Date: Sun, 05 Sep 1999 20:29:26 PDT
From: Sian Seteyan <nais@hotmail.com>
Subject: PERSONAL Ad

New story by Seteyan - authoritarian/forced femme/xdress/tg themes

E-Mail: nais@hotmail.com
Subject: Personal Ad complete
Body of Message:

PersonalAd Copyright 1999 Seteyan Do not read if bisexual/transgender themes upset
you.

I must have dozed off, I forgot for an instant where I was. But the soft
restraint of the wool all around me brought me back. I
was in a seamless envelope of wool, with my hands tied over my head, and my
ankles bound. Only my hands and feet were
exposed. My hands and feet and my limp cock, which protruded from this
bizarre sight out of hastily cut hole in the wool. The
wool was a soft brown blend, and stretched with my movements, and I could
see dimly the outlines of the room through the
weave, the room were I was effectively being held prisoner. Hard to believe
this normal looking bedroom, in this normal
Manhattan apartment building, could be my cage. The people on the other side
of the wall had no idea, no idea what had
happened in here. And it was all my own fault.

I had put an ad in the NYPeople personals section, under the Different
Interests section, the section that usually catered to TVs,
sado-masochists, submissives - people actually not that different than me.
But my ad had been different - WANTED:
SWEATER GIRL. SWM iso F who loves sweaters, who understands my addiction to
angora, and who might torment me with
cashmere, make me wear mohair. Older women ok, Big Breasts a plus. I will
serve you in wool.

I did not think it would lead to anything. I had just been harboring these
fantasies, fantasies about sweaters, and big tits, Mrs.
Robinson in cashmere, the woman from Amarcord- these things had been buzzing
through my head for years. So I had placed
the ad. And Mrs. Robinson had called. But her name was Mrs. Saffi, and she
seemed to understand my sweater fetish. I met
with her, in a bar, and was surprised at her appearance. She was in fact an
older woman, maybe 46, or even 50, short, slightly
overweight, but she was cute. I mean she had a cute smile, a shock of black
hair carefulled coiffed, and pair of tits that looked
great under her blouse. She might not have been what I expected, but after a
few minutes I was hungrily imagining her in a tight
sweater, and black stockings. She was European, her voice lightly accented.
Her face reminded me of Sofia Loren, it was angular
and tan. And her body, well, I could see she would have been quite a beauty
as a young girl, probably got alot of attention with
those breasts. Probably too much attention. Now her hips were wide, her
bosom soft and gravitating down; her legs still looked
thin and trim, widening out as they got to her waist. She kept brushing my
shoulders with her hands, touching my knee, all in the
friendliest way. She would lean in conspiratorily and whisper, Look at that
young woman over there, in the cashmere sweater?
Do you find her attractive? She was also very pushy, which I liked, and she
made it clear when we would meet, to 'play' as she
called it.

So the next weekend I arrived at her apartment building, the doorman buzzed
me upstairs, and I knocked at her door. In my bag
were ten or twelve sweaters. I hoped she would try them on. I had this
vision of her wearing an old cardigan, asking me to drink
tea, and that would be it. But then she opened the door in her robe and I
thought, Uh-oh. This is not what I expected.

She said Come in, and literally pulled me into her apartment, checking the
hall carefully. She said, Don't say a word, unless I ask
you a question, and do not question me. Do you understand? I said, Yes. She
took my hand and dragged me into the bedroom,
and sat me on the perfectly made bed. The whole apartment was spotless, and
innocous, like a clean motel room. Then she said,
Wait here. She smiled, her thick lips wrapping around her sharp, tan face. I
watched her legs as she swayed out of the bedroom,
and noticed that she had on black stockings, and those house slippers you
see in movies, the kind with the soft marabou thingy. I
felt vaguely aroused by that. I put my bag down, then decided to open it,
and put my sweaters out on the bed... I was almost done
when she reentered the bedroom. She was stunning, decked out in black
stockings, heels and garters, an intricate pair of ruby red
lace panties pulled over the garters, and her black bush visible. And on
top, on her jutting breasts, a white angora sweater, tight
and soft, her nipples visible, the outlines of her huge globular breasts
framed in a white halo. The sweater ended in three quarter
sleeves and a graceful v-neck. I was bowled over - it was like a vision from
my dreams.

