A is for Andrea

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A is for Andrea: Sisters are Doing It for Themselves


A series of stories with transgender themes which I hope will be of interest to those who like women, or would like to be a woman. Which includes me!


It was only after I’d been back in Brum for about 6 months that I realised that there was a potential ‘outlet’ for my hobby quite easily available. I mean, like many trannies I’m very secretive about what I do. Don’t like to tell people, it’s not the sort of thing you chat about in the canteen over lunch, is it?

‘Yes, Fred, I got a gorgeous pair of shoes in a sale last week, kitten heels, a bit high for me but what the hell….’

Like I said, not the stuff of everyday conversation.

I’d been online into TV chat rooms quite a few times, enjoyed the sexy banter, swapped a few pictures with other trannies, that sort of thing. And seen quite a few cocks, from admirers, guys who fancied themselves and liked to show off.

But it was when my little digital camera broke, usual sort of thing. The basic camera was still working but the shutter button was loose. The only moving part on the whole device. It was only a cheap one anyway, not worth repairing so I bought a new one. A far better camera, much bigger resolution, and cheaper than my old one had been. And it had a web-cam facility.

And that’s where my dressing up began to take off. I’d seen some trannies – ‘Helencam’, ‘CamTV4U’, that sort of nickname, in the chat rooms before. One of them – I’ve forgotten ‘her’ name, even came online to me. I was able to use my software to access her web-cam pictures and watch her ‘posing’ online for me. Well now I could do it myself.

So I got myself all dressed up in my sexiest outfit, and set up the camera in the bedroom, connected to my laptop so it would be more portable. I amused myself by trying to take some short 10 second videos of my female alter-ego, but it was difficult. The video didn’t have a delay setting like the still camera mode.

However the web-cam aspect still worked OK. That was somewhat exciting in itself, lying on the bed in stockings and high heels, watching myself stroking my thighs and sliding my skirt up to show my thong. I logged onto the web and clicked on my chat-room software. I spent nearly half an hour flicking between my three favourite TV rooms but there weren’t many in that night, and no-one I could find with their own web-cam. I looked again at myself on screen, my own camera output, I didn’t want to waste this opportunity. Quickly I went into the bathroom to put some mascara on. In the bedroom I looked into the tall mirror, bought specially for that purpose. Admiring my female self. I could do it.

I logged onto the site again and waited.

**admirer4tv** asl?

Bloody rude, I closed him down straight away. A couple of others popped up, starting out in a similar vein. I was beginning to wonder if I was being too quick to click out of what I saw as rude interruptions. Then.

**Tvcam4cam** Hello there, Beth, how r u?

OK, so this one was polite. May as well give her / him a go.

**BethUKcam** Hi there, w mids UK TV here with cam, u?

**Tvcam4cam** I’m good, w mids TV also. I’m Andrea, where r u?

And we went on exchanging pleasantries for several minutes. He / she was apparently in another Birmingham suburb, only about 4 miles from me. And a bit older, also single, divorced rather but that’s the same thing these days.

**Tvcam4cam** Want to swap pictures?

And I did, sent him — or her – my very best-looking picture, very slightly soft-focus, taken at a dressing service with the husband of the owner beside me on the sofa with his hand on my knee. OK, with his face blanked out, Victoria had insisted on that when I’d asked her if she would do a photo like that. It was a good one of me, though, tight pale top plunging to show some cleavage – courtesy of some wonderfully-engineered padding – and ultra-short ultra-tight black p.v.c. miniskirt.

I’ve always thought I was pretty good at make-up but on that visit Vicky had excelled herself. In her premises I think I looked as near to female as I’d ever done, and on the photos, well, the impersonation was totally convincing. She was good at her job, and I looked good too. As did Andrea, when his / her picture arrived I clicked it open to see a tallish female figure, tall in high heels that is, longish dark hair and very nicely done make-up.

**Tvcam4cam** You want to show yourself on cam? I will.

**BethUKcam** OK, give me a moment to sort out the connections.

I’d been ready to do this, but I was a little disappointed I’d not done full make-up, red nails, that sort of thing. But my figure looked good, I knew, and anyway this was really why I’d gone online.

We spent some time again looking at each other, posing rather. It was rather exciting to see another TV ‘live’ for the first time. Except the one I’d seen briefly at Vicky’s that is, ‘she’ had been leaving as I arrived. edirne escort Then Andrea surprised me.

