Title: Dress To Impress
Author: BipolarMolar
Disclaimer: I don't make any money from HO.
Ok, so…a cross-dressing fic. Hope you like it. One more chapter to come after this, I think- will have Bralker slash. Just for the record, in this fic, Walker doesn't want to be a woman or anything, he just gets off on wearing the clothes, but he's perfectly happy being male.
With Brendan working late at Chez Chez, and Cheryl staying with friends, Walker knew he had time to indulge himself. Thank goodness it was his night off- he just couldn't wait.
He tried to remember the last time he'd done this- too long ago, while Alice had been staying with her mother. Unlocking the front door and walking into Brendan's flat, seeing familiar purple walls and contemporary art embellishing the rooms, he smiled in anticipation . This was really happening.
Walker swallowed down the guilt with ease, as he crept up the stairs. He didn't know why he was bothering to be quiet; the flat was empty. But this feeling, the fear of being caught, of knowing what he was doing and how angry Brendan would get if he found out- well, that was almost as delicious as the act itself.
Letting himself into Cheryl's bedroom, he smiled appraisingly at the feminine fripperies- skirts and dresses, high heels on the floor and flowers in a vase on a nearby table. He gave himself a second to set down his bag, but couldn't wait anymore, rushing over to the wardrobe with a grin.
God, it was all so beautiful. Simon just let his fingers caress the silk, velvet and woollen clothes hanging so tantalisingly from their hangers, leaning in to catch the scents of fabric softener and perfume. He could feel his heart beginning to pound as he flicked through the garments, checking their sizes. Yes, this was very nice.
He selected a knee-length black skirt, quite formal but wide enough to wrap around his thighs. Smiling, he searched for a top. Damn it, it was so hard. Cheryl was a curvy lady, with a fondness for making the most of her cleavage. Simon realised that to achieve this, she wore quite form-fitting long-sleeved blouses with a low-cut neckline. Which would have been fine if not for the fact that Simon Walker didn't have the slim arms of a woman- he had long, slightly muscular arms that wouldn't be able to wear these delicate shirts. He cursed, scowling, deciding to leave that for the moment. Instead, he selected accessories- a small, black leather handbag and a thin, crimson scarf made of a translucent gauzy material. He arranged the bag, skirt and scarf lovingly on the bed, smoothing out wrinkles, straightening them out. But he couldn't really afford to procrastinate. So, he resumed the hunt for a suitable top: blouses- no, too tight. T-shirts- no, too baggy. But then-
"Yes!" A wrap-around top. The best part, it was sleeveless. It was purple with a pleasant shimmery design- Walker saw mauve swirls on it and a glittering butterfly on the back. He gave a dreamy smile as he lifted it up, tilting it this way and that to see the glitter hit the light. Perfection. He found an unopened packet containing a bra and knickers but didn't know whether they'd fit. Worth a shot, though.
With the clothes gathered up in his arms, he let them fall to the bed, and then began to efficiently strip, tugging down zips, unbuckling his belt, divesting himself of dull, male clothing. At last, naked, his toes curling in the carpet beneath his feet, he began to dress.
He sent up a thankful prayer that Cheryl wasn't some stick-thin size zero- her generous size meant that the pants actually fit. He tucked himself in, straightening the red silk min-briefs so that it wasn't obscene. They were slightly uncomfortable-he smiled- clearly they weren't designed for their wearer to have a dick but the smooth silk against his skin was delightful. The bra followed and how did women put them on?
"I'm out of practice." He joked, squinting at the tiny hooks as he fastened it into place. Of course it sagged but by adjusting the straps, he made it a little tighter. Right, what next?
Padding barefoot to his carrier bag, he brought out his items. Black fishnet-stockings, a garter belt with suspenders, and black fishnet stilettos. He'd had to buy them in Soho, in a little shop that catered to drag queens, cross-dressers etc. he'd never admit how seedy he'd felt, but the bright, airy store had eased his nerves.
Simon had one rule about his "hobby"- Never get caught in the act, so that meant that no long-lasting effects like nail varnish and plucking or shaving. He did wince as the fishnet pulled at the hair on his legs, on its journey to his thighs, but it had to be better than waxing. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the world's women at that moment.
