Niqabi on the run!

As the bus arrived, Ahmed entered it, walking beforehand, entering the bus.

That's it, Jim thought, skipping the line and letting other passengers through. He turned around and tried to run, hoping not to fall. His limited view made it not easier, the tight skirt forcing him to take small steps. He started breathing heavingly due to the layered gatment over his mouth. The Bus passed by, and he looked and saw the angry face of Ahmed behind the window. His body was shaking.

He ran as fast as possible, which was not the most gracious view for passing people seeing the running niqabi. But he didn't give a shit, taking some corners just to get rid of Ahmed if he would leave the bus at the next stop. He had to get away, back to his home safely.

Then it hit him. He was alone, looking like a muslimah wearing a black niqab in the muslim part of the town, with no documents, money, nor keys.

Panic started to set in as he realized the gravity of the situation. He desperately searched for pockets in the khimar, hoping to find something that could help him to get home safely. But to no avail. He was lost.

"Think, Think", he murmured, walking around aimlessly. What first? He needed to change out of it and get rid of the makup. But how, without money? "Shit, Shit shit." He remembered a salvation army thrift shop nearby where he had bought some skirts years ago during his college time. Maybe this was an option, he thought. With a glimmer of hope, he decided to head towards the thrift shop, hoping that it would provide him with some pants and a shirt. He walked slowly, as his vision was blurred from the niqab. He was thinking about flipping it up but reminded himself of the subtle stubbles on his face. "Why didn't you shave today", he mumbled.

He finally reached the shop. As he stepped inside, he was relieved to see a variety of clothing options neatly organized on racks. The smell of old clothes got caught under the niqab.

The friendly staff saw the veiled woman standing there. A young blonde woman greeted him and offered assistance.

"Hi, I'm Amy. Were you looking for something specific? We have just gotten some nice modest dresses for you, if you need them, and some blouses and long skirts. Or do you need something for your children? Feel comfortable around us; we are here to help. The clothes are free, but just take what you need."

Not wanting to give away his male voice, he meekly agreed nodding. The woman smiled warmly and led him to the section with modest dresses. She looked hot, wearing a red zipper sweaterjacket and a tight short denim jeans. A nice booty, Jim thought, while staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

"You know, I have some knowledge of Islam. I see you are in purda, wearing the Niqab outside, but you can dress in different styles at home." She explained that they had a range of sizes and styles to choose from, ensuring that he would find something suitable. The woman also mentioned that they had a private fitting room available, where he could try on the dresses and see which ones he liked. She assured him that there was no rush and encouraged him to take his time in finding the perfect outfit.

"We do have some long maxi dresses with beautiful flowers, perfect for a casual day out or a special occasion," she suggested. "If you prefer something more traditional, we also have elegant abayas with intricate embroidery that would be perfect for formal events." The woman emphasized that their collection was designed to cater to diverse tastes and preferences, ensuring that he would feel comfortable and confident in whatever he chose to wear.

Jim was ****, looking at the men's section on the other side of the large store. He didn't pay too much attention to Amy, who was showing him some clothes. She gave him a long, purple dress with sleeves and gold ornaments. "I think it suits you; do you want to try it on in one of the cabins?" Jim declined, turning his niqab from side to side.

Amy continued: "Do you have a man, by chance? I think he would like this".

"Yes, his name is Ahmed", Jim whispered with a high pitched voice, seeing a chance to get some clothes for his "man".

Jim hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should reveal his true intentions. However, he decided to take the risk and continued, raising his voice and adding some errors. Pants and shirts, this is a nice surprise for him."

The salesperson nodded, understanding Jim's request. "Certainly, we have a variety of pants and shirts for men. I can show you the section where you can find them." Jim smiled, relieved that his plan seemed to be working. He followed the salesperson towards the men's clothing section, hoping to find suitable attire for Ahmed.

He looked at some beige male pants and grabbed with his black gloved hand a white, long button down shirt. This is it", he said. The salesperson glanced at the beige pants and the shirt Jim had chosen. "Great choice! These pants are a popular style, and the loose button shirt complements them perfectly. I'm sure your Ahmed will love this surprise." Jim nodded but was crumbling apart on the inside, referring to Ahmed as his man. This had to end.

