“Learner Sissy” was written by one of my devoted Sissies, Sissy Treacle Gurl. If you would like to submit a blog/article/or story for my website, just email me your story, and I’ll handle the rest.

On my 25th birthday, my Mother said to me impatiently, ‘It’s no good; something is clearly wrong. She was looking at me, puzzled. ‘Why do you not have a girlfriend?’ My eyes dropped to the floor, and I squirmed uncomfortably. ‘I don’t know,’ I mumbled. She was unimpressed: ‘Don’t you want a girlfriend?’ This time I didn’t answer at all, as I flushed red in embarrassment. She sighed, ‘I think it’s time I took you to be seen by an expert; she’ll know what to do with you. I didn’t argue; I don’t like to argue, I got lost in my own thoughts as she made an appointment with the ‘expert’. The whole exercise felt useless to me, but I couldn’t think of an excuse to not go. On the appointed day, my Mother led me to a waiting room where I was to be seen. ‘It’ll be some time,’ she said, ‘but stay here; I’ll come back later after we’ve learned what’s the matter with you. With that, she left, and I found myself alone. I started to take in the room around me. 

It felt very quiet, except for the swishing of the ceiling fan. There was no one else here. It was a very comfortable room, with lengthy burgundy sofas that circled it on a fluffy magnolia carpet. There were no windows, but there was a mirror that filled one wall and a wardrobe that filled another. The only door was now closed, and in the room’s centre was a large pouffe. It was wide and soft enough that it could have been a bed. I stopped breathing and tensed when at last I noticed that lying in the middle of the pouffe was a pair of panties. First, I failed to ask myself even basic questions like how and why they were there. Instead, I was studying them, like a fly being drawn to a bright light. They were pink, with a ruffled side seam and a bow on the waistband. I felt myself rise to my feet and to reach out and feel the fabric. It was satin. I checked the label, and my eyes widened when I realised they were my size. 

My mind was racing. Whose are these? What are they doing here? I became worried the door might suddenly open, but there was still no noise from outside. It felt safe for the moment, and I decided I had some more time to indulge in my find. As I felt them with my fingers, I realised that these panties were brand new, so I lifted them to my mouth and nose and inhaled. They were sweet-smelling like perfume, and my head swam with delight. In an instant, I had decided I would wear them. Moving quickly and frantically, I threw off my jeans and boxers. Then, with a little tremble, I slowly slid the panties up my legs and around my waist. As the gusset reached my skin, I closed my eyes in bliss. It really was like they had been made just for me. I felt joy in the ruffles as my hips swayed. ‘Why does this feel so good?’, I asked myself. There was still no sound of anyone approaching the door. As I remembered the room’s mirror, it was a risk, but I had to see what they looked like. As I twirled in front of the mirror, I admired the pink bow as I felt a smile spread across my face. Suddenly, a woman’s voice filled the room: ‘Well, that settles it. I froze in horror. 

I spun round, but there was no one there. The unseen voice began to laugh. I felt confusion and doubt on my face. Where was it coming from? I looked down at myself and began to take the panties off, but the voice spoke again, ‘No, no, no, don’t you dare try to take those off. Pull them back up, come on. The woman’s voice was authoritative, and after a few moments I obeyed and felt defeated. ‘It’s just as I thought,’ the woman continued, ‘now stand there in your panties, I’ll be right in’. A wave of terror washed over me, and I suddenly felt helpless. This voice spoke with the cadence of a teacher speaking to a wayward pupil. I didn’t know what to do; somehow I had been exposed. My feet felt glued to the floor as, for the first time, I heard noise from outside the door. They were heels, striding with purpose, and were getting louder. I stared at the door with growing anxiety. The sound of heels came to a stop, and the door flung open. There stood in a grey jumpsuit a voluptuous red-haired woman who was eyeing me behind black spectacles. I felt myself go bright red and unable to move. She was smiling widely at me, which conveyed both cunning and amusement. She then used the same mysterious and instructive voice from earlier; it was rich, an unmistakable honey Georgian accent. ‘I am Ms Amelia Divine, and you, sweet pea, are a Sissy’.