Reflections on my sister

So I'm all dressed down with nowhere to go and no one to go with in this nightdress. It's my sisters' of course. I don't habitually dress up in women's clothes, but I'm repidly acquiring a taste for dressing up in women's bodies. I find that it gives me a whole new perspective on life. Have I ever had incestuous thoughts about my sister? Sure I have, but now I actually am her, (thanks to the black nightie and the magic statue), I feel very different about myself. I stand in front of the full length mirror in her bedroom and admire what I see. I run my hands over my slim feminine form, appreciating my curves in a very different way to that of a lustfull brother. The soft, silky feel of my hair as I run a hand over it and the way it resettles on and tickles my shoulders whenever I toss my head is a revelation to me. My hair is suddenly just as much a way to express myself as any other part of my comely anatomy. I love it and find myself looking at my reflection thinking, 'God, I'm one hot chick!'

Sister Sonia doesnt know about the statue. If she did, she might not have asked me to keep an eye on her flat whilst she was away on holiday. She'd be mortified if she knew I'd been going through her clothes, touching them, smelling them, trying them on . . .

Sonia likes to have pictures of her friends about the place, interspersed among pictures of our family. Prominently among them is a photograph of Sonia and her best friend, Miranda. They’re posing side be side, dressed in wet and clinging one-piece swimwear at our local Lido pool. Each has an arm around the other's waist and the smile on both their faces has a sort of conspiratorial quality about it that says to the world at large, 'we know something you dont'. I pick up this picture and carry it over to the sofa where I sit and study it further, looking for clues as to what that secret might be. The more I study the picture, the more my eyes are drawn to Miranda; to the wicked glint in her rather sultry looking eyes, her long, lush, unruly black hair that gives her something of a gypsy look. Though she's only slightly larger than Sonia in all departments, this gives her form an understated voluptuous quality; a pleasing roundness that I suddenly realise is making my heart beat quicken and my vagina start to moisten as I stare at her. The realisation begins to dawn on me that it's not my male body that's responding to Miranda's loveliness; it's Sonia's femine body. Sonia is sexually attracted to Maranda. Is this their guilty secret? Are they lovers? One thing I know for sure, I'm attracted to her but I've no chance of getting my male hands on this particular piece of feminine meat if she's a lesbian. But wearing Sonia's body on the other hand, maybe I won't have to try too hard; maybe a phonecall will bring the lovely Miranda to me, along with a bottle of wine and an insatiable desire to make love to my oh so willing sister's body. I hear my sister's voice whimpering at the thought. I love that sound. Spreading my legs, I begin to instinctively toy with my newly acquired clitoris and soon have myself gasping in delight as bolts of electric ecstasy fire through me with repeated intensity; building and building until at last I cry out, convulse and shudder as a full blown orgasm explodes inside me, drenching the sofa.

It's later. I'm covered in sweat and so is Sonia's nightie, now lying in a sodden, crumpled heap on the floor. (Just how the fuck do you wash those things?) I'm completely spent! Miranda will have to keep for another day. Maybe tomorrow?