Please Note: The following story is fictional. Any perceived similar to real persons, either living or dead, is strictly coincidental. Although it's intended primarily as an entertaining story with alternative sex, the "story" part takes priority over the "sex". If you are looking to read a story that is pure sex with almost no plot, don't bother with this one. It's rather long, presented in several parts, and (just as is usually the case in real life) the sex portions are slow to develop. Also, if you are below the legal age or fiction of a sexual nature is illegal where you live, please leave now.
Paul Taylor desperately needed to sort some things out in his head. For as long as he could remember, he'd always been in control of every facet of his life, and most of the lives around him. He had written his first computer program at age 8, and wrote and sold a computer game before turning 13. At 15 he dropped out of school to devote his full attentions to developing software and started his own company. Taking tests and courses on line, he'd gotten his GED, BS and an MBA by the time he was 19. Now, at 22, his company employed over 100 people, and his net worth was over half a billion dollars, with millions more flowing in each week, primarily from one particular defense contract. Suddenly, now, he found himself reacting to events beyond his control, and usually a step or two behind.
A year ago he'd married the company receptionist that he'd hired the year before that. Patti was 5 years older than he was, and looking back he realized that a significant part of the initial attraction was that she bore a slight resemblance to his late mother, who, along with Paul's father, had died in a car crash when Paul was 7, leaving Paul to be raised by his grandmother. Perhaps he'd married Patti partially in an attempt to replace the mother he'd missed so much. Perhaps there was also some feeling of guilt over the way he had reacted to his parents' deaths, particularly his mother's, which he felt a need to ease. Whatever his subconscious reasons at the time, he realized now that he never really loved Patti, and that if Patti ever loved him at all, that love was strictly secondary to her love of his money.
Oh, things were great for the first month or two. The sex had been great, or at least he thought so. It was kind of hard for him to be sure, since he'd had nothing to compare it to. He'd been the epitome of the virgin nerd, right up to their arrival in Cabo San Lucas for their honeymoon. It wasn't that girls found him unattractive. Quite the contrary, he was very good looking . . . actually, something of a "pretty boy" . . . and his self-made millions made him a highly sought after young bachelor. It's just that he'd never found the time for a social life, and his absence from the social scene of conventional schools left him ill-prepared for all the "do's and don'ts" of dating, and somewhat awkward around women. Patti had been like a breath of fresh air . . . seemingly understanding and patient with his awkwardness. She'd started flirting with him shortly after she'd started with the company, and they'd started actually dating after about 3 months. When they started talking marriage he brought up the subject of a pre-nuptial agreement, on his lawyers' advice, and she seemed to have no problem with the concept, although she did insist that her own lawyer be allowed to participate in the drafting of the actual agreement. And that was really at the heart of Paul's problem.
After about a month she'd seemed to have lost interest in sex. He almost had to beg for any sexual favors, and then she'd just lie in bed like a corpse. It was no better than masturbation. Then the weekend "shopping" trips to the city started. Almost every Friday she'd drive from their beautiful suburban home to spend the weekend at their penthouse apartment in the city, so that she could spend the time shopping. Of course, she always actually did do some shopping, since she always had several new purchases with her when she returned home on Monday afternoon. Still, Paul felt strongly that she was having an affair, although three successive private investigators had been unable to provide any tangible proof of that fact . . . only more suspicions, since Patti seemed extremely adept at losing the tail that she must have realized Paul had put on her. The PIs would end up reporting to Paul that she had given them the slip somewhere around mid-day, and that she would return to the mid-town apartment by cab very late in the night . . . actually, early the next morning.
He'd thought of just leaving her, but a clause her attorney had placed into the pre-nuptial specified severe compensation to her if he left her and he was unable to prove infidelity. And while the infidelity seemed almost certain, he'd been unable to get the proof. It was obvious that she wasn't going to leave him, since the pre-nuptial, in that event, would limit her to a measly $20,000, while this way she was able to have her cake and eat it too.
So, Saturday night at 10 PM found him taking a walk in the crisp November night air, trying to clear his head and develop some sort of a plan of action, while his pretty wife was most likely getting screwed by some unknown lover some 30 miles away. He was so lost in thought that he barely noticed the car parked on the side of the road up ahead of him until a stranger stepped out from in front of the car, holding an unlit cigarette out towards him.
