Affairs began to hit their stride between Emma and me after that Queen’s Birthday long weekend. We had spent much of the remainder of that weekend either in or around my bed: we made love a few more times, but much of the time was spent just cuddling up under my quilt. Eventually on the Monday I dropped her off at her mother’s house, our parting kisses taking even longer than ever.

While her and her sister Amber’s living arrangements reverted back to fortnight-long stretches with each parent, Emma had managed to get a weekend job at the local hardware store, which meant that it made sense for her to stay over my side of town every Saturday night: rather than staying at her mother’s she would stay with me. Occasionally we would go out that night, usually to see a band at a pub, but often we would spend the time at home together. My parents were happy with the arrangement: I’m pretty sure that they had cottoned on to the fact that Emma and I were fucking under the same roof as them, but they didn’t let on.

Melbourne’s cold, drizzly winter rolled on through the weeks and soon August arrived. As a music student and member of both the concert and jazz bands at my school this meant competition season, with four consecutive weekends of performing. Shifts at work for both Emma and I were swapped or foregone as she accompanied me to my performances, and I finally began introducing her to many of my school colleagues. “This is my partner, Emma,” I would introduce her: “girlfriend” sounded too juvenile and ephemeral to me, suggesting we were just two teens mucking around. “Partner” had the sound of solidity, a thing that could endure.

“Ah, so she does actually exist,” or words to that effect, was the response from my colleagues. Yes, here she was, right in front of them in living colour. I thought that Emma would be embarrassed by the reputation of being merely my go-to person when I needed proof that I wasn’t a total loser, but the truth was that I was far more embarrassed by the questioning. I wanted to protect her, not have her appear as merely an assistant in the freak show that was me.

“I’m sorry about them. They just want to take the piss,” I would apologise to her.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” she’d reassure me. “Let them have their fun.”

Interestingly, while the bands at Emma’s school were also participating in the comps, often in direct competition with my school’s bands, she only introduced me to a couple of her colleagues – friends who I had met at her birthday. Even the one person I knew from her school through the comps, a trombonist called Liz who I had a bit of a crush on around the time I met Emma, only briefly acknowledged her when we bumped into each other. For the record, Emma referred to me as her boyfriend: I guessed not because she wanted to make us sound frivolous, but because it was a term all the people she knew would understand.

The last weekend of playing was at an eisteddfod in Ballarat, about an hour-and-a-half away from home. Jazz band on the Friday night, concert band on the Saturday. Emma managed to get the day off school on the Friday and we travelled on the coach together with the bands both days, going back to my place when we got back at one in the morning. We had toyed with the idea of staying in Ballarat on the Friday night, but decided not to in order not to freak her parents out too much. We still fucked that weekend but, mindful that I needed to be alert on stage, we took it easy and didn’t get up to anything adventurous.

----

Winter’s drizzle was soon replaced with the spring weather that Melbourne was notorious for: rapidly changeable, prone to bluster, the classic four seasons in one day. My parents had booked two weeks away in New Zealand for themselves during the school holidays, trusting me with the house in their absence. The holidays would mean extra shifts for both Emma and myself at our jobs, so I offered her to move in for the duration of the break. That last Friday of term I had to run my parents to the airport after I finished early at school, so Emma and her sister Amber had to make their own way to their mother’s house after school. I had offered to pick her up from there on the way back, but instead she asked me to meet her at the bus stop nearest to my place after I got back.

I stood at the stop with the sun shining through the eucalyptus trees. As the bus pulled up a girl in a white shirt, green tartan tie, knee-length green tartan skirt, green tartan headband, black blazer and black tights stepped out, carrying both a school backpack and a canvas luggage bag. I embraced her, gave her a lingering kiss and took hold of the canvas bag to lighten her load. We walked up the quiet residential road, along a deeply rutted fire trail under transmission lines and onto my street right outside my house. As we walked we talked about our final days of term and the fact that neither of us cared about the football finals: my team had finished with the wooden spoon again that season and she had little interest in footy to begin with.

“This bag weighs a bloody tonne. Do you have the kitchen sink in here or what?” I complained as I lugged her bag.

“I need enough clothes for two weeks, Fran,” she replied.

“You realise that your mother’s just down the road, and that I have a washing machine?”

