4 comments/ 7783 views/ 6 favorites Public at Last Ch. 01 By: sublocked Author's Notes: (1) Cross dressers are a strange lot, but they need and want things just like any other human, especially love. Sometimes this gets forgotten, even by the cross dresser. (2) Cross dressers and the transgendered are the poorest understood group in the LGBTQ super group. But their time is coming. Try to understand, or at least, let them be themselves without fear of death by hate. ***** Saturday had finally arrived. It was a week before Halloween and the skies were deep blue with fluffy clouds rushing by in the wind, dark on the bottom and frilly white on top. They looked cold, but there was a Chinook wind blowing in from the west, promising windy warm air for the day and through Sunday. It was perfect for what I had in mind for tonight, a trial run for Halloween. I had a plan, one that I had thought about for weeks. It was audacious and dangerous, a perfect blend of excitement and erotic adventure. I am a cross dresser, but not a typical cross dresser; it is sexual in nature, and in fact, women's clothes are an irresistible fetish for me. I find that I am layered with, and perhaps burdened by, numerous other obsessions, the major one being bondage. And since I am single and have no one to tie me, I engage in self-bondage when it pleases me, the riskier the better, at least in terms of being caught, not starving to death alone in a room, unable to call for help. My ideal fantasy would be to dress up as a woman, go into a public area passing as a woman, then through chance or bad luck, be caught by a dominant woman and forced to remain a woman for her pleasure and my "punishment". Whoa, you say! Ugh! This guy is sick. Perhaps, but I prefer to say that I am not normal, slightly eccentric, that's all. For I am good looking (but with androgynous features) , articulate, intelligent, funny, and could be standing beside you right now at the traffic light, or at a cocktail party, or at a professional convention, maybe sitting beside you at the dentist's office. Look at the one on the other side of the bus. Maybe it's me, or someone like me. You wouldn't know; I am anyone. And if you find that spooky, then you are naïve and unaware. And you can choose now to either learn or remain critical. It's your choice: to read, or stop reading. Now. And so it begins. I stretched while still in bed, literally vibrating with excitement, but with apprehension as well, for I knew my entire plan had to be done right or it would all fall apart, and dangerously so. I deliberately planned to go slow. As I entered the shower, the hot water flattened the hair on my chest and legs, and I let the goosebumps from the morning chill gradually flatten on my skin in the hot water. I stood there for several minutes before I started shaving. Having never done this before, it excited me as the chest hair came off in stripes, dropping off the razor in the rinsing stream of water, on and on until it was all gone. Then my legs were treated to the same. It felt cool again now, like I had been burdened with fur before. I briefly debated shaving my underarms, but I didn't trust myself to do it with a steady hand. Stepping out of the shower, the water ran off my hairless body in rivulets and I became reacquainted with the morning chill. Go slow, I said to myself. A plan like mine was like a house of cards; if anything went wrong, it all went wrong. I shaved my face extra close. Today was my day to be a woman for the entire day, the first time ever, as I finally had all the pieces, the corset, the wig, the bra, all of it, and I wanted it to savor it, make it last forever. I wanted to walk around my house and just be Paula, to relax and suspend myself in her femininity, feeling the freedom and confines of the clothing, the odd paradox of female attire, how it restricted movement and at the same time gave freedom to be creative. My chest was dry so I placed the double-sided adhesive pads on the large D-size silicone breast forms and applied them to my chest, holding and pressing them in place for a considerable amount of time to create the firm seal. Finally I let them go and they bounced slightly, pulling at my upper pectoral skin, first with a gentle tug, then with a persistent pull which I knew would start to be unpleasant after a time. I wanted that unpleasantness to start, so that I would need, actually need, a bra for support. I loved that feeling of dependence, as it made me feel more feminine. Next I lubricated the stainless steel anal plug, bent over, and began to insert it into my proxy vagina. This was never easy, but today I felt totally relaxed and excited as the bulbous end slipped in quickly and found its resting place, snuggling up against my waiting prostate. Wiping the excess lubricant away, I did a few deep knee bends and sat on my make-up stool a few times to start the sexual stimulation. It momentarily took my breath away. At these times I always thought I might be able to orgasm with just those actions, but I never did and never could. I still could not today. And I knew it would just taunt me dreamily all day long, whispering under the lace, "Please...please..." It was delicious and self-administered torture. I shook my head to snap myself back to reality, or a semblance of it. There it was, the first feeling of wanting a bra for support, that odd pulling feeling. I went to my top bureau drawer and chose a white support bra with molded cups and slipped my arms through the straps, reaching behind to do up the hook and eye closure. Then I leaned forward to let my breasts fall into the cups by gravity alone and settle themselves. Now I felt better, but I tested them, walking a few paces as they jiggled and bounced. My shoulders took the brunt of the weighty punishment and they would be sore by day's end. I loved the next part. The corset, the beautiful corset. It had been extremely expensive, but it was worth every cent that I paid to the corsetiere company far away in Long Island. The measurements had been done and redone, and done again, as the beast took shape, a severely boned and contoured under bust corset with heavy duty eyelets and laces at the back and an extra strong busk fastening at the front. Those were the "bones" of it, but the outside was a beautiful brocade lace in deep purple and black. As I held it out to admire it, the six garters dangled and clinked together like tiny wind chimes. First I slipped into the corset