Michele And The PredatorbyMicheleNylons©
The predator peered through the bedroom window and smiled; he couldn't believe his luck. This woman was just to his taste; he felt himself begin to stiffen as his eyes devoured her; he couldn't wait until he had his hands on her. In his mind he played out the scenario that he envisaged would soon take place. His thickening member began to engorge and throb.
The predator had been terrorising the city for months; always preying on attractive, middle-aged women who lived alone. He would break into their houses and spend the night ravishing his prey until he was sated; then leave the women bound to the bed, covered with his issue; this was their final indignity; to be found helpless, despoiled and degraded. Although, by the time he was finished with them, his victims were usually beyond caring how he left them; they just thanked god that he had left.
The predator had defiled five women so far, all sophisticated, attractive and well dressed ladies in their forties or early fifties. He made a point of that; that they be dressed attractively. He had been known to make his victims get out of bed and apply makeup and dress in their finest lingerie and eveningwear before he spent his time playing his sordid games with them. Some victims reported that he made them parade before him wearing differing ensembles until he was satisfied with how they looked before he ravished them.
The predator had arrived at his current destination by sheer luck. He usually followed his intended victim for a few days, and then planned his attack when he was sure that the victim was alone in her home. Tonight he was returning from a bar and decided to cruise a well-to-do neighbourhood just to see if there was anything special that might be worth following up. He was slightly drunk and stopped his car next to an alleyway separating two townhouses so that he could relieve himself. He ducked into the darkened alley to urinate when he noticed the shadow on blind. The silhouette on the blind was unmistakeable to a predator of his kind; a woman either dressing or undressing; her movements and mannerisms playing out like a shadow-puppet on a movie screen. He couldn't help himself; he had to see what might be on offer here. When he had splashed the last of the hot stream of his urine against the wall he climbed up onto a garbage bin hoping he would be able to see more through the window.
The predator was in luck and managed to secure a position where he could see through a chink in the blind where it had not been fully extended. The view provided by the chink took in half of a woman's bedroom. He could see most of the bed, scattered with lingerie and women's clothing lying in a heap, the coat-hangers still attached to the skirts, blouses and jackets. There had to be at least six outfits lying on the bed surrounded by the small piles of assorted lingerie. He could see a dressing table littered with makeup, perfume bottles, jewellery boxes and the sundry items that women seemed to be unable to do without in their endeavours to look attractive. A wine glass, half full of red wine was set to one side. A small shelf above the dressing table held three wig stands. A blonde bob sat on one wig stand and a black long haired wig sat on the second; the third wig stand was bare.
The predator was pleased to see that this woman had such good taste in clothing and obviously looked after herself. The mountains of lingerie, makeup, jewellery and the wigs bespoke of a woman who was most attentive to her appearance – the sort of woman he fantasised about.
The predator allowed his eyes to consume the sight before him. The woman presented herself sideways to him, sitting in front of the mirror at the dressing table making final adjustments to her appearance. She looked to be in her early forties, solid but not fat, and dressed just to his taste. His eyes started with her face and worked their way down her body. Straight brunette hair hung just to her shoulders, the fringe framing her heavily made-up eyes; her cheeks were rouged, her lips full and painted plum red. A glint of light betrayed the simple sparkling earrings that undoubtedly matched the diamante necklace around her neck. She was wearing a black nylon full-slip, the rise of her small breasts emphasised by the tight bodice, the laced hem of the slip resting on her sleek nyloned thighs just above her knees.
The predator liked the way her taupe stockings glistened in the lights from the makeup mirror. Her hands slid down one leg, her fingernails painted a matching plum red to her lipstick, and adjusted her stocking; pulling the sleek nylon taught on her shapely leg and momentarily disappearing under the hem of her slip as she adjusted the clip on a garter strap. The predator shuddered. His eyes continued down her leg and lingered on the black, patent leather, open toe high-heels and he caught a glimpse of her painted toenails on display, encased in the gossamer of her sheer stocking, as she waggled her foot back and forth back as the admiring her own pretty foot. She stood, and then advanced towards the bed presenting herself front-on to the predator.