“Saves me the trip, and I didn’t know if you knew how to operate one.”

“You’re asking a teenage boy who’s had to shove his bedding in the machine and launder it after a particularly lurid dream if he knows how to put it on. I mean, how fucking naïve are you?” I mocked her.

“Yikes, I was just asking,” she said somewhat shocked.

“I also know how to operate the dryer. Heck, I even know that I have to clean out the lint filter.”

“Okay, okay, I get your point. By the way, was that dream about me?”

“Recent times, yes. But it’s happened long before you – dare I say you may have met some of the girls who’ve ensured I now know which hole to put the laundry powder in.”

Emma snorted. “I’m not sure if I should be disgusted, bitchy or impressed.”

Once inside I rushed her luggage to my room in order to lighten the load on my hands. As Emma got settled in at a much slower pace I went to the kitchen and lit the oven: I had bought pizzas for that night’s dinner and figured I better get the oven warming first up. With initial tasks taken care of I returned back to my room where she was hanging up a couple of dresses on the back of the door. I wrapped her up in a cuddle and gave her a kiss.

“Hi there. Sorry about before, I was only mucking around,” apologising for my crack about my presumed domestic skills.

“I know,” Emma replied with a smile. “Just playing up the whole boys-can’t-do-shit-around-the-house thing.”

“Just call me well domesticated.”

“Although your room could do with a bit more of that domesticity,” she said as she scanned the piles of papers and books on the floor.

“Okay, okay. There is some order to the madness, though,” I defended myself.

We sat on the edge of the bed and continued making out. The low rise of the futon meant Emma sat with her knees higher than her hips; her skirt sunk down, revealing she was again wearing stay-up tights.

“Is that a part of your uniform?” I asked her.

“Not exactly, although I managed to get away with it for all of today,” she answered.

“And, if you got caught?”

“I might have been sent home to get changed. But not before everyone started calling me a slut.”

“Jeez, that bad? Surely not everyone?”

“I suspect a few girls might have completely understood, and not because they’re loose themselves. Anyway, that’s why we move like we do, why we sit like we do: to try and avoid things like that,” she explained.

We kept kissing. I had run my hand up her tight and reached her crotch, once again feeling satin. A quick glance down her shirt confirmed that she was wearing the same pink satin bra-and-knickers set she wore on the Queen’s Birthday weekend. Before I could get a sneak finger in under her knickers to toy with her nether regions she broke off from our making out.

“Can you stand up for me, Francis? In front of me,” she said, one-half question, one-half command.

“Okay. Why?” I replied.

“Just do it. You’ll see,” now quite clearly commanding.

I got up from the edge of the bed and stood in front of Emma, my crotch about level with her face. Was she about to give me a sneaky blowjob just before dinner?

“Okay, now take off all of your clothes”.

I shrugged and complied, kicking off my runners, pulling off my school polo shirt, dropping my trousers and stepping out of them, pulling off my socks and finally dropping my briefs to leave me standing stark naked in front of her. My cock, which had been running a semi since we started making out, rose to full attention.

“What are you getting at? I was going to wait until after dinner,” I complained.

Emma’s only reply was, “You’ll see.” She got up from the bed herself and moved to her luggage bag where she started rummaging around. A moment later she had pulled out a pile of clothes: a second set of her school uniform consisting of a white shirt, green tartan tie, knee-length green tartan skirt and black blazer, a pair of stay-up tights and a matching set of bra and knickers, the same style as the pink ones she was wearing but with purple-blue satin, black lace and bright pink bows.

There was a pregnant pause as I first looked at the clothes, then at Emma, then back at the clothes before returning my gaze to Emma. That knowing smile had appeared on her face, and it dawned on me what she had in mind. “Okay,” I began, trying to keep a straight face and talking calmly, “let’s summarise what we have here. You have just asked me to take off all of my clothes, which I have done for you. Then, all the while keeping your clothes on, you have proceeded to present me with a collection of clothes almost identical to the ones you are wearing right now. And now you have that fucking smirk that drives me wild on your face. Now, maybe I have read the whole situation completely wrong, put two and two together and gotten a five, but I seem to have the impression that you would like me to dress up in those clothes. Am I right or have I just gone fucking bonkers?”

