Cross Dressing Gallery

‘To be or not to be?’
That’s a question with a special edge for us! Every day I try to find a moment to be me, to be Marianne. But there are so many occasions on which I have had to choose not to be, when all inside me wants to call out: “Here I am!”

Well, here I am again scurrying, mouse-like, up the stairs to JJ’s cross dressing gallery apartment, despite knowing that I am perfectly safe, here I am still half afraid that the nosey cat with prying eyes – recognition – will be waiting on the landing. Relief! I’m inside, and JJ is smiling at me. And I know that I have several precious hours ahead in which I can be the real me – a very special time for one of JJ’s cross dressing gallery girls. In fact, not just be me, but, gently guided by our mentor, I can luxuriate in my every aspect of feminine being. Even the simple friendly voicing of my name: ‘Marianne’ on another’s lips brings soft delight to my ear.

Crossdressing Gallery

Marianne luxuriates in my Cross dressing Gallery, waiting patiently for the next part of her make-over.

“What shall we dress up in today?” JJ asks. I’m about to reply, when I realise that her question is rhetorical. She already knows what cross dressing gallery look will be right for me on this visit. I am told firmly that a boudoir session would suit me! Not what I had in mind at all, but the cross dressing gallery artist is in her boudoir period, the intoxicating results of which I have already admired on her website. I am a little anxious: firstly of not measuring up; and secondly of releasing the genie of my sensuality, spell-bound in this tarnished old lamp and long ago thrown into the deep sea. New lamps for old? The magician’s trick? But there is no trickery here: just JJ’s wonderful artistic cross dressing gallery magic.

Of course, dear readers, you will know that, challenged by JJ, I just had to retrieve and rub the old lamp to reveal the delights within! And so the invocation begins. Let me share a few precious moments!

Sitting back in the cross dressing gallery make-over chair, swaddled in satin, protected by towels, and already feeling pampered, I start to luxuriate in the silky feel of my borrowed lingerie, the pastel tones have already soothed me, and the delicate touches of the material on my smooth skin play their part in weaving the spell of my feminine cross dressing gallery transformation.

A choice of scented candle? Why rose of course: attar of roses for my love.

Now our cross dressing gallery enchantress brushes on lip balm. Raspberry: the berries crush on my lips, and I feel the sharp sweet juices on the questing tip of my tongue.

Another special moment. Oh bliss! Facial massage. As Jo’s delicate, but feminine, fingers work over my face, I feel years of masculine habit being powerfully thrust away. A flash and gleam from the lamp, as the cross dressing gallery genie stirs.

Each step in this rite of passage, is a moment of sensuous release, as each sense in turn is assailed, overwhelmed and transformed, until I begin to emerge blinking into the light. Not the man, but the girl now released from that hideous iron mask. For so long Marianne has meekly accepted imprisonment by her controlling masculine twin. But now she can now look into the cross dressing gallery mirror and begin to see herself, myself.

But who is that self? A self-defined by femininity? A self-released from her masculine bonds? Who am I? Only now that I am breathing in the world can I start to uncover that mystery. As JJ goes for her crossdressing gallery camera, I find myself compelled to turn away from the mirror, and turn back rapidly catching a glimpse of myself as a stranger. I do this repeatedly, until JJ’s return. The image before me is intoxicating: Marianne.

A moment, actually several moments, of light relief follow, as the demands of cross dressing gallery modelling demonstrate that the iron mask is easier to discard than the rusty tin body! However, with cajoling, remonstrance, and some necessary bullying, the model at last begins to find her more coquettish cross dressing gallery self. Surrounded by swathes of satin, backed by a cascade of pink cherry blossom and feeling rather like an apprentice geisha in my constricted pose, against all the odds, I find a slow abandonment to a deeper magic. A slow release of sensual cross dressing gallery delight spreads through me as my initially pointless gaze finds from buried memory a focus and, for a few exquisite minutes, imagines that gaze returned.

But our brief hours of enchantment have ended. JJ speaks the words of Mercury, seeming so harsh after the songs of Venus – forgive my misquotation, but the songs of Apollo being somehow out of place in the cross dressing gallery. “Marianne, it is time to change and go.” But this was no love’s labour lost: it was time regained.

Yes, change. For, yet again, JJ has changed me. Not just here, not just now, but subtly and everlastingly, each short visit to this tiny island of hope, her cross dressing gallery, opening new insights, new possibilities to be explored.

As I drive away from the sanctuary of JJ’s cross dressing gallery, through the busy traffic in the bewildering, yet familiar world outside, a brief verse forms in my transitioning mind, and to stave off the final switch, I chant it like a prayer:

Pretty, ardent, would-be maid
Never may your beauty fade,
Let JJ’s craft, and potent art
Lend substance to your secret heart.

With love, dear cross dressing gallery companions and JJ our dearest mentor.
Marianne. xxx