"Hey, buddy. Got a light?" the other man asked, as Paul approached him.
Always the helpful sort, Paul reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his lighter, struck it, and with the flame cradled in his cupped hands, extended it towards the stranger's cigarette. Just before the flame reached the tip of the cigarette, a pair of hands grabbed him roughly from behind, forcing him towards the out-of-place car. The stranger with the cigarette reached over and yanked the back door of the car open, and Paul was pushed roughly into the back seat of the waiting vehicle, where other hands waited in the dark. A cloth that had been soaked in some sweet-smelling substance was pressed to his face, covering his mouth and nose. Seconds later, Paul's world went completely black.
Paul's return to consciousness was a gradual one. He knew he was in a moving car, and there were several other people in the car with him. A man sitting right next to him . . . probably a large man, based on the depth of his voice, was talking to someone in the front seat.
"I don't see why we don't just put a cap in his head and have done with it." the first man said.
He couldn't quite make out the second man's response. All he heard was ". . . she's only going to pay. . . accident. . . never found."
His mind raced through all the possible scenarios like subroutines in a program. The pre-nuptial agreement, his will, and the company's Articles of Incorporation all pointed to only one possible conclusion: Patti had hired these men to get rid of him. But it had to look like he'd died in an accident, or he had to become permanently "missing". If he was found murdered, suspicion would point straight back to Patti, and all the wealth she craved would be tied up for years, unless she could remove herself from suspicion, which wouldn't be easy. If he were missing, Rick Green, his assistant and the company's Chief Operating Officer, would run the company, but Patti would receive almost a million dollars a year from the company for his salary and dividends until he was declared legally dead after seven years, when she'd inherit 80% of the stock in the company. If he was killed in an accident, she'd inherit all his assets almost immediately. She'd planned this well. Right now she was probably in a very public place, being seen by hundreds of people, to establish an iron-clad alibi.
The car slowed, pulled off onto the shoulder, and came to a stop. The car door opened, and he was greeted with a blast of cold air. Wherever he was, it was colder here. It was MUCH colder, and he was only wearing a thin jacket, which the wind ripped through like it wasn't even there. He forced his eyes to open as he was roughly pulled from the car, but could only see large dark trees looming all around him. Then the headlights of another car came around a bend in the road down a steep incline from behind where they were parked.
He tried to force his muscles to work, hoping to break away from his captors and flag down help from the oncoming car, but he was still too drugged for his arms and legs to respond. Then the second car pulled off the road and onto the shoulder right behind his captors' car. The driver of the second car approached his two captors, but Paul knew it was hopeless to expect help from him, as he joined the others in dragging Paul back towards the second car. As the three men pushed Paul behind the wheel, he realized that this was his OWN car. Patti must have given them the access codes to the garage and the house as well, since the keys in the ignition were also his very own, with his distinctive keychain with the company logo on it.
They finished pushing him into the driver's seat, turned the steering wheel hard to the right, dropped the shift lever into "Drive" and slammed the door shut. The car was off the shoulder instantly, and he felt the angle change to a steep downward slope as the car rapidly picked up speed, crashing through the underbrush. He tried desperately to get his foot onto the brake pedal, but his muscles still wouldn't respond. The angle of the slope steepened and the car rolled faster and faster, until it stopped suddenly when it impacted with a large tree. With no seat belt, Paul sailed through the windshield and back out into the night air. He narrowly missed smacking into a large tree with his head, and landed downhill from the smashed wreck of the car. He continued rolling down the steep embankment for about a half mile, but he actually was completely unaware of his downhill trip, since he had thankfully lost consciousness again immediately upon hitting the windshield.
The second thing Paul became aware of, as he slowly regained consciousness, was that he was warm, so he knew he wasn't lying outdoors in the woods. That second sensation was small consolation, however, since the first thing he'd become aware of was the fact that every square inch of his body hurt like hell. He was almost tempted to keep his eyes closed, being somewhat afraid to find out just where he was, but wherever that might be, his situation HAD to be better than it was when the car had started rolling down the hill. He forced his eyes open to find one of the largest men he'd ever seen smiling down on him. The man wasn't at all fat, but he was clearly well over 6 feet tall . . . perhaps 6' 8" or 6' 9". He had a shaggy mop of unkempt red hair and a matching beard that framed his pleasant face and broad smile.