Amy handed him a bag with the purple dress, the pants, and the black button down shirt. He took it with his gloved hand, nodded thankfully, and walked to the door. Amy looked after the black niqabi. She felt a mix of relief and sadness. She knew that not all Muslims were **** to wear the niqab. "It is her choice," she reminded herself, trying to understand and respect their cultural beliefs. However, she couldn't help but wonder if Ahmed's wife has the freedom to choose how she wants to dress without any external pressure.

Amira, on the other hand, was relieved. He was one step closer to getting back to normal. He didn't register that he got used to the small field of view the niqab and to take tiny steps.

As he wandered around, he saw a public toilet. One step at a time, he said. He entered slowly the women's restroom. Feeling a sense of unease, he hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should proceed or find an alternative option. He wondered if his decision to remove the niqab would be met with disapproval or judgment from others in this unfamiliar environment. Or should he change in the men's restroom? He weighed the options in his mind, considering the potential consequences of both choices. Ultimately, he decided to take a deep breath and enter the women's restroom, reminding himself that his comfort and well-being were paramount. As he pushed open the door, he hoped for understanding and acceptance from those inside.

A mother with a girl was getting out of a cubicle. She gave the niqabi dirty looks, but Jim chose to ignore them, focusing instead on finding an empty stall. He was still not getting used to the disapproval looks everybody seemed to pass at him.Was this racism?

The cubicle was a mess. Piss was around the floor and the toilet seat from women hovering. "How can women be so dirty when it comes to using public restrooms?" he wondered. Despite the unsanitary conditions, he reminded himself to stay calm. He slowly detached his niqab and put it in the bag. He breathed deeply in some of the stinky air. It felt odd to see and breathe again after an hour. Then he took the khimar over his head and tried to get out of the skirt without getting it wet.

There he was, standing in tights and shaping wear in a public women's restroom. As he tried to pull out of the body, some women came, using the next cubicle. "Eeey", her voice said. "This is so dirty!" He held his breath, hearing the tinkling sound. "Can you give me some toilet paper", she asked. He quickly assessed the situation and realized he had **** but to respond. "I'm sorry, there is none here," he said, pitching his voice nervously high, hoping she would leave soon. The woman sighed in frustration and muttered something under her breath before leaving the cabin. "And the water doesn't work either," she muttered before leaving the bathroom.

He let out a sigh of relief as the woman finally left. He thought about peeling out of the body and removing the tights, but he wanted to get it done quickly. He just grabbed the Breastforms and put them into the bag.

He took the pants and tried them on. They were a bit tight around the waist, but he managed to button them up. As he looked at himself in the nearly blank mirror, he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Barely visible were the v shaped outlines of the shaping body.

But then he looked into his face: The arched eyebrows, the slightly smeared lipsticks, the eyeliner. He turned on the water. It didn't work. The makeup smeared around the eyes. He looked like a crossdresser after a party night.

He started crying in frustration, feeling all his efforts go to waste. The tears mixed with the smudged makeup, creating streaks down his face. What has happened to him? He just wanted to enjoy some crossdressing. Now he was sitting in a spilled women's bathroom with makeup on, some tootightpants, and female loafers. Feeling overwhelmed, he realized that his crossdressing experiment had taken an unexpected turn. He wondered how he would explain this situation to anyone who walked in on him. "Better this than nothing, he said. And left with his two bags, one containing Amira and the other the purple dress he bought at ghe shop.

He felt the odd looks of the people. He couldn't help but feel self-conscious as he walked down the street, aware of the judgmental stares from other. The weight of their disapproving glances made him question his decision to embrace his crossdressing desires in public in the future. The bra straps of his body were clearly visible through the white shirt, the smudged makeup an bearded facemade him look wasted.

He was going fast down the street to the upper city, bis head down, to his apartment.

How would he get in? He pondered the possibilities of sneaking into his apartment without drawing attention. Perhaps he could find a discreet entrance or ask a neighbor for assistance?

As he approached the building, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anxiety, hoping that his unconventional appearance wouldn't hinder his plans. He had a spare key in his cellar locker, but the door was closed. He could call a locksmith, but he didn't have his phone anymore. "Fuck you, Aisha", he muttered.