My Wonderful Secret Ch. 01byIlbfita©
I had just turned 18 and my life was hell. Throughout High School I had been bullied and humiliated. When I got to University, the best years of your life some say, I thought things might improve, but they didn't. What was my problem I here you ask? Well, in a nutshell, I was socially and physically under-developed. I didn't reach puberty until I was 17. I was short, skinny, and freckly and could easily have passed as a 12 year old boy for most of my senior school years. Often I got told off by teachers who thought I was in the wrong class because I looked so young. They'd say things like "This is a Year 12 study period, get back to the junior school!"
Naturally, all the other students found incidents such as this highly amusing, and I was frequently teased and tormented by them. I felt really bitter toward the whole world. It wasn't my fault that my hormones were so slow to kick in! I had a Doctor check me out, hoping that he would give me some hormones and that everything would be OK. Unfortunately he said I was slow but within the normal range and that one day "It will happen". He wouldn't recommend hormones unless I hadn't developed by the time I was 18. Typical of my luck, puberty did start just before I turned 18, validating the Doctors assessment, but while other boys at 14 appear to grow 2 feet taller and get facial hair and a deep voice in a manner of months, my pubescence positively crawled along. This devastated me, and it didn't help with the day to day teasing I had to endure. Boys were cruel, calling me a "runt" and a "freak", but it was the attitude of the girls that really upset me. They acted like it was my fault. They looked at me with upturned noses. They were nasty, bitchy and hateful toward me. I never hassled them, perved at them, tried to chat them up, or even talked to them. And yet they treated me worse than the assholes who gave them a hard time.
Needless to say, I hated my body and myself. I so wanted to be a normal 18 old man. I longed for a girl friend and to be big and strong like the other guys, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was essentially an outcast, and were it not my computer (yes, I was a computer geek as well!) I most likely would have gone mad. Groovy young University students didn't want to hang out with me, and those few kind souls who made the effort to befriend me soon learned that my years of isolation had done nothing for my social skills. I found it hard to make conversation, and had virtually nothing in common with 'normal' people. My University work and general behaviour deteriorated. I plunged into depression and started drinking and experimenting with drugs. This only further alienated me from society. My parents were concerned about me, and let me move into the granny flat in our back yard to give me some "space", away from my brothers and sister. Little did they know what this would lead to.
Our Granny flat had been rented to a young hair dresser named Jill until she up and went overseas, chasing her errant fiance. She swore she was coming back within 12 months and my parents, being too kind for their own good, said they would hold the place for her. My Mother packed away all Jill's possessions and locked them in a big brown cupboard in the flat. My clothes were stored in a smaller cupboard near my bed. I settled into my new surroundings very well. It was great to have my own space and to be able to be by myself after a tough day at University.
It was not long however, before my thoughts turned to Jill's sexy underwear which I had glimpsed my mother hurriedly stowing into a suitcase and placing inside the cupboard. I knew it was wrong to go through other peoples' things, but I was so lonely and so starved of female company and so curious about all things to do with girls that I just couldn't help myself. It took me about 30 minutes to file away an old cupboard key I had found into one that would unlock the big brown cupboard. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I opened the cupboard doors for the first time. Not only was there the suitcase full of her unmentionables I had seen previously, but a heap of dresses, blouses, wigs and make-up. I'll never forget the over-powering smell of femininity that hit me every time I opened that cupboard.
That's about all I did for the first 3 weeks. I'd just open the cupboard doors and drink in the sweet perfume and let my eyes play over the range of pretty colours and textures that hung from rails or were neatly folded in shelves. Then I started to take things out. Just to feel and smell them. Occasionally I would get so turned on by the flimsy lace knickers or the sexy black bras or whatever that I couldn't help but start to masturbate over them.
Then I started to try things on. Single items at first like a bra or panties, which I would tear off almost as soon as I put on, such was my guilt and shame. But as the months past I started to experiment with complete outfits. From humble beginnings I very soon learnt how to pad out a bra and how to tuck my tiny male equipment away to give me more realistic figure. I could not believe how good I looked as a girl.
