Saturday, February 18, 2017

Fresh as a...


That's my name, as of a couple days ago.

For thirty years, I've thought of myself as a guy who likes wearing women's clothes. Having a feminine name never felt useful or necessary. I thought about it from time to time, but no particular name ever felt right. As much as I fantasized about becoming a woman, having a proper girl name was somehow inconceivable. I called myself Swim Tran online, to describe my interests, but without any pretense of being feminine.

Ever since my wife discovered my secret, I've had to curb my cross-dressing habit. Even before then, I had started realizing that the thrill has become more about becoming a woman than merely wearing women's clothes. While bikinis and lingerie and heels certainly help me feel more feminine, they're more an accessory to the fantasy than the goal of it.

With my fantasy time greatly reduced, but with the worst of my secret now out, I have felt much more free to embrace my feminine tendencies. I'm not hiding my interests like I used to. I'm posting on cross-dressing forums, while I used to avoid them for fear of discovery. This has brought on a level of introspection that I've somehow missed all these years.

All the other sissies online have girl names. Why don't I? Up until a few weeks ago, I was happy being a guy in a bikini, and nothing more. Or so I thought. I was convinced that because I hadn't found a feminine name for myself, it simply wasn't that important to me. I reflected on names I had considered before, and again found them somehow a poor fit.

Angelique. Bethany. Isabelle. Lovely names, each, but not for me.

Rebecca. Robyn. Bobbie. All based on my own name, but not for me.

Bronwyn? Siobhan? Isolde? I'm not Irish. Cute, exotic, but not for me.

Nora. Anna. Emma. Ella. Bella. Fiona. Tina. Not for me. Nothing for me.

Some ridiculous names that are hideously unfashionable: Bertha. Matilda. Mildred. Not for me.

I kept going back to my own heritage, and my strategy for naming my own children. I like having an element of French, but having it work in English as well. What would my mom have named me had I been a girl? She told me once: Melissa, I think. What does it say about it that I don't even remember for sure? Not for me.

Girls from my school days: Chantal (ugh, never liked that one.) Karine. Constance. Kimberly. Natalie. Not for me.

Girls I had crushes on our dated: Jean-Marie. Vanessa. Kim. Brigitte. Nikki. Not for me.

Some classic names: Catherine, Katie, Kitty, Cathy. Elizabeth, Beth, Lizzie. Victoria. Hmmm, I pondered that one for a while. Valerie. I considered that for months. But in the end, not for me.

Nothing stuck. It just felt like I was picking at random. Even though I like a lot of these names, I just can't attach them to myself. They're somehow not meaningful enough. Which is weird because I didn't choose my given name, and it has no special meaning to my parents, so why should I expect anything different from my girl name?

On the drive to work the other day, I thought of Marguerite. It's good: French, works in English as Margaret, kind of, but even better is the translated English version oh my god DAISY!

Instantly, somehow, my mind opened up like a blooming flower. I AM DAISY! I always have been! Suddenly, I could discern my taste in feminine clothes as having a coherence to it that could only come from a girl named Daisy. It evokes everything that my feminine soul aspires to. It's simple and pretty. It's unequivocally feminine. It's somewhat uncommon, yet completely unpretentious. It's sexy, in a girl-next-door kind of way, and sweet, and charming.


I'm updating my online presence now with my newly discovered name. It's liberating! I'm not just a guy who wears women's swimsuits anymore. I'm a woman called Daisy, and I like certain styles of clothes, certain styles of art, music...

It's like my feminine self has finally broken free from the prison I've kept her in all my life. She has always been part of me. At last, I acknowledge her, by name: her name is Daisy.

MY name is DAISY!

Saturday, October 08, 2016


It's been very quiet around here for a long time now. But, I've continued to dress up mostly in swimwear. I got into a naughty habit for a while earlier this year, which I'll describe some other time. The usual routine of indulging in some femininity while my family is out of the house continued happily, until a couple of weeks ago.

My wife found my stash.

