This image evokes that feeling of shame and embrassment that many of us have experienced, when after
This image evokes that feeling of shame and embrassment that many of us have experienced, when after a night of mincing about like effeminate queers in girlie clothes, we emerge from a bar or club to find it’s broad daylight already. It’s embrassing enough to have to mince back to our cars, in broad daylight, in our impossibly high stilettos, our sheer stockings with their lacy tops exposed under the all too short hems of our sluttily short and tight dressed and skirts., as the vanilla world starts its day. We’d look garishly conspicuous enough if we were women wandering back to our cars like that, at that time of day.But we’re males - transvestites, crossdressers, sissies or whatever label we identify ourselves as. It feels like everyone is staring at us. They probably are. We stand out like sore thumbs. Overcome with self-conscious embarrassment, shame and trepidation we feel relief when we’re finally back in the car.Then as we’re driving home, a little light starts to flash, indicating we’re low on fuel.We probably won’t have enough to get home. So, in broad daylight, we have to pull into a service station. We nervously swing our stockinged legs out the door an get out of the car, self- consciously trying to cover our stocking tops with our all to short hems, as we mince gingerly to the fuel pump. By now we’ve caught the attention of others at the service station. It’s not as if we just blend in. Ands we can’t just keep walking. We have to stand there, for several minutes, in our high heels, stockings, slutty dresses and makeup as we fill the tank. There are young women, mature businessmen, truckers - all sorts of people. They’re smirkin, sniggering or just staring. Nervously we glance around to make sure none are neighbours, friends or work colleagues - as if we could save ourselves from a humiliation of a thousand cuts, if they were. Then, that walk of shame into the service station, tottering on our heels, our stockinged legs very obvious, and maybe enduring the odd sarcastic wolf-whistle.Then that queue. People are none to subtly turnin around to look at you. You can almost hear there whispers and the sniggers behind you. Finally, you pay. The service station is trying to keep a straight face. You also know he sees your name on your credit card. Then you titter out, back to you car, as quickly as you can, trying not to stumble, as your heart palpitates and your face burns with shame. Finally, back in the car.Now to get home, and from the car to your front door, without anyone recognising you. -- source link