The predator took in the whole visage of the woman that he had now determined was to be his next victim. Mature, attractive, heavily made-up, tall and well built; she was just to his taste. If he had not spent the evening in the bar and was in a sober frame of mind he might have been more cautious, but the sight she unknowingly presented to the predator sealed the woman's fate. The predator slid silently off the garbage bin on which he had been standing and made his way back to his car. He scanned the street and saw no one. Most of the lights in the adjoining townhouses were out and the street was quiet. He checked his watch: 11:30pm, perfect he thought, and reached into the back seat and took out his burglary tools. Fuck the risk! He had to have her. Now!
Michele sat before the makeup mirror twirling the wine glass in her fingers watching the light sparkle in the red Shiraz. The dark red wine matched the colour of her fingernails and she briefly giggled to herself at the complement. She was slightly drunk from the half-bottle of wine she had already consumed and she set the wine glass down carefully and began to add the final touches to her makeup.
Michele was actually Michael, a divorcee in his mid forties who lived alone and had come to transvestism late in life after suppressing an urge to crossdress for most of his adult years. Like most crossdressers he had urges to dress-up and become a woman for short periods of time and often dressed in his wife's underwear when she was away. After an amicable divorce some five years earlier, Michael now transformed into Michele whenever it pleased him to do so. Living alone and having the privacy to dress when it suited him, he had developed the persona of Michele over a period of years.
Michele's male alter ego had fought a battle with his weight for most of his life and he had allowed himself to balloon out during the later part of his marriage. When the opportunity to fully crossdress whenever he felt like it presented itself, Michael decided he didn't want to look like a middle-aged frump. He dieted and exercised until he could eventually fit into a size 16 and some times even a 14; a great effort given his large frame, and he now carried very little fat.
Michele had acquired an extensive wardrobe, first at opportunity shops and later at larger specialty shops; insisting to the shopkeepers that he was buying the clothes as presents for his wife. Lingerie was easy to buy as it is never considered unusual for men to buy nice underwear for their wives or lovers.
Michele bought his first pair of women's shoes from an opportunity shop and once he knew his woman's shoe size he purchased many styles of high-heeled pumps and sandals; again insisting to inquisitive shop assistants that they were presents for his wife. He sometimes had the boxes gift-wrapped to maintain the façade.
Michele had dabbled with his wife's makeup with various degrees of success and failure during the years of his marriage and easily obtained all the makeup he needed by purchasing a couple of complete makeup kits ("its for my niece's birthday; she's just turned thirteen") and then simply added to his makeup collection by throwing any item he desired in with the week's groceries; no one ever questioned him at the checkout; husbands just picked up whatever their wives had written on the shopping list after all.
Michele could purchase women's jewellery easily of course, but his biggest problem was how to get his hands on some nice wigs. The problem was solved when he was sent to a large city interstate on a business trip where he visited the part of town frequented by the gay community. Here a sympathetic old lady in a wig shop who was used to dealing with ‘his kind' helped him pick out and try on three different styles and hair colourings. He purchased the wigs and then went into another ‘specialty shop' where he bought breastforms in two sizes.
Michele loved being Michele; Michael transformed into her at every opportunity and spent most evenings and weekends dressed and fully made-up. More and more often though he had been fantasising about taking his transvestism a step further; whenever he was dressed as Michele he became aroused, he always had, but for the last year or so he had fantasised about being with a man. He did not consider himself gay; in fact when he wasn't Michele his sexual fantasies revolved around women; but when he was Michele he wanted to be with a man or to have a ‘lesbian' encounter with another transvestite.
Michele was terrified that her secret life would be exposed. When dressed she kept the doors locked, the shades closed and never answered the door. Although she had become adept at applying makeup and dressing en-femme, and she believed that she made quite an attractive mature woman, she would never dream of going out dressed as Michele. She contented himself with reading books and looking at magazines and movies where transvestites had hot sexual encounters with each other and with male admirers. Although masturbation bought relief, Michele longed for ‘the real thing.' She was thinking a lot lately of either placing a discreet ad in some of the sex shops she visited or advertising her availability in a contact magazine or in some of the internet chat rooms she frequented.