liner, a smooth, satiny and stretchy garment that hugged me from just below my breasts to just above my pubic area. I wrapped the corset around my waist and fastened the busk. It was already snug, and gathering the laces together behind my back, I backed up to the door, placing the correct loops around the door knob, and then leaned forward. The feeling was wonderful as it closed around me, pulling me in, enclosing me like an embrace. I adjusted some more laces at the top and repeated the lean outward, taking a step or two. This was repeated in many stages until I could see in the mirror that the laces were straight and almost closed at the back. My breathing was restricted now, and I resigned myself to taking smaller breaths for the rest of the day, and even smaller breaths when I would tighten it again later, to give me that perfect feminine hourglass figure. Next I attached the black nylon stockings to the garters and pulled a small black panty girdle up over them, crushing my penis into femininity. The structural elements were now complete and I admired my figure in the mirror. It was extraordinary how the corset took care of my male figure, squishing and manipulating, changing it by the brute force of it. My stomach felt hard as I patted it with my hand, its normal slight bulge obliterated and even sent into full retreat, pushing inwards. I relaxed my muscles and nothing moved. I had spent hours on the internet watching U-tube videos of transgendered people showing how to do makeup, and one thing that I noticed was the length of time they took with the eyes. I started now, first with a facial base and then camouflaging my thick eyebrows with various tricks, followed by shading and using eyeliner relentlessly to make just the right look, not too light, but not too dark like a drag queen either. It all had to be perfect, and I even erased it all at one point and started again. It took a full hour. Finally, all the base makeup and shading was complete and I added the lip-liner and lipstick. I was pleased. Paula stared back at me and she batted her eyelashes, heavy with mascara, while I kissed her on the lips in the mirror, leaving a full rose-colored lip imprint on it like a clue on a wine glass at a murder scene. She smiled. That had been the start. The transformation was there, and I had entered her world. It was relaxing and exciting at the same time, and I would be there for the day and all of the night, a thrilling thought. I had bought a wig that suited me well, not a typical transgender fantasy wig that flowed down over my shoulders, but a cute, pixie cut one, with real brown hair and cute sweeping bangs, and when I placed it on my closely cropped head, it accented my delicate androgynous features perfectly. There was no need for overly dramatic feminization; it was already my curse. And now I used it to my advantage. My stomach (as much as its corseted confines allowed) growled its discontent with having no breakfast as yet, so I decided to toast some English muffins and have a cup of coffee while reading the newspaper. It was a rush to open the front door and step outside in my bathrobe, showing off my nylon-encased legs, and feeling the cool air dance upward to my panty girdle. I retrieved the paper, glanced around the street defiantly in my feminine makeup and then retreated inside. That brief encounter with public exposure always thrilled me, but it would be nothing compared to what I had planned for tonight, nothing at all, and I shivered with anticipation. As I ate, I noticed that even the slightest intake of food made the tightness at my waist increase. Or was it the excitement I felt? Regardless, I realized I would have to eat in small helpings this day and eat often. It was all part of the scene I had generated in my mind, and I reveled in it. I read the newspaper from start to end this morning, sitting at the kitchen island, and the anal plug moved and stimulated, causing me to gyrate on the stool, my sphincter muscles tensing as I changed positions slightly, reaching for coffee or a muffin. When I finished I just stared out at the hole number eight green in the morning sunshine, watching four lady golfers who were just getting there after an earlier tee. They sported white and pink, cute little skirts, and their breasts bulged beautifully in the stretchy tops which were almost like uniforms, like a suit and tie for men downtown. They were so lucky to be able to wear such nice things and look the way they did, I thought to myself. The coffee was cold, and as I put it to my lips, I spat it back in disgust. It spoiled the mood, so I decided to paint my nails, a long and arduous task that required a steady hand and a lot of patience, neither of which I had today. Many attempts and mistakes and corrections later, I waved my hands around trying to hasten the drying. If I was a woman, I think I might be a slob. It was hard work doing makeup, hair, nails, and skin, day after day after day. But then again, real women had the canvas to work with; I did not. Everything I did to look like a woman required a lot of work and trickery, all smoke and mirrors. I looked at my hands. My fingers seemed so much longer with the nail polish on, and that made my already effeminate hands radiate femininity. I should have been a pianist, I thought. The doorbell rang and seemed to echo off the hardwood floors and ricochet in my head. I froze in panic. I looked at the clock over the pantry. Who would come to see me at 10:30 in the morning? Carefully and quietly I glided over to the doorway and looked through the peephole. There was no one at first, and then a familiar redhead bounced into my view. Heather. My God, it was my best friend-girl Heather! We had known each other since childhood and tried dating once back in high school. She was so pretty with her red flowing hair, freckles and bright green eyes, and she had only improved with age. But it didn't work out; she wanted a stud, like all girls did in high school, or maybe she was just so pretty that the studs believed she was a trophy, and they pursued her. Peer pressure and wanting to conform being what it was then, she of course dated them. I watched it all, and I was not that jock, with my gangly awkward frame and long feminine hands and fingers, an androgynous face and voice. She fell for a football player, then a guy in a rock band, and on and on, always breaking up with the stream of jocks, and always getting comfort from me, her favorite