New knickers and the guilty wanker (part one)

I was growing in confidence as a cottager and it was becoming somewhat of an obsession. A safe hetero relationship cultivates sexual fantasy to prolong interest, but here I was actualising desire, I was creating and embodying the fantastic. It was the surprising diversity of feelings that kept me coming back for more. I would feel afraid, over-powered and blissfully vulnerable – or I would feel strong, controlling and radiant. These sensations where incredibly powerful and could shift many times within even a single encounter. This sex was the most real I had experienced in along time.

And so carrying a bag of recently purchased underwear I walked expectantly to the secret place. This time I decided to try the bus station toilets after discovering a new peephole inside a few days before, it was the early afternoon and the overcast sky rained steadily.

In the disabled section of the lavatory I closed and locked the door behind me. It was here that a medium hole (now plugged with paper) had been made in the slim dividing-wall directly beside the upright urinal trough. The hinge of the door (facing similarly) was unusually wide and so one could stand in the corner and be seen from head to foot from the outside if desired, or retreat from view completely. It really was a choice location for the voyeur. Its only awkward feature was a large white, horizontal bar that had been fitted at waist height for wheelchair users. The immovable rod obstinately blocked the best viewing position.

Nevertheless, I felt strangely safe here and burned with excitement as I fully undressed and began putting on the new underwear. It was amazing to be back in stockings again and on this significant occasion, for the first time, they were mine! They were neither borrowed nor stolen and I felt as if now, I was finally being allowed to guide both of my identities freely.

I proudly looked down at myself – my beautifully smooth abdomen and genitals were at last given a perfect context; their powder-puff whiteness immaculately fixed in place by the leg-hugging sheen of a pair of hold-ups… Perfection.

I was just wriggling the new panties into position when somebody entered – the spring door loudly creaking and then smacking and bouncing back into place. I turned my coat so that the fur was on the outside and slipped it back on. The floor was relatively clean and so I remained in stockinged feet only, my shoes, bag and trousers were piled together in a dry corner. Before the visitor had got to the urinal I quickly opened the peephole and stood to one side. Quietly I waited…

SURVIVAL GUIDE for Cruising, Cottaging and Toilet Trading

I've given you a couple of true stories, but before I deliver more here's a cautionary guide on how to live the dream - commit this to memory and then destroy it!

The main danger you will face is from people who disapprove of what you are doing. During my ten years of activity there were (on occasions) reports in the media of people being badly beaten and even killed because they were suspected of cottaging. The way you avoid crazed members of the public is by being discreet. Find a good location and just be patient. Don’t go flashing your dick at the urinal unless you are the Schwarzenegger of thrill seekers. Treat cottaging as a discipline and learn to become a masterful hunter, just read the signs and discover the rules, it’s a very intuitive game.

Punters can be strange and will come in all shapes and sizes with fetishes to match, but in general they only want to be turned on and so fearing them is unnecessary; they don’t want to kill you and wear your skin – I promise! Your only real problem is finding the right ones for your needs and sifting through those who want something different. This though, is often part of the fun!

Say no as often as you want. Go at your own speed and only do things you want to. You may need to modify your vulnerable routine to incorporate a decisive: ‘no I don’t want that stuck up my ass’ but people will listen to you and respect your boundaries.
Toilet traders are an incredibly cautious bunch for the following reasons: (A) they don’t want their wife, Boss, friends or neighbors knowing what they do. (B) They don’t want to be arrested. (C) They don’t want to be assaulted by haters. This all works to your advantage because one shout or act of panic from you and it all comes crashing down for them; your collusion is essential for the game to work – it takes two to Tango.

Location identification is essential for success. Public toilets in car parks, in recreational parks or tucked down side streets are usually the most active, often they are veritable orgy spots – which can be good or bad depending on what you want. Try not so obvious places too such as bus or train stations, secluded woodland, large department stores, libraries and even hospitals. The key here is to look for areas with public access that people can visit anonymously.

Tell tale signs that X marks the spot are graffiti advertising the activity, peep holes and gloryholes, cubicles where the lock has been broken or sabotaged, places where underwear or porno literature has been left or places where there are numerous puddles of spunk and/or tissues!

Choose the right time, different times produce different results depending on where you are. But generally I found lunchtime was excellent for quickies. Toilets in large areas will be busy not only with normal users, but also people who want to give or receive a suck. You can expect all (legal) ages at this time of day.
Afternoon is a time when dedicated cottagers come out, usually older gentlemen or people with the day free. Expect more prolonged contact here, time to experiment and really play out your fantasies. Group encounters are also possible at this time.
Early evening, similar to the lunch hour, married men and office workers heading home and stopping by for relief. This time however, they often have longer to play so it can be very rewarding for you if you desire fifteen to thirty rather than just five minutes of contact.