Michele was not aware that she was about to have her first encounter tonight, nor that the Predator would be her first man. The Predator was not aware that the woman he lusted after, as he spied on her through her bedroom window, was in fact Michele; a transvestite.
Michele had opened a nice half-bottle of Shiraz earlier in the evening and then poured herself a warm bath. She painted her toe and fingernails and allowed them to dry and then poured herself a glass of wine and stepped into the steaming, scented water. She spent a luxurious hour soaking, during which she had shaven her legs and chest and closely shaven her face. She had also drunk three glasses of wine.
Michele towelled herself off and carried a full glass of wine from the ensuite bathroom into her bedroom where she sat at her dressing table and looked at herself critically in the mirror. She was showing her age but was still respectable and with the magic of makeup would soon be transformed into a presentable, if slightly sluttish, middle-aged woman. She giggled to herself and realised she was slightly drunk.
Michele went through the labour of applying her foundation; she had a product from Max Factor which closely matched her skin colour but covered up the few scars and blemishes that she had acquired during in her life. Next she liberally coated her face and neck with face powder one shade darker than her foundation; she now had the blank canvass she liked to achieve prior to applying the rest of her makeup. She loved this next part; the application of colours and shading which changed the whole look of her face from bland maleness to feminine fox. She giggled again and took a gulp of wine before continuing.
Michele applied her eyeliner next. All the books and magazines in which she had read makeup tips said you should do this later but Michele had learned that this was the hardest part of applying makeup and if she screwed it up (which she often did, especially after drinking), she could wipe the eyeliner away, apply more foundation and start again without ruining her eye-shadow and mascara. The eyeliner was applied liberally to her upper and lower eyelids, from the inner corner of her eyes to the outer corners, gradually thickening the line as she went. Having achieved the desired result she looked for a suitable palette of colours for her eye-shadow.
Michele selected a pale blue which she applied to her eyelids and then blended it into a shade of dark pink which she brushed onto the upper part of her eye sockets and right up to her eyebrows. She wished she could shape her brows but that would be too noticeable to her workmates, family and friends so she just kept her brows neatly plucked. Next she rouged her cheeks to define the lines of her cheekbones. She used more rouge and eye-shadow than is the fashion nowadays but she preferred the more colourful makeup styles of the eighties over the current subdued ‘less is more' look.
Michele next applied a light coating of ‘skin-glow' face powder all over her face and neck to set the makeup she had already applied and to give her face a subtle radiance. She carefully brushed lashings of mascara onto her lower and upper eyelashes. She knew from painful experience that if she put too much mascara on her lashes that it would congeal and look unsightly; even worse it could end up ruining her eye-shadow or face makeup if globs of the mascara came loose from her lashes. She did like to wear lots of mascara though and found a Maybelline product that did not clot and was easy to apply.
Michele took her time putting on her lipstick. Having completed the rest of her face she didn't want to ruin the effect with a sloppy job. She took time to line her thin lips just outside her lip-line so that her lips would seem fuller; she also knew that the wine she had drunk was having its effect and realised that caution here would save her tears of frustration if she slipped and made a mess of her lipstick. The colour was a deep plum red and matched the nail polish that she had painstakingly painted on her toe and fingernails prior to her bath.
Michele reached up and studied the three wigs sitting on their stands. ‘The brunette,' she thought to herself and lifted the wig from its stand. She brushed the wig with the special brush that she been advised to purchase by the nice old lady who had sold her her wigs. She started her brush-stokes at the extremities of the hair and worked her way up to the crown, admiring the sheen of the artificial hair. She positioned the wig on her head and adjusted it so that her fringe was straight and hung level with her eyebrows.
Michele looked in the mirror and admired her transformation. ‘I look quite attractive' she thought; ‘I bet Michael would like to fuck me' (she giggled to herself at the absurdity) and reached for her wine glass.