**Tvcam4cam** Bethany, I have to go soon, got to be up for work in the morning. How would you feel about meeting up?

I didn’t reply. Andrea had surprised me. In a way I’d thought someone might ask about that, I’d had enough requests at different times but never gone into it seriously. This was different. I liked the look of ‘Andrea’. This TV seemed in some ways very similar to me, and local too.

**Tvcam4cam** Beth? How about it? Tomorrow night even, before either of us can change our mind.

So Andrea wasn’t totally certain either, hence that comment. Yet this was the only proper request I’d had, and Andrea really was local.

**BethUKcam** Not totally certain about this but – yes.

We agreed to meet online again the following evening early on, about 6.30. Then, if we were still of the same opinion, to sort out a meeting at Hawkshead Park sometime later that evening. Andrea seemed to think we could come up with a strategy for meeting which would satisfy us both. I had the impression Andrea was a professional person like me, and was very wary about confidentiality.

We closed down. I changed back to being Ben. I had trouble getting to sleep, and then didn’t cope enormously well at work that day. I was nervous naturally. But straight after work, as I began my drive home my butterflies disappeared. I was actually looking forward to the evening. I really hoped Andrea wouldn’t back out. So I called ahead to Vicky’s house, she was in, and bought something I’d wanted for a long time, a pair of skyscraper high heels. Real tranny stuff.

At half past six I was online ready, anticipating. As soon as Andrea came on I jumped in to suggest ‘yes’, that we should go ahead with the meeting. Straight away Andrea agreed and offered me his / her mobile number so I could ring and we could sort out the arrangements more easily.

When I called I was – just for a moment – disappointed. The voice on the phone was male. But I got over that quickly, Andrea had clearly thought this through and suggested locations and times for the meeting. The butterflies started again. But despite all that I was determined to go through with it.

“OK Bethany. We can do this. Be there at half nine, by the side gate. And just to tempt you I’ve got a new p.v.c. miniskirt, scarlet and painfully tight so you’ll have no problem recognising me. See you there.”

We rang off. I had about two-and-a-half hours to become female. Well, to become a female-looking tranny at least, or as close as I could get. I was going to go – in Andrea’s honour – absolutely ALL the way. Tonight I was in adventurous mood, and I determined to dress to kill.

In my bedroom, I laid out all my clothes and my accessories. I set up my makeup stuff in the bathroom, and ran a very hot bath. In the tub I slowly shaved my legs and my armpits, something I’d often thought about but never actually done. I wanted to FEEL good as well as look good. I dried off and rubbed a slightly oily fragrant body lotion over my entire body. I’d kept my fingernails on the long side, but recently I’d let them grow for an extra 2 weeks. Now I filed them into tapered ovals. Then I sat down and painted them, and my toenails, a deep red vermilion, totally tarty I thought, and finished them off with a high gloss top coat. I lay back on the bed to let them dry and mentally planned what was to come next.

I have never had much of a beard, really only a light fuzz so it didn’t take much to close shave my face which I did three times in all. I rubbed in a moisturizer to try to improve the baby-smooth skin effect even more. I was becoming excited now, I’d already done stuff I’d never tried before in my efforts to feminise my body. I sat down with a small magnifying mirror on my dressing table and, with a pair of fine tweezers. A few minutes later I had severely plucked eyebrows, I’d sort out later how to explain them at work the next day.

Since I’d basically be in a darkened area in the Park I decided to go with heavier makeup than usual. I started with the foundation, first rubbing a beard cover cream over my upper lip and along my chin line. I didn’t think I really needed it but on this occasion I was doing absolutely everything which could help my feminisation. I rubbed that in, and the excess off with a cosmetic sponge, and then applied my Maybelline Colour-Stay makeup with my fingers over my entire face and under my chin and smoothed that in with the sponge. And finally, using a large brush, I applied the Maybelline matching powder all over to set the makeup and smooth the pores.

The eyes came next. I used a black liquid liner, Max Factor this time, along both my upper and lower lash lines. I always applied it very thinly on the bottom, but fairly thickly in the middle of the upper lash, and extended outside the outer corners of the eye. For eye-shadow, I used a medium blue over the entire lids, almost from lash-line to brow, with a light line under cansoc.org the eyes, then a slightly darker iridescent blue over the eyelids themselves. Finally I brushed a deep blue into the crease, out past the edge of the eye and along the outside of the lids.

