Thursday, September 01, 1994

Diary: the Truth Will Set You Free

Yes, I do admire the female body.  Let me get into the randiest details, details that I have always been terrified to admit to anyone, including myself.  Especially myself.  Woe is to me, however, should anyone ever read this.  As embarrassing as that could be, the risk involved stiffens my cock.

Girls are so wonderfully shaped.  Their curves have such an effect on me, and just about every other man alive, that I am compelled to admire them always.  Such a sheer beuty that never fails to turn my head has no comparison.  They say that art is beautiful, but no work of art could ever grab my attention like a beutiful girl strutting by in a revealing outfit.  If anything, art aspires to be a living, moving self-confident, three-dimensional woman seething with sexual confidence and self-assurance.   Art imitates life, but it can never even begin to imitate the perfection of the female body, and the abject sexuality that it so innocently exudes.  They are so unbearably sexy that they have no idea what effect they have on me.


If art must aspire to this unattainable objective, and I must aspire to create the most accurate depiction of it in my art, or any other way, then I must aspire to womanhood.  "What a girly feminist homosexual," they would laugh upon reading this.  But that is not a feminist statement.  I believe not in the power of women to acheive anything that man can by using his meathods, but in woman being man's ultimate master.  She rules him in virtue of her sexuality.  She can take anything and everything from him without even having to work for it, just by being ultimately and perpetually beautiful and sexy.  As much as I would hate to admit it, or to realize it, I am a slave to any woman who can arouse me, because she can use my desire to control me.


I have always known it subconsciously, and I have dreamt of being dominated for ages.  The allure is that the essence of male-female relationships is bared in such an arrangement.  Women rule. 


And that is the least embarrassing of my revelations.  I would tell this to almost anyone.  The trick is that I dream feverishly that while the women rule me, they want me to become like them, to increase the farce, to show their power more.  They want me to know that they rule.  So they make me, in my fantasies, my most excruciatingly arousing fantasies, wear their clothing.


In fact, I wear women's clothing quite often.  No, no, not dresses and skirts.  I wear the sexiest garments I can get my hands on.  I am so extraordinarily aroused by bathing suits that I can rarely resist the temptation of wearing them.  I have worn just about everything imaginable, except one thing which has possessed me just as ruthlessly as swimwear in the past: a garter belt.  I have worn bikinis, pantyhose, underwear, brassieres, slips, nighties.  But I have never been able to find a garter belt.  But that no longer concerns me as much.


It all began in kindergarten.  The annual shool show required all the children, including the boys, to wear white tights.  I and all of the other boys wore girls tights.  I found them so arousing that I did not want to take them off.  They were so tight on my little penis that I wanted more and more.  I asked Mom the night of the show, as she tucked me in, if I could sleep with them, with the secret objective in mind to masturbate in them.  Ever since I began masturbating, I imagined being "girled" by some attractive females.  I called masturbating girling, because girls had such overwhelming power over me that I would drop my pants and start rubbing my prick at the merest thought of them.  As I grew older, I avoided making a show of masturbating, and never ventured to take any items of girls' clothing, for fear of being caught and thought of as abnormal.  But one day, when I was oh, ten or so, perhaps twelve, I took some pantihose and put it on over my underwear.  This was extraordinarily pleasurable.  I began to do it more and more often.  I think that I had begun to come just a short time later.  Then I began to go into it naked.  Then, with all of the cum stains, I kept the pantihose.  I would often become ashamed and dispose of it, and this would force me to obtain a new pair.  Soon, I tried on my mom's bathing suit, with underwear on underneath.  This was the most incredible experience to date.  I dared not do it to the end with it on, so I put it back, and finished later just thinking about it.  Then I began doing it without any masculine protection.  I wore nothing but the bathing suit.  But again, I could not dare finish off in it.  Eventually, of course, I did, and felt so good . . . So I did it more and more often.  I eventually stole it.


