Terri and I were friends with Frank, the guy I worked with, and his wife Marti. I was always joking about crossdressing or wearing pantyhose or being gay, talking with a lisp trying to be funny, more as a macho cover-up for my real feelings. Marti always had a sly smile about that like she seemed to know the real truth about me.
One year for Halloween, Frank and Marti invited us over to their place to watch a movie. We agreed to wear costumes. Terri and I decided to go as each other. Actually, I convinced Terri that it would be a good idea. The night before, I put on my bra, pantyhose and a girdle, and she picked out a skirt and blouse that would work for me. We were pretty close in size as I’ve always been very small and could fit into most of her size 13 clothes.
Terri put on a pair of my pants and a shirt. That was the easy part.
I didn’t shave my legs then but instead wore dark hose, typical of what Terri would wear. My failing in being true to her form was the bra. While we wore approximately the same bra size, I wore a Bali full-figured model with three snaps, one that she wouldn’t likely wear. Terri had given me a gauzy peach colored blouse of hers, and the bra was slightly visible through the fabric. I rather liked that it was evident I was wearing “the whole bit.”
The hair was pretty easy. Both of us had about the same length, and all we had to do was arrange it a little differently. Of course, she had to do my make-up. I brought along some regular clothes so that I could feign discomfort and change into them while we watched the movie.
When we arrived at their place, there was the predictable reaction of laughter when they saw that we had dressed as each other. Frank came over to me and pretended to hit on me as Terri. Almost immediately Marti started in on me with that knowing look making comments about what I was wearing.
“Quite a thrill, isn’t it?” she asked me.
I tried to pretend to be awkward with how everything felt. I said something like pantyhose weren’t such a thrill after all the joking I had done about it, or something lame like that.
Then she said, “Are you wearing your girdle?” I will never forget the tone of voice. It was almost in mock excitement, like she knew I was using the opportunity as an excuse to put on all my girlie things and get away with it, only she knew perfectly well the real truth.
For a brief moment, I was speechless. How would she know that? Many women wore panty briefs over their pantyhose as did Terri and probably Marti, but why would she guess that I was wearing one, and why did she say “your girdle?” She fucking knew!
In fake naiveté, I stammered out that it was some kind of stretchy thing Terri gave me to hold up my pantyhose. Terri really wasn't helping much.
“Something from your collection?” Marti asked sweetly. Clearly she wasn’t buying it. She was reading my mail, and I was getting very nervous. My arms had been crossed in front of my stuffed bra, and I moved my hands in front of my flattened tummy.
Still sizing me up, Marti then checked out my bra through the gauzy blouse. “And what a pretty bra,” she cooed.
I should have just said, “Why thank you.” But I mumbled something about it being Terri’s.
Immediately Marti shook her head with a smug smile, “No it’s not.”
“Yes it is,” I insisted.
“No, it’s not,” she came back immediately; “She wouldn’t wear one like that. It’s too big.”
I tried to explain that it was one from when she was heavier. But Marti knew that even when Terri was heavier, she wouldn’t wear a three-snap bra like I was wearing. She had me, and she knew it.
Somehow we got off the subject, and we went on with the night. Later I told Terri I wanted to get my clothes out the car so I could change out of my costume. Terri said, “Oh just leave it on.” Marti jumped in with, “Yeah, you’re having so much fun! Or is your girdle too tight?”
I kept quiet about it the rest of the night. The ribbing died down for the most part, and we had fun the rest of the evening watching the movie. As we left for the night and said our goodbyes, I thought I could make a desperate attempt to save myself by saying that I couldn’t wait to go home and get all this stuff off (as if I didn’t like it).
Marti smiled and said in a sexy voice, “Yeah, you can go home and slip into something more comfortable.” She had that knowing look on her face again. I felt so busted again. Of course, I was going to go home and put on my nightie. I blushed.
Well, I had hoped this would all die down and go away. About a week later though, Marti came into our office. Frank and I worked together alone in the same room. Marti announced, “I’m conducting a survey on men’s sock lengths. She immediately went over to Frank, went down on one knee and examined how high his socks were. “Frank, you’re about a mid-calf.”
She immediately turned around to me and said, “Let me check yours now.” I was busted again!! Of course, I was wearing pantyhose as I did almost daily and as I often joked about. This was nothing but a deliberate attempt to expose me as the sissy that I am. She knew that if I was wearing pantyhose, I wouldn’t be able to participate in her little “survey.” I was totally fucked!
I just said, “I’m wearing mid-calf.” She pressed that she needed to check them herself. I acted shy and said something like, “I can’t allow a married woman to feel me up.” It was pretty lame. She knew it. I knew it. She knew I was wearing pantyhose. She had just confirmed that Halloween was not a one time thing but that I was indeed a sissy crossdresser and just needed the excuse to put on girlie clothes.
She just smiled that knowing smile.
I was totally humiliated.