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So today has been interesting, exciting and scary all at once. I was expecting a package this afternoon and the UPS tracking said it would be here between 1:15pm and 4:15PM. Checked UPS tracking does this package need an adult signature, not an listed requirement. So I got dressed in my LBD, heels and the rest of my normal stuff.
Sitting here in a work meeting on computer, the dog goes off and the bell rings. Ok no big deal. Look out expecting to see the delivery man walking away. He is not walking back to the truck, he is waiting for someone to answer the door. He rings again. What to do? Do I run change and hope he does not leave with the expensive package I was expecting? Not sure he will wait that long, so I just cracked the door and tried to hide from, he handed me the packages. I am sure he saw something but I am not sure what. Hope that is not what gets me outed in my small ci
I don't think I'd bother, he wasn't going to be local and the way things are with parcel delivery services, you're probably not going to see him very often. I used to deliver parcels for a living and saw many things, including a cross-dresser or two, it was just one of those things to go with all the other things I saw.
A quick story about delivering things, not related to cross-dressing but showing how odd things can be seen as a delivery driver:
Whenever I had something awkward to deliver, I always went to the house first to see if the recipeient was in. I knocked on this one door and explained that there was a delivery for them. They said "I wonder what that could be?" I went back to the truck and brought out a 12' surf board! "Oh yes," she said, "I'd forgotten about that."
And the moral is: Never order things after a few wines.! (I did it myself with a didgeridoo from Australia, but that's another story).
I am with Rebecca, they just want to get the parcel out of the van and delivered.
I had the same a few weeks ago, at the time I was wearing dark joggers and a androgynous black womens chunky black jumper so I went and answered the door thinking the delivery guy just wouldn't notice. He gave me a disgusted look and then looked me up and down and walked off so I went and looked in the mirror and I had forgotten that I was wearing a womens tee shirt underneath that had a lacy neck and that was visible above the neck line of the jumper.
I'm not bothered really, he wasn't a regular but the look he gave me just undermines the notion that "no one cares"
That reminds me of way back when. I had a bad back so was off work, I wore my wife's basque under my dressing gown as it helped to ease the pain. Half way through the day there was an unexpected delivery so I hobbled to the door to take it in.
I was a bit surprised when I got some funny looks from the driver until I realised that the suspenders were hanging below the bottom of the dressing gown.
I thought about it for a bit & then thought, Ahh what the heck, I don't care & it gave him a story to tell
Nothing to worry about, and just maybe you made his day a little brighter and brought a smile to his face.
I had this happen to me as well. I was having a relaxing day all dressed up except for a wig. There was a knock at the door and the UPS man was waiting. I forgot we had a wine delivery which need to be signed for, so I just opened the door, said hello and signed for my wine. The driver did not blink an eye...jist another day in the job.
When things like this happen, I hope it makes his day, and just maybe it gives him an idea to go home and put on something pretty for his wife. If nothing else he can tell his wife he saw a CD and it might spark a conversation and enlighten a couple more people.
Had a new double door Fridge brought in from the local rental service, (last year), as always I am dressed and was called ma'am while the two young men wrestle the Fridge in the front door and to the room where I wished it to be parked. All they wanted to do was get it in and plant it where I wanted it, none really paid any attention to the grey hair lady and when I thank them I got "Thank you Ma'am, have a nice day" and off they went.
Are you sure he didn't just think you were a regular woman? I can only say that I envy you for how brave you were in the first place... Holly XXX
I decided a few weeks ago that the postman wasn't going to tell anyone, and just went for it - it was exhilarating, if brief! He's seen Fiona twice now, with different looks. I think it was the notification that my parcel was (unexpectedly) out for delivery on my regular Fiona day that did it for me. If I'd heard the knock unannounced, I'd have frozen.