After a couple of seconds' pause, she spoke up. “First of all, do you always give great oratory when standing in the nude?”

I wanted to burst out laughing, and probably would have been fine to do so, but stifled my laugh instead.

She continued. “Secondly, why not? You said you were fascinated with dresses and skirts, and we kind of look the same. Just for a bit of fun.”

I gave the sort of grimace normally associated with one not being convinced. ”Let’s get a few things straight, then. This is just between us: no telling tales, no pictures unless we both agree. No humiliation, no domination. Just a bit of fun between us. Right?”

“Right. No, I’m not about to dress you up before inviting the local footy club to use me in front of you.”

“Well,” I said half-sarcastically, “that’s a relief.”

“It’s just something I wanted to try. Maybe blame it on having a lesbian mother or something.”

I bent down and picked the pair of knickers off the pile. Without a word I slipped them over my feet and up my legs. The feel of satin and lace on my skin set off a tingle up my spine, and the shape of them on me felt weird as it constrained my cock more than my briefs normally did.

Emma smirked at the sight. “Looking good already. Continue”, she commanded.

I then picked up the bra. Mentally reverse-engineering my efforts over the past three months in removing her bra on our nights together I slipped the straps over my shoulders, grabbed the ends of the band in each hand, reached behind my back and hooked the clasp together before adjusting to place the cups over my nipples.

“Wow. Even I couldn’t do it that way,” Emma remarked. “Is there something I should know? Have you done this before?”

“Er, no,” I replied as I got used to the elastic around my torso. “Just doing the reverse of what I do with you.”

“I just do up the clasp back-to-front, rotate it the right way then pull the straps on. Most girls do it that way.”

“Note for next time”, I said, “if there ever is one.” I then sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up one leg of the tights. Bunching them up like one does with a sock, I placed my right foot in and pulled the tight up my leg. The lace top came to a halt halfway up my thigh; I shifted my foot then pulled the opaque material up my leg before pulling the top further up, settling an inch short of my crotch. I then repeated the exercise with the left leg, making sure the tops finished level with each other, before standing up again.

“Again, not bad.”

“They’re just long, thin socks to me. Although the rubber around my thigh feels funny.”

“You’ll get used to that soon.”

Noting that Emma’s shirt was tucked in I picked up the shirt first, pulling it on and doing it up, initially thrown by the reversed position of the buttons but soon getting the hang and completing the task quickly. I then picked up the skirt, pulled down the zip, stepped through the waist, pulled up the skirt and did up the zip. The hem brushed my tight-clad thighs just above the knee, sending another tingle up my spine. I then put on the tie, which was already knotted and only needed to be tightened, before pulling on the blazer.

“Very good. You know how to dress yourself. Now,” as she looked around my room, “what about shoes? Those Docs of yours, some of the girls wear the same.”

I picked up my low-cut Docs, which I normally wore when performing with the school bands, sat down and put them on. They felt looser than normal as I was used to wearing them with socks far thicker than the tights I had on. I then stood up again in front of Emma, awaiting her approval.

She looked me up and down before standing up and putting on her own jumper and blazer. She then took hold of both my hands and looked into my eyes. “You make a pretty girl. And you don’t even have to change your name”, she said. “But, we’re not quite done yet.”

Before I could respond she took my hand and led me into the bathroom. There she opened up her bag of make-up and set to work, powdering my face, applying mascara to my eyelashes and cherry gloss to my lips. Then she pulled out a brush and styled my hair into a proper do, before pulling a green tartan headband out of her blazer pocket and placing it on my head. Emma then turned me towards the mirror.

“There you are, Fran”, she announced triumphantly.

“Er, thanks. I’m not sure what to say”, I said sheepishly.

“It’s a bit of fun. Relax, we’re just going to chill tonight”, she assured me.

As she then made up her own face – normally the only make-up she wore was some lip gloss, if that – I looked at myself in the mirror. The face looked familiar but the rest did not. It was like looking at a long-lost sister: one that was built the same as me, the same height as me, but clearly a different person to the one occupying the boy I was in. With the cognitive dissonance between the boy standing in my place and the girl reflected in the mirror I felt myself become aroused, my cock hardening in the satin and lace knickers I wore.

