I'm sure that you have seen an ad or two (or twenty) for one of those 900 phone services. They usually have neat names like 1-900-HOT-HOTT, which is a real number that a teenage neighbor called twice on my garage phone before I caught him. I never could understand why someone would pay $25 for the first four minutes of talk when for a smaller monetary investment you could go to a bar somewhere and buy some floozy a few drinks and get the talk live, or possibly something more if you have a golden tongue. Now get your mind out of the gutter, or wherever else it strayed, I'm referring to the gift of gab.

So anyway, here I am righteously denigrating these mnemonic numbers when I see amongst a page full of offers of telephonic bliss in any form you can think of an ad for 1-900-DRESS-UP, promising to fulfill any crossdresser's dreams. So to prove I 'm as human as any Presidential Candidate, I did an immediate flip-flop and decided there might be something worthwhile here after all.

I didn't want any record of my folly on my phone bill, so I quickly put on my best blouse and skirt, made a short stop at the bank, and searched until I found an isolated, old fashioned phone booth complete with door. With my purse filled with my life savings in quarters, I sat down and dialed. It was an old fashioned phone with a real dial that you have to spin around, so when the artificially pleasant voice mail system droned on about pressing 1 for lingerie, 2 for leather, 3 for bras and girdles I gave the round dial a dirty look and clobbered that ancient piece of technology with my coin laden purse.

Maybe it was dumb luck, or maybe the inner bowels of the phone system took pity on me, but Ma Bell reacted with a symphony of beeps and bloops, and suddenly I was overhearing someone else's conversation, but apparently they couldn't hear me. I swear on a stack of Lane Bryant catalogs that every word that follows is an accurate transcription of that conversation and the absolute truth.


SEXY VOICE: ...meet a girl like you. You must look so pretty. What are you wearing?

BASHFUL VOICE: A new green satin blouse with a high ruffled neck and a plum flowered skirt, yellow stockings and pink pumps with 5 inch heels.

SV: (In an uncertain tone) Oh yes, honey. It sounds wonderful. (Sounding a bit more sure) I like thinking about what you have waiting under that under that skirt for me. Tell me all about it.

BV: (Sounding excited) I do have a charming black lace slip with little flowers around the bodice and hemline. It makes me feel so… so… feminine.

SV: You can't begin to know how that makes me feel. Tell me darling, If I were to slowly lift that slip over your knees just what would I see?

BV: Well, I am wearing a perfectly wonderful pair of powder blue bikini panties with lace and the most darling bows. Isn't that exciting?

SV: It sure is, I'm drooling at the thought. But I was thinking more of what you have under the panties, as nice as they might be.

BV: You must mean my garter belt. Do you know how hard it is to find a real garter belt these days, with pantyhose and all the rage? I spent just hours and hours shopping for one and finally found a red and black frilly one that...

SV: (Muttered) Yeah, about as hard as it is to get you to understand where I'm going! (Louder) It sounds wonderful to me, dearie, but what I had in mind was a more personal endowment.

BV: You must mean my breast forms. With those babies I'm endowed like you wouldn't believe. They're real silicon filled and wiggle like Jell-O when I walk. Move over Dolly Parton, there won't be room enough for the both of us in a small room.

SV: (Starting to sound peeved) what some people will pay $3.95 a minute for. Look here, tiger, let me put it bluntly, can you get on with things here. How they hanging under that dress?

BV: By my bra straps, how else? Although I have to admit I get there ruts in my shoulders from the straps. Do you run into that problem?

SV: No, I seem to run into brick walls, or maybe brick minds. Honey, all this is turning me on something awful, cant you tell me how hot you're getting?

BV: Yeah, my slip is sticking to my back, it must be 90 degrees out today. I think...


At that point Ma Bell must have developed a conscience, for in another symphony of beeps the conversation faded out and the phone demanded 25 cents for the next 3 minutes, so I gathered up my purse and went home, wondering if someone will start a 900 number that really deals with what crossdressers want.

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