I've made up my mind now that I'm just going to open the door en femme to whoever it is from now on - deliveries, sales, surveys, religion, politicians, maybe even the neighbours (which will save me going and seeking them out to have the coming-out conversation with them!). When the window cleaner restarts his round in Spring, I'll usually hear him setting up his ladder, which gives me time to work out whether it's going to be 'fight or flight'. Last year when he arrived while I was en femme I hid in my bedroom with thick curtains drawn and paid him online, but now I'm going to greet & pay him at the door too - I bet he'll get a shock! I'm still inclined to stay out of whichever room that he's doing the window of at any point though, just like I would in drab.
Good for you! You are bound to have a lot of fun encounters! I'd love to hear about them!
Paula,
I will tell you not to worry. I opened my door to both a court officer serving me a subpoena, and couple of ladies evangelizing for the Jevhovah's Witnesseses. In both cases, I was wearing clearly feminine attire - my favorite gingham dress for the court officer and a maxi denim skirt and blouse for the missionaries. The court officer was suprised that I knew and expected the subpoena, not for my attire. I don't know what the missionaries thought specifically, but it was clear that they were uncomfortable. And it was downright amusing to keep them engaged for almost 10 minutes asking them questions standing on my front porch.
MacKenzie Alexandra
Delivery drivers just want to get there day done. Tho he may have given you a second thought at the end of his day, by then he wouldn't remember what house you were at so all good.
A classic dilemma . In years gone by I would have hidden or quickly changed into the emergency drab clothes strategically places.
These days I don't care and it doesn't appear food and parcel deliverers do either . If I'm dressed I always answer the door as I am and that includes when I'm not made up or wearing a wig.
Not one of them has batted an eyelid , they've probably seen it all .
The thrill of outing oneself inadvertently or accidentally when partially dressed only in very attractively revealing women’s undergarments and heels—when dressed, that is, en femme partiellement—is always a joy for me—no doubt the result in part of my wanting to exhibit my true self to others as well as to myself, but also, to be honest, no doubt the result in part of an incurable and always very satisfying exhibitionist behavioral tendency, a tendency that’s always been as stimulating as it has been exciting, from as early as I can remember. Such an accidental outing just happened to me toward the end of last month, and though now for me only a joyous revelatory memory, it’s nevertheless something I’m ready to repeat when circumstances next are permitting.
One of the things I do every weekday morning, an hour or so before working out at 5 at the local gym to achieve through continuous dedicated body-shaping a figure more feminine than masculine, especially at the waist, is to prepare the kitchen for breakfast. What makes this activity so much fun to engage in and go about completing, after having undone my pony tail and let down over my shoulders and chest my very long, voluminous hair, is I usually do it clad only in black thigh-highs, black high heels, and a white Rago Lacette long-line B-cup bra with realistic breast forms combined with a white high-waist Rago padded panty, two very flattering undergarments which, when worn together, always enable a successful and convincing “tuck” while achieving that much-coveted feminine swank, nature’s gift to young women, which many here at CDH work hard to achieve and maintain with enviable success. I know that were I dressed in masculine drab, the morning chore would be laborious, dull, and seemingly un-ending. But dressed as I normally am partially en femme when putting out dishes for toast, preparing the drip coffee filter, heating water for coffee, etc., minutes pass like seconds, and the half hour or so the chore usually takes to be completed I always ruefully wish was a day long, if not longer.
One early morning this past late-January, however, the snow, forecasted to fall later that day, had already arrived much sooner than expected upon my awakening, and once fully dressed partially en femme to prepare the kitchen as I normally do, I realized my anticipated kitchen chore would be added to and thereby diminished by that of shoveling the house’s deck, walkways, and driveway, which would require my going seriously drab in numerous layers of wool and worsted for the rest of the morning, if not longer, since clearing snow by hand and shovel around the house usually takes several hours.
Knowing my chance at enjoying—no, luxuriating in—the always different and very pleasurable physical feelings experienced when clad in my Lacette long-line bra with realistic breast forms, high-waist padded panties, stockings, and heels would have to be abbreviated owing to the dim climatic reality facing me outside, I proceeded with what had to be done in preparation for the day’s first meal and found myself racking my brain, time and again, trying to come up with ways I might postpone the inevitable. When completing those kitchen tasks and ruing the imminent conclusion of my current morning tuck, a tuck always accentuated and facilitated by a panty-liner extending after covering the entirety of the undergarment’s gusset about an inch up the front of the panty, I suddenly heard what sounded like a loud clawing or growling sound made by shovels repeatedly clearing concrete of several inches of snow outside near and about the walkway leading to the house’s front porch and front door.
