She smiled when she looked over at me and noted the bulge in the front of my panties. She sat and watched me as I lowered the slip over my head, and adjusted the thin shoulder straps. I felt so vulnerable and exposed under her gaze. I picked up the long sleeved silk blouse and slid it up my arms. I buttoned the cuffs, and reached behind me, to button up the blouse, up to my neck. I opened up the skirt, stepped into it, and pushed my blouse and slip down inside it, as I raised it to my hips. I closed it and buttoned it at my left hip, then slid up the zipper. I sat on the bed, under her watchful eye, and stepped into the shoes she had worn all day. I stood, and slid the jacket up my arms. I then placed on the jewellery that she had piled on the bed. She stood and threw a large box at me. "Put that on." Nervously, I opened the box and found that it held a long page boy style of wig, in a dark brown, almost the identical color of my own longish hair. I'd never worn a wig before, so it. The next morning, I got up and fixed a coffee as usual. I debated whether I was actually going into Boston to meet this strange girl, but in the end, I figured that I had nothing better to do. So, a little after 11 I grabbed my keys and headed into the city still not sure who this girl was or even if she would show up. Worse come to worst, I could always pretend not to be the guy she was looking for if she turned out to be hideous, or a guy. She couldn’t have been as bad as the dancers from the night before, or at least I hoped not, so off to Boston I went. Traffic on a Saturday morning wasn’t too bad, so I got there a little bit early. I pulled through the drive-thru and ordered an iced coffee before pulling into a spot to wait. I figured to give her until a quarter after before heading home. I didn’t have to wait long. A cute little brunette with a pixie haircut and the chest of a twelve-year-old boy under her AC-DC t-shirt, walked up to my truck and asked if I was Tom. She was.
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