1 comments/ 34673 views/ 1 favorites Freddie Becomes a Cross-Dresser Ch. 01 By: BOSTONFICTIONWRITER I was determined to write a transsexual and/or cross-dressing story for Literotica's 2008 Survivor Contest. I thought that I had written a cross-dressing story when I wrote Do You Know A Cross-Dresser, Ch. 02, but that was placed in the Reviews and Essays Category. Then, I thought that I had written a transsexual story when I wrote Transsexual Sex with Vinnie and James, but that too was switched from the intended category and placed in the Non-Erotic Category. Nonetheless, it is what it is only now, I'm in a quandary. It is very perplexing trying to think what to write that will not be switched to another category. Then, I decided, that maybe I need to realize and develop the character of the story more. I need to feel what it is like to be a cross-dresser and not just write about a cross-dresser. Gulp. I need to become a cross-dresser. If that's what I have to do to have a story posted in the Transsexual & Cross-dresser category, then, by golly, that's what I'll do. I'll become a cross-dresser. I'll cross-dress and then write the story. Suddenly, I felt as I was one with the universe. Since I have no idea what it's like to be a transsexual nor do I want to start taking estrogen supplements just to write a story about transsexuals, I decided to do a bit of research and see what it is like to cross-dress. Now, I watched enough of Jerry Springer to know something about transsexuals and cross-dressers. Not all transsexuals have sex with men and to further confuse the issue, there are some cross-dressers who have sex with men. In any event, no men's cocks but mine and by women, will be sucked in this story. Nonetheless, first on the list was to go shopping in a women's clothing store. Now, since I'm a big guy, I figured the best bet was to find one of those full figured women's stores. There's no way that junior miss or petite clothes would fit my muscular frame. Never having had to shop for women's clothes before, I pulled out the yellow pages to find a full figured women's store. Let's see, Big and Beautiful, Clothes for Real Women, Designers Dresses for Dieters, Emma's Ensembles, Fat But Feminine, and there, perfect, the store with the biggest ad in the full figured women's section was the Full Figured Women's Clothing Store, of course. It pays to have name recognition. I drove to the mall and parked my car away from the other cars. I felt as if I was doing something wrong, something illegal, in buying women's clothes for myself. There's no law against doing that, is there? "Why am I under arrest? What are the charges, officer?" "Well, the way that you look wearing women's clothes, Freddie, there just has to be a law against it. I figure that I'll take you in for protective custody for the time being and have the district attorney deal with you." "Do I look that bad, officer?" The officer stopped laughing long enough to describe how I looked. "Do you remember when Dennis Rodman wore a wedding dress to marry Carmen Elektra?" "Yeah." "Well, you make him look beautiful." "Okay, then, you'd better take me in and get me off the streets for my own good." The feeling that I was doing something wrong by shopping for women's clothes for myself gave me a bit of insight as to what a real cross-dresser must go through to buy clothes for himself. Sure, it's probably easier for him if he wears the same sizes as his wife, girlfriend or mother. Yet, what about those guys who live alone after their wives, girlfriends or mothers discovered their need to wear women's clothes and divorced them or threw them out of their homes? Now, they are on their own having to somehow buy their own wardrobe. Yet, there are some women who know about their husband's or boyfriend's need to wear women's clothes and they not only embrace it but also help them to shop for their wardrobe. That's another insight for me to record in my notebook. This is good. This is working. I'm gaining some real insight into what it's like to be a cross-dresser. I pulled out my pad of paper and wrote the insights that I just realized about the difficulty that cross-dressers must experience when shopping for clothes. Then, I thought, maybe not all cross-dressers experience stress when shopping for clothes. Maybe, they enjoy it. Moreover, with the Internet, they can just shop online in the privacy of their own homes and return it if it doesn't fit. At that point, I wanted to go home and shop online. At that point, I just wanted to go home and write my cross-dresser story. Nonetheless, I