Friday night. I get to be me again.
Emily welcomes me with a hug. The air is filled with music and the smell of dinner cooking.
“Your outfit is laid out. I think you’ll enjoy it,” Emily says with a pat to my bottom, sending me into her spare bedroom. There I find tonight’s ensemble; a sheer white blouse, a red sweater vest, a short black skirt, a beautiful lacy bra with matching lace panties, stockings, garters, and black Mary Janes. It’s the same thing Emily is wearing.
I shuck my boy clothes and begin dressing en femme with relish. As the soft material enveloped me, I feel a sense of tranquility flow through me. With each layer of female garments, my masculine armor falls away.
Walking confidently on my small heels back into Emily’s living room, she looks up to see me and smiles. “There’s my pretty girl,” she says.
She tells me to do a twirl to show her how I look from every angle. I pose for her and she applauds. “Are you ready for more?” she asks, knowing the answer already.
Back in the spare bedroom, The girl’s room she calls it, she has me sit at the make up table where she helps strip me of more masculinity by feminizing my face, applying foundation, powder, and blush. Lip gloss, eyeliner, and mascara. With each stroke of her brushes, I feel my self-imposed oppression sweep away, and revel in the the liberation of my true self…