Mom had bought another bathing suit, a more fashionable one, which cut high on the thigh, and was much thicker.  That was heavenly.  I stole that too.  Actually, I kept the bathing suit and a pair of pantihose in hidden in my mattress, and it began to stink.  That is why I had to steal another suit.  I once did it with a visiting cousin in the room, odours and all.  Of course, I did not care that he was asleep.  I knew that he would be afraid to ask what was going on.  In the morning, he said that he couldn't sleep because he could hear my bed moving.  My brother detected a terrible odour as well, and often complained about it.  The most daring came later...


I stole into my best friend's older sister's room and took the bottom half of her bikini.  I loved that thing so much, but I often wished that I had taken the top, too.  I eventually disposed of all this, except for the new bathing suit, which was hidden next to my wall, along with mom's exercise tights.  All of it was worn extensively.  One day mom found it, while I was there.  I was mortified.  But she somehow overlooked the bathing suit!  I counted myself extremely fortunate, and began again.  Of couse, I was often ashamed, and that was when I dumped the stuff from my bed, except for the bikini bottom.  That I flushed down the toilet, causing it to overflow.  I don't know if my father ever found out what clogged it.  Since Then I have without hesitation stolen into my mom's dresser and borrowed her clothes, going as far as an entire outfit a few times.  I wore her panties, or my friend's sister's tiny little ones which I stole, along with  her new bikini, and a bra, and a slip, and pantihose, and a dress.  I have worn my mother's jumpsuit.  I once used a condom.  I disposed of the bikini, and soon got a new one.  I sometimes would take my girlfriend's clothes that she had forgotten and use them.  I wore her miniskirt once.  Once, she left her bathing suit in my bag, and I used it at least three times in one weekend.  Probably more.  I once picked up a little girl's bathing suit which had been lying on the ground on the way home for weeks.  I disposed of everything I stole, always vowing never to to do it again.  I have never held to my promise.  I have since worn many things of mom's, but they are not sexy enough.  I recently considered buying some things through the mail.. A good idea.  But now, I am beginning to realize that this fantasy is a crucial part of me.  It actually identifies me.  I am trying to curb the shame.  


Tonight, a test.  I have wanted to write about this for some weeks, to describe my supreme sexual experiences.  I am wearing mom's suimsuit right now, under my clothes.  I am going to do it again.  It has been so long, or so it seems, since I have worn a decent suimsuit.  So I took this as soon as I had a chance.  I will not feel any shame either.  I will celebrate womanhood in all of its essence, by feeling the soft tissue tight on my flesh, squeezing me (in my mind at least) into an hourglass figure.  I will, for a moment as long as an orgasm, be a girl.  Then I will clean up and put it back where I found it, and repeat the incident often.  I want to be a girl.  I even imagine, lately, being female when I masturbate, dressed or not.  I think of having a hard boner thrust into my cunt, and I voraciously suck dicks, and give a handjob in each hand at the same time.  I imagine a boner up my ass, even, when I can still think of myself of as male.  I love it.  I want to shave my body sometime, especially my legs, and gets breast implants, and begin taking hormones.  Then I would look female, except for my dick, and I could enjoy being a girl while still enjoying things with my cock.  I would get picked up by guys who wouldn't care and get fucked in the ass, and feel like a girl.  I would blow them and gargle their come.  But I wouldn't even be attracted to them.  I would much rather be watched by a bunch of beautiful girls, who would laugh at the conquest.  What a girl!  I am such a girl!  I am so hot right now.  The dicks are secondary, just icing on the cake.  All I really need is to be taken captive by an eternally beautiful girl and be forced to wear her clothes in front of her, and eventually mutate into a girl.  I will begin right now.  Yet I am totally straight.  I am not at all aroused by men otherwise.  It is the thought of a girl's body, and possessing it in the most intimate way, by being one, that grabs my balls.  Girls rule, and I will never be one of them, but I can always imagine, and try my best to become one.

1 comment:

JamieLin said...

"Girls rule." Exactly and effortlessly. In the end, I think it was about power. If I could wear their talismans then I would experience their power too.