"Well, good morning! Back to the land of the living, at last!" the large man boomed. His voice was almost a growl, but it was a cheerful and friendly growl. "For a while there I wasn't sure you were ever gonna wake up. You got yourself banged up pretty good."
"Where am I? How did I get here? Who are you? How bad am I hurt? How . . ."
"Whoa, my young friend!" the giant boomed back with a broad smile. "Let's take things one question at a time. I've got a few of my own to ask too, ya know".
"Okay," Paul said, his fear and apprehension starting to subside. "Let's start with who you are and where I am."
"My name's Rusty MacDonald. You're in my cabin, which means you're a damn site better off than when Old Lobo here found you yesterday morning." For the first time, Paul noticed the yellow-eyed animal sitting patiently a few feet away. Obviously at least half wolf, Old Lobo was one of the largest canines he'd ever seen. It didn't seem aggressive, just sitting there patiently watching Paul. "Lobo was out hunting, and found you up at the top of Brockman's Cliff. He came back down here to get me, and I carried you down. It looked like you'd rolled down the mountainside from somewhere up near the road, and were lucky enough to stop rolling about 5 feet from the edge of the cliff. One or two more rolls, and you'd have had a 1000 foot drop straight down to the Rio Malo below. No one's ever survived that drop, or at least not without drowning a few minutes later when the current would took a would-be survivor into the whitewater just downriver from that cliff.
And, a couple more hours at the top of that cliff, and you probably would've died from exposure."
"Now," Rusty continued, "Suppose you tell me who you are and how you happened to end up at the edge of that cliff."
Paul introduced himself, and briefly recounted his tale of abduction and attempted murder. "I really need to get back to civilization, and get in touch with the police. I've got a business to run, and a bitch of a wife who deserves everything the law can throw at her."
"Well," said Rusty, "we've got a few problems to deal with on that score." He opened the window blinds to reveal a snow-covered scene outside. "I got you back here just minutes before the snow started falling. Over the last 24 hours we've gotten nearly thirty inches of snow. The first big snow of the year invariably closes this canyon off from the outside world for the duration of the winter. I might be able to make it through on the snowmobile in 5 or 6 weeks, but even then the possibility of an avalanche would make it a very dangerous proposition. We're pretty much snowed in here `till the spring thaw. It looks like you're my guest for about three, maybe four months."
"How about if you just let me use your phone? I've got the financial resources to have a helicopter fly in to get me out."
"I can't be of much help there. I'm pretty much a hermit, with no real contact with the outside world except for three or four trips to town each year for supplies. Ain't got no phone, no CB, no internet email, no nothing. I've got a TV that's barely able to pick up one station if the weather's good. And that's about it. I think, right now, our top priorities are your physical condition, getting some food in your belly and finding you something to wear."
That brought Paul quickly back to his present situation. He quickly became aware again of his pain, and realized for the first time that he was really hungry. He also realized, for the first time, that he was naked under the covers of the bed he was in. "How badly was I hurt?" he asked.
"Actually, not too bad, considering what you've been through. You've got a lot of bruises and a few nasty scrapes . . . sort of like road rash . . . but nothing seems to be broken, and there's no sign of any internal injuries."
Paul gave Rusty a questioning look, and the big man grinned broadly back at him. "I used to be an Army medic. I'm no doctor, but I'm a pretty decent nurse. I got you cleaned up and got anything that needed dressing dressed. If you're in a lot of pain I've got some Percodans in my med kit, but if you can deal with the pain, just some aspirin would be a lot better for you."
"I'm hurting, but aspirin will probably take care of it. Thanks. I am pretty hungry, though. Can I impose on you for a bite to eat?"
"No imposition! I've had a big pot of soup simmering for a couple of hours, just waiting for you to come to." Rusty left the room with the wolf-like beast at his heels and returned alone a few minutes later, with a big bowl of hot soup on a lap tray.
Paul tasted the soup, and gave Rusty a quizzical look. "I know that 8 AM is really bacon and eggs time, but I figured chicken soup would be the best thing for you. Unfortunately, chickens are hard come by around here this time of year, so I substituted rabbit. Hope you like it."
