From: cathykay <cathykay@btinternet.com>
Subject: Foundation
Date: Wed, 22 Apr 98 09:45:17 +0100

Foundation
by Cathykay

As my childhood went on, I built up a collection of my mom's knickers, 
and then my sister's clothes. She was a lot older than me and had nice, 
smooth shiny clothes - panties and bras, and stockings - which it took 
me a while to work out. 

I did not really know what it was all about, but I loved makeup too, and 
would play with creams and moisturisers and lipstick, and use them when 
I was playing with myself. 

I remember once a tube of foundation coming open in my shorts' pocket, 
and spilling all over me. I made a terrible mess which I could not 
explain to my mom, but I also remember the pleasure of rubbing the 
creamy foundation all over myself as I came. 

One day the inevitable happened and my stepfather found my little stash 
of clothes and whatnot. God knows what he thought - actually he told me 
what he thought - he found knickers of all shapes and sizes, lipstick, a 
couple of bras, a bikini suit and all sorts of ladies handbag stuff, 
which I did not have a clue about, like tampons and pads. 

He screamed and shouted and hit me, and threw it all on the bonfire. 

That weekend I went to town, and very, very embarrassed bought myself 
the most gorgeous stuff I could to replace it - 'as presents for my 
mom'. 

I wonder how many shopkeepers knew exactly what was going on. 

And I remember the first day I really came. 

Somehow I still had a box of tampons. I had no idea why, and while I 
knew what they were for, I could not imagine how they worked. 

I decided to find out. 

In bed, after a long hot bath, wearing all gold silky underwear I 
carefully pulled my knickers aside and pushed the applicator to my 
bottom, which I had never investigated before. Slowly and carefully I 
tried to put the tampon inside of me, and after all sorts of twisting 
and turning felt it suddenly slide right in. 

I started to play with myself, and as I did, took one hand to pull it 
out. I felt resistance, tried to relax, and suddenly felt a wave of I 
don't know what as I came. I watched astonished, and then as I came 
around, tore all my clothes off, wrapped everything up in a messy pile 
and shoved it under the loose floorboard I had taken to hiding my girl 
things under . . . 

I will try to continue this, girls, and keep it as honest as possible - 
it is not intentionally dirty, but cathy is a very sexual girl, and it 
is as cathy that through puberty and beyond I have realised my sexual 
fulfilment. If this offends, I apologize, if it informs then I am happy 
and if it turns anybody on, well just wait . . . 

At boarding school naturally I had to be discrete, but at the weekends I 
would go home and quietly change my underwear - I had learnt the knack 
of slipping on bra, knickers and suspenders and stockings without taking 
anything else off, standing up in a cubicle. 

My first encounters as cathy were a long way off. I was, and am, very 
much interested in women, but cathy is mostly bisexual. 

I think cathy just loves to feel good and sexy for anybody. 

When I was about 16 I had some gorgeous underwear - taken from my mom's 
lodger I am afraid to say, and as it was the holidays had slipped on the 
thick satin pink knickers and bra, pulled up the sheer stockings and 
clipped up the suspender belt. I had a little plug of my own making in - 
boy, could I improvise - and a condom on to stop my self making a mess. 
I went out for a wander - sometimes I would walk about the village 
feeling warm about my secret, and wishing that somehow everybody knew - 
and sometimes I went into the woods, secretly hoping for something to 
happen. 

I passed a charity shop, and looking in the window saw a perfect slip 
for my outfit, thick rich pink, charmeuse I think, and had to buy it 
despite the embarrassment - I had bought a corset in there when I was 
about 11, and that raised a few eyebrows. 

I left the shop clutching my little prize, and dashed to a very quiet 
public toilet at the top of the road - there were a few for such a small 
village and each was well known to me, as I would love to go into a 
cubicle and just sit and look at my underwear, but also I suppose hoping 
that something might happen, as there was a lot of suggestive graffiti 
in them. Now all I wanted to do was try on my slip, and see how it 
looked over my stockinged legs, so I slipped into the ladies room, and 
pulled down my trousers. As I did, I heard a voice, and peeked through 
the door - the cleaner, whom I had never seen before, had started on the 
cubicle next to me! 

Holding up my trousers, with my slip hanging over the waistband, I 
dashed out and back into the gents, straight into a cubicle. 

Petrified I sat down, took a deep breath and surveyed the scene as I 
straightened myself out, and tried to tuck in the slip. I looked down 
and saw a hand from under the cubicle. I did not know what to do as it 
tried to touch my leg. 

I noticed that I had not locked the door, and as I tried to reach for it 
- not knowing what was going on, even though I had been wishing for it 
for years - and he burst in. An old man, not quite fat, but definitely 
big asked me "What is your name little girl." 

I did not say a word - I could not. He took out his cock, and started to 
show it to me, and it of course was as hard as it could be. He pulled 
down my trousers, and started to rub his cock against the front of my 
knickers - I did not know whether to be scared or not. I eventually, 
still not saying a word, took hold of him and made a very clumsy job of 
wanking him, and he came in my hand, and I put the cum to my mouth. I 
loved the taste of my own, and had of course fantasised about taking a 
cock in cathy's mouth, but did not know what to do. 

He had lost interest, smiled at me and wandered off. 

I must have stayed there for hours, certainly until after dark, with the 
cubicle locked, being both frightened and pleased with myself, and 
wondering if I was gay or not and what on earth to do. 

When I got home of course I threw away all the clothes, had a long hot 
bath and swore never to dress again . . . 

Up until I left home this was pretty much the pattern for me. Then of 
course when I had my own space, and my own wardrobe . . . 

Well I went wild, buying short skirts, tight tops, the most enormous 
collection of underwear and little knick nacks - I had relationships of 
all sorts, with all sorts, girls who did not know, girls who did not 
care, girls who loved to tease and flirt with cathy, I had one nighters 
with guys and other T.V.'s - I have become a very hungry little slut - 
stuffing them down the front of my shorts, and stashing them under my 
mattress. They were fairly plain but I knew, even aged 7 or 8 that they 
were different, that they were girls, and that I liked pretending to be 
a girl. 

I would put the knickers on when I went to bed, and make believe that I 
was a girl, wearing a dress and playing with other girls, and pretending 
that I was going to have a baby as that was what other girls did. 

I think that it was pretending to have a baby that I first discovered 
the really exciting part about dressing up, playing with myself. 

Feeling guilty seems to have been a big part of my experiences and 
development as a T.V. I must have flushed thrown or hidden more knickers 
and bras and books and make up and toys than I can remember. Each time I 
would swear that I would not get dressed up again, and each time I 
would, often within minutes. 

I figured that maybe it was a phase or a fetish, and I rang helplines 
and read books and sought all sorts of advice, but none of it was what I 
needed, which was I thought a cure of some sort. 

I carried on dressing in underwear all through puberty, on a regular 
basis and often. 

There were so many opportunities! I never wear anything but the 
loveliest lingerie, and I am always on the lookout for something new or 
someone new and exciting - I have fantasised about all sorts that I will 
never be brave enough to get around to, rape fantasies, watersports, 
threesomes, being a little cum slut, being beaten, being a maid, a bitch 
or a little girl all dressed up in her moms tarty clothing . . . 
Sigh.
Hugs Cathykay

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Let Cathykay know what you think - I am unshockable - so e-mail me at 
Cathykay - and please, if it's not dirty enough for you, if you are 
wondereing when cathy is going to get pissed on and gangraped, then send 
your suggestions to me as soon as you can!