Recalling some events I remember reading about on the defunct blog Forever Hers brought up a few memories that I have never written about. In many ways I like to envision myself as being able to "roll with anything." I am very aware that I do have limits to my capacity to handle certain things... things that press my limits too far... where the only options are to have them stop or be broken.
K started the trend of humiliating shopping trips. F took them farther. T is the one that pushed my feminization the farthest and that led to some of the more difficult and intense public experiences. When I met T, my experiences with forced fem were somewhat incomplete. F had occasionally dressed me in a bra and panties, or the typical fur ensemble with some sweaters and skirts. T wanted to go all the way. She wanted to dress me like a whore and take me with a strap on.
I have a very muscular build, so finding items isn't always the easiest. After dabbling at some mild sex shops, T ended up asking an employee where less costume-based items were available locally and they mentioned a store that was "where the local strippers shop for their clothes." It was a small independently owned store that catered almost exclusively to women which was a bit strange since we have a large CD/TG/TV population here.
We went there because she had a vision for what she wanted. Mini/micro skirt, stockings and garters, boots, slutty tops, and so on and the other stores didn't really have their selection and this store had a lot of spandex which would still work with my build. We chose a day that we both had off and went earlier in the day in order to avoid a large number of customers. T drove and I experienced my usual amounts of high anxiety as we got closer.
Upon entering the store we were the only ones there except for the employee working the counter. The shop had a lot of items that you don't find available at most online stores. A huge variety of brands and things that aren't available in the majority of the local shops as well. It was clear why it was so popular among their local client base.
T and I browsed together with me pretty much glued to her arm. My face was bright red and I was pretty much unable to speak. She tested the employee with a few questions that implied the nature of our visit, such as if there were larger sizes available, what waist size items would stretch to, how large of size did their shoes go, and so on. It became very clear that the salesgirl wanted no part in things. She answered reluctantly but didn't elaborate on anything and her facial expression was one of disgust.
It was around now that I felt my chest become increasingly tight and the anxiety began to take its toll. I started feeling light-headed. I felt like I was going to pass out. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to cry. T continued to take her time and was a bit surprised at how agitated it made me. She would pick out an item, hold it in front of my body like she was eyeing it up and how it would fit, and eventually she settled in on a few items. We purchased them and I could not make eye contact with the salesgirl when we paid.
Upon returning to the car I burst into tears. T was quite confused by this. I was a bit hysterical and unable to convey my thoughts clearly. Later on when we talked about it I was still unable to grasp what pushed me over the edge in this case. I threw up when we got home. T felt guilty and I did my best to convince her that it was not her fault, I just had no clue how I would respond to the experience. I think it was probably the attitude of the employee that made the experience unbearable for me. To be fair, dragging her into our play isn't something she consented to and her attitude was understandable.
We did manage to buy the skirt that became a key part of my "whore" outfit. It had built in garters and its fit was such that it just barely covered my privates when standing in a natural position. If I leaned in any way it left me completely exposed.
T would later use these events as part of some verbal humiliation play, citing that "her disgust was how most women would feel about you if they knew your dirty little secrets." This is a case where the fantasy aspects still turned me on but I knew the reality of it was horribly unpleasant.