friend, because I listened. I listened because I loved her; I always did and always would. Her laments about the men she dated were always the same, and centred around being told what to do, and always having to bend to the man's likes or dislikes. She would always come to me and ask me if there was something wrong with her. I would always say no, because she had to be herself, or what was the point? And being herself had always meant bossing me around when we were kids, and not submitting to anyone in any way in junior high or later. But that became her curse, and she had even turned to dating women, but that too wasn't working. She looked slightly disheveled and distressed, pacing back and forth on the doorstep. She had probably just broken up with some other guy or girl last night, or got laid while in a drunken stupor, and wanted to talk about it. It hurt to listen to her sexual exploits. I wanted her, but could never have her. I sneaked away and waited for Heather to get bored and leave. Then my phone buzzed with a text. "Where are you?" it said, "I need you." I ignored it, knowing my excuse would be a dead battery. After several minutes, I went back to the door and she was gone, but a second message came through. "Going to the Point and Feather tonight with a few friends. Need you to come." She was referring to the local pub where we often watched sports and drank ourselves silly. I ignored the text again, and to be sure she wouldn't drop over later, I decided to ignore it for the day. She was a good friend, but because I was Paula today, I knew Heather wasn't THAT good of a friend. Nobody was; I had to bear being Paula alone, always alone. Funny that I could listen to her sexual experimentation, and yet I couldn't share mine with her. I think it was because she at least was having sex with other people; I was not. Other than Paula, that is. Emergency over and handled, I strolled to my closet. On one side were the clothes that I would wear to work for the rest of the world to see. On the other side were Paula's clothes, the dozens of dresses and skirts and blouses. I bent over to sort through the pairs of high heeled shoes and boots on the floor, choosing a four inch sandal foot pair with elegant straps that I fastened around my ankles. I shivered with the feel of them, my heels forced up so high, and the forced strain on my calf muscles. I looked at the boots I planned on wearing tonight and started to shake with fear and excitement, and even lust. Wait, just wait, I told himself. I shivered again. For the day, I chose a completely impractical and inappropriate ball gown that I had ordered on e-bay. Surprisingly it had fit me, mainly because it was a sequined stretchy style, with long sleeves scalloped and flared at the wrists, and a skirt that went to the floor, also flared at the ankles. Despite its clingy nature, it was a conservative dress, so that my breasts, upper chest and back and shoulders were all covered. There was a zipper up the back that I struggled with until I finally had it all the way up and the hook and eye closed at the top. The dress pressed against me like "bondage in a dress" and its satiny liner swished against my corset and nylons clingingly as I moved, a perfect lounging dress to caress me for the day. God, I wanted to masturbate! But I tried to divert my attention from it by turning on the TV. I had hours to kill and I wanted to be excited and femininely tuned for the whole day. Orgasms were wonderful, but they ruined fantasies, disappearing abruptly like bursting balloons, and leaving the pervert behind. Paula would disappear, and the socially unacceptable man in drag staring at himself in the mirror would appear out of the carefully crafted smoke and mirrors. That could wait for the ultimate moment later in the day, at a time and place when and where there was no time to analyze or self-criticize. It would come, but not now. The day was not how I thought it would be. All I could think about was the evening and the future adventure as Paula, and so I drank some wine with lunch to take the anticipatory edge off a bit. I thought about smoking a joint as well, but I decided to save that, maybe for the adventure, maybe for afterward. The day was figuratively a day of twiddling thumbs, wandering about luxuriating in the corset and dress and high heels, sometimes watching TV, sometimes reading, and eventually surfing the sites on the internet which pertained to my cravings. The internet proved to be the answer for passing the time, as the remainder of the day flew by while finding sites where cross dressers were forced to be slaves for their mistresses, and sometimes humiliated in public while dressed up. I never understood why all that would turn me on so much, but I had long since abandoned self-psychoanalysis, and instead embraced my peculiar tastes, using them as treats for stressful periods in my life. Now the shadows were long and my excitement intensified to the point of extreme nervousness. Would I remember all the details? I had to. But I also drank wine to lessen the shakiness of my hands. I loved the lipstick prints on the wine glass. I had planned to have a pizza for supper, but my excitement was such that I could only eat two pieces. Eventually I decided to do the final preparations. Going into the bedroom, I sadly removed my gown and hung it up in the closet. I pulled a more conservative black dress off a hanger and held it up to my body while looking in the mirror. It would be perfect, a long-sleeved satiny brocade dress which I knew would hug my body, and the hem that would reach down to my mid-thigh. I looked outside. The sun was setting and the wind had died down to a whisper. I took another sip of wine and felt the corset at my waist. There was room, so I untied it and re-attached the laces to the door knob and did a final tightening. This time I actually blew out my breath while leaning and stepping forward. When I tied it off, I could hardly breathe. Taking another drink of wine, I briefly debated with myself whether or not it was too tight. Then I laughed out loud; a too-tight corset would be like having too much fun...the state didn't exist in my mind. For the final underwear touch, I removed my bra and pulled a black full-torso corselet out of my drawer and squirmed into it, pulling and tugging and wiggling, finally getting the bra over my breasts and the straps over my shoulders. Despite the tightness of it on my buttocks and lower abdomen below