persevered. I got out of the car and walked to the store. As soon as I entered the store, I wanted to flee. I was paranoid. I felt as though all eyes were upon me and everyone knew why I was there. I felt like people were pointing and whispering about me. I felt like a criminal. I felt like a shoplifter. I imagined women talking about me. "Do you see that guy?" "Which guy?" "Which guy? There's only one guy in the store." "Oh, are you talking about that handsome, masculine, muscular, and modest man with the huge bulge in his pants who is now looking over at us sheepishly because he thinks we are talking about him and, of course, we are?" "Yeah, that's the one." "What about him? He's very cute. I wonder if he's single." "I think he's a cross-dresser." "Cross-dresser? Him? No way." "Then, why else would he be shopping in the Full Figured Women's Clothing Store?" "Duh, maybe he's buying clothes for his wife, girlfriend or mother." "Yeah, you're probably right." Okay, good, that's another insight. I pulled out my notebook and wrote how paranoid I felt in thinking that everyone was staring at me and whispering their suspicions that I was a cross-dresser. This is good, this is really good. Again, I wanted to leave and return home to write my cross-dressing story. I'm just glad that I decided to research cross-dressers and not transsexuals. Shit, I have to be careful with my comments. I don't want to make this story too funny because then the powers at Literotica will put this story in the humor category instead of the cross-dressing category. To be continued... Freddie Becomes a Cross-Dresser Ch. 02 I walked in the store and continued over to an area where there weren't too many women. Even though I wanted to cheat and buy a pair of jeans, I figured that I'd have to wear a dress to experience the real effects of cross-dressing. There, that's another insight. Cross-dressers probably, I'm thinking as I wrote my thoughts in my notebook, would rather wear dresses than pants or jeans. Fuck, just as I thought that, I thought that I'd have to wear pantyhose and, damn it, shave my legs and, if I wear short sleeves, my arms, too. Oh, mother of God. Now, I really wanted to return home and just write my story. Yet, in fairness to all of those brave men who have gone before me, who worn a dress for laughs, for their art, to make a movie that have entertained so many of us, I persevered. I thought of Tony Curtis playing Josephine and Jack Lemmon playing Daphne in Some Like It Hot. I thought of Dustin Hoffman playing Dorothy Michaels in Tootsie. I thought of the ever so hairy Robin Williams playing Euphenginia Doubtfire in Mrs. Doubtfire. Finally, with the thought of John Travolta, who once played the beloved character of Vinnie Barbarino, now emasculated to playing Edna Turnblad, Christopher Walken's wife in Hairspray in mind, I persevered. Suddenly, I started getting into the fashion sense of buying a dress, but not just any dress. I wanted the dress. I wanted that dress that made me look good and that made me look not only hot and but also desirable to men. Desirable to men? What the Hell is wrong with me? There, another insight. I pulled out my notebook and wrote it down as quickly as I could. Nonetheless, I wanted a dress that flattered my figure and downplayed my waist while showing off my bust and highlighted my hips. I looked at hemlines, short skirts, above the knee, below the knee, and long dresses. Button dresses, zippered backs, puffy sleeved, short sleeved, long sleeved, flared skirts, pleated skirts, tweeds, plaids, prints, stripes, and polka dots. Then, I found this navy blue dress that was just stunning. I held it up to the mirror, looked down at the price, and it was on sale. I was so happy. Gees, I think that I like this cross-dressing a bit too much. I pulled out my notebook and wrote that insight down, too. I figured there was no way that I'd be able to try it on in the dressing room, another insight. Cross-dressers are unable to try on their purchases, I wrote in my notebook of researched facts. Well, maybe there are some cross-dressers who don't care if anyone knows they are cross-dressers and will try the garment on anyway. I figured that would work if there are separate dressing rooms with doors, but would never work if they had to walk through an area where other women were changing their clothes. Boy, just that image of being able to spy on women changing would want me to make believe that I was a cross-dresser. I'll have to remember that when I write a voyeur and exhibitionism story. When I held the