they would ruin my beautiful face. But the nerves and nausea kept assaulting me. As I kneeled in front of the toilet, discarding my breakfast, I felt less pretty, but none the less happy, knowing I shared the same experience with every bride in history. I reminded myself that this was just another detail making the illusion perfect.

Today, perhaps I would be the envy of some skinny, insecure boy hiding somewhere behind his mother's fancy skirts.