My story was going nowhere. I'd been working on it at night for several weeks, writing a page or two at a time, deleting most, keeping only a fraction of what I started with. But I was having a lot of trouble writing the female character. I just couldn't get into her mindset.
I wasn't proud of what I was doing, but I was working on an adult fiction story for a fetish magazine that I'd bought at the newsstand a couple of months earlier. It was filled with all sorts of kinky stuff like tickling, bondage, feet, leather, you name it. I'd noticed an ad near the back of the magazine indicating they were looking for writers to contribute stories to their publication. The mention that there was money to be paid for such a project was all it took to get me started.
I'd relayed my little scheme to a female friend of mine via email. I hadn't mentioned it to my girlfriend, as her idea of kinky is doing it on a Thursday night instead of Saturday. My email penpal, Claire, thought that this was a fun and truly interesting venture to undertake. She didn't even question the type of magazine I was writing for; she and I had few secrets. I had emailed her several pages of my work, and she seemed quite interested. One night about two weeks ago I emailed her in frustration, explaining to her how much trouble I was having with the female character in the story.
The story was supposed to be about a young woman who experiences bondage and tickling for the first time with her husband who has been reading about such things on the internet. I really wanted to capture her tension and anxiety, but it just wasn't there.
The email that came back from Claire that night was simple and to the point. It said, "Look, if you're having that much trouble writing a female character, why don't I help you? Come over Saturday afternoon and we'll work on it together. My roommate goes to work from noon till 8. Be there sometime after 12. See you then. Claire."
I emailed back a quick reply. Later that night I mentioned to my girlfriend, Sarah, that I was going out for coffee with a friend on Saturday afternoon to talk about my novel. I was also working on a mainstream fiction novel, but it was going nowhere too. The little lie wasn't all that far from the truth.
Saturday afternoon came quite soon and I headed over to Claire's. I arrived around 12:30 or so, not wanting to have bumped into her roommate at 12. Claire answered the door dressed in what I thought was sort of strange attire for her. Claire is normally pretty casual, very often wearing jeans and simple t-shirts or sweaters. But this Saturday afternoon she was dressed as though she was going to teach a Sunday School class. She had on a long-sleeved white blouse, a dark patterned skirt that came to her ankles, and a pair of stern-looking 2" black pumps.
I said, "What's with the get-up Claire?"
"You want to write better female characters, don't you?" she replied.
"Ummmm... yeah, right, but..."
"Well then you'll need a good teacher. I figured I might as well look the part. Come on in."
I walked into the house and kicked off my running shoes. She gently took my hand and started leading me up the stairs that were not far from the front door.
"Where're we going?" I asked.
"To start working on your character."
We went upstairs and she guided me toward her roommates bedroom. I'd been to the house a couple times before and knew that Claire had the larger of the two rooms upstairs as her bedroom. She let me walk into the room first, but did not follow. On the bed were what seemed to be some lingerie and a few flimsy woman's clothes. I turned to question Claire about the meaning of all this. She held her finger up to her mouth to indicate silence.
"Get dressed." was all she said and she closed the door to the room, leaving me alone.
I surveyed my surroundings. I'd never been in this room before. It was the typical bedroom of a mid-twenties working woman, I guess. Everything we relatively tidy, with lots of feminine attributes to indicate who lived there. I looked at the clothes on the bed. They were laying over the foot of the bed, as though someone had been getting ready to dress after a bath. I delicately touched the fabrics. There seemed to be a lot of nylon and sheer materials. I was uncertain what to do. I knew Claire was a wonderful person and would never do anything to hurt me, so I suspected that whatever she had planned was probably going to be fun and educational at the same time.
After thinking about it for another minute or so I began to undress. I unzipped my jeans and let them fall to the floor. My t-shirt was next, followed by my socks. As I stripped out of my underwear I really began to wonder what I was doing. But Claire had been my good friend for several years and I knew she must have a good reason for all this. I suspected she wanted me to know what it felt like to dress up like a woman, and that this would somehow help me to write the character... so I started to get dressed. It could have been worse. At least I wasn't writing a story about a dog.
On top of the pile of clothes was a pair of sheer black nylon panties. They felt strange as I slipped them up and over my hips. oddly, Claire had put out a pair that were large enough to cover my penis, even though it was now nearly fully erect. Somehow the thought of this little adventure was starting to turn me on. I wondered if they were her roommates panties.
Next came the black bra. It was the opposite of the panties, quite small for either woman that lived in the house. I wondered where it came from. I had a hell of a time getting the hooks done up at the back, but using the mirror on the dresser I was finally able to manage. Next was a pair of plain black pantyhose.
I'd seen my girlfriend put on pantyhose before, so I knew enough to roll them up, one leg at a time onto my hand and step into the toe of them. Soon I was pulling them up over my legs and then my hips. Again, Claire had done very well, they seemed to fit nicely. They felt restricting in a way, but also sensuous.
There was a dark red blouse on the bed that I put on next. It was made of some sort of silk-like material that felt extremely nice against my skin. Next was the short plain black skirt. It wrapped around about 1 1/2 times and then did up at the waist with a hook. It barely covered my behind and I suspected it might even show off my panties if I weren't careful.
Finally a pair of 3 or 4 inch pumps sat on the floor at the very foot of the bed. I looked in before trying them on; a size 10 woman's. Once on my feet I realized Claire knew a lot more about me than I had realized.... the shoes also fit perfectly.
I stopped at the full-length mirror to see what I now looked like. There was no mistake about it. No matter how silky they felt, these clothes did NOT make me look like a woman.
I opened the door slowly, half expecting Claire to be waiting in the hallway with a camera. She wasn't... waiting with a camera that is, but she was waiting.