dress up to my body and looked at it in the mirror, there was a guy with his wife or girlfriend staring over at me. He smiled and gave me an approving nod. That was when I realized that he, too, may be a closet cross-dresser or maybe he likes men who cross-dress. Suddenly, Jerry Springer loomed before me. "Our next guest is Freddie, who never was a cross-dresser until he decided to research a story on cross-dressing. He's married to Gary, who he met at the store while shopping. Gary has a fetish and an attraction for men who cross-dress." I turned to him with the dress held up to my neck and with raised eyebrows asked his opinion without speaking. He gave me the thumbs up sign. "Pardon me," I said. "Your name isn't Gary, by chance, is it?" "No, it's Joel," he said turning away to find his wife or girlfriend. After he left, I pulled out my notebook and wrote that insight about him helping me to select my dress. Unbelievably, a few minutes later, he appeared from nowhere with a matching navy blue handbag. It was perfect and had plenty of room for my makeup and perfume. Shit! Makeup and perfume, I have to buy that, too. "Thank you, Joel." He slipped me a piece of paper with a telephone number. I looked up at him and he raised his hand to his ear and mouthed the words as he left, "call me." Ewww! Now, I just needed to find shoes. Suddenly, I had a vision of myself trying to walk in high heels, breaking a heel, falling, hitting my head on the sidewalk, and being rushed to the hospital emergency room where my girlfriend works as an admitting nurse. "Oh, hi, Hon." "Tell me, Freddie, that you were on your way to a masquerade party without me or you were trying on clothes that you were buying for your mother?" "Uhm, would you believe me if I told you that I was doing research for my cross-dressing story that I was writing for Literotica?" "Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for you, yes." With that vision of having a high-heel accident in mind, I decided to bypass the heels, forget the pumps, and buy flats. I found these navy blue flats that were just darling. Only, these were a size 7 and I needed a size 12, at least. I walked to the next aisle over where they had the gunboat shoe sizes. Women who have feet this big would never be blown over in a windstorm. I found a pair that looked long enough, but they appeared a bit narrow. No wonder why women have so many pair of shoes, they can't wear any of them long enough because they are all so uncomfortable. I shoehorned them on my big feet. Just as I was trying them on, a woman came around the corner holding her child by his hand. She covered his eyes, made a face at me, and scurried away. That was when I figured that she had just made her son a cross-dresser. Okay, maybe not true, but it was insight enough for the purpose of my story. Now, with dress, handbag, and shoes, but still having to stop somewhere to buy makeup and perfume, I was ready to hit the checkout counter. Only, I had this nagging feeling that I was forgetting something when suddenly, the image of me walking down the Victoria Secret runway wearing a Wonder bra, thong panties, and a pair of angel wings made my stomach turn. Shit. I was forgetting the underwear, panties, bra, slip, and pantyhose. To be continued... Freddie Becomes a Cross-Dresser Ch. 03 I walked over to the lingerie section. There was a woman, an employee, who was bigger than me straightening the merchandise. I tried to move to wherever she wasn't but she had radar as to where my next move was going to be. "May I help you," she said with that tone to her voice and an icy stare in her eyes. I really didn't want her help, but I felt that I had no choice in the way she glared at me. I didn't want her to think that I was a pervert wanting to feel bras and panties. "Yes, I'm looking to buy a bra." "What size," she spit out like a machine gun. "I'm not sure." "Well, I can't help pick out a brassiere if you don't even know the size," she said staring at me with her hand on her hip. Brassiere? Bra sounds better than brassiere. Brassiere sounds like a disease or a piece of beef or a something small that is made out of brass. "A size 46," I said figuring since that was my jacket size, the bra should be the same circumference, I hoped. "Forty-six what," she said. "Yes, forty-six is the size." "The cup size," she said with an annoyed attitude. "Oh, the cup size," I said holding my hands up to my chest palms up, as if I was cupping tits while staring down at her giant boobs. I turned red when she caught me looking at her chest. "Double D," I said