What do you think, she asked, smiling broadly, Not bad for a woman my age?
And she raised her sweater to reveal a matching
ruby red bra, the kind that a burlesque performer might have worn in the
fifties, the kind of bra that suspended the breasts on a
shelf, exposing the nipples and the tops of the breast, for evening gowns I
suppose. I imagined that her lingerie was just that old,
but the effect was dazzling. I tried to answer, but my throat was dry.

She smiled again, then swayed over to me. Her ass moved gently, side to
side; she was as wide in the chest as she was down
there. She said, Take off your clothes, and I did so immediately. My cock
hardened as I removed my underwear, and she smiled
again. She said, Ah, youth, and walked around my naked body. I wanted to
touch her sweater so badly, I swayed towards her as
she passed. But I could tell she wanted control. Lie down, she said, and put
this on. She handed me a condom, and I lay on the
bed, nervously unwrapping the rubber. Mrs. Safi turned out the light after I
had finished. Then she crept up on the bed, slowly
straddling my body. I felt her weight on my legs, the softness of her fleshy
thighs. It was daytime, so I could see in the half-light
of the closed blinds, as her sweatered breasts undulated towards me. She
smiled down at me and said, Do not touch me, lie there
and do not say a word.

So I lay there, as Mrs. Safi slowly rubbed herself, her own sweatered body,
her bushy pubic mound, rocking lightly on my
thighs, slowly working herself up over my rigid cock. I was entranced.
Finally she slid her panties down and slowly eased her
vagina over my penis, she was so wet, and big, I slid in easily. She moaned
some more, still touching herself, whispering quiet
foreign words, her dark eyes closed. She breathed deeply, rubbing her big
breasts from side to side, in her own private ecstasy,
but she was driving me wild. In the half light, the edges of her breasts
seemed to be pushing the sweater almost to the bursting
point. In a few minutes, I could feel my balls aching, I could feel my load
building. I tried to think of something else. But it was
too late, the sweater was driving me crazy. I exploded, gasping for breath,
reaching for her breasts Mrs. Safi awoke from her
reverie, her eyes flashing, quickly pulling my cock out of her, and backing
away. She looked angry now, angrier still as my cock
withered in the cold apartment air.

She shook her head, reproachfully. Ju think you are finished? Clean that up,
boy, and then come back in here. I felt miserable,
ashamed at my lack of control. I went to the bathroom, and peeled the condom
off. I wanted to go home, maybe I woud just
make my excuses and leave. But when I got back into the bedroom, she would
not even let me speak. She raised a finger, the
manicured nail a perfect red, and wagged it at me. No, no, no.
Turn around, she said. I did, and she tied a black stocking around my head,
in my mouth, gagging me. I stifled a moan. It was
too late to complain, too late to leave. Too late, I asked myself, wasn't
it?

She said, I noticed you have alot of sweaters, alot of womenz sweaters. You
like to wear these? I shook my head, unconvincingly.
She laughed. At least you are thin, you can do so, passably. Do you think
so? I grunted a non-answer, as she tied my hands
together in front of my body. Have you ever dressed up like a girl, she
asked, that is what I think you do? I shook my head
violently, but again she did not seem to believe me.

part 2 "Encased in wool"

She looked at my naked form with something approaching disdain. She said, I
think maybe you will be getting more than you
bargained for here. You thought, maybe, you meet someone, she wears your
sweaters, you get excited and, voila, it is over. No no
my friend it is not over. I have thought about this for a week. A week of my
time, preparing. What do you think of that?

I was gagged, a stocking tied off between my lips. There was not much I
could say.

