Here's something: I remember B__ asking me a couple of times if I had ever worn a brassiere, and she said that I'd look so cute in a bra. Imagine if I had indulged her. Aw, Hell, who cares. I would certainly regret it now.
Anyway, I want to talk about that feeling I get when I "womanize". I want to become female. I imagine myself as female; but that's not all. There has to be a woman present, an archetypal woman, a model for what I wish to become. And it doesn't end there. I have to completely abandon myself to the femininity. I have to gradually give in to the extreme pleasure overtaking me, by admitting that the pleasure comes from, and is a product of femininity, and of my admitting that I love femininity. Or rather, I gradually come to admit that my own femininity is overpoweringly pleasurable, and that I aspire to cultivate it to the extent where I am a woman completely. That's it, I think.
But then, there's this new discovery that the most intense experience possible is to cavort with another woman/women in a sort of fashion show, or a femininity lesson, of which I am the humble pupil. She teaches me to be a girl, yet remain a man by having only a penis left, and I start to make out with her as we both wear some sexy outfits. I'll just hang out with her, and do girlish things, aside from making out with her. No, I'll just make out with her, and be a girl like her, with her. I'll want her to touch me sensuously on my clean shaven thighs, and my shrunken waist, and my nipples. All I want is femininity. That's why men fantasize about lesbians: because they want to be women; they want to be the perfect sexual being, and that can only be conceived of as a woman, and they want to consume the ultimate sexual being, which is still female. Therefore, he fantasizes about two women making love. That's perfect. Only I want to be one of the beautiful women. God, I need lingerie. I'll hook it up soon, I promise.