Confused and curious, I put down as quickly as possible the coffee cup I’d been holding in hand before me and, not thinking about how I was currently dressed, made my way quickly to the kitchen’s open door, and then through it, into the house’s next front room which separates the foyer from the kitchen. No lights were on in that center room or in the foyer, and since it was a late-January early morning, it was still dark outside. But while darkness lay before me as I hurriedly entered that center room to discover the source of the strange noises coming from outside, I initially forgot that the lights were still on in the kitchen providing the possibility of a sexy silhouette for anyone to see from outside because the two large windows in the center room are never curtained since plants are located there, below them, to enjoy and prosper from a consistent northern light during the day.
When realizing in the center of the room the inviting appearance my sudden approach and abrupt halt had afforded anyone looking at that moment through the windows into the house, my thoughts didn’t cause me, in the hope of re-attaining some degree of modesty, to reverse course immediately to find the safer ground of concealment in the kitchen, but instead enabled me in an inkling to understand that stopping and standing in my heels as I’d just done had led to my putting my chest forward and curving the small of my back, which immediately raised and accentuated the contour of my posterior created by the padding in my panties. Inadvertently I realized just then, too, that I’d by chance struck the same pose often assumed by many Playboy playmates I’d enviously in my youth wanted to be or at least have a female body like so that I might also be photographed as they had been in seductive poses and included in the magazine’s “spreads” to invite onlookers like me to look again and again and greedily want more.
This epiphany, however, was cut short at that moment by sudden caterwauls and whistling coming from outside by what appeared to be two young fellows who, standing in the dark of the walkway with shovels now in hand, had walked to the house to help their neighbors shovel snow, given how heavy the early-hours snowfall had been. They obviously had finished their task around the house and, enjoying the visual treat now immediately afforded them, could see me through the windows. Just then, too, as I next remembered they could see me only in silhouette, I began, seizing advantage of the inadvertent exhibitionist opportunity given me by my own blunder to strut my stuff, to move myself as if I were something approximating an exotic dancer to see if those new suggestive moves and motions rallied by my imagination would elicit even more expression of approval from the two indistinct members of my accidental audience, outside, no doubt shivering in the dark. The thrill of being perceived as a minimally-clad, sexy woman enticing the shadowy individuals outside in the early-morning January crisp air clapping and carrying on—one of them could even be heard saying, “Come on, Baby”—was so satisfying, stimulating, and validating that, as I turned to leave the room (something I knew that had to be done before being found out), I put my two hands behind my head in order to raise my hair from behind, as Ann-Margaret was want to do, and let it fall on my shoulders in a come-hither-to-me way, which led both outside next to start hooting and stamping their boots on the walkway, and repeating vigorously in a chant-like way the expression “Show more; show more; take it off; take it off!”
Hearing as I did at that moment articulation of that primal desire, the thought of an equally ardent desire on my part to accommodate my audience one last time crossed my mind in an instant and, before quitting the room, I turned again to the windows, bent at the knee to my left with both knees together the way Marilyn Monroe would often do to tempt the onlooker by emphasizing the contours of her beautiful body, took hold with both hands each side of my chest to frame my bust initially, which in that instant was tantalizingly and invitingly thrust forward, and then let slide down both sides of my cinched waist to my haunch bones those same hands before completing the maneuver by raising my right hand to my lips to throw a kiss to my audience now hungry with the thought more was yet to be enjoyed.
It was a Queen-for-the-Day moment I’d had by accident, and what it taught me was the real power the female has over the male, a natural power stifled by drab male-dominated society for centuries, a power I relish and will never stop yearning for—the one I’ve known from as early as I can remember that makes the world go round.
Once back in the kitchen, I prayed for snow the next day before turning out the light.
Livi