She pulled a piece of wool fabric from the closet, brown and soft, it was
two meters long, and seemed to be sewn into a tube. She
arranged the wool at my feet, stretching the mouth of it. Step in, she said.
I did, dreading and reveling in what was to come next.
She pulled the tube of wool up my body, and as it passed my thighs I felt my
cock begin to swell. She did not seem to notice.
The wool was obviously blended with lycra or something stretchey, the fabric
clung to my body like a wet t-shirt. At my ankles it
was like a single pants leg. She told me to raise my arms as she pulled it
up over my face, and for a moment I panicked, as wool
covered my features. She did not notice. She backed me up, a ridiculous
figure no doubt, standing six feet tall in a tube of stretch
wool, until I was next to the bed. Then she pushed me over. I fell with a
grunt onto the bed, and she left me there. She came back
in a few moments, arranging my body so I was square on the bed. Then she
looped another stocking (even I could feel the nylon
run along my fingertips) through my bound wrists, around the mouth of the
tube, and finally tied off to the bed frame. My
ankles were bound in the same fashion. I was now tied INSIDE a coccon of
wool, my ankles and wrists BOUND, and my cock
was rigid. It must have made an interesting sight, the stretch wool clinging
to my form, my erection standing up like a peak in the
desert. I could see somewhat through the weave of the wool. I could see Mrs.
Safi moving around, from the closet to the bed.
Finally she climbed up on the bed. She was naked now. No need for pretense.
Her huge breasts undulated with her as she
worked her way up my body. At my cock, she got gentle, pulling on it,
caressing it through the wool. I moaned, a helpless
caterpillar, and flexed my pelvis forward. I thought she might fuck me
through the wool, but then she cut a slit in the wool, and
let my cock out. And she was pulling a rubber over my cock, and tying
something TIGHT around the base. When she mounted
me, I was hard and sore but it felt good. Mrs. Safi then slowly and
methodically took her pleasure with me. Whatever she used
on the base of my cock kept me from exploding, although I desperately wanted
to. I ached. She rode me like a pro, enjoying
herself, I could see her nipples heave in the darkening light. It was
getting later and later and still she used me, until she was
done, done and finished, done moaning and writhing. The room smelled of sex
and sweat and wool.

She slid off of me, and I lay there, my cock still pulsing with lust and
pent-up release. She laughed and pulled the wet rubber
from my cock. I so wanted to cum, I moaned piteously, but she did not finish
me, and eventually my erection subsided. She was
showering now, and I assumed she would release me when she re-emerged. I
could use a shower myself. And I wanted to go
home. I tested my bonds, but when I pulled on them they just got tighter.
She finally returned, in her robe again, drying her
jet-black hair. I wondered idly if she dyed it. She sat down on the bed,
smiling. She was enjoying this. I hope, she said, you had
no plans for tonight. I moaned, and tried to speak around the gag. It was
hopeless.

She ran her hands down my body, and tugged on the cord still tied around the
base of my cock. Wait here, she said, and laughed
again. She returned with something in her hand, little bottles of
something...I smelled the nail polish before I saw it. I moaned
and thrashed. Her hand shot out and grabbed the end of the cinch line tied
around my manhood. I froze, from fear more than
pain. And for some reason, I grew hard again. Maybe it was the physical
sensation, or maybe it was the idea of control.
Whatever the reason, she got no more resistance from me as she painted both
my toenails and my fingernails a bright red.
Madagascar red, she whispered, glee in her voice. I moaned, for the hundreth
time, a constant dim complaint from behind my
gag.

Now don’t move, she said when she finished. She was getting dressed, and I
was the silent observer. I moved my fingers
slightly, I could feel the weight of the nail polish on my fingernails - my
senses were that attuned. My cock still felt hard, like it
might never get soft. Mrs. Safi appeared at my ear - she said do you take a
size 10 shoe? I nodded, numb and will-less. And then
she left, left me there, and no matter how I struggled I could not free
myself. The stockings were tied tightly, and and I was afraid
they might cut off my circulation if I pulled too hard. And the sweater
coccoon just stretched with my writhing body, however
much I tried to escape. But how much did I struggle? Was there a part of me
that did not want to get free....?

PART 3 "three witches"

So here is the moment I have brought you to - I dozed off, bound and gagged,
in a sealed tube of wool - and awoke to the sound
of voices. Mrs. Safi had returned, and she was not alone. I thrashed at my
bonds, and honestly did try to free myself, but only
ended up rolling halfway over, my body bowed against the weave of the
fabric.

And then the light went on, and a high female voice filled the room,
giggling and gasping. Underneath my covering my body
burnt with humiliation, my face turned red. Madagascar red. I could see
through the wool three figures, Mrs. Safi would be the
one in the middle. Another was shorter and skinnier - the Laugher, judging
from her body language. The third was big, and
round, hopefully a large woman, not a...man. I swallowed, or tried to, my
gag had left my throat completely dry. A bright flash
filled the room, and then another. The Laugher was taking pictures, still
making shrill little noises of excitement. I couldn’t
believe this was happening. Then someone untied the wool at my wrists and
pulled it down my body. I was unveiled. Several
more flash photographs were taken, leaving me half blind and dumbfounded.