Or rather, I had absent-mindedly left it out, in plain sight, and went to work for the day. She texted me asking what it was, and I knew I was sunk. I felt physically ill. I considered coming up with some crazy explanation, but ultimately, I knew I had to tell her the truth, as painful as that would be.

So when I came home, I sat her down, and told her that the bathing suits, lingerie, and shoes in the bag she had found are mine. And that I wear them. Because I like it.

She was horrified. She felt like I had betrayed her. It's a huge lie, that I've concealed this from her for over ten years. In fact we just came home from a 10th anniversary trip when this happened. She suddenly felt uncomfortable in my presence. She didn't trust me with our son.

We spent the next several evenings talking about my secret. I told her almost everything. She's mostly concerned that I'm gay, and I assured her that I'm not. I'm actually quite confident that I'm not, in spite of all of this. She made me throw away my stash, while still feeling bad about it. She's very conflicted about it. She wants me to stop doing it altogether. I told her I would, and I'll really try, but I also told her that it's not really possible to stop. For now, I'm more than willing to at least pause so she can process it.

After we talked, each evening, we made love. We have always been very close and intimate and in love. Except for this, we've had a very open and honest relationship. In some ways, it's brought us closer together. She feels like she needs to fuck more to break this habit from me. She doesn't understand that it just doesn't work that way. The sex has tapered off a bit the last few days, but I've been constantly horny every since she found out. I'm thinking about wearing women's clothes non-stop.

She asked me not to wear her things. I promised her I won't. I really will try not to, as much as I'd love to. It's especially hard that I don't have my own things anymore. She sort of understands that I need to do it sometimes, but she really doesn't want me to.

When I told her that my habit was to wear things while she's out of the house, at first she felt reluctant to leave me alone, for fear that I'd do it again. I'm alone now, and I'm sure it's crossed her mind. It's like a test. I want to tell her that I desperately want to order some things for myself: a swimsuit, some panties, a bra, and even some shoes. I'm taking a business trip this week anyway, and I don't know how I'll handle being alone in a hotel room with nothing feminine to wear. It would have been a perfect opportunity, but now I'd have to buy something first.

She's not at all interested in ever participating in this with me. She wants a manly man, and this utterly turns her off. I still hold out hope that she'll come around. It's too soon now, though. The alternative is that I continue to do it in secret, and she may be OK with that. She'd rather not even know.

Meanwhile, I have felt somehow more free since she found out. It's a relief that I no longer have to bear this secret anymore. I fantasize now that eventually she'll accept this, and I can openly keep some feminine things in my dresser. I'm already toying with ordering some things. But I need to be patient.

She doesn't know about this blog yet. She doesn't know the full depths of my fantasy. I did explain to her that it's all about becoming a woman. She doesn't understand it at all. But she still loves me. She says so, and her actions prove it. This does put some doubt in her mind. I'm doing what I can to convince her that I love her still, that I'm the same person she married. But from her point of view, because she never knew this side of me, and it's not something she ever wanted or expected, she feels like she didn't truly know me. So I'm not at all who she thought I was.

Friday, September 12, 2014


 Blue boyshorts
I bought these a while back, and wore them all day at work under my boy clothes. I figured they're boyshorts, and they're blue, so they don't really count as women's panties, right?

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Contemplating a New Swimsuit

My zip-up scuba one-piece
I currently own at least five swimsuits. Four of them are bikinis, and the fifth is a one-piece that zips up in the front. I tend to gravitate to two of the bikinis when I'm in the mood for some femininity, but I've got a soft spot for one-pieces in general, going back to my earliest dalliances in women's clothing.

A lost favorite. (sigh)
Over the years, I've usually had a go-to one-piece swimsuit that I'd wear about as often as my favorite bikinis. For some reason, there's always room for one in my fantasies. Long ago, in my formative years, I had a mind-blowing epiphany upon wearing a one-piece swimsuit, and the memory of it has stuck with me. In early adulthood, when I finally embraced my fetish, I celebrated by wearing a one-piece swimsuit.