figuring that my pectoral muscles from doing so many bench presses and pushups over the years were bigger than most women's tits and had to be a double D, again, I hoped. She brought me over to the section of 46 D and double D. These bras were huge. You could harness a couple of serious boulders over your shoulders with these giant contraptions. Mesmerized by the enormous size of her tits, I looked at her figuring that she certainly could fill out one of these bras. Then, I imagined myself being smothered to death with the pair of her 46 double D size tits. Not such a bad way to die, I thought. I imagined the coroner giving reason of my death to the police. "Do you know what the cause of death was, doctor?" "My autopsy will reflect his death as NBDTBBSHTD." "NBDTBBSHTD? What is that a medical term for, doctor?" "Not breathing due to big breasts smothering him to death." "So, judging by the permanent smile etched on his face, would you say that he died happy?" "Oh, yeah, very happy." Immediately, I noticed something about the 46D and 46 double D bras. Most of the colors of the bigger sized bras were white, a few were beige, and some were black. They didn't have any of the cool colors that the 32A, 34B, and 36C bras had, such as pink, yellow, orange, red, green, blue, and purple. I even saw this cool chocolate brown bra but it was a size 38 D, much too small to fit my frame. Suddenly, I imagined a Nubian princess removing her blouse and displaying her chocolate brown bra to my probing hands before reaching behind her and unhooking it to show me her big, brown breasts. I liked the brown bra. I wished it was my size. Gees, I'm really getting weird. I pulled out my notebook to note the lack of colored bras in the larger sizes, a note that not only affected large size cross-dressers, such as myself, but also larger sized women. I was a bit outraged that the sexy styles and cool colors were unavailable in the large size bras. These bra manufacturers were basically telling fuller figure women that they can't be sexy and that's just wrong. Just as there are plenty of women who feel sexy being big and beautiful, there are lots of guys who prefer bigger women to smaller women. I discovered the same prejudice when it came to panties, too. All the best styles and colors were in the smaller sizes. The larger sized panties were all white, cream, and black granny panties. There was nothing sexy about any of them. They were like the big bloomers that my elderly mother wears. Now, why would a younger woman, just because she is bigger in size want to wear bloomers instead of panties? I had no idea what size panty I would take. I held up a few of the larger pair against me. The feeling that someone was watching me made me turn my head to see the saleswoman watching me holding up the panties. "They're for my mother," I said. "If you say so," she said with a shrug, a snide smirk, and a little laugh. At that point, I didn't care what she thought of me. Yet, I started getting pissed off. Maybe, I am a guy looking to buy clothes to cross-dress, but, damn it, I'm a paying customer and deserve just as much respect and service as any other customer. I pulled out my notebook and wrote my observations. "Can I see your manager," I said. "Manager?" She got a panicked look on her face when she saw me writing in my notebook. "I can help you with whatever you need, sir." Her attitude did a 180. "How large a woman is your mother?" "Not as large as you," I said peering around at her ass and giving her the same snide smirk and laugh that she gave me. She shuffled through the rack and pulled out a few selections, most were white cotton, but one was a light blue silk. The blue silk panty was the perfect panty to go with my navy blue dress. "I like the silk," I said. "I mean, I'll take the silk pair. I know my mother prefers silk panties to cotton." I could feel myself turning red. "I heard her say that to her friend." "Yes, of course," she said this time giving me a warm smile. "I need a slip, too." "Full or half?" I had no idea what she meant at first, but then realized what she was asking me. "Half." Now, with dress, shoes, handbag, bra, panties, and slip in hand, I only needed to buy pantyhose. "Is there anything else," she said when she saw me looking around. "Yes, pantyhose." "They are at the front of the store." "Thank you." Picking out the pantyhose was easy. The packages had the weights and heights on the back. They should make the rest of women's clothes with weights and heights instead of marketing them as miss, misses, juniors, junior miss, petites, and