Late evening and early hours. An exciting time that always feels more daring and dangerous. Your main catches will be middle-aged dog walkers and guys who have left the bar feeling horny and uninhibited. Be cautious around drunken guys for obvious reasons. You’ll also run into the dedicated afternoon types who just can’t stay away and in my opinion you will have the greatest chance of a group encounter if you hunt late at night.

*This guide is compiled from my experiences in England, other countries may require an even more cautious approach! Good luck and happy hunting ! Love from Armatige X

Small town tranny (part three)

I’d begun keening rhythmically in time with his clumsy movements. I was fully erect now and throbbing sharply, his face, at once lifted from my stinging nipple, thoughtfully observed my groin again; the slow irregular movement of my slim hips forward and back, drawn by the powerful hand gripping my florid prick. I whispered “suck it…” but he just looked at me suspiciously and groped one of my ass checks with his free hand. Then he stopped altogether – and begun unzipping himself. He undid his top button so his pants could open fully and slowly produced a very big, three-quarter hard penis. It was easily the biggest I’d seen, both long and thick.

------------------ Sorry ! But the rest of this has been deleted !

----------You will be able to read the entire story as an e-book, coming soon here.
------------------------------------------------------------------Love from Armatige x

Small town tranny (part two)

The footsteps begin again, more cautiously then before and stop close to where I’m standing in wait, trying without success to steady my shaking body. When I slowly turn my head to look at the door it has already been noiselessly nudged ajar and eyes are observing me – the portion of craggy face jolts away when I look back, but after a few seconds it very slowly returns for another inspection. I feel like I’m on fire, my belly fizzes and cold faintness washes across me.

I’ve learnt to show my colours immediately so as to avoid problems later (not everyone appreciates a tranny not even a young one), so with my back still facing him, I hitch up my coat and lower my jeans to my knees. I turn my feet in, touch knees together and bend slightly pointing my bottom out (the well rehearsed, naïve pose no.2). My face is genuinely flushed with frightened expectancy and partially hidden by the shoulder of the large winter coat, my mouth open and tongue just visible; my breath quick. The eyes remain there… travelling up and down my smooth white legs, fixing on the little slinky panties and widening.

Slowly and gracefully I turn to afford another view. Half facing him now I lean against the wall arching slightly and let my coat fall open. He has a full view of my smooth, naked youth, from my knees to my face. I just hold there, looking into his eyes, my feet on tiptoes to accentuate my self-created femininity.

And he’s in… busily intruding and locking the door behind him with some force. I see him clearly for the first time. He’s of medium size and build, larger than my diminutive figure and he is quite dishevelled. What I’d taken as being advanced years was in fact considerable wear and tear. A strong smell of alcohol had followed him in. He loomed there staring at my body, panting loudly. I felt a little afraid; he wasn’t the kind of mild mannered, slightly perverted ‘50 years and over’ whose attention I so relished.

Rudely he grabbed at the front of my panties and pulled them forward and then down, I lost balance momentarily and whimpered. He scrutinised my bald pubis and my frightened little pecker for a few seconds, grunted and then thrust his hand between my uncooperative legs. He began to insensitively probe my tightly closed hole with his gritty index finger. I didn’t want it to enter me and so wriggled, but the filthiness of this situation had not escaped some dark part of me and I started feeling excited by the sheer loathsomeness of it all. I offered him my tit cupped in one hand and his greasy, odorous head began nipping at it. As my cock stiffened he took hold of it and squeezed. I groaned and leaned back further, stretching my arms to reach and hold the top of the partition behind me.

I couldn’t help myself, I could try to run - I could make my excuses and retreat into the night. But something hot and unintelligible in my stomach fixed me there. Something that had taken the power from my legs decided it all for me, it insisted that I was going to stay and let him take me… even let him abuse me if he had to.

Small town tranny (part one)

Lets jump forward a few years and get to the focus of this blog. I’m 19 and I’m staying with my mother and father again, having just broken up with my girlfriend.
I’ve already become a keen practitioner of toilet trading, so far only of the milder variety; I love exposing myself to older men. I love the hunt and the anticipation, the way they stare at my young body in ecstasy – as if I’ve made their dreams come true. I love the act of submission to their trembling hands, they way they kneel at my feet and implore me for a taste. Their reward is my acquiescence and my consent to their milking me; it really has a kind of religious feel. The most suitable prey will make me feel part deity, part sacrificial lamb. I only allow hand or mouth and rarely return the favour; they are more than happy with this rule and will greedily receive their sacrament, often, gulping down every last sour drop.

