I slowly let the sheer, white stockings slide up along my closely shaven legs. They were smooth as silk, and no hint of coarseness caught the fabric as I stepped into them. The broad bands of elaborate lace hugged my thighs and made me feel great. Four straps, each decorated with a small silk ribbon, held the stockings attached to the garter belt I wore around my waist. The coarse lace felt tight around my body, but I loved the feeling of the feminine garment. It filled me with joy and arousal. It made my heart race and my crotch tingle slightly. Inside the delicate, white panties something began to stir and grow, gliding along the soft fabric and rising towards the ruffled rim.

I took my time and enjoyed the ritual. Each garment was carefully studied, and I smelled the cleanness of the lingerie before I slowly put it on. Every time it stirred new sensations in me, and each piece made me feel more and more like the person I wanted to be. I knew that none but me would see me wearing it, but the lingerie seemed to tamper with my mind and give me the confidence and sensuality I needed.

I didn’t really need to wear it for what was to come. No one would know what was beneath the wedding gown, but I wanted this to be as close to reality as possible. I couldn’t perform in this sham without making every possible attempt to make it real. Not as much for the spectators as for myself.

This was going to be the greatest adventure of my life so far. I had crossdressed a few times to myself in secret, but being asked to perform as someone’s bride was beyond crazy. The thought had stunned me at first, but I knew that I had been fantasizing about this, and I would never have an opportunity like this again. Even though I found it absolutely absurd, I agreed to it with my heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer.

The corset hugged my faux breasts perfectly, making me believe that I could actually feel the lace against my erect nipples. My waist was pressed tightly by the constricting attire, but although I couldn’t breathe freely, it seemed to spike my femininity. I looked down at the curves it produced, and a rush of adrenaline surged through me. I was looking more and more like a real girl.

Luckily, I had always worn my hair long. I therefore needed only to style it properly. I knew that it would be difficult to do it myself, so I had been up early and gone to a hairdresser nearby. This felt like a last rehearsal before the big show, and as I walked down the street, acting as a girl, I saw to my relief none of the laughing faces or pointing fingers I had imagined would meet me.

The hairdresser chatted on while dyeing and curling my hair, never figuring out that she wasn’t servicing a girl. My heart was beating rapidly, threatening to burst from my chest the entire time. I had never been out in public as a girl before, but luckily there weren’t many people up this early. With my now golden hair braided and curled, I felt overdressed as I walked home, ready to don all the fabulous clothing I had laid out on my bed. My confidence had been greatly strengthened by the visit, and I felt a little bit more ready for what was to come.

My friend had been quite desperate to ask this of me. I hadn’t agreed to it if it wasn’t his last resort. His family had arranged for him to marry his cousin, but she was already in love with someone else. He himself didn’t want to marry, and knowing that the marriage would be a tragedy for his cousin, he had convinced his family that he’d found a wife on his own.

This wife was, in fact, me. He had asked a number of female friends to do this, but they’d all refused. Out of female friends, he asked the one male friend who would have the easiest time posing as a girl. I wasn’t actually a feminine boy, but my height was limited, and my masculine features not as obvious as with his other friends. When he asked me to pose as his wife in a fake wedding, I didn’t have the heart to let him down. I knew how much was at stake for him, and a couple of days of anguish, fear and acting was a small price for me to pay.

I looked over at the clothes hanger on the bathroom wall where the shining white gown was hanging. This was it. Somehow I felt the seriousness of the situation as the seconds edged closer. The silk fabric of the gown felt cold against my skin as I pulled it up along my body. The strapless top half of the dress fit snugly across my ample, fake buxom. With an awkward struggle, I somehow managed to zip myself up, and the dress clung tightly to my torso. Below the waist it widened into a confusing array of folds and decoration. If I hadn’t felt utterly feminine before, I certainly did now. Only a girl could wear a wedding gown like this.

The crowning piece of the ritual was, ironicly, a pair of white leather boots with 5-inch heels. They were laced up the front and decorated with pearls and seams. Wearing heels in a natural way had been quite difficult at first, but as I learned to move my body and hips and cooperating with the heels rather than against them, I had managed to master the art to satisfaction.

I was finally done dressing. The image I saw in the mirror reminded me more of some fairytale image than myself. I had worn the entire outfit several times before to try it out for myself, but this was actually the day of the wedding and not just a day leading up to it. Today I would walk up the aisle of the church wearing it. Today I knew I’d be the center of all attention and be envied by every girl attending.