the corset, the straps were stretchy and allowed my breasts much more freedom, and every move I made created a slight bounce. But it wasn't painful, only pleasant and feminine. I often liked to add this over my corset because it smoothed my figure lines a bit more, so there were no edges of underwear showing, creating a smooth flowing silhouette. The wine was having an effect on me I knew, but I had everything under control. I knew exactly what to do and when to do it. The plan was straightforward. So what if I was feeling the wine. So what. Public at Last Ch. 01 I stepped into the black dress and pulled it up. It briefly resisted going past my hips, but I wiggled and pulled until the waist settled into place. Then I did up the back zipper and slipped the hook through the eye at the base of my neck. Immediately I felt a sort of entrapment that often accompanies women's clothes. It was like women had to wear what men expected of them, and that was the trap. Whether it was a girdle, pantyhose, bra, back-zippers or back-buttons, once on, things were hard to remove in a hurry. And I liked that. I don't know why I liked that, but I did and still do. I knew I shouldn't, but I gulped some more wine, because the next part was truly risky and exciting. I wrapped a fine metal chain around my waist, made sure it was snug, and then locked it there with a small luggage lock. This made it impossible to take any of my clothing off without a key to the lock. No matter what happened. I smiled at myself in the mirror. Foolproof. I would leave the key behind in the house, and once outside, I would be forced to wear the clothing; there would be no choice. I would leave as a woman, and I would have to return as a woman. Nothing out there, not even discovery, would permit me to change my feminine apparel. Once out, that was it. To me, that was the ultimate excitement, and it forced me to look and act as much like a woman as possible, as the consequences of being caught outside in drag were unthinkable. I glanced outside. It was getting dark. I did the final touches on my makeup and then put my special boots on. I had bought them from a transgender site on the Internet. They didn't fit that well, but that suited me today, as a little bit of discomfort was to be expected and even desired in order to fulfil my peculiar kinky tastes. I stepped into them and pulled the zippers up to my knees. For the coup de grace I wrapped a short fine chain around each of my ankles, wound them under the stiletto heels and back up to the ankles where each was locked in place. My feminization and bondage was complete. Now I could not remove my high heeled boots or any of my clothing until I returned home. In my state at the time, it was pure genius. The final piece was a women's double breasted beige trench coat with a cinchable belt at the waist. And the purse. What woman wouldn't have a purse? I put my cell phone in it, my lipstick, and the keys to the car. That's all I needed. I drank some more wine and waited, while darkness awaited me. Feeling emboldened by the impending darkness and the wine, I stepped outside into the twilight on my deck to test the degree of blackness. As always, the darkness observed from inside was not matched visually outside, so I waited impatiently for another twenty minutes, sipping wine and drinking in the fresh air. "Enough!" I said to myself. It was time. I grabbed my purse and walked to the garage without any further hesitation. I wanted this to begin so desperately. Reaching for the doorknob at the garage, I froze in last minute fear. What was I forgetting? This had to be right. The luggage locks were in the house on the bed. They didn't matter right now. They were only to force me to stay dressed as a woman no matter what happened. I went back to the kitchen and drank some more wine direct from the bottle. My head felt light, so the wine was probably a mistake. I didn't care. Sitting on the cold leather seat of my car, I sucked in my breath at the coolness of it on my panties and nylons. The world opened with the garage door, and I backed out, feverishly searching for neighbors out for a stroll. My heart was racing and my hands shook. Not only that, but I hadn't thought through the part about driving with stilettos on my feet. The car jumped in spurts and stopped in jolts. Once free of the driveway I relaxed somewhat and just drove. I mentally pictured the padlock keys on the bed and shivered with excitement as their usefulness diminished with distance. The red lights were exhilarating. People glanced at me from adjacent cars and I constantly made movements to obscure my face. Eventually I noticed that they were glances only, like any other innocent glance at anyone, anywhere, and I knew that my tinted windows would help as well. I relaxed and held my head high, on the edge of orgasm as my penis slipped and moved under the two girdles compressing, restricting, and reducing it past androgyny, and in my mind to total femininity. I had staked out a park about five miles from the condo. It was well lit, in a good neighborhood, and I felt it was relatively safe. It took fifteen minutes to get there, passing through shopping areas packed with people and when I arrived, there was no trace of daylight left and the parking lot was only illuminated by the street lights. One car was parked there and I parked as far away from it as possible. I put the shifter in Park and shut off the engine. This was it and my heart raced. I had often gone out in public with female underwear on, but I had never before gone out in public completely dressed as a woman, and I checked the lot, every part of it, for signs of life. My corset started to pinch and bother me as I sat in the bucket seat so I decided to fix my lipstick and just go. Putting my lipstick back into my purse, I opened the door and quickly got out, making sure the lock button was pressed so that the door locked behind me quickly to extinguish the dome light. Darkness was my cloak. I breathed the fresh air as Paula for the first time and started walking, almost reaching orgasm as I moved forward. I had a plan. There were public washrooms at this end of the park, and also at the parking lot at the other end of the park about a quarter of a mile away. That was where I walked now, briskly at first to escape the glare of the parking lot lights, and then slowing down to revel in the delight of being a woman once I was on the pathway. The park pathway actually wasn't