He did, and told his host so. With a big bowl of the rabbit soup in his empty stomach, Paul started feeling a bit better. "I think I feel well enough to get up and get dressed. Where are my clothes?"
Rusty's ever-present smile suddenly faded into a solemn expression, as he bent and picked up a small pile of shredded cloth from the floor. "This is all you had on you when I found you. I expect you left chunks of clothing all over the mountainside, but there's not much we can do with what's left."
"Well, I can't very well just lay here in bed for the next three months. Do you have anything that I can borrow to wear?"
Rusty chuckled. "I would have thought that a bright guy like you would've noticed that I'm more than a foot taller than you, and about 150 pounds heavier. You'd completely disappear in my clothes. I'd be happy to give you some of my stuff and let you cut it down to your size, but I've only got 2 pairs of jeans and a couple of shirts, so I really hate to do that. If need be, I will. But there's an alternative that may work, if you're not embarrassed by it."
"I'm open to just about anything" Paul said, "short of running around here completely nude."
"Well, this room you're in used to be my late sister's." Paul looked around, and for the first time noticed the femininity of the décor, slightly out of place in a rustic cabin. "She and I inherited this place from our folks when they drowned in a boating accident when we were in college, and we shared it, taking turns using it as a summer getaway. Cindy died two years ago, and that's when I basically said goodbye to the modern world and started living here year round."
"I'm sorry about your sister. What happened to her?"
"Cancer. It started as a lump in one of her breasts. The doctors removed that breast and thought they'd caught it, but a few months later another lump turned up in her other breast, so they did another mastectomy. She was fine for about a year after that, but then it started showing up all through her body . . . in just too many places for surgery to do any good. She died a horrible, painful death about a year later. I've left her room pretty much intact, except for coming in three or four times a year to move the dust around."
"My point is, she was 5' 7" and weighed about 135. If my guess is right, you're about the same height and weight."
"You're on the money with the height" Paul replied "and I'm actually about 130 pounds. What's your point?"
"My point is, this is where Cindy spent that last good year. She wanted to be alone, and stayed right on through that winter. All her clothes, except what she was buried in, are still in this room and in the little storage shed out back. She didn't even want ME here during that last year, and I haven't had the heart to go through her things, so I don't know what's here.
But she'd most likely have some sweat suits, jeans, t-shirts, things like that, that may fit you a lot better than my stuff would. If you don't mind wearing a dead woman's clothes, it may be a good alternative for you."
Paul agreed that it was worth a try. The fact that the previous wearer was now dead bothered him far more than the fact that the previous wearer had been a woman. After all, there was virtually no difference between most of the clothes men and women were wearing nowadays, except for a slightly different cut in the crotch and chest areas. As long as they weren't impossibly tight in sensitive areas, they'd be far better than trying to share Rusty's size XXXX clothes. Plus, there was Paul's little secret . . . the one that he'd pretty much pushed into the back recesses of his mind, except for the occasions that he experienced and suppressed urges that came with pangs of guilt.
Paul had always had a much closer relationship with his warm and loving mother than with his cold and stern father. After their deaths, arrangements were quickly made for Paul to go live with his grandmother. In the hour or two Paul had to retrieve his clothes and personal belongings from his bedroom, he'd managed a few minutes alone when he slipped into his parents' room, hoping to find a few keepsakes so that he could keep a part of his mother with him forever. He'd quickly selected a few of her favorite pieces of jewelry, some of her make-up and an antique bottle filled with her favorite perfume. No one could question his legal right to the mementos, but he still felt a little like a thief. Looking for something to wrap them in for protection before dropping them into the bottom of his duffel bag, he opened the closest dresser drawer, which contained his mother's lingerie. Intending only to find wrapping material, touching the cool smooth silk garments instantly brought memories of his late mother to the front of his thoughts, causing his hands to linger much longer than was necessary. He grabbed more pairs of panties than he needed for wrapping, plus a couple of bras and slips. Acting strictly on impulse, he turned to the closet and quickly grabbed the entire selection of negligees and nightgowns and a couple of dresses, adding those items to the collection at the bottom of his bag.
