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Ever since I was a teen, I've gotten off on dressing like a slut and fucking myself with a vibrator. I'd secretly confided my fetish to other closet fags before but never to a woman. My ultimate fantasy was to come out to a chick and then let her humiliate me. But I never could work up the nerve to let go of my secret. Not to a woman. I was afraid she wouldn't understand. It was a fun problem to have. The hiding enhanced the thrill of fucking strangers I met in Internet chatrooms.
I got off work early on Friday and headed directly to Nikki's place. A note was pinned to the door.
"Emergency at work. Had to run out. Will be back no later than 9. Go in and make yourself at home. It'll be worth the wait. Promise. Nikki. XXXXOOOO."
The door was unlocked. It felt strange being in Nikki's apartment alone. The place was immaculate-- definitely a chick's apartment. For lack of anything better to do, I flipped on the TV and channel -surfed for a while. Nothing was on. I turned off the TV and started drifting around the apartment. Nikki had some pictures in the hall. In one photo, a boy who looked an awful lot like Nikki draped her arms around a man and woman who looked like they might be his parents.
"Didn't know Nikki had a brother," I said to myself.
I found myself wandering through the kitchen. The fridge had nothing but a half-gallon of soy milk.
Then I found myself in the bedroom. My cock began to stiffen. The room smelled like her. I inhaled deeply. It was Chanel No. 5.
Before I knew it, I was in opening her walk-in closet. The gowns and dresses seemed to go on forever. I ran my fingers along the silk, sequins and lace as I made my way inside. That's when I saw it.
She had a whole section devoted to slutty stripper clothes. I checked my watch. It was 8:15. I had about 45 minutes to try on some of Nikki's clothes before she got home.
I stripped off my collared shirt and yanked a neon pink bra off of a hanger. I pulled the elastic across my chest. My masculine hands struggled to hook the two clasps behind my back, but I finally got them. I slid the straps up my arms. The cups envelop my breasts, like two soft hands.
I took off my shoes, pants and boxers and went back to the hanger for the panties. They're what the catalogs call "boyshorts." There's more material than regular panties, so it's easier to fit a cock into them. I pointed my Johnson straight up at my belly button. Every time I moved, the rayon teased the sensitive underside of my cock.
I was standing in my girlfriend's closet wearing nothing but a bra and panties. I felt like shooting a load already.
An unseen force pulled me into Nikki's bathroom where I found her make-up kit in the cabinet under the sink. I laid the cosmetics on thick, like a hooker, starting with bright red lipstick and finishing with black mascara.
Checking myself out in the mirror, I didn't look anything like a real chick. But I felt sexy as hell. I struck a few poses like I'd seen in the Victoria's Secret catalog.
That's when the front door opened and then slammed shut.
"Hello?" Nikki called.
I searched for a place to run, but it was hopeless. It was a small apartment, and all my clothes were in the bedroom. There was no way of cleaning up my face and getting my clothes without Nikki seeing. So, I stood hopelessly on the fuzzy, pink mat in front of Nikki's shower.
She rounded the corner into the bathroom and froze when she saw me.
My skin was crawling. I wished like hell I could've melted into the floor. But I had no choice but to stand there and let Nikki stare, her mouth agape.
"What the fuck?" she asked. "Is that my bra and panties?"
"I can explain everything," I said.
"Ok," Nikki said, while folding her arms. "Go ahead."
"Well, see, I came in like your note said, and-- well, I don't know -- I just sort of--"
I paused to take a deep breath. Nikki arched her eyebrows.
"Well," she said. "I'm waiting."
"Aw, fuck it," I said.