New Experience






A New Experience

Part 5

By Peta Wilson

Subscribers can catch up with Part 1|Part 2|Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5







When they get in the car to drive home it is almost three in the morning. Russell is a little drunk and loose tongued.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Fran asks as they drive away.

"I had a great time."

"So you enjoyed being a girl for the night?"

"Sure. It was fun."

They drive in silence for a time.
"Fran," Russell says to the window, "is Brad Fittler gay?"

"No not that I know of. He's always with girls. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Oh bullshit. Come on."

"Nothing."

"You didn't ask for fun Rusty. Oh I get it. He came onto you didn't he?"

Russell squirms in the seat and continues to look out the window.

"Well what a surprise package you are. Brad and Mary."

Russell turns to look at his sister.

"Mary? Why, did she say something?"

"Oh not much. Just before she left, when she was pissed, she said to me, and I quote, I'm coming after your sister."

Russell moans. "Oh God."

"Don't worry about it," Fran says. "She was pissed as I said. What's interesting to me is that a straight guy and a gay girl both saw you as a girl. And not just a girl but one who appealed to them. But it's not a problem is it because..." she glances sideways at him with a sly grin, Ò...I don't have a sister do I?"

Russell returns to staring out the window.

During the week following the party Russell discovers he is looking at girls and women differently. Oh there is still the lust in his eyes and in his heart but he looks more deeply now and finds he is very aware of what they are wearing, being critical and complimentary in his thoughts. And legs. He is comparing legs not so much girl to girl but girl to his own which, he thinks, were just about perfect.

On the Wednesday there is another shock when Fran comes home with a bunch of prints from the party and there he is again, smiling, laughing, looking happy and...very much a girl. The shot of him on Bobbie's knee shows so much thigh you can actually catch a tiny glimpse of panties at the crotch.

"You should go into drag performing," Fran says, teasing. "You'd be in demand."

In the shot with fran he is slightly taler and has the appearance of being the older sister. In the group shot with the other girls he is a serious contender amid this bevy of seriously good-looking young women.

On Thursday night Fran answers phone a call and comes to him wearing a very peculiar smile.

"It's Mary Swan. She wants to talk to my sister."

Russell blanches. "You didn't tell her I was here?"

"Sure. Go and talk to her."

"Hi Anne," Mary says. "I wondered if you'd like to go to The Ladies' Room with me tomorrow night?"

He does not deny the name but says; "What's the ladies' room."

"It's, uh, kind of a girl's only night club. How about it?"

"Mary I'm not a girl. I can't go to a place like that."

"Oh yes you can. If you looked like you did last Friday night."

"Mary I don't do that. It was just for that night. I can't go."

"Well okay. But be warned I'm going to ask you again. Don't waste yourself."

In the kitchen Fran asks what she wanted.

"She asked me to go to The Ladies' Room with her."

"Oh how privileged. Are you going?"

"Of course not."

"You don't have to be so vehement."

"You don't think I should, surely?"

"I think you should do what you want to do."

"Well I don't want to."

He picks up the plates of food she has prepared and carries them into the dining room table.

They eat in silence for a time.

"Can I ask you a question or two?" Fran says.

He looks up.

"What about?"

"Sex. It's my turn."

He shrugs. "Okay."

"When you put on that sexy little black number of mine and then took it off again so fast, what scared you?"

"I...I thought it was wrong to dress as a girl."

"Is that all?"

"Uh huh."

"Come on the truth."

"Well...I was scared that I...liked what I looked like."

"Did you think it was wrong to dress as a girl on Friday night?"
"Not...not so much."

"Why not?"
"You, sort of convinced me it was okay. For the party."

"Did you like what you looked like again?"

He avoids her eyes, staring at the plate.

"Yes."

"Okay next question. A harder one. When Brad gave you the message that you turned him on, did you find that offensive?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"Well I guess because he was telling me I looked so much like a girl that he could believe it."

"So you liked that?"

"Yes. Sort of."

"And what about Mary?"

"She likes girls."

"I know. But she saw you as a girl, obviously."

"I guess."

"Didn't you like that?"

"Yes."

"So. You were dressed as a girl and you looked like a girl and you liked what you looked like and you liked that other people were seeing you as a girl?"
ÒYes I suppose so."

She gets up from the table. "Okay. That's all."

She picks up the plates and takes them to the kitchen."

Russell sits there, his face burning.

Fran peers over the breakfast bar. "My clothes are there if you ever feel the urge."

He sits in shameful contemplating because he knows damn well he does have the urge.


Sunday. Late morning. Fran is sitting at the end of the dining table reading the Sunday paper. Russell is nearby in jeans and a T shirt reading nothing.

ÒI'm not going to The Ladies Room with Mary,Ò he says, suddenly.

Fran looks up, examines him for a long moment.

"Okay."

She goes back to reading the paper.

"But..."

She looks up again.

"But what?"
He is blushing, awkward. He clears his throat.

"I would, kind of like to...uh, wear your clothes again."

"Okay. Take what ever you like."


There are only, apparently, women in the dimly lit room. There are masculine looking women and feminine looking women. Young women, older women. Music is playing on a music system.

Mary Swan reaches out and places her hand over that of her partner. a beringed hand with long red finger nails. Her partner is wearing a form fitting black wool jersey dress, very short, with black stockings and patent stilettos, dark blonde hair in soft waves to her lower neck, face made up for night and for action.

Mary is wearing a simple, demure floral dress, little heeled shoes, no make up except for a smear of soft pink lipstick, her brown hair close cropped. She looks like a thirteen year old. Maybe even a thirteen year old boy.

"Were you playing hard to get," she says, almost in a whisper, "or did you really not want to come?"

"No, I guess I always wanted to come. It just took me a long while to get used to the idea."

"You've been driving me mad for eight weeks, Anne." She squeezes his hand. "Everyone here thinks you're a girl. You're very convincing."

"I guess it's just as well. I imagine boys aren't all that welcome here."

She laughs a little laugh. ÒNo. But they'll never know will they?"

THE END


Peta Wilson lives in Australia and has a Personal Ad here...she invites your comments.


Back to Transgender Forum's home page