I started brushing on coal-black mascara on upper and lower lashes. I applied five separate coats in all, using a very fine comb to separate the lashes between each coat. And finally I filled in my eyebrows with an off-black eyebrow pencil, extending the outer edges in a pencil thin line and used an eyebrow brush to blend it in with my natural plucked brows.

I brushed a dark rose blusher powder on my cheekbones and blended the edges with a lighter shade. And for the finishing touch I did my lips. This has always been a very sensual moment for me, one of those tasks which really did identify me as a woman in my own mind. My lips are quite full anyway especially for a man, but I outlined them with a red liner and then applied a new lipstick I’d discovered fairly recently, in a deep metallic red to match my nails. I used two coats, a colour coat first and then a clear high-gloss sealer. I just wondered – was I going to be kissing anyone on the lips?! So I added a second gloss coat.

I pulled on my wig tightly, a dark-blonde shade, layered, a below-the-shoulder style with a fringe. Together with my extravagant eye-make-up it brought out the colour of my blue eyes, not that it was going to matter much in the dark. I had decided to wear a pair of very large silver hoops in my ears together with a heavy studded silver necklet, and a matching bracelet on each wrist. I added all seven of my large glitzy silver rings, three on my left hand and four on my right.

OK. Lingerie. I totally LOVE lingerie.

My black lace-trimmed thong was new. I’d only worn it once before, usually I’d worn fuller panties, black of course but Vicky had shown me this special type of thong.

‘Specially made for trannies’ she’d said.

I could see why. It was quite sheer and fitted very snugly, the slightly-wider and concave front panel gently but firmly holding in my cock at the front. Perfect!

Then to get somewhere near a female figure I had decided to wear my black satin and lace bustier. It laced up at the front – very tightly indeed -and had eight garters altogether along the bottom. I pulled on a pair of fishnet stockings, loving the feeling as they slid up along my freshly-denuded legs, and stepped into my brand new black stilettos.

I slid my breast-form pads into place, I always enjoyed the feeling of large pendulous boobs, one day I’d use the adhesive and go bra-less. Hell, why go only half-way. I’d studied the instructions on the adhesive spray often enough, I checked them again and then went through the procedure meticulously, spraying, pressing into place, lying down for a couple of minutes, then smoothing just a little make-up over the upper edge of the breast-forms.

I was delighted with the result. I shivered as I looked at my outline in the mirror. I’d never worn such large breast-forms, these were some I’d bought quite a while ago and never really wanted to wear at home, preferring to go for realism. But this time I was out for effect.

The results were outstanding, literally, I just stood there gazing in awe at the 42-EE tits in front of me. Just for a moment I thought I’d gone too far but then I remembered Andrea’s mini-skirt comment. OK, so I just had to try to match that. I took the sheer white blouse from its hanger, having a little difficulty dealing with the tight gold buttons across my breasts. Again the tiny skirt was rather problematical but the end result was worth it. I stood there, maybe for a minute or two, posing, just looking at my voluptuous figure.

I knew time was beginning to run out so I grabbed my handbag and strolled across the room. I sensed the pull of my suspenders on my stockings and almost tripped in my haste in the very high heels. Then I gave my hair one final brush and looked for one final time into the large mirror on the wall. Bethany!

I dropped my keys, tissues, lipstick and some change into my handbag. I was damn near ready. I checked the clock. Perfect. Or as near perfect as I’d ever achieved before. Like any tranny I had an ambition, a fantasy, of being out and ‘passing’ as a woman, certainly I’d have loved the opportunity to do so in a sexual context. But again, like most of us, I knew that was very unlikely indeed? Did I really look like a woman? OR, more likely, like a man trying to dress as a very sexy woman?

However, whichever was the case, I had a ‘date’.

The next five minutes were scary, making sure I had everything including my house and car keys. And skipping very quickly, much more comfortable already in my stilettos, out of my front door and into my car. I’d reversed in earlier so I could drive straight out, and I didn’t stop until I was at least three miles from home. At that point I did stop, just for a minute, to collect my thoughts.