Shortly after getting settled in at his grandmother's, Paul found a perfect hiding place for his collection of purloined mementos. A removable panel in the back of his closet gave access to a small crawl space, where he hid his mother's most personal items. From then on, anytime he was feeling depressed, he would pull out a pair of her panties or a negligee, sometimes lightly spraying the item with the perfume, and would take it to bed with him, holding it close as he slept with the comforting scent and softness of his mother right next to him. One night shortly before Paul turned 15, holding the items just wasn't enough, so in an effort to get even closer to his late mother he stripped off his own clothes, pulled the lightly scented panties up his legs and into place and slipped into a sexy black negligee. It gave him a feeling of closeness like he hadn't experienced since his mother's death, and he slept that night wearing the soft, silky, sexy apparel. But there was an unanticipated side effect. That night he didn't dream that he was CLOSE to his mother. Instead he dreamed that he had BECOME his mother, and even dreamed that there was a man . . . possibly his father, or possibly someone else . . . that was making love to him. He woke up in the morning with the front of those panties soaked with a big sticky gob of his own cum. From that point on he would dress in his mother's clothes, sometimes even putting on some make-up and jewelry, whenever he felt the need to release his sexual tension by masturbating. The fantasies he would play in his head while masturbating seemed to heighten the experience ten-fold. At first he always imagined that he was his mother, but over time his fantasy female persona morphed from being an image of his mother to an image of what Paul would be had he been born a girl.
If his grandmother ever suspected what Paul did when he was alone, she took that secret to her grave when Paul was 18. Paul inherited her house, and still used it as a summer country getaway, and the forbidden items were still in the hidden crawl space. Patti hated the place (too boring) and had only been there once when Paul had to board the place up for the winter last year. Paul would still go there about once a month to "get some peace and quiet", and would spend an entire weekend dressed as a woman and masturbating to his fantasies.
So, when Rusty handed him Cindy's bathrobe and left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him, Paul didn't really feel all that strange putting on this particular piece of the dead woman's wardrobe. Pink satin with tufts of pink fake fur on the cuffs and neckline were exactly what he felt he needed at this point. He got up, put on the robe, and looked around for something for his feet. He found a pair of fuzzy pink slippers, an obvious match to the robe, sitting in the closet. The slick satin of the robe felt cool against his injured skin, and both the robe and slippers seemed to fit well. Cindy had, indeed, been very close to the same size as Paul. While retrieving the slippers from the closet Paul glanced at the other footwear that may be available, hoping to spot a pair of sneakers, loafers, hiking boots . . . anything that wasn't obviously feminine. All he saw, however, were various styles of shoes that were all, very obviously, women's shoes, with heels ranging from about 1" on up to 4" stilettos. Oh, well. There would be more time for a better inventory later.
Paul exited the bedroom and found himself in the cabin's great room . . . a combination living room, dining room and kitchen. Rusty was sitting at the table with one of two large bowls of the tasty soup in front of him. There was a loaf of what appeared to be fresh homemade bread on the table as well.
"C'mon. Sit down and eat some more. It'll help you heal faster if you keep the belly happy."
"I'll join you in a minute, but I need to find the bathroom."
"Oh! Sorry about that. I should have given you a little tour, I guess. It's that door right there" Rusty said, pointing to the door right next to the bedroom door Paul had just come out of.
The bathroom was less than a quarter the size of the one in Paul's palatial home, which made it about twice the size of the "normal" master bath in most homes. In addition to the entrance from the great room, there was a door on the left wall that would obviously open to the dead woman's bedroom that Paul was now calling home, and another on the right wall that Paul surmised would open to Rusty's room. Paul found some aspirin in the medicine cabinet, took 3 with a glass of water, relieved himself, and returned to the great room to join Rusty at the table.
"The robe fits you well. I hope you have some luck finding other clothes that fit, as well. I need to go out and check my trap and snare lines this morning. Between taking care of you and waiting out the storm, I didn't make it out yesterday, so I really have to go today. Are you gonna be all right by yourself?"
"I'll be fine." said Paul, smiling. "I can spend the morning trying to find something else to wear. The robe and slippers fit fine, but they're really not quite my style" Paul lied.
Rusty chuckled. "I know what you mean, but, as the saying goes, beggars can't be choosers."