full figure. Guys' clothes are easy with most of our stuff in small, medium, large, extra large and extra, extra large. Then, again shirts list neck and sleeve size, pants by waist and inseam, and suit coats by chest size. Still, it's much easier to buy guys clothes than it is to buy women's clothes. Except for the makeup and perfume, I was done. I figured buying makeup would be easy. I've watched my girlfriend put her makeup on enough times. I just need lipstick, that stuff she puts on her eyelids and eyelashes, and rouge or face makeup or mask or whatever the Hell it is. I'll ask questions. Perfume was easy. I'll just buy what smells good. This cross-dressing is not as difficult as I thought it would be to do. To be continued... Freddie Becomes a Cross-Dresser Ch. 04 Now, that I bought everything that I needed to transform myself from a handsome and modest man to a beautiful and sexy woman, I realized that I had completed the easy part in buying the clothes, the makeup, and the perfume. The difficult part, of course, would be dressing up like a woman without having a woman there to help me. I certainly did not want to ask my girlfriend for help. I can just imagine the conversation we would have asking for her to help me dress. "Honey, I can't hook my bra. Can you give me a hand?" Oh, yeah, that would go over big. "Sorry, Freddie, I don't have time to help you with your bra because I'm off on a date with a man who doesn't need to dress like a woman. The only help I'm going to give a man tonight is not to dress him, but to undress him when I remove his underwear." The hard part was yet to come, stepping outside while wearing women's clothes. How would people react to seeing me dressed as a woman? Would they know that I'm a man? Would they know that I'm a cross-dresser? Would they recognize that I'm Freddie? I figured knowing that I was a man dressed as a woman would lessen my confidence for me to play the part of a woman. I had to feel confident, sexy, and pretty in who I was to pull it off. I decided that the day for the unveiling was Tuesday. For some unknown reason, I figured there would be less people out and about that day. Don't ask me why. I have no idea. I took a day off from work, showered, shaved my face real close using a new blade and shaved my legs, arms, and even hands and fingers. I never even considered shaving the hair off my hands and fingers until I shaved the hair off my arms. I didn't have a choice. The hair on my hands and fingers stuck out. I even tweezed my eyebrows. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" Gees, women are nuts to go through all of this shit. I was cross-eyed just putting on eye makeup. I have to admit, though, my eyes did look nice when I was done. Not bad for a first time. Gees, what the Hell am I saying, as if there will be a next time. When I think of all the times I made my girlfriend wear lipstick because I love kissing her with lipstick, and now that I am wearing it, I hate not only how it feels but also how it looks. It took me three tries before I applied it straight. Without even having to look in the mirror, she makes it look so easy when she puts it on her lips. I'm glad that I bought an extra pair of pantyhose because I put a big run in the first pair with my toenails. I stopped to trim my toenails before putting on the next pair of pantyhose. Normally, it takes me half an hour to shower, shave, and dress. Three hours later, I was still not completely ready. Now, I know why I'm always waiting for my girlfriend to get ready. It's funny how a little bit of insight changes your attitude towards things. Suddenly, the old adage about walk a mile in my shoes made me realize how much my feet hurt wearing these woman's flats. Fortunately, my girlfriend had a wig for me to wear that her mother wore when she had cancer and lost all her hair from chemotherapy. I used that for my hair. Yeah, I know, it grossed me out a bit, too, to use my girlfriend's dead mother's wig. Only, I forgot about needing a wig, never even thought about it until it was too late. Please don't tell my girlfriend. She'll really think me weird. I thought that I had taken care of everything, dress, shoes, purse, slip, bra, panties, pantyhose, makeup, and perfume. I never even thought about a wig. I suspect in the back of my mind that I was just going to wear my Patriots or Red Sox baseball cap (lol) with my dress. Wearing this wig felt like I was wearing my big raccoon hat. I pulled out my notebook to record my appreciation for what a woman must go through on a daily basis to ready