Sexy Grommets
Unfortunately, now that I've fooled around with bikinis and lingerie and sexy shoes, one-piece swimsuits often disappoint me. Often, I'll fantasize about one and put it on, but while I'm wearing it I'll inevitably imagine a bikini, and the fantasy will turn to that instead. The one I have now is just not doing it for me, and it never did the way I'd imagined it would when I bought it. Others I've had have not had this problem. I could go back to them over and over again, and rarely slip into a fantasy about something else. It's hard to pin down exactly what it is that makes some of them more fun than others, but I suppose that's true of just about any category of garment I like to play with.
Metallic and Pink...

Therefore, I'm pining for a new one-piece that can fill that hole in my closet.

Not actually a swimsuit
At this point in time, with my limited opportunities to enjoy womanhood first-hand, it strikes me as foolish to do this. At best, I'll only get to wear it once a week, and that's likely to be pre-empted by a bikini or lingerie a lot of the time. So I don't want to spend much money on it, especially if I don't end up liking it. My wife doesn't own one, and even if she did, it's nearly impossible to borrow such things without leaving tell-tale stains.

Loving the ruffles
Looks like fun
Still, part of the fun of this fetish is trawling swimsuit vendors' websites and fantasizing about wearing the ones that catch my eye. I'm partial to blue and pink, and metallic, and unusual cutouts. What I love about one-piece suits is that they're ostensibly not as overtly sexy as bikinis and underwear, but they're still quintessentially feminine. There's no mistaking it for anything a man could ever wear. I used to fantasize that the tight fabric would shape my body into a woman's hourglass figure. With the style these days being quite different, many attractive one-piece suits no longer even cover the waist, but that makes them in many ways even sexier.

Cute cut-outs
It's always hard shopping online for such things, because it's hard to find the right fit. I struggled with the fit of my yellow zip-up one-piece, and actually had to return it for one that fit better. Even in person, I've bought one-piece suits that were far too small. The tightness of a small swimsuit can be fun, but there's a limit where it's just impossible to even put it on. So I might even dare to buy it in person to be sure that it's something I'll enjoy. Or maybe I'll get more than one, and hopefully at least one of them will work out.

Even if it doesn't, I'm such a sissy, buying women's swimsuits for myself!

Friday, March 28, 2014

The Essence of the Feminization Fantasy

At its root, this feminization fantasy is a confusion of cause and effect. As rational adults, we all know that wearing feminine clothes does not cause one to become female. And yet, that's precisely the core of the fantasy. The very fact that there is a strong social stigma against men wearing women's clothes suggests that it's true. Even if it is impossible, everyone just knows that wearing women's clothes irreversibly feminizes men.

It's a feedback loop: once you begin, no matter how innocently, you start to spin uncontrollably towards becoming a woman. All it takes is a small taste to get started.

At first you're afraid of the consequences. You know that it's physically and physiologically impossible to become a woman by wearing women's clothes. Still, you proceed with caution. Nobody can find out about it. You start slow, just in case. You know for sure that some things you'd never, ever dare to do, because that would be going too far. But what's the harm in imagining it?

Pretty soon, you find yourself compelled to do that last thing you fantasized about, and the boundary becomes something else. Then the new taboo becomes key to the fantasy, and soon after, reality. By the time you realize that you're in a tailspin, it's much too late. You realize that the only thing that turns you on is becoming feminine. You try to turn back to more normal tastes, dial down the femininity a bit, maybe purge your sissy wardrobe in shame. Inevitably, you come back to it, stronger than ever, boundaries be damned.

Now you know you want to be a woman. The idea paradoxically gives you a massive erection. You dream of sucking cock, getting fucked in the ass, and dressing like a slut at all times. As you consider transitioning and fulfilling your dream, you look back and wonder: didn't you always want to be a woman? Weren't all of those experiments over the years just your repressed femininity struggling to come to the surface? Or was it your dressing up that developed your femininity over time?

So while it is true that wearing women's clothes won't make a man physically become a woman, it certainly does affect him psychologically.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Why Wear Panties?