Standing in the bedroom were three women: Mrs. Safi, looking smug and cruel,
a lithe blonde girl with a camera, and a large
woman with an astoundingly voluptous body and a shiny bald head! I looked
from one to the next, astounded. Mrs. Safi finally
stepped forward she was still wearing her coat. She said, So my dear, is
this what you expected? I shook my head, then lay still.
Mrs. Safi continued, No? Well, let’s not forget, you did ask for this...And
with those words she undid her coat and revealed her
braless breasts under one of my grey mohair sweaters. The sweater was
stretched to a ridiculous point - I could see her nipples,
her skin so clearly. I moaned in response and the other two women laughed as
if that was the punchline to some joke. You see
Rena, Mrs. Safi said, it is just as I told you. Patsy, you try it, there are
his sweaters there.

I watched dumbfounded as the young blonde girl, Patsy, stripped off her
tight t-shirt and reached for one of my sweaters, a black
lambswool turtleneck. She slid it on over her small breasts, her skinny
body, then proceeded to do a little dance in front of me,
pulling the sweater back and forth. I was undone...my body responded despite
my fear to the the sight of the soft wool wrapped
around her skinny frame...my cock stiffened, and they all laughed again.
Then the large one Rena walked up to me. She was
wearing a pair of leather pants, laced up the front, and a tight spandex
top. Her body was full and strong and unforgiving. I mean
even her facial features , she looked vaguely middle eastern, were sharp and
cruel at the same time. She said, Will you do
whatever we say, if I put on a sweater as well? I stared into her kohl dark
eyes, and listened to my own heart beat. Well?, she
said. I could not answer her. If I answered what would happen to me? Rena,
her body coiled like an enormous python, moved a
little closer. What sweater should I wear?

I looked into her eyes, but could not help myself. I glanced down for an
instant, and saw my sweaters lying there. Rena saw it
and smiled. She slowly stripped, peeling off her pants, her shirt. She wore
no underwear, and her body was as hairless as her
head. I watched amazed as she pulled on a tight angora blend sweater dress,
a black dress I had found in a thrift store. It had a
built in bodice, a wide neck and half sleeves. It fit her, but just. I
moaned again as she squirmed into it, watched as her breasts,
remarkably firm and round, held the fabric bunched at her shoulders, and
then she pulled the dress down. It fell to her thighs. It
was as tight and alluring as anything I had ever seen.

She stood me up and pulled the wool tube down and away from my body. I was
naked, and she ran her eyes over my body like a
farmer at market. She stood close to me, her breasts almost touching my bare
skin, and undid my gag and my wrists, smiling the
whole time. For the first time I saw my fingernails and toenails and I
moaned again.

She said, if you make one peep I will personally toss you out into the
hallway naked. I nodded, hypnotized by the sight of
Rena’s body. The young one, Patsy, took another picture. She said, I think
she likes you Rena, and laughed again. Rena smiled
and said, Not as much as she is going to like me.

I had no time to wonder why they referred to me as a ‘she’ - Rena pushed me
down onto the bed, to the accompanying cheers of
Mrs. Safi and Patsy. With my legs hanging off the edge, she mounted my
chest, then lifted the hem of the sweater dress and
positioned her slit over my face. As she descended on my mouth, and I admit
I opened up immediately, my tongue extending,
she let the skirt fall. My body shivered with excitement. Here I was, I was
in angora darkness, lapping at a strangers cunt, a bald
cunt for that matter, and I was in ecstasy. I ran my hands along the edge of
the dress, somehow I knew that to touch Rena would
be the wrong thing to do. She moaned and gyrated on my tongue, dancing her
enormous pelvis back and forth.

I don’t know how long I was kept under there, licking and trying to breath,
soaked in Rena’s juices. I heard her giving
commands to the other two women, but my ears were covered by her enormous
thighs. Finally Rena’s weight shifted, and for an
instant there was air and light, then Rena turned her body 180 degrees, the
bed creaking under her weight, until she faced the
opposite way. Her legs now pinned my arms to my sides, and I looked up to
see her enormous round ass hovering over my face,
framed by the edge of the black sweater dress. Rena looked back and said,
Keep licking or you might not enjoy this at all.

And then her ass descended, and I panicked as it settled on my face. I
thrashed around for a moment, but then she arched her
pelvis and I was in her cunt again, my face buried deeply. Now things
started happening outside this little tent of flesh and
angora. Strong hands grabbed my ankles and spread my legs, lifting them up
into the air. And something started probing at my
ass. I panicked, tried to free myself, and Rena did release my arms, but
instead she lead my hands to her sweatered breasts. There
my will, whatever will I had left, broke. I moaned and lapped with abandon -
Rena’s clit, her cunt, everywhere her gyrating body
led me. And they fucked me, at the same time. After a moment, fear
evaporated, and I was arching my body as I was FUCKED
by a dildo or a vibrator (or a combination of the two as I learned later)
until I almost passed out with....with...the overwhelming
sensation of it all.