far from the street and its own sidewalk. The difference was that the park's path meandered around large cottonwood trees and flower beds and ponds and it felt safe. If a threat emerged from the street I would run and hide in the woods. If a threat came from the park I would risk exposure and run to the street. Nonetheless I was terrified and excited at the same time, and I was always aware of movement or sounds ahead or behind. I reminded myself that this was a very safe city. As I got farther and farther away from the car however, I became increasingly aware of my vulnerability. There really was no serious place to hide or run to; I was a woman in public, at night, in a park, alone. I didn't know which was worse, being a helpless woman in the park, or a helpless and stupid man dressed as a woman in the park. The doubts set in. I was a freaking idiot. But after some time, the fantasy of being that helpless woman outweighed the risk, and I started to relax. There was no one here and to my surprise, I was disappointed that I couldn't test my ability to pass as a woman. It seemed anticlimactic. So, when I arrived at the other parking lot and saw that there were three cars parked there, I challenged my insecurities and walked past them. It was only when I got to the third car that I saw a middle-aged man sitting in the driver's seat with the window open, smoking a cigarette. The man smiled, and so did Paula. I say Paula, because I felt like I had two personalities at this time. Behind Paula's mask of makeup was terror, so I went back to my original plan and went to the washroom, being careful to go into the ladies' side. My heart was beating wildly with excitement and fear and as I went into one of the cubicles. I shut the door, lifted up my skirt, unhooked the endless row of hook and eye closures at the crotch of my corselet, pulled down my panty girdle, and sat down to pee. I had consumed too much wine, I thought. My head was spinning. I was forgetting things. My purse dropped suddenly from my shoulder onto the concrete floor and I jumped. When the pee stopped I looked down at my breasts, and it was like it all crashed over me, the wave of being in this predicament, alone in public, dressed as a woman, with a stunningly tight corset on and high heels. I felt the chain around my waist and knew that I had to return home fully dressed like this. My sphincter muscle clenched the anal plug and my mind went blank when I touched my penis. I reached down to pick up my purse with my other hand and that's when it happened. The anal plug shifted just enough. There was no logic, only the crashing wave of orgasm. I was helpless in the fulfillment of my fantasies and I came within seconds. I stifled a squeal and a scream. I didn't spurt; I flowed in rivers of jetting semen and I fell off the toilet onto my knees with my head resting on the cubicle door until my contractions stopped. It took what seemed like forever. I opened my eyes. My mouth was dry and I was still out of breath and in shock at the magnitude of my quaking. This was impossible. I hardly touched my penis. I looked around, dazed and confused. As my breathing became more regular, my thinking did too. At least I thought it did. "What the fuck am I doing here," I screamed in silence. Suddenly the reality of my situation hit me and hit me hard. The bubbles of fantasy burst around me until the bare walls of the cubicle were starkly visible in the women's washroom. I could get arrested for this! What the fuck was I thinking? This was intensely perverted and ill-advised. Stupid! I had had too much wine. I had to concentrate, not panic. Maybe if I got out of this dress and loosened the corset and took it off, I wouldn't look so bad if I got caught, but then I remembered the chains again. It was deliberate, these chains, I knew, but I had no idea how the fear would grip me, and now I deeply regretted not being able to undress. I'd rather be caught nude than in women's clothes, but now that was impossible. This would be the test, I thought through my dissipating fog of fantasy. I decided that haste was best, so I composed himself, listened at the door, and left the washroom, forced to walk past the same car with the same man sitting there, staring at me and smiling. Why was he smiling? Did he know? Paula smiled back but I was sure my eyes were full of terror. Then I saw a woman's face appear in front of his and she stared at me as well. She ducked back down to the blowjob. Maybe they thought I was a prostitute too. I searched my purse, anything for a weapon. To calm myself as I walked away from the car, my purse hand explored the space, felt the phone, the lipstick, and...what was the other thing? It seemed like something else should be there, that it was too empty. Maybe another pocket. As I entered the pathway back to my car, I went over my plan: drive to the parking lot, lock the car, enjoy the walk to other end of park, return, and drive back... I stopped walking in sudden full blown panic and frantically searched my purse. After several seconds I started whimpering, "No, oh no, oh no, oh no, the fucking keys...where are the fucking keys?" I searched again. Nothing. I went over what I had done so far. The only place I had set my purse down was in the washroom, and I pictured the scene now in my head, well lit, the purse...right there, no sound of keys hitting the concrete floor, nothing on the floor when I picked up the purse. No. Oh no. Ignition. They were still in the ignition. No, maybe I dropped them outside the door, but I was sure I had locked the door with the switch on the inside of the door. I started walking and even began to run in the high heels, but it proved to be too dangerous on the uneven pavement. I said out loud in a whispering voice, "Please let the keys be by the door, please..." The lights of the other parking lot got brighter and brighter. Entering it, there were no other cars. Holding my breath I walked up beside the driver's door and closed my eyes briefly for courage. I opened them and saw the keys in the ignition. I tried the door. It was locked. I walked around to the other door. It was locked as well. Then in disbelief, I did it again, raging around the car trying the handles. Astounded at my critical mistake, I stood there, bewildered, and at a loss for the remedy. There were some options, none of them very good and I went through them now. A cab was out of the question; I didn't bring any credit cards or money and