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Istepped into the pink gingham dress and pulled it up, putting my armsinto the little puff sleeves and then doing up the back zip without toomuch trouble, then smoothing down the skirt. The hemline was about 3inches above my knees. In the mirror I saw a pretty, quite dainty, girlin a slightly old-fashioned sort of frock. She didn't look so demure whenshe lifted her skirt to show taut dark stocking tops, pale soft thighsand the outline of a huge hard-on in her pretty pink knickers.Somehow I resisted the temptation to wank and did a bit of tidying uparound the flat, enjoying the sensation of wearing girl's clothes, thebounce of tits, the grip of straps, the pull of suspenders on stockings,the silkiness of my knickers, the absence of trousers, the gentle swishof stockings brushing against each other. I kept going back to the mirrorand posing, sometimes sitting on a chair so that I could see up my ownskirt. I did have nice legs, I thought, although they were slightlyhairy. I would shave. But she didn't hear it. Whoever he was, he wasn't someone from the workplace.She forced herself to make some token amount of progress just to get throughthe morning. When the lunch hour finally arrived she nearly ran out the door. She went across the street to the business district's favorite deli. As usualit was packed but she managed to get a table. While she waited for her ordershe watched the people coming and going through the restaurant's entrance.He must be following her; how else could he know so much? The waitress delivered her sandwich and went back to the counter. She pickedup one of the halves and took a bite. Doing something calmed her down. Sheknew she was acting paranoid. He wasn't some kind of superman. Maybe he wasstalking her but in a big crowd like the deli she was as safe as she couldbe. The noise level was high and energetic. The cooks at the counter called outorders, and conversations were ongoing at every packed table. Normally shetuned it all out but not.
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