The new town I find myself in has very good potential. Small towns always have a greater variety of unregulated public toilets and also, generally, a more active scene of desperately bored men. When you live in a city choosing outlying towns for your hunting grounds is much better for secrecy and for results.

It’s my second night here I’m a little drunk, bored and feeling excited and mischievous. The only girly articles I have are some panties I stole as a parting gift from my ex’s novice fetish collection. They’re a small pair of mixed lycra/pvc briefs that are silver (!) and sit very low on the hips. I go to the bathroom and, careful not to leave any traces of hair, take a shower and shave my body. On an impulse I remove all my pubic hair and afterwards stand in the mirror to admire the surprisingly adolescent look I’ve created.

By the time I get to the public toilets it is 12.30 am, the town is empty and the large men’s room, situated in a car-park, feels ominous. All the stalls are empty, so I get to work pushing open each of the doors wide. Then I choose one to occupy (the one with the most pornographic graffiti) and close the door but don’t lock it. Anyone entering the building to actually use the toilet will see all the vacant cubicles. However, People with other activities in mind will see one that appears occupied… and so if I receive an ‘accidental’ push against my door, there will be very little confusion as to why.

Half an hour passes, I read and re-read the stories and invitations written in scribbles on the walls. Then footsteps, someone enters the room. The sudden contrast between absolute silence and relatively loud movement is the signal for my heart to explode into action. I stand in position facing the toilet bowl, beneath my coat I’ve already removed my shirt and bundled it into a pocket, my jeans are undone and ready to be dropped if necessary. As a supplement to my other precautions I give a dainty sniff so that the visitor knows I’m there. He immediately stops in his tracks and considers for a while.

Tranny begins (part two)

I guess the other significant experience I often recall, and maybe this has more to do with perversion than transvestism, is the occasion I learned that wrestling can be erotic and should be practiced with caution. Again, I was about eleven years of age and constantly in a state of embarrassing stimulation.

My older sister had returned home for a visit during a quiet afternoon away from the office. I was startled to notice, for the first time, how erotically she seemed to dress for work. Her tight skirt was very short, it enclosed only the middle of her thighs. She wore heels, of course, which she kept on (rather than remove at the door) and her sheeny, black tights (pantyhose) contrasted delightfully with her crisp white blouse. She had become the quintessential office sex-object that we know so well from popular media.

Well, my eager imagination was fired. As she sat with my parents at the kitchen table I pretended to drop something beneath it in order to go under and take a peek into Aladdin's cave. If this wasn't obvious enough, the inordinate amount of time I must have spent under there, pointed directly between my sister's legs, should have been a dead give away to even the most distracted of witnesses.

Sometime later after I'd had my fill and wandered off and the kitchen conversations had eventually been exhausted, my sister came to find me. We exchanged the usual pleasantries and began a play fight... for old times sake. We struggled with each other and I used my burgeoning strength to put up a good resistance to her superior size and drive. We both became hot from the effort, her hair was tousled and her face reddened, we rolled on the floor each trying to find an advantage. My mind jerked away from the idea of combat when, as she was trying to pin me with her legs, I noticed her skirt had ridden up.

------------------ Sorry ! But the rest of this has been deleted !

----------You will be able to read the entire story as an e-book, coming soon here.
Love from Armatige x

Tranny begins (part one)

How did all of this begin? I'm not sure really. If I think about my childhood in relation to this life I lead now, I can think of a few erotic instances that may be contributing factors.

When I was eleven years old I took a pair of my mothers pantyhose to the bathroom to examine them. The bathroom was my parlor of masturbation. There was a window in the roof and if you angled it correctly you could lie naked on the rug and watch yourself. The bathroom was also full of useful make-shift sex aids, such as various lotions that could be used as lubricants, lots of tissue and an assortment of fashion magazines, certain pages of which (swim wear, lingerie) proved to be highly stimulating.

I enjoyed touching these borrowed pantyhose. I was intrigued by their colour and transparency, the way they stretched, the small fibers that composed them, the static feel and the tiny sound they made when I pulled them over my hand. I rubbed my genitals with them and it felt nice. Before long I was slipping them over my feet and pulling them slowly up to my waist. I marveled at the instant effect they had, it was like I had suddenly acquired the lower half of a woman to play with - like I had stolen some of the beautiful legs from the magazines I had lying open next to me.

------------------ Sorry ! But the rest of this has been deleted !

----------You will be able to read the entire story as an e-book, coming soon here.
Love from Armatige x