that would require blowing my cover for sure. I could call Heather, but that would be out of the question too, considering my apparel. "Jesus! Oh Jesus fucking Christ!" I whispered in terror. I had no choice; I had to walk home, in these heels, in these clothes, on occupied streets, for five miles. I started to map the route in my head. It would take forever, twisting through commercial and some minor residential areas, with a smattering of suburban nightclubs and pubs. It was a warm night and there would be people out, lots of them. I could phone Heather. I searched my purse one more time. No keys. What would she think? I looked down at my breasts bulging out and felt my calves ache with the strain of walking in the high heels. I couldn't phone her. She just could not see me like this. I started to walk but when I approached a busy intersection opposite a pub, there were dozens of people wandering about, mostly young macho heterosexuals fueled by beer. There was a fight going on in the Walmart parking lot. I stood there looking decidedly gay in my dress and high heels and turned away, back to my car and the park, not wanting to risk exposure like this, and even possible death by beating. I could phone Heather. I had to phone Heather. There was no choice. Public at Last Ch. 02 Previous chapter: Paul (Paula) gets stuck in a public park dressed entirely as a woman and cannot get home. He calls his best friend Heather to come and help him, but she does not know about his cross dressing fetish. "Heidi-ho friend-boy!" Heather answered, "Where were you today? You coming over?" I held my cell phone away from my ear as the background noise at the Point and Feather Pub (where Heather was clearly getting drunk) skewed her voice and caused cell phone drop-outs. I didn't have a plan now. I hesitated. "Paul? Hello? This is you isn't it?" "Hi Heather," I yelled so she could hear me, "Yes, it's me. No, something's come up. Uh, I need a favor, a really, really big favor. I'm in a jam." Her voice became serious. "Wait, I'm going outside where it's quieter." Some time passed while he heard her footsteps. "Ok, that's better. You're in a jam? What kind of jam?" I sighed and bit my lip. "Hetti," I said, using her nick-name, "I need you to come pick me up. I'm at the west parking lot of Laurie Park. My car, uh, broke down." "So, just call a cab and come on over to the pub. You can get it towed tomorrow or something. Are you okay? You sound weird." "Hetti, it's not that simple. Uh, look, I need help. Please, just come and pick me up. I'll be in the washroom." "In the washroom? Are you sick? What's going on?" I was starting to get frustrated, and even a little irritated at her questions. "Heather, I need you as a friend. Just come and pick me up. Please. I'll explain it all later. And please don't judge me." I hung up quickly. The next half hour was the longest half hour that I have ever spent. I went back into the ladies washroom, entered a cubicle, locked the door, and sat on the toilet seat and waited. I had nothing to do but stare at the four bare walls and look down at my breasts and dress and high heeled boots. My nails...Jesus, even my nails were painted for Christ's sake! I released sigh after sigh and waited. After an eternity, lights flashed through the grates in the side of the washroom walls. A car door opened and then slammed shut. A voice came from outside. "Paul? Hey Paul, are you in there?" This is what I had dreaded most. It had come to this. I said, "I'll be right out." Not expecting me to come out of the ladies room, she didn't see me at first. Then I said, "Hetti, over here." That's when she turned and her friend Janet got out of the driver's side of a car just past where Heather was standing. When they saw me they both stared with their mouths open. "Paul?" they said in unison. I decided to try a story. "Look, this isn't the way it looks. I was at a Halloween party, and, uh, well, things went uh funny and, anyway I'm here, and my keys are locked in the car." "I thought you said your car broke down." "Yeah, well, I meant I left my keys in the ignition." Heather squinted at me in confusion and said, "So, you left the party, came here dressed like that, got out of your car...dressed like that...and locked your keys in the ignition. And you have no money or a credit card for a cab. Have I got all this right?" "Yeah, well, uh, I forgot to put my wallet in my purse. Not my purse, I mean, this purse. I don't carry a purse." I was fading badly. Janet took her cell phone out and started with the pictures, laughing. Heather, on the other hand, stared at me with a slight grin and said to Janet, "Well Jan, could you, as my designated driver, drive us back to Paul's place? Seems like he's got himself into a predicament. And it's not even Halloween." I breathed a sigh of relief and went toward Heather and the car. The look on my face must have been pathetic, so she put her arm around my waist and squeezed me a bit. She looked at me with surprise. "You're wearing a corset too?" "Heather. Please. Just get me home okay?" I whined in a shaky, shocked voice. She snickered and said, "Sure Pauline, or Paula, whatever your name is tonight." "Heather, stop! I need to get home and then just leave me. Just leave me alone okay?" I was close to tears in my humiliation. This was going to be all over Facebook; Janet would see to that. Finally she let me up for breath. "Look Paul, I'm sorry, but this is kinda weird, you know? Let me have some fun with it. I'll get you home and we can stay up and talk about it all night if you want to. It's okay; you're with me, your friend, okay?" I did have a tear at the corner of my eye, and she caught it just before it was to drop, being careful not to touch my makeup. Heather chose to sit with me in the back seat while Janet drove. After a minute or two of silence, she put her arm around me and her other hand on my nylon-encased leg, just above my knee. She felt the garter attachment. "You look good," she whispered, "Very realistic. I didn't know." I stared out the window in absolute humiliation. "Heather, please, stop it," I sobbed. I had crumbled under the weight of all this. