My Wonderful Secret Ch. 01
Keywords: 01, Wonderful, My, Secret, Ch.,
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I had just turned 18 and my life was hell. Throughout High School I had been bullied and humiliated. When I got to University, the best years of your life some say, I thought things might improve, but they didn't. What was my problem I here you ask? Well, in a nutshell, I was socially and physically under-developed. I didn't reach puberty until I was 17. I was short, skinny, and freckly and could easily have passed as a 12 year old boy for most of my senior school years. Often I got told off by teachers who thought I was in the wrong class because I looked so young. They'd say things like "This is a Year 12 study period, get back to the junior school!"
Naturally, all the other students found incidents such as this highly amusing, and I was frequently teased and tormented by them. I felt really bitter toward the whole world. It wasn't my fault that my hormones were so slow to kick in! I had a Doctor check me out, hoping that he would give me some hormones and that everything would be OK. Unfortunately he said I was slow but within the normal range and that one day "It will happen". He wouldn't recommend hormones unless I hadn't developed by the time I was 18. Typical of my luck, puberty did start just before I turned 18, validating the Doctors assessment, but while other boys at 14 appear to grow 2 feet taller and get facial hair and a deep voice in a manner of months, my pubescence positively crawled along. This devastated me, and it didn't help with the day to day teasing I had to endure. Boys were cruel, calling me a "runt" and a "freak", but it was the attitude of the girls that really upset me. They acted like it was my fault. They looked at me with upturned noses. They were nasty, bitchy and hateful toward me. I never hassled them, perved at them, tried to chat them up, or even talked to them. And yet they treated me worse than the assholes who gave them a hard time.
Needless to say, I hated my body and myself. I so wanted to be a normal 18 old man. I longed for a girl friend and to be big and strong like the other guys, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was essentially an outcast, and were it not my computer (yes, I was a computer geek as well!) I most likely would have gone mad. Groovy young University students didn't want to hang out with me, and those few kind souls who made the effort to befriend me soon learned that my years of isolation had done nothing for my social skills. I found it hard to make conversation, and had virtually nothing in common with 'normal' people. My University work and general behaviour deteriorated. I plunged into depression and started drinking and experimenting with drugs. This only further alienated me from society. My parents were concerned about me, and let me move into the granny flat in our back yard to give me some "space", away from my brothers and sister. Little did they know what this would lead to.
Our Granny flat had been rented to a young hair dresser named Jill until she up and went overseas, chasing her errant fiance. She swore she was coming back within 12 months and my parents, being too kind for their own good, said they would hold the place for her. My Mother packed away all Jill's possessions and locked them in a big brown cupboard in the flat. My clothes were stored in a smaller cupboard near my bed. I settled into my new surroundings very well. It was great to have my own space and to be able to be by myself after a tough day at University.
It was not long however, before my thoughts turned to Jill's sexy underwear which I had glimpsed my mother hurriedly stowing into a suitcase and placing inside the cupboard. I knew it was wrong to go through other peoples' things, but I was so lonely and so starved of female company and so curious about all things to do with girls that I just couldn't help myself. It took me about 30 minutes to file away an old cupboard key I had found into one that would unlock the big brown cupboard. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I opened the cupboard doors for the first time. Not only was there the suitcase full of her unmentionables I had seen previously, but a heap of dresses, blouses, wigs and make-up. I'll never forget the over-powering smell of femininity that hit me every time I opened that cupboard.
That's about all I did for the first 3 weeks. I'd just open the cupboard doors and drink in the sweet perfume and let my eyes play over the range of pretty colours and textures that hung from rails or were neatly folded in shelves. Then I started to take things out. Just to feel and smell them. Occasionally I would get so turned on by the flimsy lace knickers or the sexy black bras or whatever that I couldn't help but start to masturbate over them.
Then I started to try things on. Single items at first like a bra or panties, which I would tear off almost as soon as I put on, such was my guilt and shame. But as the months past I started to experiment with complete outfits. From humble beginnings I very soon learnt how to pad out a bra and how to tuck my tiny male equipment away to give me more realistic figure. I could not believe how good I looked as a girl.