The transformation was so dramatic that I became addicted to dressing up. Almost instantly the ugly, freckly little runt became a normal, healthy, pretty girl. I learnt how to apply a sweet smelling brown liquid which made my freckles disappear. My thin nervous lips took on a sexy, shiny glow with the application of lipstick. My tiny, scrawny body, enhanced with proud, bulging breasts and flattered by a figure hugging dress or blouse and mini skirt, looked every bit like a young girls'. And then my legs, smooth and slender and hairless, the target of so much ridicule, looked positively alluring in black silk stockings or even regular panty hose. I was so happy dressed as a girl. I felt normal! I was no longer a freak. It was an escape from the reality of my everyday misery.
Where I had previously sought comfort in drugs and alcohol, I now sought comfort and escape by dressing up. As soon as I got home from Uni, providing my parents were still at work, I would take a hot shower and dress up as a girl. I would then function perfectly normally, doing my study, watching tv, playing on my computer. The only difference was that in costume I felt normal and good about myself, which was in stark contrast between how I normally felt. Initially, I was sexually excited by Jill's clothes and the feel of them against my skin. But it soon became obvious that I was dressing to make myself feel good about myself and because I felt better dressed as a girl. After a while I ceased becoming aroused at all when dressing up, but my desire to dress up never waned.
I secretly wished I could go to Uni dressed as a girl. I imagined how all the studs, the ones who used to ridicule me, would want to chat up the "new girl" and ask her out. I imagined how all the girls would want to gossip and giggle with her. She'd be accepted - even admired!
But I knew that was only a fantasy. I was a boy. A miserable specimen, but a boy none the less. And no-one would ever believe I was a girl with my hair. Long hair was the rage back then, and even though my curly brown hair touched the top of my collar, it did not look like girls hair. I knew I couldn't have it cut like a girl - that would only be more humiliating - and to my despair Jill's collection of wigs just didn't fit properly or look right. I tried every one of them on, dozens of times each, but to no avail.
Then I discovered them! - quite by accident, in a small cardboard box at the back of the cupboard. Hair extensions! Two of which matched my natural colour perfectly. One consisted of a flowing ponytail which slid into my hair via a comb like attachment. It pulled my hair in tight and combined with my inadequate locks to make an impressive show of hair.
The second, perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, was a curly brown piece with long ringlets flowing from each side. It attached to my fringe, augmenting my light brown curls with bigger, more luxurious ones, and the ringlets flowed down in front of my ears. The extra curls on my fringe hung over my forehead and really softened my face. When I first looked in the mirror I nearly fainted. I looked so much like the girl I wanted to look like. I looked like a REAL girl. I was beautiful.
I continued to be laughed at or at best, ignored at Uni but somehow it hurt less than before, and somehow the other students sensed that they weren't getting to me like they used to. They would tease me and I would smile back or shrug my shoulders. I was almost smug. I had the most wonderful secret and I no longer cared what they thought or said. I knew how beautiful I could be, and I no longer needed or wanted their approval. They started to tease me less, and focus on some of the other "freaks" in first year. All the while my confidence, behaviour, grades and overall happiness continued to grow.
My parents were thrilled with the change in me, and my mother spoke at our church group on how the lord had saved me. Everyone in the church seemed really happy for me, and I truly believed that the Lord had shown me the way. The Lord had led me to the private flat and Jill's cupboard full of goodies. The Lord had provided me with my wonderful secret. I sincerely believed that the Lord wanted me to be a girl.
Like most addictions, my dressing up became more and more consuming. I seldom dressed as a boy when at home in the flat, and when I wasn't dressed I spent most of my time thinking about it. I had strong urges to go out dressed as a girl, but I was so afraid of being found out that I convinced myself not to go through with it. That was, until I visited the library one Friday afternoon.