herself for work, to go shopping or just to go out. If I had to do this everyday, I'd never leave my house. Suddenly, looking at how I looked in the mirror dressed as a woman, I thought of a man asking me for sex and got a headache. That was an epiphany to realize that about women. Fortunately, I can remove all of this and return to my masculine self, whereas, women are stuck with themselves. Truly, I'm glad I'm a man. Finally, nearly noontime and I was ready to take my first steps out in public. I stood by the front door to make sure no one was around and peered out the window. Shit, here comes the mailman. Boy that was close. I'll just wait until he goes by. I used the time waiting for him to deliver my mail to practice my voice. "Hello, how are you?" I tried making my voice higher. "Hello, how are you?" My voice still sounded too much like a guy. "My name? My name is..." Well, that's a good question. What is my name?" I decided on Frederica, just incase someone recognized me and called me Freddie. That way, I can still stay in my role as...a man who looks nothing at all like a woman. My God look at me. I'm freakish. I turned from side to side looking at myself in the mirror. I look ridiculous. I need to put more powder on my face because I can still see stubble. Nonetheless, since I've always subscribed to the premise that you can only write what you know, I had to go through with this. I had to know what a cross-dresser feels when he walks out in public. I needed to write my cross-dressing story and the only way that I can write it is to experience what it's really like to be a cross-dresser. Now, that I was dressed and ready to venture outside, I thought that the difficult part was behind me, buying all that I needed and getting myself dressed and ready. I was wrong. The hardest part of this entire experience was opening my front door. I couldn't. My hand was frozen on the doorknob. I was afraid. I was having a panic attack. This was real, now. Either I was going to do it or chicken out and not go through with it. That was when I realized the missing piece that made me unable to feel what a cross-dresser feels and that is the part that I really needed to write my story. I needed to know what these men felt before, during, and after dressing and acting like women. I needed to feel what they felt when they bought these clothes and how they felt about themselves after they were dressed? Did they feel freakish the way that I feel now, probably not, otherwise they wouldn't do it? Did they feel compelled to do it and tortured when they did it? It's one thing to think about dressing as a woman, but it is totally another thing to actually go through with it. I have no idea what their thought process is like to make them want to do it. Did they feel pretty or desirable before and bad about it later? I started to perspire. I could feel my heart pounding. What if someone saw me and recognized me? What would I say? I know, I'll tell them that I lost a bet on the Super Bowl and this is my punishment for the New York Giants beating the New England Patriots. Okay, now I felt a bit better about going outside. I was still nervous as Hell though. I opened the door and walked outside. To be continued.. Freddie Becomes a Cross-Dresser Ch. 05 Already, my feet hurt wearing these narrow flats. The pantyhose bunched up in my crotch and wrinkled every time I moved. I bought the queen size and it is a little too big in the hips. I had to roll it up to make it tight enough around my legs. I guess my thighs are smaller than women who wear these size pantyhose. The bra felt as though I was wearing a knapsack under my dress. It was tight and uncomfortable. My slip was all full of static. I had makeup in my eye. I put on way too much perfume splashing it on as if it was applying after shave. My hair moved every time I moved and I looked ridiculous holding a pocketbook. I looked a bit like Hagrid from Harry Potter but without the beard. The only thing that felt comfortable was the silk panties. I liked how they felt against my naked skin. They gave me a continual erection. I could get use to wearing these. Gees, what the Hell am I saying? I know, I'll go out the back way and make a run for it to the car. "Hey, Freddie! Is that you?" Shit, fuck, suck. God damn it. I wish my nosey neighbor would get a life. I didn't look at him or turn to acknowledge him. I kept my head down and jumped in the car. I peeled rubber out of the parking lot and drove thirty miles out of the city where no one knows me. God damn it. Just as I pulled out of my street, a