When the stockings were in place (with the garter belt and suspenders holding them up) he was ready for the skirt. It was only as he eased the tight material up his thighs and then his hips that he allowed a giddy grin to light up his face. This was it, he was doing it. The top followed; he wasn't quite sure how to wrap it around himself so he just tied it round his midriff, like a cropped shirt. Glancing down at himself, the hint of red from the bra, peeking out from the parted white sides of the shirt seemed oddly…sexy. Flirtatious. He shrugged, reaching for the scarf. Oh yes. Now he felt elegant, fingering the knot of the soft gauze that was adequately shielding his Adam's apple. All that was left was the shoes and make-up. He slid into his stilettos and after a bit of staggering (almost twisting his ankle- he was really out of practise) he was able to saunter across to Cheryl's dressing table, hips swinging, trying to imitate the graceful but undeniably sensual sway of certain ladies.
The large mirror, with its array of make-up beneath it, was a siren's call, beckoning him closer. The room was silent save for the scratch of his heels on the carpet and his own excited breathing. He seated himself at the table, looking into the eyes of his reflection.
Simon let his fingers drift over the bottles and jars, waiting to find whatever took his fancy. He wished he knew more about make-up, it all seemed so damned confusing. He screwed up his face, trying to remember the order his wife used to apply her make-up. Moisturiser, concealer…? Ok. Start with the moisturiser. He coated the tips of his index, middle and ring finger in the stuff, then began to massage it into his cheeks, jaw and brow. He wiped his fingers using a pack of tissues he found nearby, and then added a touch of concealer here and there, just to cover any blemishes. Ha, he was getting better at this. As he was choosing an eye shadow shade (pale-blue seemed nice- it might make his eyes look bluer) he accidentally knocked a little radio perched in the corner. A familiar tune Alice used to like began to play-
"Some girls always get what they wanna wanna
All I seem to get is the other other"
He had to turn it off; he was laughing too hard.
Simon was able to dab the powder to his eyelids, trying to be neat but also wanting to hurry- this wasn't his favourite part. The best part came later. At last, the eye shadow was done, so next was eyeliner. He almost gave up, wincing as he poked himself in the eye. But soon, that was done. After the accident with the eyeliner, he gave the mascara an apprehensive look, deciding to brush his hair first. He did so, letting the curtains fall in his eyes, liking the way they half-hid his gaze. Eventually, he couldn't postpone the moment any longer. It was quite nice though, seeing his lashes darken and bow gracefully under the touch of the brush. He didn't know why he had to have his lips parted when he did it, but he remembered Alice applying her mascara in the same way, so perhaps it was a common complaint.
Just a whisper of blusher (don't want to look like a whore, Walker thought to himself, raising an eyebrow) and then he was ready for the main event.
His lips looked so bare. He couldn't wait. For lipstick.
He gleefully went through Cheryl's collection, finding plum, pink and red. A deep cherry red .That would be lovely. He didn't bother with lip liner, he almost always got it crooked anyway, so he immediately ran the lipstick over his pouting lips, feeling warmth in his chest as pale pink darkened into a rich, shining scarlet. He puckered up his lips, making them give an audible smack and winked at his reflection.
Oh, damn. Perfume. He picked up a random bottle, trying to dab it onto his wrists and behind his ears the way ladies do, but he just couldn't take his eyes off those lipstick-sticky lips. It was beautiful. He felt beautiful. Already, he was growing hard and he sighed with impatience, trying to ignore it but his body had other ideas. Squirming as his cock pushed against the tight fabric of his skirt. He stood up, slipping a little in his shoes but that was worse, the restraining skirt made his thighs brush together when he walked, the material rubbing against his penis. He scowled, taking a deep breath to compose himself, taking even steps, feeling the flimsy heels beneath him.
He couldn't stop his silly grin or the exhilarated laughter that rose in his throat as he carefully picked his way around the room, feeling graceful, loving the way the skirt kissed his hips. It was difficult to walk with a tight skirt, heels and a raging erection, but he had plenty of time left to learn. He could deal with that later. The thought of bringing himself to orgasm, stroking himself through the silk panties while lying on Cheryl's bed made him smile in satisfaction. Served her right for being so rude to him since he's first arrived in the village.
As he angrily stomped along, thinking of Cheryl and Joel's infantile attempts to alienate him, his shoe came off and he bent down to slip it back on. Just as he was getting back to his full height, he happened to glance in the mirror. The reflection showed one, harassed, made-up Simon Walker…and standing behind him with an absolutely inscrutable expression- Brendan Brady.