The University library was a huge, quiet, friendly and very safe environment. The head librarian kept everyone in line and made sure people kept to themselves. "If you want to socialise, go to the mall." She would whisper angrily at talkers. I figured that if I went there dressed as a girl and someone got suspicious, she would ensure they did not make a scene, and give me the chance to get the hell out of there.
But that was not the main reason I thought the library would be a good place to experiment in. Once you got inside there was large locker room which led into the toilets. There was one main entry to the toilets, girls to the right, boys to the left, so you could come out of either toilet and nobody would know which one you had been to. Being so quiet on Friday afternoons, I knew I could slip into the girls toilet dressed as a boy without being noticed, and even if I did, I'd throw on my absent minded geek act.
My plan was to take my "girl gear" in my bag to the library. Once inside, after a quick check around, I would slip into the girl's toilet and into a cubicle. There I could don my girl attire and make-up, before heading back into the locker room, stowing my bag, extracting my books, and entering the library proper – as a girl!
I planned it for weeks, visiting the library each night, going over my plan time and time again, devising contingency plans, and selecting my outfit carefully. I opted for the jeans and sneakers look. I didn't want to appear too glamorous and attract too much attention. With jeans on (girl jeans of course), I didn't need to worry about my legs, and could concentrate on getting my hair, face and tits just right. Girls who went to the library to study on a Friday evening didn't doll themselves up too much I had observed. They go there to work, and hence wear sensible, comfortable clothes.
I opted for a maroon t-shirt and a light pink, long sleeve woollen cardigan. It was winter and I had seen many girls wearing this style of jumper around. Besides, my padded tits looked really good in them! I had nearly perfected applying my makeup, foundation to cover my freckles and soften the look of my skin, crimson lipstick to accentuate and thicken my lips, and just a touch of rouge to redden and highlight my cheeks. I had learnt that less was really more, and was confident my face looked as good as it could.
The hair extensions were tricky to get right but with enough practice, and believe me, I had lots of practise, I got the look I wanted. My small compact mirror enabled me to look at my hair from all angles, and I was pretty confident that I could emerge from the girl's toilet looking like a normal girl. I would give myself a final once over in the big mirrors in front of the hand basins. I promised myself that if I didn't look right I could fix it then and there, or dart back into the cubicle. If worse came to worse, I could rub off my makeup and dress back as a boy. The point of no return was when I entered the library itself.
I wore my "Outing" outfit each evening for almost a fortnight, just so I could get practise at wearing it and get comfortable in it, even though I longed to wear something more feminine and sexy. I also opted for a pair of round, dark rimmed glasses I had found in Jill's cupboard. They gave me a very serious, studious look. I felt I was ready and promised myself I would do it next Friday.
Friday took forever to come around and the day seemed to take 36 hours to complete. But finally the moment arrived. My mother drove me to the library, and apart from enquiring as to why I needed such a big bag, to which I snapped "It's called studying Mother!". I arrived without incident. Taking a deep breath I pushed open the Library doors and went inside.
Moments later I was in the girl's toilet in a cubicle tearing off my boy clothes. No-one came in whilst I was dressing and applying my make-up and hair, which was a little un-settling, as I had imagined in my paranoia that there would be a mad rush to the john the second I got my pants off. I did have some trouble applying my makeup since my hands were trembling so much, but I persevered and eventually got it right. I closed my eyes and gave a quick prayer before opening up the door and stepping out.
I glanced at myself in the big mirror above the hand basins. This was it. Gee I looked good! I tried to remember how to walk like a girl as I had practised in the flat, but I couldn't. Luckily there was no one about to notice. In fact the library was even quieter than normal. I stowed my bag in a locker, extracted my books, and entered the Library. Passing through the security screens I made a beeline for a single desk on the far side of the library. The front desk was un-occupied and it wasn't until I was seated and opening my books that I saw the Librarian. She looked at me and smiled before continuing with her work.