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "It's okay. Shh...it's okay. I meant it. You look great. Now just be quiet and I'll get you home." She kissed me on the cheek and hugged me closer. I shut my eyes and forced my tears to stop. Some plan. This had gone so wrong. I was outed by my own stupidity and I felt my life was over. Time to get the rope out and throw it over the rafters in the garage, climb up on a crate, jump off and end it all. Janet stopped the car in my driveway. As I got out, she got one last dig in. "I always knew you liked big boobs," she said with a laugh. To my surprise, Heather lit into her, "Enough Jan! He's had enough for tonight. Whatever happened is none of your business...or mine either for that matter. Give me your cell phone." Janet refused at first but then Heather grabbed it out of her hand. "None of this is going on Facebook. And you're not going to mention this to anyone. I mean it." She deleted all the pictures of me and handed it back. Janet was taken aback, but the message was well taken. "Jeez," she said sullenly, "No offence meant. Just having a bit of fun. You're welcome for the ride by the way." "Look Jan, it's okay," Heather said, trying to mend all fences, "Thanks for being the designated driver and helping out. Really. Now scoot and get back to the party." They hugged briefly. I walked up the front steps and pulled a key from under the flower pot. "Well, that's original," Heather joked. "Whatever," I said. I was beaten, a broken shell at the moment. "Come on in," I said, "You might as well see everything." We both stood in the foyer after the door was closed, staring at each other. "So," she said, "Who are you, Paula or Pauline?" I stared into her eyes. She knew. There was no Halloween party. "Paula. It's Paula." "Hmm, I like that name, always have." We stood there awkwardly for a few more moments. I stared mostly at my feet; she stared at my eyes, with glances at my boots and nylons. "So," she started, "How long have you been dressing up?" "Take your coat off," I said, ignoring her for now, "We should have some wine." "I will if you take yours off." She stood there smiling defiantly at me. I closed my eyes and sighed. The locked chain around my waist would be obvious. More questions. Her eyes scanned my body as I hung my coat up. "Mm, nice outfit! What's the chain for? Is that a lock on it? Weird accessory. Do you have the key in your uh, purse?" "The key's in the bedroom." Heather shook her head, puzzled, and said, "The bedroom. So, you chained and locked your boots on, and you chained yourself around your waist as well. Then you went out for a walk in the park. You really were out on an adventure weren't you? Did you want to get caught or something?" "I'll get the wine," I said. I made no further attempts to make excuses. It was what it was. I knew it and Heather knew it. Sitting at the kitchen bar, sipping on our wine in silence, she finally asked, "Why didn't you tell me? I'm kinda pissed off that you didn't tell me you were gay. That would have explained a lot, why you didn't date much, why you're so kind and sensitive. I would have understood more about you." Predictable, I thought. "I'm not gay. I don't know what I am, but I'm not gay." Suddenly Heather's face broke out into a gentle and friendly smile. She clinked my glass and said, "So, you're a lesbian then." That was unexpected. I snickered at first and so did she. Then we both laughed, which escalated into unqualified hilarity, so that we had to set our drinks down. "I don't know why I never told you about this. I'm sorry. I just couldn't. You always wanted a man, a real man. I was never that." She tilted her head. "What does that have to do with it?" I didn't answer. I had revealed more than I had intended. Then it dawned on her. "Oh my God! We dated... All these years. You, me...Paul, you never...you never even tried to kiss me, you know, or anything like that..." she blurted out excitedly. Then she became gentle and pensive. "You mean you wanted me?" she said softly. I couldn't take this. I got up and went to the bedroom. I couldn't do this. I unfastened my corselet, pulled down my panty girdle, sat on the toilet and had a pee and stared into the blackness of my closet. Suddenly Heather stood before me. I couldn't believe she had followed me to my own bathroom. "Hetti! Would you mind? A little privacy please?" "No! You don't deserve it. You kept me, your best friend, out of your world all this time. I want answers." She surveyed my garters and corselet, then turned back into my closet and flipped the light switch. "Wow," she said, "You have more clothes than I do! How could I not have known this?" "Yeah, a pretty weird closet for a guy huh?" "No more weird than mine," she said mysteriously. "Why? Is yours filled with guy's clothes?" She walked down my aisle of silk and satin, rubbing her hands along the selections. "No, that'd be weird. I'll show you my closet some time maybe. If you know, if we're okay and all that." She blushed slightly. What was going on here? I needed more wine. When I stood up after my pee she watched me do up the hook and eye closure on my corselet as if she was studying me. "Wow. Your penis sure disappears under all that doesn't it? Must admit, you sure transformed yourself." "Thank-you," I said. This was getting more weird by the second. Suddenly she turned toward me and said, "Where's the key to your locks?" "On the bed. Why?" "I'll get it and unlock you." She leaned down and unlocked the chains locking my boots on, and then she did the same with the waist chain. Her lips were within inches of mine, and for a moment her eyelids became hooded and dreamy as she leaned towards me. The sound of the chain falling from my waist and smashing against the bathroom tiles made us jump and step back from each other. My face burned, and Heather's looked red. This was not my friend; this was something else. "Did you know I wear corsets sometimes?" she asked, trying to recover and sound nonchalant. "Yes," I said, "I've always been so jealous. But yours aren't really corsets; they don't have laces." "How'd you know that?" "I notice a lot of things. I notice how your breasts bounce and jiggle when you laugh. I notice your lipstick and your eye shadow... I notice your..." My voice trailed off to nothing in embarrassment at what I almost said. She seemed disappointed. "I see. So you notice things like that so you can wear them some time?" "No, I notice them on you because they're touching you. I... they're on your body. I want to..." Then I lost my courage. She stood there in thought. I sighed heavily and said, "Well, okay then, let's go back to the kitchen and chat and drink." She smiled sadly and said, "Oh Paula..." But she didn't add anything else. I was hopeful she would but