Cassandra Chapter 1

I was fascinated by the fact they all had femme names and personalities, even if it was all illusion. Well, why not? I had been living the same illusion all my life. It just made sense; it was an entirely different 'me', who deserved her own identity. I certainly didn't want to get all dressed up, go to a club, and introduce myself as "Matt". I spent the rest of the week thinking up a name, thinking up the right SOUND of a name, to compliment the woman within me. I literally woke up in the middle of the night with the answer - and the resolve to make it happen.

That Friday night, I took a long, luxuriant bath and shaved my smooth, supple body. I then carefully, exquisitely painted my pretty face. Next, I dressed in red lace waist cincher, bra, bikini panties and garter belt, sheer black stockings, red spandex tank dress, red patent belt and red patent five-inch spikes. My bra cups were filled out with very realistic (and hideously expensive) silicone breast forms that jiggled as I walked. I donned my flashiest hair and pinned it tightly to my scalp. "If I only have one life, let me live it as a blonde," I mused. I added equally-flashy necklace, earrings, bangles and ankle chain. I added long, crimson press-on nails for drama, then spritzed on a liberal amount of "Obsession". Thus, "Cassandra Santee" was ready to make her debut.

The city had a number of clubs that welcomed girls like me, not to mention those who admire us. I vowed I would experience every one I could find. That first time, I would have been satisfied with a smile or two; perhaps even an appreciative "nice". I never expected to be as well-received as I was. I don't know how many times someone (usually another cross-dresser or a 'straight' guy who liked "chicks with dicks") stopped me and told me I was beautiful or sexy. Even some of the queens said I looked good - for a "rock" (whatever that meant). It was faint praise, but better than none at all. All in all, my first time was a lot of fun.