cop car with its blue lights rode my tail. I pulled over realizing that I blew the stop sign. I always did. "License and registration." I fumbled threw my purse for it looking up at the officer and smiling. When I did, I noticed that I forgot to button the top buttons of my dress. The officer had a clear view of my bra. I was glad that I had the forethought to shave my chest, even though it itched like Hell. "You failed to stop at that stop sign back there," he said resting his forearms on my driver's window sill as he leaned forward for a better look of my bra. "I'll just give you a warning this time." Afraid to speak, I nodded my head and smiled. "Pig pig," I said after he pulled away laughing at the double meaning of the words. It worked. He really thought that I was a woman. Then, I realized that he never looked at my face, only my tits. "Pig, pig." I pulled out my notebook and noted that exchange happy that he didn't give me a ticket. Maybe being a woman isn't so bad after all. Finally, I can relax now. I took the highway to a distant mall. Just as I was thinking how comfortable it is to wear a dress, something really weird happened. Suddenly, I had a convoy of big rig truckers driving slowly beside me, pacing me, one truck after another truck after another truck. It was a parade of trucks. I wondered what the attraction was. When I looked down at myself, I realized my legs were spread wide open, which is how I always drive, and my dress was nearly up to my waist from when I was scratching my balls after shaving off most of my pubic hair so that it wouldn't peek out the sides of my panty. My blue silk panties were exposed for all to see who rode in a taller vehicle. Suddenly, I felt so embarrassed. More than that, I felt so violated. Ewww! "Pigs!" I yelled in my car for no one to hear and took the next exit for the mall. I found a great parking spot away from everyone else, only when I went to get out of my car, my purse caught the handbrake and pulled me sideways back in the car. I leaned over to untangle it and when I turned to leave my car, there was a car parked a few cars away with this weird guy staring at me after I had accidentally given him a show of my panties. From his upper body shaking, I suspected he was masturbating and masturbating over me. What the fuck? He's never seen a woman before? Or in my case, a man dressed as a woman? He's never seen blue, silk panties before? First the police officer, then the truckers, and now this jerk-off, are all these guys so depraved that they must look at every broad, even a cross-dressing one? Am I like that, too? I thought about that and I guess that I am. I'll never disrespect another woman again by leering at her. I pulled out my notebook and recorded the observations about the truckers looking down from their driver's seat at my panties. I felt violated. I felt cheap. I felt like a piece of meat. Then, I wrote about the pervert watching me get out of my car unlady like while stealing a peek of my panties up my dress. Suddenly, the thought of him jerking off over me while thinking that he had seen my panties was gross. Just as I was putting my notebook away in my purse, I felt the back of my dress move up to my lower back. Before I realized it and could react to it, my panties were pulled down around my ankles. A guy with a hooded sweatshirt was running away laughing while a car followed after him with a guy holding a video camera out the passenger side window. I was the victim of a panty bandit. I thought they only had those in Japan. Jesus Christ. "Fucking creeps!" I couldn't believe it. I stood there with my panties still down around my feet swearing at them and giving them the finger. I put my purse down on the ground to pull up my panties and as soon as I did a guy ran off with my purse. This is the last fucking straw. My first time out dressed as a woman and it's not even been an hour and I'm already fed up. I pulled off my flats and carried them in my hand, as I took off after him. I was right behind him and about to grab him and pull him down by his collar when he turned and flung the purse at me hitting me in the head and knocking off my wig. He probably figured I was an undercover cop. This cross-dressing is serious stuff. Now, I was beginning to feel as much like a woman as I was feeling like a cross-dresser. Being a woman sucks. Guys constantly take advantage of you. I was pissed. Truly, I really am glad I'm a man. Now, that I finished writing this story, I'm ready to go home and take back my life. I need a beer while I watch the Pro-Bowl. The End