Cross dressing


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I have nothing, repeat nothing, against cross dressing.

Indeed, I am often spotted wearing my wife’s North Face wind cheater in the garden.

But a very good friend of mine recently revealed a story that made me miss a heart beat. I will not reveal his name because; well just because.

If I’m honest, I blushed when I heard the tale; and I laughed.

And not with him, I’m ashamed to admit.

It all began perfectly innocently.

One Saturday night his Mrs says…

“I’m off out with the girls Don (C’mon man keep your friend’s identity secret. Ed.) (Ach, they’ll never notice. Me.) Have a nice night yourself darling.”

“Thanks Cath; will do love.”

So, my secret friend went to the fridge, helped himself to a few beers and settled down to watch Saturday night TV unencumbered by X Factor.

An hour before Match of The Day started he opted for a hot bath and, post bath, feeling very relaxed, thought…

“Hmmm, what’s the most comfy clothing in our domain? I know, Cath’s white Laura Ashley, Broderie Anglaise, soft cotton nightie. Perfect! It’s light, airy, fluffy. Hmmm. Lovely”

And so Don (Woops, sorry) donned the adornment.

No one was in, so what the…

An hour later, bang on time, Cath arrives home and rings the doorbell.

Unabashed, Don (Woops, sorry again Don, I’m trying to keep it a secret, but it keeps slipping out) goes to the door to let her in, but she’s brought six mates back with her.

Bummer.

 


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