1.
His one previous marriage failed early, but at least Keith now possessed first-hand knowledge of the fairer sex. In particular, he was familiar with their anatomy, their scents and make-up, what they wore, and of course, their kind and loving disposition.
In short, he knew about women. This was convenient, because most of his waking hours he fantasised that he was one.
Only in private would he indulge in actual dressing up, sitting, or walking like a woman, and most significantly, when easily achieving a sexual climax via self abuse. After which, he would normally revert back to unremarkable everyday men's attire, pursuing everyday men's interests, like sport, and technical stuff.
His female persona was further divided between dominant and submissive. He was not gay, though he respected people of all persuasions and even had long term friends who were gay. Neither did he actively chase female romantic liaisons. He was already spoken for - he loved his own female persona. Weird.
The new dress hung particularly well. The gathered ruffle caressed the neck without being too constricting. The bishop sleeves with ribbed cuffs provided an airy freedom for the arms and the gradual low hem complemented the ensemble with its joyful flounce. A string belt tie round the midriff allowed the material to hug the top of the hips, reassuring the wearer of their feminine lower body shape. Lined, and made from silky floral print polyester, it exuded a luxurious feel for both the wearer and whosoever may have been lucky enough to be fondling the wearer at the time! It had been altogether a very satisfactory purchase.
Keith looked once more into the mirror, reassuring himself of his desirability, especially now adorned in his sumptuous new frock. In heels, with tummy out and swaying his hips, he then strode purposefully back to the party, over to an empty sofa to await the inevitable attention of some keen new admirer.
Except that there were no keen admirers. In fact, there were no admirers, keen or otherwise. Or any other people at all, come to that. None that existed outside the realm of Keith's imagination, anyway. The sofa was his own bed-sitting-room two-seater. However, the other seat did, inevitably, get taken by Keith's new virtual 'amore' - a handsome, though naïve (and imaginary) adult man. Another lover to take to the limit of sexual arousal and beyond? Yes, Karla confidently predicted - Karla being Keith's female alter-ego, in a pretty new floral print polyester dress.
Let's be clear. Keith was male, of course, and heterosexual, his vast picture library of provocatively dressed females was testament to this. However, his track record in terms of sexually fulfilling any woman's dreams and desires was woefully lacking. In the company of the opposite sex, albeit an infrequent happening since his doomed marriage, his natural tendency was to be submissive, and especially so if the person of that particular gender was of a dominant persuasion herself, and perhaps with exciting leanings towards the darker side of erotic power play. Keith's expensive experiences with professional ladies was clear evidence of this.
But right now, Karla was calling the shots. And a handsome, though naïve (and imaginary) adult man was falling for Karla's beguiling charms. Her hand on his thigh, lip-sticked lips that pouted, perfect breasts which pushed out unsupported, and our susceptible latest flame was more than ready to have his shorts pulled down and be over Karla's lap, to sample the pleasure of her crop, paddle or cane on his bare bottom, depending on her deliciously cruel whim. Cut to scene two, where Karla is now lying on her bed, on her back, knees raised and legs apart. Our latest conquest, now in the form of a rolled up duvet, lies atop our demanding sexy dominatrix. A double tissue is folded around a stiffening penis. Some serious frottery begins and Karla orders her lover to show her how much he loves her. And as the humping gets harder, and the legs tighten their grip around the duvet, our besotted lover might utter a silent 'Yes Miss', or 'Of course Mistress' or 'I adore you Goddess'. An intensely exquisite climax of spewing semen quickly fills the tissue, which after a minute or two when Karla has calmed herself, is removed, destined for the waste disposal. Weird? Yes, I know.
Variety is the spice of life, and Karla was well aware of this. On other occasions, the scenario roles might be reversed, with Karla finding herself in a predicament, having fallen foul of lustful male disciplinarians. After a cruel flogging she would be on her back, down to her pretty feminine underwear, satin and lace bra and panties, and fishnet stockings. With wrists tied to bedposts and open legs constricted by a home-made spreader-bar (Keith's carpentry skills were endless), and a tight ball gag, she could only await nervously the testosterone-crazed gang members each to have their wicked way with her - the rolled-up duvet again proving itself to be a fine actor. If it is possible to orgasm while tied and gagged and after you have been beaten with whips and suffered a succession of sex-crazed heavies inserting their hard willies into your vagina, then Karla surely found the way. And more semen-soaked tissues found their way to the bin. Weirder and weirder...
All in all, Keith led a pretty satisfactory do-it-yourself sex life. Over the years he had amassed a large collection of ladies underwear, dresses, skirts, maid's uniforms and even raincoats. Most materials fell somewhere within his fetish range (satin, nylon, leather, PVC, vinyl, etc) and if they did, he would possess them. And let's not forget a luxurious floral print polyester dress with bishop sleeves and a gathered ruffle! In addition, his armoury of tools included restraints, chastisement implements such as whips and floggers, though finding them too unwieldy to apply effectively to himself, and various 'sex aids' including ones that vibrated, ones that were inflatable, and ones intended to be inserted into places where things ordinarily would not be inserted. Given such an excess of artifacts at his disposal, one may be excused for assuming Keith was perfectly satisfied with his sex life. But one would be mistaken for doing so.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. So said Jane Austen, who wrote stories, so could conceivably have just made it up. In Keith's case it was certainly not true - the last thing he wanted was a wife, and the last thing any wife would want is a husband with a built-in lover/mistress alter-ego for excess baggage. But it was human interaction that Keith inwardly yearned for, and finding a living being sympathetic towards Keith's cravings was never going to be easy. In such circumstances, it is quite common that an opportunity will arise quite by accident, leading if not exactly down the road to Blissville, Tennessee, but to a new variant lifestyle which turns out just as good, if not better than the existing one. Or worse. Trust me. 'Blues Night' at the snooker club was one such catalyst. "Do you play?" she said.
2.
The R&B band was churning out "I heard it through the grapevine". They were good. Mesmerisingly good. And it was an extended version exploiting the hypnotic underlying repeated rhythm section riff. Keith was stood by the bar, with a beer, alone and deep in a heady mix of thought about his life plans and appreciation of the band. The very eccentric and seriously overweight woman manager of the bar had trespassed into Keith's body space. He was just a casual club member. She was known by allcomers, who ridiculed her size, her dress sense, and her bossy style of management. Hitherto, Keith merely knew her by sight, and her overbearing personality and reputation. "Sorry?" he said, suddenly realising she was actually addressing him rather than one of the usual crowd of badly behaved and rude male customers. "I said do you play," she repeated.
"Oh, er..." Keith muttered, being a little taken back that such a big personality (and not just 'big' physically, but confident and outgoing despite an unpromising appearance) had deigned to converse with him. "Yes, a little," he replied. "Not very good though, struggle to make a twenty break, I'm afraid."
"Not snooker," she said dismissively. "Do you play?" The accent was on the 'play'.
"Oh sorry, er, no. Used to play a bit of guitar, but never really kept it up. The band are very good aren't they?"