The transformation was so dramatic that I became addicted to dressing up. Almost instantly the ugly, freckly little runt became a normal, healthy, pretty girl. I learnt how to apply a sweet smelling brown liquid which made my freckles disappear. My thin nervous lips took on a sexy, shiny glow with the application of lipstick. My tiny, scrawny body, enhanced with proud, bulging breasts and flattered by a figure hugging dress or blouse and mini skirt, looked every bit like a young girls'. And then my legs, smooth and slender and hairless, the target of so much ridicule, looked positively alluring in black silk stockings or even regular panty hose. I was so happy dressed as a girl. I felt normal! I was no longer a freak. It was an escape from the reality of my everyday misery.
Where I had previously sought comfort in drugs and alcohol, I now sought comfort and escape by dressing up. As soon as I got home from Uni, providing my parents were still at work, I would take a hot shower and dress up as a girl. I would then function perfectly normally, doing my study, watching tv, playing on my computer. The only difference was that in costume I felt normal and good about myself, which was in stark contrast between how I normally felt. Initially, I was sexually excited by Jill's clothes and the feel of them against my skin. But it soon became obvious that I was dressing to make myself feel good about myself and because I felt better dressed as a girl. After a while I ceased becoming aroused at all when dressing up, but my desire to dress up never waned.
I secretly wished I could go to Uni dressed as a girl. I imagined how all the studs, the ones who used to ridicule me, would want to chat up the "new girl" and ask her out. I imagined how all the girls would want to gossip and giggle with her. She'd be accepted - even admired!
But I knew that was only a fantasy. I was a boy. A miserable specimen, but a boy none the less. And no-one would ever believe I was a girl with my hair. Long hair was the rage back then, and even though my curly brown hair touched the top of my collar, it did not look like girls hair. I knew I couldn't have it cut like a girl - that would only be more humiliating - and to my despair Jill's collection of wigs just didn't fit properly or look right. I tried every one of them on, dozens of times each, but to no avail.
Then I discovered them! - quite by accident, in a small cardboard box at the back of the cupboard. Hair extensions! Two of which matched my natural colour perfectly. One consisted of a flowing ponytail which slid into my hair via a comb like attachment. It pulled my hair in tight and combined with my inadequate locks to make an impressive show of hair.
The second, perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, was a curly brown piece with long ringlets flowing from each side. It attached to my fringe, augmenting my light brown curls with bigger, more luxurious ones, and the ringlets flowed down in front of my ears. The extra curls on my fringe hung over my forehead and really softened my face. When I first looked in the mirror I nearly fainted. I looked so much like the girl I wanted to look like. I looked like a REAL girl. I was beautiful.
I continued to be laughed at or at best, ignored at Uni but somehow it hurt less than before, and somehow the other students sensed that they weren't getting to me like they used to. They would tease me and I would smile back or shrug my shoulders. I was almost smug. I had the most wonderful secret and I no longer cared what they thought or said. I knew how beautiful I could be, and I no longer needed or wanted their approval. They started to tease me less, and focus on some of the other "freaks" in first year. All the while my confidence, behaviour, grades and overall happiness continued to grow.
My parents were thrilled with the change in me, and my mother spoke at our church group on how the lord had saved me. Everyone in the church seemed really happy for me, and I truly believed that the Lord had shown me the way. The Lord had led me to the private flat and Jill's cupboard full of goodies. The Lord had provided me with my wonderful secret. I sincerely believed that the Lord wanted me to be a girl.
Like most addictions, my dressing up became more and more consuming. I seldom dressed as a boy when at home in the flat, and when I wasn't dressed I spent most of my time thinking about it. I had strong urges to go out dressed as a girl, but I was so afraid of being found out that I convinced myself not to go through with it. That was, until I visited the library one Friday afternoon.
The University library was a huge, quiet, friendly and very safe environment. The head librarian kept everyone in line and made sure people kept to themselves. "If you want to socialise, go to the mall.
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Keywords: 01, Wonderful, My, Secret, Ch.,