Caught by the Past Chapter 2

Previously - After a drink with a new friend he invites you back to his house. Strangely drawn to this handsome guy he persuades you to dress in girls clothes... Now You're wearing a sexy leather mini skirt, fishnets and high heels, your cocks like rock and you're just about to show yourself...

At the sight of James, you get a sensation of claws scuttling across the floor of your belly. The sensation of far-off teenage crushes, of sex when it was still as much a puzzle as a thrill. You want him. But in a different way - you want him to appreciate you as a girl not as a boy. You want him to hold you in his arms, show affection and behave all lovey-dovey. The sensations scare you and you edge forward cautiously.

He's relaxed, slouched in an armchair reading, of all things, a girly magazine. He's rubbing his swelling groin enthusiastically. You stand in the doorway and wiggle your toes in your high heels and try to look as attractive as a young man dressed in a red leather skirt no wider than a belt can. James eventually sees you, jumps up and pulls you into his arms the bulge in his trousers threatening to jab you in the tummy.

'Christ you've scrubbed up well.' he says.

'Thanks,' you smirk, 'I hardly recognised myself in the mirror.'

He gave a knowing laugh then you do what an hour earlier you'd consider unimaginable - you kiss him. Not a big sloppy kiss but a gentle caring, on the cheek kiss.

'You look absolutely amazing,' James says overdoing it with a crocodile smile. Your legs are so long, your figure is so sexy and your tight arse.... Hmm!'

Confidence slowly returns, relieved that your trickery fear was unfounded. James waves his hand aloft like a conductor and you the willing orchestra parade before him strutting around like a sexy cat walk model, swinging leather hips, stretching long legs and tossing your mass of blonde curls. You want to feel like a million dollars and momentarily forget all your inhibitions.

But you see your reflection in the mirror over the fireplace and reality hits you in the face like a shovel. 'I feel like a cheap tart.' you say pouting up against a wall, 'I want to be a sexy diva.'