I came but it was slow and hot, like wax melting... I was left sticky and
wet and split in two.

All three women, touching themselves through their sweaters, seemed to enjoy
this, as much for the control and the humiliation
as the sexual stimulation. Rena nearly killed me with her thighs and ass,
before she released me. And then they all stood there
looking down at me, they knew what they had done to me, and they knew that I
had surrendered to it. It was degrading,
humiliating, but also exciting . I burned with sexual energy . I did not
feel like myself. Soon I would not look like myself
either....

PART 4 "out"

Get her cleaned up, Rena said, and let’s see what fun we can have. The
youngest one, Patsy took my hand, almost like I was a
child, and led me into the bathroom. My male hand with red fingernails
looked strange in her slim feminine hand, but at this
point I was numb, stupefied, like the survivor of an accident. Patsy was
still giggling, enjoying every moment of this. She was a
highly energetic girl, her thin and attractive body constantly moving and
dancing. She had replaced the black sweater with a tiny
blue angora croptop, that covered her pointy little breasts but not her
elaborately pierced navel. After she had led me into the
bathroom, and stood me under the shower for a moment, I realized she was
talking. In fact she never stopped talking. She was
saying something about working as a photographer’s assistant, how she had
started as a stylist, a makeup artist, but now she
wanted to take pictures. I nodded, too dazed to say anything. The word
‘pictures’ made me think about her camera, and what
might happen to those photographs...but what could I do? I started to object
to her covering me with some sort of foamy bath
gel, but Rena poked her huge bald head in the door and I shut up. Moments
later Patsy shaved my legs, my thighs, my ass, then
started on my arms...and I watched it all happen like I was an observer to
the entire episode. Truth be told I was staring at
Patsy’s sweater, it had gotten wet and was pressed to her skinny body like a
second skin...

I emerged from the shower and Patsy watched me shave what little shadow of a
beard I might have had, encouraging me to press
harder. She started messing with my medium length wet hair, moving it around
on my head, finally bereting it flat to my skull.
Then she started to apply the makeup, and I reacted - I raised my arm in
objection. Quick as a flash she grabbed the leash that
was still wrapped around my cock and pulled it backwards. My cock went
between my legs, and back, and up, and I was held
fast - suspended. My breath caught in my throat. Patsy’s pink lips were at
my ear, whispering threats of extraordinary
imagination, if I so much as moved. She asked, in that same little girl
voice, Do we understand each other? And I nodded.

Maybe she didn’t trust me, she called Rena in, who promptly tied me to a
chair in front of Safi’s makeup mirror. Then all three
of them went to work on me, with Patsy performing the brushwork, covering my
face with cosmetics. Rena pulled a wig from her
bag - as a bald woman she said she had quite collection. And Mrs. Safi, the
siren in this story, she spent the time pulling clothes
out of her bag, checking to see what would fit me, finally putting one of
her corset-bras on my skinny, male, and now naked
body. All three argued about what to use for breastforms. I kept my mouth
shut. I had learned my lesson...I thought I would
bide my time, either they would get bored with this game, or I could find
some way to escape. But again, beneath it all, beneath
the makeup and the lingerie, under the eyes of these three witches, I was
excited. My heart was racing...

They finished, and I could barely look at myself in the mirror - it was too
weird to see the stranger looking back at me. Rena’s
dark wig framed my face in shiny, straight tresses of black hair. My face
was pale in sharp contrast, and it looked nothing like
my old face. My cheekbones were made to stick out, my lashes were black and
long, my lips were deep red, and framed in a dark
brown outline. Even my eyebrows were dark and thin and arched. I was not
beautiful, I had a male face made to look feminine,
but I was not ugly at all, not as frightening as some of the drag queens I
had seen. I looked like a cross between Anjelica Huston
and a silent movie star...Patsy finished with a pale shade of green along my
eyelids, feathering up to my brows. Now I looked
more like a streetwalker, and as that thought settled in, my eyes wandered
down to my breasts, my big, water-balloon tits, jutting
off my skinny boybody like the figurehead on a pirate ship. What was I being
made into? If I had any doubts, the rest of my
outfit cleared it all up. Deep grey stockings were stretched to garters,
descending from my corset, the corset that had bent my
body into a rough hourglass shape. The stockings felt cool and dry on my
skin, and reflected the light in a mysterious way. My
cock, half-hard already was tucked inside some lycra panties, tight and
dark. And then a short miniskirt, and high heels. If I
thought I looked like a streetwalker, the pink sweater, soft and stretched
thin over my breasts, cinched it. I was a sweater girl, a
pinup from another era, a vision of sex and the lure of sex, and the sight
of ME in the mirror sent a shiver of excitement through
my body.