I was quite good at driving along in high heels, which surprised me. I even managed to get there a little early. Andrea had told me where to leave my car. Since the main gates of the park would be locked I had to stop about fifty yards along from there, just round a corner and off the main road. I looked at the car in front of mine in the little lay-by. We had exchanged some details about our cars and colours and registrations and so on. The Renault-205 I parked behind – it must be Andrea’s.

With nerves somewhat jangling, I got out of my car and blipped the alarm, then I set off about twenty yards down the road to the corner where Andrea had said the pedestrian gate would be. It was there, and it was unlocked. I hoped any late dog-walkers would have left already, clearly I was still very nervous.

The gate creaked just a little as I pushed it and went in. I headed towards the main buildings, a sort-of three-sided courtyard, not quite fully enclosed. And as I approached I saw someone. Sitting at one of the picnic tables in the centre of the yard. Just as I approached the late evening sun emerged from behind a cloud. The person sitting there rose at the sound of my high-heels on the concrete path. I looked. Red mini-skirt, it must be.

“Hello Andrea.”

He stood up. Yes, he. This person was a male person. I’d absolutely no illusions about my own appearance, I know that in the right light, or rather lack of it, in shadow, on a good day when my make-up has gone well and when the tightening and squashing effects of my corsetry are working to the full, I can NEARLY pass as a woman. If whoever sees me needs glasses, that is.

I’m not quite the ‘man-in-a-frock’, I can do a bit better than that. But a convincing woman? No. And Andrea was the same. Looking at him, alone in the small courtyard between the café and the museum and the park itself, in bright moonlight, I was looking at a male person in a miniskirt.

But an attractive male person, yes. It puzzled me that I thought that. Attractive? Could I possibly consider a man attractive? Well, actually, I could. Something to do with the care he had put into his own make-up. And the effort he had put into his own preparations, the high-heels, the tight skirt, the bulging bosoms, the wig, all that and more. The overall effect was – attractive.

“Hello Beth.”

The very first words spoken to me in real life as ‘Bethany’. And some sort of acknowledgement of the person I was trying to be. Andrea moved closer to me, holding out his hand. I took it, not in a formal man-to-man handshake, more a light clasp. In one sense, woman-to woman. He leaned towards me. We kissed cheek-to-cheek, in an overly effeminate way.

“Andrea, you look gorgeous!”

“And you do too, Beth, I love those tits!”

After those initial two compliments we just sat there on the bench, each of us with legs crossed to reveal an expanse of stocking-covered thigh, for nearly an hour. And talked. About our own TV experiences, very limited for both of us. And about what we liked about dressing in female clothes, about makeup and wigs and so on. And about our own fantasies. We both admitted that our innermost desire was to ‘pass’ as a woman, both in ordinary life and in a sexual situation with a man, basically we were both bi-curious but had never had the nerve to do anything about it.

And as time moved on, as we chatted, as the Sun slowly disappeared over the horizon, we moved closer. In both senses, already we were beginning to develop a friendship via our shared interests and ambitions. And physically too, we got closer. I began by holding Andrea’s hand, just stroking it gently, admiring his nails and the rings he was wearing. I became a little more adventurous, moving my leg across towards his so that our nylon stockings were in contact, and just slowly moving my own calf against his.

He began to moan a little as I continued.

“Is that nice for you? I asked, though the answer was obvious.

“Darling, it really is, I never realised just how delicious that could feel.”

He reached forward himself to caress my thigh and to begin to slide a hand up inside my skirt. I could feel my own reaction between my legs, I knew he was coming close to feeling it himself.

“Streuth, Andrea, that is SO good!!”

I couldn’t help myself, I didn’t want to stop, I wanted this to go on and on. I moved my head closer until my own lipstick-covered lips began to tenderly caress his. The feeling was just ecstatic, I could feel my own heartbeat pounding more and more as we became more intimate.

“Oh Beth, my darling” he moaned as we both moved our fingers tenderly across each others’ boobs. “I want you to….. oooH!!!”

“What’s wrong Andrea?”

“Wrong? Nothing, it’s just – wow – those tits, Beth, they’re gorgeous, that is SO gorgeous, that is so nice. Oh my God, that feels wonderful — gosh! Beth do that again! AGAIN!”

Andrea was shaking. I’d moved my left hand down over his waist and up inside his skirt again, I’d found the bulge in his panties. And I was enjoying myself too, stroking the bulge, feeling the contours, sensing the heat and the throbbing as I played with that delightful erection.

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