Now finished making up her face, Emma turned to me and put her arms around me, placing a lingering kiss on my lips. “You look beautiful, Fran”, she said.

“And you too”, I replied. “Now, you are sure that this goes no further than us?”

“Positive. Now, we better get those pizzas on, I’m starving.”

----

As I moved around the kitchen getting dinner ready I started to become more comfortable wearing Emma’s clothes. The tightness around my chest from the bra faded from notice, the knickers started to feel normal as my cock went back to rest, the brushing of the hem of the skirt stopped causing a tickling sensation and I got used to the air passing through the tights and hitting my skin. I put the pizzas in the oven and set the table for the two of us, and caught sight of a reflection of myself in the window. That feeling of confusion between seeing myself and seeing a girl I probably knew in a déjà-vu sense hit me again and I had to quickly look away, resolving to avert my gaze whenever I was near a window or a mirror. Once the pizzas were ready I got them out of the oven, cut them up and brought them to the table. Emma and I sat down to eat, making small talk over dinner.

“So, Fran,” Emma asked, “how are you feeling?”

“I feel like you’re rather enjoying this, aren’t you?” I fired back.

“What, not so keen on wearing a skirt? You realise that’s the only thing different between our boys’ and girls’ uniforms?”

“What, the boys at your school wear women’s underwear?” As our schools had something of a rivalry, especially with our music programs, the jibe was delivered with a bit of a bite.

“Thanks, thanks for that”, she answered sarcastically “No, seriously, how are you feeling?”

“Well, for starters, I can tell the difference between men’s and women’s underwear.”

“A bit cramped?”

“Like the old shire hall: no ballroom.” Emma giggled. “Otherwise, I’m actually not feeling much different.”

“You mean you might…”

“Might actually get used to this”, I finished her. “Though don’t expect me to go down the street wearing this.”

“Not down the street”, she replied. “But,” noting that we’d finished eating, “maybe we can go out the back for a bit.” She got up from her seat and reached out to pull me out of mine. We then went out the sliding door into the backyard and over to the patio, stopping next to the outdoor setting. She put her arms around me, and I responded in kind. I kissed her, gently sucking on her lips as she did to me before turning our heads and exchanging our tongues. As the cool September evening air made its presence known through my tights and up my skirt Emma moved her hands down and then up under my blazer, feeling her way along my shirt until she could make out the bra band, before using her thumbs to feel the cups of the bra.

I responded in kind by running my hands up under her blazer and rubbing her back around her bra band. After a while I moved my hands down her back and onto her skirt-clad arse, all the time maintaining my kisses. Meanwhile, Emma had moved her hands from my bust, trailing them down my sides until they rested on my hips. Soon she moved one of her hands further down to the hem of my skirt before pushing up under, running up my thigh across the lace top of my tights and onto my satin-covered crotch. My cock, which had already been testing the confines of the knickers since we started making out, ached as it strained against the material whilst Emma rubbed her hand against it through the satin.

Before long I broke off from kissing her. “That does it. Enough,” I declared. I picked her up and sat her on the edge of the outdoor table, pushing her legs apart. I then lifted the front of my skirt and pulled down the front of my knickers, my cock springing free, before reaching forward to pull the crotch of her knickers to one side to reveal her already damp pussy. I moved forward and pushed myself into her, grasping her arse as I slid my cock in. I bothered not to take it easy on her: as far as I was concerned foreplay had started when she ordered me to dress up for her, and now it was time to fuck her furiously. Emma, for her part, took it in the spirit intended, gripping on to me as I thrust into her; the sound of the table legs scraping on the pavers provided accompaniment to her moans and my grunts. Soon enough her moans embarked on a crescendo as she came, burying her face into my shoulder to muffle her screams so as to not to broadcast our activities to the entire neighbourhood.