Now, said Rena, let’s go out. I spun around from the mirror, agahast at what
she had just said. Deep within me I was ashamed,
ashamed that I had pursued this, ashamed that I was enjoying this, but the
thought that I might have to go out, into public,
horrified me. To be revealed for what I was, what I had become...

Rena settled that debate, by pulling a dog leash out of her bag and
explaining that she would drag me outside if I would rather. I
stared at her, undone - there was no arguing with her.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Safi and Patsy were busy getting dressed. Mrs. Safi was
eager to be as ‘glamorous as her slave girl’, and
Patsy was helping. She ended up wearing the white angora sweater over a
black lace bra, the black demibra clearly visible
through the weave. She and Patsy started giggling over the sweaters,
touching each other, and laughing. I felt terrible. Rena
seemed bored, she had alreay changed back into her tight leather pants and
neutral top. When she saw me looking at her, she
gestured to me, and I walked across the carpet on the high heels. She took
my face in her hands and said, It feels good doesn't it?
I looked at her and felt my head bobbing, nodding, and instantly I turned
red with shame. Rena touched me gently, It does not
matter what you want, or what you wanted. You belong to us now. Now you are
our sweater girl. If you behave, it will always
feel this good. Always.



Two weekss later I was being passed around like a combat whore at a little
lesbian bar called the Ona Lounge. It was owned by a Japanese transsexual
named Lisa, but she
pronounced it Reesa, so everyone else called her Reesa. Of the three
witches, only Rena was left. Mrs. Safi had gone back to her dark little
apartment, satisfied with the creature
she had made of me. Patsy had vanished after she shot some pictures of me at
a photographers studio, probably to sell the photos to some trashy shemale
magazine. The brutal
subjugation of the whole experience, the total immersion, had left me numb.
And tired. But Rena kept on me - I was no one if not hers.

She controlled my life. She dressed me every night to go out, she fed me
weird little vitamins, and a variety of sleeping pills
during the day. She was teaching me how to do my makeup. How to shave my
legs, and body hair, although my hair was not
coming in as fast as I would have expected. She taught me how to walk on my
heels. After the first night I learned how to kneel
at her feet.

I am terrifed of her, mostly because she makes me feel very very good, and I
am always scared she will take that away. She has
fucked me in every one of my sweaters, and even lets me dress her in angora,
and cashmere. Her skin, hairless from a genetic
disorder, is incredibly sensitive, and when she wears a sweater she really
feels it. We both look great in matching pink angora
croptops, and the feel of her tits under the soft wool is excruciating.

But when we go out, I am treated differently. Roughly. Given to friends of
hers, to be used and humiliated. I am routinely
leashed and chained like a dog, bound with my arms behind my back and my
cock hanging out. Or worse. One night,
after-hours at the Ona Lounge, I was fucked on the bar by a pair of strap-on
queens. I have even been fitted with a penis gag and
forced to fuck Rena's friends with my face. But strangely, as long as I am
wearing a sweater, I do not mind. I know I look sexy.
Somehow Rena and Patsy have made me passable. The only time I am genuinely
scared is when I have been left in Rena's
convertible to be ogled by strange men.

Two nights ago we went to a big S&M ball, a fetish event, and every drag
queen and latex girl was there, every leather domme
and sissy boy. Rena made a grande entrance, dressed all in black rubber,
leading me - a sweater girl in white angora, white
stockings, blonde hair, a little white miniskirt - as if I was a sacrificial
virgin. And that night I almost was.

Have I given up my other life? I cannot tell. I am wrapped up every night in
Safi's tube of wool, and I sleep next to the naked
form of Rena like a human pillow. I cannot remember what not wearing these
sweaters was like. I cannot seem to stop. Even
when Rena leaves me alone in her loft I cannot help but get dressed in the
mohair, the cashmere, the twinsets and dresses that
hang in Rena's closet. Strangely enough I think my breasts are beginning to
grow. Maybe soon I will actually be a sweatergirl.