Michele went to the closet located on the right-hand side of the bedroom; Michele's closet. The closet on the left was Michael's closet and contained his suits, shirts, ties and boring male underwear, socks and shoes. Michele's closet contained the soft, luxurious, feminine attire that so excited her. She rummaged through the lingerie draws and threw a pile on the bed; next she took down half a dozen ensembles and threw them in the centre of the bed amid the strewn underwear. It looked like a messy, awkward way to select an outfit but it worked for her. She would often get nearly fully dressed and then change her mind and she had found over the years the best method for her was to take a selection of clothing and throw it on the bed and then once she had finished dressing, put away whatever clothing she had decided not to wear.
The predator at this time was just leaving the bar having been unsuccessful in locating a suitable woman as his prospective next victim. He had drunk more than usual, and frustrated at not finding his next target, stumbled to his car and took off towards the better part of town to prowl for a fitting quarry to stalk.
Michele tore open a packet of cheap flesh-toned sheer to the waist pantyhose. She wore pantyhose as a foundation garment to help flatten her tummy, hold her male genitalia out of the way between her legs, and to help cover the small nicks and varicose veins on her forty-year-old thighs and ankles. She felt a small tingle of excitement as she smoothed the pantyhose up her legs and over her tummy and buttocks. She carefully manipulated the sheer toes around her painted nails ensuring she didn't ladder the cheap hose.
Michele selected a pair of red nylon full-cut panties from the midden of lingerie on her bed. She stepped into them and slid them up her nyloned thighs, savouring the rustling sound of nylon on nylon. She adjusted the waistband on her hips so that the cute little lace bow was centrally located below her belly button. Michele could not understand the modern woman's obsession with thong panties; they were uncomfortable and unflattering on women of her solid build. Besides she liked the way the tight nylon panties caressed her buttocks.
Michele next chose a black satin garter belt; her mother had called them ‘suspenders' she remembered. She clipped the garment together and stepped into it carefully pulling it up her hosed legs and over her panties so that it sat snugly around the bottom of her waist. She carefully adjusted the garter straps ensuring they did not snag her pantyhose.
Michele decided on a matching black satin bra, again clipping the fastenings at the back of the bra together before donning the garment. She giggled yet again when she thought about all the troubles she had had as a young adolescent Michael attempting to undo his girlfriend's bra so that he could caress her budding teenage breasts. She took another sip of wine and pulled the garment over her head, adjusting it on her chest in the mirror and straightening the straps on her shoulders. She had breastforms if she wanted to use them but this bra was slightly padded and with her ‘man boobs' gave her a pleasing if subtle cleavage without being overly busty (although sometimes, when she was in the mood, she liked to stuff her bra with the largest set of breastforms she had and parade around like Mae West).
Michele dithered over which stockings to wear; it would depend greatly on which ensemble she finally decided upon. Should she wear black, grey, taupe, flesh-toned; fully fashioned, Cuban heeled or sheer toe? She had so many pairs! She settled on a pair of high sheen taupe lace tops. She loved the way they emphasised her shapely legs, and with the flesh toned pantyhose underneath the stockings, her legs would look magnificent. Michele thought her legs were the best part of her body. She slid the stockings on and connected the clips on the garter straps to the lacy stocking tops. She reached for her jewellery box and selected faux diamond earrings and a matching pendant necklace. As she clipped the earrings to her ears she lamented the dearth of good quality clip-on earrings. She dare not pierce both her earlobes as it would be too noticeable to others.
Michele went back to her closet and selected a pair of black, patent leather, open toe high-heels and placed them beside the chair next to her dresser. She chose a black nylon full-slip from the mess of lingerie on the bed and pulled it over her head being careful not to ruin her makeup or hair. She smoothed the garment to her body, the tight bodice clinging to her breasts and hips and the skirt flaring around her thighs, occasionally sticking to her stockinged legs because of the static electricity. She loved the feel of the lacy hem; like butterfly wings brushing on her thighs.