The doorbell rang and I carefully walked down the stairs – not wanting to fall on my heels and strain or hurt myself. Why was I being eager. After all this was a boy and in reality I was a boy, dressed as a girl maybe, but still a boy underneath all the fancy frills and the make-up.
It was Peter. He had a broad grin across his face and I smiled back. “I thought you might never want to see me again after last time,” he said. “Are you ready?”.
“Yes,” I said grabbing my handbag and feeling like a real girl as he led me down the path by my hand. For once in my life I didn’t care about anything in the world. The neighbours’ curtains were surely twitching, but I couldn’t care. I had my boy.
Crossdressing Stories From Boy to Girl70
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