I buried my head in my books and tried to control my breathing. I was dressed as a girl in public for the first time and so far, SO FAR!, I had gotten away with it. After about 30 minutes, the excitement and novelty started to wear off. There were only about a dozen people in the library, probably half male, half female. None of them seemed remotely interested in me. I did not stand out in the crowd. I was accepted as a girl! The sense of relief, joy, and well being that flooded through me was overwhelming. I felt so comfortable in my make up and clothes and my tits felt so good, so natural, like they were a part of me.
I began to relax. I even felt comfortable enough to actually study and to move about the library a little. No-one approached me and accused me of being a drag queen or a fag or anything. I had imagined that they would, but I realised now that I really was a convincing girl. Little old me, the tiny, geeky, awkward runt of his year was actually good at something. I wouldn't get in the faculty year book for my efforts, but I had at last found something I could excel in.
The time seemed to fly past and all too soon I heard the soft bell ringing indicating that it was closing time. I reluctantly gathered my books and headed out. The Librarian smiled and said goodnight and I responded with a smile of my own. I wasn't up to trying to talk like a girl yet, although I was pretty sure I could do that too. I noticed one of the young men at the loans desk check out my tits as I walked by, but he quickly averted his eyes when I casually glanced in his direction. I felt a shiver of excitement race down my spine as I left. Had he pegged me as a boy dressed as a girl, or did he think my tits looked good? As a male, I knew a sly perve when I saw one, and he was definitely getting an eyeful. Girls are meant to hate men who perve at them, but he made me feel good. I felt so confident now as a girl.
Reluctantly I grabbed my bag from the locker and ducked into the male toilet. I headed to a cubicle and commenced my transformation back into a boy.
I left the male toilets with my bag hung over my shoulder just as my mother pulled up outside the library. Everything had gone to plan. It was a perfect evening. I drifted off to sleep that night, happier and more contented than I had been for many years.
Buoyed by the success of my 'debut' in the library, it became a regular Friday night thing. I gradually wore more adventurous and feminine clothes, but otherwise I operated in the same manner. The only difference from that first night was the addition of a second bag and my increased confidence. I decided to carry 2 bags (one inside the other) and to swap them around depending on my gender. The boy would enter the toilets with a blue bag, and the girl would leave the toilets with a pink bag.
After about a month or so I even managed to talk to a few people. They suspected nothing. The head librarian was so serious and dedicated I doubt whether she observed the gender of any of the library users. Other people chatted to me occasionally. I never really had a conversation; it was more like requests to pass a book or to use the computer if I had finished with it. Standard library stuff.
The young man who had checked me out first time was a regular. Eventually he approached me and we shared a pleasant, whispered conversation about compilers. He had seen the books on my desk. He was intelligent, sensitive, witty, and obviously convinced I was a girl. I knew he was attracted to me by the way he looked at me and stole glances at me when he thought I wasn't looking. I was so flattered by his attention and so excited to finally be able to talk to someone who wasn't being nasty to me. It wasn't a sexual attraction, but it did make me feel very good. I looked forward to seeing him each week from then on.
He was a third year student. I actually knew his family, and had known of him for years, but as he was 3 years older than me, we had never actually met before.
I had been doing the Friday night thing for about four months. Most weeks he would seek me out and we would talk, but there was no pressure and sometimes he would not be there, and occasionally I could not avoid my family or church group obligations. When we did get together we got on really well, sometimes incurring the wrath of the Head Librarian, for talking too much, although I detected a slight softening of her serious frown when she saw us together.
But things were about to get really weird. One night at the end of the final year exams, we were chatting and we had agreed that we probably wouldn't come in to the library much for a while since the semester was over for a couple of months. Out of the blue he offered to drive me home. Again I was flattered, but where would he drop me? What if he tried something? Should I tell him what I really was?
I hadn't planned for this contingency. I normally stayed back much later than he did, and it was no drama for me to slip away. Now he had a reason to stay back. I struggled for words. My mouth moved but nothing came out.
"It's all right Andrew, I know" he whispered, looking me straight in the eye. I froze in horror, my heart pounded and I felt sick to the stomach.