As she came down Emma brought her head up. “Let’s go back inside. They don’t need to hear any more,” she said. I let go of her, stepped back to withdraw and stuffed my cock back into the knickers at an angle on account of its stiffness. She hopped off the table and we went back inside, heading not to my bedroom but instead to the lounge. We both took off our blazers and she collapsed to her knees, lifting the front of my skirt and pulling my cock out of the top of my knickers. After giving my member a few good strokes she took me in her mouth and bobbed her head back and forth: her previous acts of fellatio on me had been quite gentle and timid but this was quite forceful from the start. I rested my hands on her shoulders as she kept sucking me off, leaving her head free to move fore and aft. It didn’t take long before I reached my point: I took Emma’s head in my hands and pulled her into me as I came, pumping ropes of my load into her mouth which she swallowed down in short order. I released her head from my grasp and she pulled back, my cock slipping out of her mouth and my skirt falling down over it.

I tucked myself back into my knickers and pulled Emma up onto the couch. I then collapsed to my knees between her legs, once again pulling the crotch of her panties aside. As I began lashing my tongue against her clit I slipped two fingers into her pussy, working in and out at a rapid pace. Once again she began to moan, first quietly and gently but soon the pitch and volume began to build as I kept hitting her buttons. I felt two hands place themselves on the back of my head, gently pressing my face further into Emma’s crotch as I kept licking and fingering her. Her cries became louder and louder and the force with which she was holding my head increased until she burst through with her orgasm, fully squashing my face into her pussy to the point that my nose was penetrating her before she closed her legs around my neck, her body shuddering with waves of contractions. Eventually, Emma relaxed and I was able to free my face from her crotch, pulling her knickers back across her pussy before getting back on my feet.

I reached my hand out to Emma and she took hold, pulling herself up off the couch. I drew her into an embrace and we kissed, savouring the remnants of each other’s juices in our mouths. After a bit I broke off and took her hand, leading her back to my bedroom. Just as we turned the corner of the hallway leading to my door, she pulled me up. “This might seem weird,” she said, “but I’ve never been in your sister’s room. Can you show me?”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, wondering what kinky idea Emma had.

“Not sure, just curious,” she replied. We moved to the other door and I opened it, leading her into the room.

My sister Melanie’s room had been kept almost as a shrine since she left for London nearly two years before. Everything kept neat and tidy: my mother would still clean her room even though she would often be the only one to enter that room at all. I had no business to be in there normally so I stayed out of there, although I remember it having the usual teenage/young adult mess when my sister was still living at home.

Emma kissed my lips before taking a step back and loosening her school tie, dropping it on the carpeted floor. Next she rapidly unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off, followed by pulling down the zip of her skirt and letting it fall to her feet. “Are you going to follow?” she asked me, to which I responded by stripping in kind. Soon we were both standing in my sister’s room, both wearing lingerie and tights. Emma then climbed onto my sister’s bed on all fours, wiggling her arse towards me. “Come on, Fran. Take me from behind,” she sexily moaned.

I responded by climbing onto the bed myself, kneeling between her legs and rubbing my satin-clothed bulge against her satin-clad arse. I then pulled her knickers down to expose her pussy, before pulling down my knickers and feeding my cock into her damp hole. Grabbing Emma’s hips I slammed myself into her, driving my cock right to the hilt in one swift hit and unintentionally injuring my balls in the process. Once the shock of the self-inflicted crotch-shot subsided I started furiously fucking her pussy, relentlessly pounding her with a force that previously I was afraid to do. Emma’s yelping on each breath was the loudest I had heard from her mid-coitus and, combined with my own grunts, created an intense bed of love sounds that enhanced our horniness. As I kept slamming into her pussy Emma grabbed a teddy bear that had been sitting on the pillow – one of Melanie’s favourite toys when she was much smaller which my mother had left out as a reminder of her daughter – and hugged it tightly.

“Yes, Fran, fuck me. Fuck me hard,” Emma implored me between cries of pleasure.

“As hard as you want it, Em. As hard as I can,” I shot back in reply between my own grunts.

“Fuck me like it’s punishment for dressing you like a girl, Fran.”

“It’s not punishment. I just want to go as hard as we can.”

“You mean, uh, you’re not, uh, mad at me?”

“How can I be mad when you’ve made me horny?”

“Oh, Fran, I think I, uh, oh God…” Suddenly Emma’s cries turned into an orgasmic scream as she came, her leg muscles clearly showing the convulsions of her orgasm.