"Oh, I'm not complaining. And I'm really appreciative of all you've done. I'll do the best I can with what I can find. Don't worry about me. Just take care of what you need to do. By the way, what happened to your wolf, or dog, or whatever he was?"
Rusty had just finished his soup and nearly half the loaf of bread, and was standing next to what appeared to be the cabin's front door, pulling on a heavy parka and oversized winter gloves. "Old Lobo's not really mine, in the true sense of the word. He's got his own place . . . a cave about a half mile from here. We're friends who help each other out sometimes . . . not master and pet. I should be back between noon and one. Make yourself at home. Eat your fill of the soup and bread and anything else you can find. There's a fresh pot of coffee on the stove." With that he opened the door and stepped into the pure white world outside. The blast of cold air that accompanied the opening of the door flipped the end of the light robe up onto Paul's lap, exposing him from the waist down to the chill breeze, reminding him that he was naked under that thin layer of material. The first order of business was definitely to find some warmer clothing.
He finished his soup and bread, poured himself a cup of hot coffee and returned to his bedroom to see what he could find. His first objective was something that could pass for underwear. He knew he wouldn't find the briefs that he usually preferred, and doubted that he'd find a pair of boxers, either. He figured the best he could hope for would be a plain white pair of Cindy's panties. He knew many women preferred the comfort of cotton panties, which were nearly indistinguishable from men's briefs. He started at the dresser, and found two large drawers that were filled with a vast and varied collection of panties, bras, garter belts, stockings and sexy little negligees. In one of the drawers he also spotted two pairs of breast forms . . . prosthetic breasts . . . apparently used by Cindy after her mastectomies, and a tube of adhesive for attaching them. Ignoring the other items, Paul pulled all the panties from the drawers and laid them out on the bed. No cotton. No white. Certainly no white cotton.
Cindy's tastes obviously ran to the ultra-feminine side. Every pair of panties was either silk or satin. Some were bikini cut and others were thongs. Some were a slightly fuller cut than either of those two styles, but most of those were either adorned with lace trim or had a see-through lace panel in the front. Not that he actually objected to the ultra-feminine lingerie, but he felt he needed to do his best to lean away from them to keep up appearances around Rusty. Paul finally settled on what seemed to be the least feminine pair in the batch . . . a low-cut brief, not quite bikini cut, made of lavender satin, with no lace ornamentation. He stepped into them and pulled them up his legs past all the scratches and bruises. They felt a bit tight in the crotch, and suddenly got a little tighter as the soft slick fabric against his cock aroused him to semi-hardness.
Doing his best to ignore his reaction to wearing women's panties again, hoping his now raging erection would subside, he started exploring the other drawers of the dresser, hoping to find a sweat suit or at least a pair of jeans. He'd already checked out the three small top drawers of the dresser.
They contained makeup, brushes, combs and other similar items, along with bottles of perfume and some toiletries, including a box of vaginal lubricating suppositories. The two middle drawers were where he had found the lingerie. The bottom drawers held several wigs, most likely made necessary by Cindy's chemotherapy, a collection of purses, three more negligees, several half-slips and a dozen unopened packages of nylon stockings. There was also a jewelry box, with an assortment of rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings. No jeans, no sweatpants, not even a pair of jogging shorts.
Paul tried the closet. Once again, Cindy's ultra-feminine tastes reigned there, as well. Dresses abounded, ranging from simple summer sun dresses on up through some sexy cocktail dresses, all the way to some very expensive evening gowns. There were also a couple of full slips, several very feminine blouses and a few skirts, but nothing that would even resemble unisex clothing. Not even a pair of slacks. Paul sat on the bed and weighed his options.
He couldn't very well spend the next few months clad solely in the satin robe. He would have to either dress as a woman for the next few months, which he really wouldn't object to at all, or he could try to disassemble some of the clothing and sew it back together in the form of pants and shirts. Since he had permission to use the clothing, but didn't have Rusty's go-ahead to destroy it, he didn't feel like he had the right to do the latter. Besides, he'd never learned to even sew a button on a shirt, much less try to create clothes almost from scratch. His options were limited, unless there were more clothes in the storage shed that Rusty had mentioned. He wasn't about to try going out in that weather dressed as he was, so for today . . .