she didn't. But my feminine name rolled off her tongue like a phrase in an Irish lullaby. "I'll change back to Paul first," I said gloomily, "Give me a few minutes to get my clothes and makeup off. Back to reality." "You don't need to." "No, I better change." Heather held up her hand and said, "Don't. Don't change Paula. I never knew you were here, and I want to see you and get to know you. So don't." "You want to see me like this? Why?" "You don't understand. I don't understand. Just keep your dress on. I...I, it's just nice, that's all." I smiled and shook my head. "You must be just as crazy as I am then." "Maybe I am. But I'm still your friend." The next hour or so we drank wine and talked. For the first time ever I talked and she listened. I told her I had been cross dressing for years at home, and even under my male clothes at work and at some of the parties I went to with her and our other friends. I told her the significance of the locked chains tonight. I told her everything except how much I loved her. I had hidden and buried that forever, and even though I seemed to be dancing around blurting it out now, I couldn't be sure she felt the same way, so I remained the shy boy. I couldn't really be the leader on that, although I had almost spilled it all. The wine ran out at about 11:30, so we switched to coffee. We became quiet and we heard a rising wind outside. Leaves flew past the window. Suddenly she came to me in the love seat and sat beside me, cuddling as if to stay warm. Her left arm was around my neck; her right resting on my hard corseted belly just below my breasts. "You know," she said, "That was the dumbest thing you've ever done, bar none." "I know. I won't ever do that again." "Why not?" I looked at her as if she was crazy. "You just said it was the dumbest thing I ever did." "That doesn't mean it was all bad. Look at us right now. It's like we know each other for the first time. That can't be a bad thing." "True." "Do you want to make love to me?" she whispered, looking up into my face. I gagged a bit on my coffee and stiffened slightly with shock. "I've always wanted to make love to you," I choked out. "Then follow me to the bedroom and take your dress off." I was speechless and in awe of her. I followed as she glided into my bedroom, looking back over her shoulder tauntingly. I needed help with my zipper and then I pulled the dress off quickly, letting it fall on the floor. I assumed she wanted me as a man, so I also pulled the corselet and the panty girdle off, allowing my penis to reveal itself in its upright position. "Can you unlace me please?" I gestured to the laces on the back of my corset. "Then give me some time to get my makeup off." "It's okay Paula; you don't have to," she said throatily. My face burned with excitement. "Hetti, I assumed you, uh...I just thought you wanted me to be a man." The stress of that already caused my penis to droop. "I like corsets, and I like your makeup" she said with a grin. Her eyes were hooded. "Huh?" She was on me then, her lips on mine as our lipsticks smeared and merged as one color. Her hands were on my breasts and she began to drop herself down, sliding her hands down my side to my hips and then putting my penis in her mouth. I swayed unsteadily in my stiletto heels, my shallow breathing rapid and puffy. Corsets didn't really allow for such increased need for air. I steadied myself with the bedpost and held her head with my other hand. As quick as she had started she pulled away and I looked down to see her red lipstick on my penis. She stood up and back and stared into my eyes as she took her top and skirt off, revealing a black bustier with lace at the cups forcing her breasts up, just barely hiding her nipples. The long garters held up her black stockings. There were no panties. "Jesus Hetti, oh my God! Do you really want me? Like this?" I couldn't seem to let my shame and guilt go, but she threw it away for me silently as she pushed me onto the bed and in one quick motion positioned herself over me, her left hand on my right breast, her right hand holding my penis up toward her entrance. She allowed me to enter her slowly and I held my breath with ecstasy. She enclosed me and threw her head back with a sigh and a lustful smile. I reached up and cupped her breasts in my hands, allowing my fingers to find their way to her nipples under the cups. They weren't difficult to find, hard and erect as they were. She just rocked gently back and forth, and I moved my hands to her waist with the second skin of Lycra and spandex moulding itself to her figure. Our legs entwined, nylon on nylon from the knees up, but I used my high heels to get leverage on the footboard to push back on her aggressive moves. Eventually we found our comfort spot, a rhythm where we smiled at each other. She moved her hands to my corseted waist and let me do the work now, bucking her, fucking her... "Why," she gasped, "Why...didn't...you tell me? I, oh God, I Jesus, Paul, Paula, oh my God, I love you too Paula!" She crashed down on me in orgasm, and I, hearing those words from her like in a dream, rose up to meet her, screaming her name and coming also. When the main contractions subsided, she fell on me and we gasped and whispered absolute nothingness in each other's ears until all movement stopped. But I remained inside her, wanting more of her, as I touched her buttocks with the garter straps as tight as guitar strings. I grew again and she felt it. Rising over me, we smiled at each other as I flipped her over, staying joined the whole time. Now I controlled the rhythm, and this time it was slower, more loving, more need and want than lust. We even whispered love to each other while we fucked. We each came together again, but it was longer, slower and mindful of each other's desires, more groan than scream, a profound guttural feeling from somewhere deep within us. After some time, I rolled off and we laid there cuddling as the wind whistled and roared outside the bedroom window. We crawled under the covers, wrecking the bed in the most comfortable way. Heather reached over to me and touched my mascara laden eyelashes. "Well, I guess that proves it," she said. "Proves what?" I said, half asleep. She grabbed my silicone breast playfully and said, "That you're not gay." I caressed her breast in turn and said, "But I am a lesbian though, through and through." We giggled softly, too tired for full belly laughs, and fell asleep, our lives changed forever.