I kept banging at her pussy as I too felt myself approaching the cliff. “Fuck, Em, I think I’m, fuck, gonna burst…” My cock unleashed jets of my load in her pussy, more than I had pumped into her mouth a bit earlier. My own orgasm made me blank out as I unloaded, coming to after the last rope had been sent forth. I collapsed forward onto Emma’s back, to which she reacted by pushing her knees back so that she collapsed herself onto Melanie’s bed.

We laid there for what seemed ages, completely exhausted by our mad fucking. I could feel the sweat that had accumulated on the both of us, sandwiched between our bodies. I took in the sweet smell of Emma’s hair – that same smell that I enjoyed when we first laid together a year before and that kept turning me on. I also became aware once again of the unusual clothing I was wearing – the banding of the bra I wore was now making a biting impression on my torso. I got myself up off the bed, pulled up my panties and assessed the scene: Emma sprawled on Melanie’s bed, her arse bare as her panties rested on her thighs and a trace of come between her legs. She soon stirred, also pulling her panties up. As she stood up she revealed a small damp patch on the quilt corresponding to where her creampie had leaked out.

“Well, looks like I’ll have to wash that bedding, then,” I quipped.

“Just as well you know how to run a washing machine in a case like this,” Emma replied, prompting a giggle from me.

I pulled her into an embrace and kissed her. “Soon. I love you, Em.”

“I love you too, Fran.”

“Let’s get cleaned up before we fall asleep.”

----

As the bath was filling with water, the two of us had to deal with the aftermath of one part of our playing around. “Do we really have to do this?” I whined as I tried wiping the make-up off my face, my efforts looking as though I was only spreading the mess.

“Sorry, but it has to be done,” Emma said, “unless you want to look like a panda in the morning. I might love you, but my guess is your boss won’t if you looked like that.” Not surprisingly her own removal attempt was more effective with not as much effort.

After finally getting the last of the warpaint off my face with another facial wipe I shut off the water and we both stepped in. The bath was actually a spa bath but we left the jets off as we wanted to get clean rather than relax in the tub. We soaped each other up and rinsed each other off, although we washed our own crotches having realised we were both a bit sore from our progressive fornication through my house. Once clean we sat and cuddled in the warm water for a while, slowly kissing as we enjoyed a wet embrace.

Once we were out of the bath and dried, we wrapped our towels around ourselves; I insisted that I wrap mine around my waist rather than follow Emma’s suggestion of wrapping it around the chest. We then retraced our steps through the house, retrieving the blazers from the lounge before gathering the rest of the discarded school clothes from Melanie’s room. Having dropped the clothes in my room, Emma returned to my sister’s room and opened her wardrobe. “I wonder what we have here,” she pondered aloud.

“Not sure what she left behind,” I replied, wondering why my girl was poking into someone else’s wardrobe.

Emma moved hung tops and dresses along the hanging rail, noting the sizes. “Your sister’s a size 14?”

“Same as you, right?”

“Which means same as you too.”

“Oh no,” I said with a hint of horror, “you’re not going to…”

“Not tonight,” she reassured.

“It was fun, but don’t think you’ve turned me into a sissy just like that.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I…” I halted, realising that I may have sent a mixed signal. “I have no problem with it, just don’t expect me to get dolled up every night. I still like plain and simple sex: vanilla is a good flavour itself.”

“But it’s got to be the right sort of vanilla.”

“Of course. No cheap and nasty stuff – and that’s just the ice cream.”

Emma laughed. “Oh jeez, Fran. By the way, I don’t feel like dessert tonight – I saw that in the freezer earlier.” She closed the wardrobe and opened up her drawers, taking a look and the contents before pulling out a shiny satin chemise. “Maybe not tonight, but…”

“Not tonight. I’m buggered, and I don’t want to think about girls' clothes right now.”

Emma dropped the chemise back into the drawer and closed it. We closed Melanie’s room and retired to my own, dropping our towels and climbing into my double futon. As we snuggled up to each other I stroked her back and she let out a contented purr before kissing me deeply. “Thank you for the crazy night tonight, Fran,” she whispered.

“’S OK, Em,” I whispered back. “A bit of craziness is okay from time to time.”

“Also, it’s okay – this will be between the two of us only. And you’re still a man to me.” Emma kissed me deeply again. “You’re a good man. Don’t you ever forget it.”

THE END.