He went back into the closet and picked out the least sexy dress he could find. It was a simple light blue shift dress, with a fairly high neckline. He took it off the hanger, unzipped the back and stepped into it. He put his arms through the armholes, pulled everything into place and reached back for the zipper to zip himself up. The last wasn't an easy task, but he was finally able to get the zipper up and hooked the little catch just above the top of the zipper. He stepped back into the room and looked at his own image in the full-length mirror. What very much appeared to be a pretty young woman with bruised bare arms and legs stared back at him.
The fuzzy pink slippers just weren't right with the dress, so he returned to the closet to take a closer look at the shoe collection. He found a pair of simple open-toed sandal type shoes with a low heel that he thought he could handle walking in, and kicked off the slippers and carried the shoes back out to the bedroom, where he sat down on the bed to strap them onto his feet.
He felt he'd gotten himself as dressed as best he could at this time, so he went back out to the great room to start getting himself better acclimated to his new surroundings. Rusty obviously wasn't the world's best housekeeper, so he started busying himself, more to pass the time and avoid thinking about his aroused state than anything else, by starting to clean the place. He tidied the place up, washed the dishes and dusted. The straps of the shoes were rubbing some of the many scratches on his feet, and he longed for a pair of socks to protect the sores a little better. But he knew there were no socks among Cindy's things. In fact, he realized, there weren't even any pantyhose. She only had stockings, and sexy garter belts to hold them up. Oh well, he figured. In for a penny, in for a pound. So he returned to the bedroom and found a garter belt that came close to matching his panties. He lifted the hem of his dress up and wrapped the belt around his waist just above the waistband of his panties, and clipped the ends together. He found a matching pair of nylons, and bunched them the way he'd envyingly watched Patti do it many times, although he'd never actually done it himself, and pulled them up his legs, releasing material as he went, until he could clip the garters to the tops of the stockings. They made his legs feel warmer, and they did cut down on the rubbing of the straps on sore areas.
It was almost noon, so he figured Rusty would be back soon, and would probably be hungry. He figured he might as well earn his keep while he was here, so he set about putting together some lunch for the two of them. He was bending over, taking some fresh-baked biscuits out of the oven, when Rusty came through the door. He turned to greet the big man, and saw that Rusty had turned beet red and his jaw had dropped in obvious shock.
"I'm sorry" he apologized, "I couldn't find anything like sweats or slacks. If me dressing like this embarrasses or shocks you, I could try to take some of the clothing apart and make pants and shirts, but I honestly don't know how to sew, and I didn't want to ruin Cindy's clothes without checking with you, in any event."
Rusty's shocked expression softened, as he said "No. You're free to do whatever you like with the clothes, but you're just fine the way you are, if you don't want to play tailor. I was just taken by surprise, is all. Actually, when I first walked in I actually thought you were a pretty young woman. My biggest fantasy, since I started living here year-round, has been to have a woman spend the winter with me. I suppose that having a man who's dressed as a woman spend the winter is as close as I'll ever come, so I'm actually quite happy to see you dressed that way."
"Don't get me wrong," he continued, "that doesn't mean that I expect you to treat me like a woman would treat a man. I just like the illusion. That's plenty for me."
Paul saw the look in Rusty's eyes and realized something in an instant, but he wanted confirmation. "Does that mean," he asked, "that the more I looked like a woman, the better you'd like it?" He owed the big man a debt of gratitude. Actually, he owed him his life. If he could repay that debt, in part, by creating a more perfect illusion for Rusty, he'd do it. What Rusty wouldn't know was that Paul would actually enjoy doing it.
"I wouldn't want you to do anything you didn't want to do, but I'll tell you right now that you look awfully pretty, just as you are. If you looked even prettier, I certainly wouldn't complain."
"Well, lunch is ready. Sit down and eat, and we can discuss it over lunch."
"I've got to eat fast and go back out, after lunch. The snow's deeper than I thought, and it's pretty slow going. I only got about half my trap line checked, and just stashed the catch in the barn."
"Then we can talk about it more over dinner." They ate without saying another word, but Paul noticed out of the corner of his eye that Rusty studied him intently the whole time they were eating. Paul started clearing up the lunch dishes, as Rusty put his parka back on and headed back out the door into the cold. Once he'd gotten the kitchen cleaned up from lunch, Paul set about improving on Rusty's fantasy . . . and his own.