My Wife's New Nightie

It's been difficult lately to find the time to feed my femininity. My wife and I had a romantic weekend at a hotel, and I had bought her a new nightie for the occasion, but unfortunately, she was on her period. I still got to have some fun rubbing up against her while imagining myself in her outfit.

In the following days, I struggled a bit with some pent-up arousal. One night, just after turning in for the night, I remembered that there was a load of laundry spinning in the dryer which needed to be taken out, lest it get all wrinkled. My wife was already asleep, and I was somewhat restless, so I went to take care of it. The dryer was still running when I got to it, with only a few minutes to go. I didn't want to go back to bed for the short time that was left on the timer, and I didn't want to just stand there, either. What could I possibly occupy myself with?

I suppose I could have just stopped the dryer, and the clothes would already have been dry. Instead, I snuck over to my stash, slipped out of my pajama pants, and put on the panties of my favorite bikini.

As I luxuriated in the glorious girlishness of my panties, I remembered a notion I had not long ago about keeping a pair of panties in my work bag so I could wear them at the office. Since I was already fiddling with my stash, and T__ was asleep, this seemed like a perfect opportunity to smuggle out my favorite satin panties. The dryer stopped, and I sadly slipped off the bikini, and returned it to its hiding place. I emptied the dryer, and trudged back to bed, but not before hiding the satin panties in my work bag.

My Satin Panties
The next day, as soon as I got to the office, I rushed to the men's room and discreetly changed into my satin panties. They felt wonderfully soft and tight around my tush every time I moved or got up for some coffee. But as the day wore on, I knew that I wouldn't get any reasonable opportunity to cum. Sadly, I changed back out of my panties in the afternoon, and my arousal went unfulfilled.

 Axami Serenity
Amazing Panties by Axami
That was a couple of days ago. Today I had a bit of time to catch up. I didn't get to wear anything, unfortunately, but I did get to cum. I came fantasizing about wearing panties, and a bustier, and stockings, and lovely high heels. Inside my panties I had a soft, delicate, wet and slippery pussy, just aching to have a hard cock thrust into it.

That's the basis of my fantasies: imagining that I have a vagina. The rest, including the clothes, is secondary, but it helps the fantasy along. It makes me think that wearing enough bikinis and lingerie will eventually turn me into a woman. It hasn't happened yet, but it certainly has made me more feminine. That's what turns me on about shemale porn starlets and convincing crossdressers: it's possible to achieve womanhood with enough practice.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Interactivity Thwarted, Again

A few nights ago, my wife and I were watching TV when Lauren Conrad's joke about her favorite position being "CEO." It totally went over T__'s head, and I pretended that I knew exactly what it was and that I'd show her forthwith. We eventually ended up in the bedroom, where I directed her to put on a form-fitting black nightie and a pair of sexy 3-inch heels. She was already wearing my favorite panties, which are black microfiber with lace accents in strategic places.
we heard about

She rarely dresses up like this for our lovemaking anymore, for various reasons. I only remember her wearing shoes in the bedroom once before, several years ago, and then only for a very brief moment. She knows I love it when she wears lingerie, but it makes her self-conscious, so she only does it on special occasions.

Because of the name of the "position" and my presumed knowledge of what it entails, there was a slight subtext of a domination, although I left it entirely ambiguous as to who would be on top, as it were. She asked if my telling her what to do made me the CEO, or whether her wearing fancy shoes made her the CEO.

As she stood by the bed all dolled up, I couldn't help but think of the times I'd worn those panties and that nightie (the shoes in question unfortunately are far too small for my feet.) As I pulled her down on top of me, she kicked off her shoes, and I soon stripped off her lingerie and took her missionary style, the way she likes it best.

As I fucked her, she asked when she would get to be CEO. "You mean you want me to wear the nightie and the fancy shoes?" I replied, as if I were joking and not praying that she'd go along with it.

"No!" she protested, appalled, "I want to wear the nightie!"

Thus, I will continue to wear lingerie -- hers and my own -- in secret, for the foreseeable future.