So how many times will I sneak into the computer room late at night, when everyone's asleep, just to glorify my masturbatory fantasies? I must admit that this makes it that much more exciting. It allows me to work out the details of my fantasy before I begin, and work myself to the highest pitch of desire. I never have anything to add. I just have a vague sense of having to elaborate my own deepest fantasy to myself one more time, just to try to get to the very bottom of it. Now, I think that after 50 pages of this, I've come about as close as I'm going to get. It's not even the point anymore. God only knows how many times I've repeated myself. One of these days, I should re-read all of this. It'll take a while, for sure. Oh, well. If only I could write about other things with this much passion. I only hope that no one ever discovers this. . .
I checked out one of [my brother]'s Heavy Metal comics. Cheesy sex-comics, with unbelievable depictions of women. I always want to wear their clothes. I love their outfits. That's what I want to be: a sexy girl in those tawdry comic books. I could picture my own cheesy comic installment. . .
Futuristic city-scape. Tall round buildings, twisted metallic stuff all over, with tubes and wires everywhere. Sexy women in skimpy clothing everywhere. No men to be seen.
Focus on supreme sex-goddess on a throne, in the sexiest clothing you've ever seen. At her feet lie prostrate hundreds of adoring naked men. They are her slaves.
Cockamammie dialogue about the War between the sexes. Reproduction has become obsolete, because women don't go through pregnancies anymore. Fetuses are incubated until birth. Sex's only purpose now is pleasure.
Men, of course, wanted to control all the pleasure. They wanted women to be their private sex toys. But women know better than to want such loveless garbage. After centuries of slavery under men, women in harems and brothels etc begin to find a taste for pussy, too. They discover that they don't even need men for pleasure anymore. So they begin to collaborate secretly, to overthrow men.
Men are at first oblivious to this. But then the hostility becomes unbearable. Women create societies of their own, with their men-children as slaves, a lower class which does all the dirty work. They are filthy and stupid, and only good for cleaning. Not even good for sex anymore, because women all fuck each other now. Men have no place in this system. Until the wars.
Switch to explosions, destruction. A male attack on the female city. Chaos. Action. The men need to recapture the women, because they can't allow themselves to become fags. They desperately need women, their soft round bodies, etc. Can't do without them.
The battle ends. The male ship leaves, having destroyed a significant part of the city. Goddess calls for revenge. The war escalates.
Various scenes show the intrigues in each court. The men know they're in trouble. They rape the women they've captured, and fuck them so much that the women soon die. Some men however keep female hostages, and keep them from other men. They guard them jealously. Women are the most precious possession anywhere. Meanwhile, the men captured by women become mere drones, who have no sex at all.
The women, however, devise a sort of plan. They know how valuable they are to men, so they find a way to destroy masculinity from within. They pretend to be willing to have sex with men, but coax them to wear their underwear. This underwear destroys the men mentally. Gives them into the power of the women.
Thus women are banned in the male world. Women must be destroyed, because they are insidious and dangerous. So men no longer capture women.
But women have discovered their great advantage. They capture men and turn them into their pawns, and return them to manworld as if nothing has happened. These men tear down the male establishment completely.
So naturally, the male champion falls in love with the goddess. She loves him despite the centuries of being a lesbian. Her ultimate goal is to capture the male leader and make him her personal slave. this is only alluded to.
So the battles rage. Male forces dwindle. The decisive battle.
The male champion is captured, and brought to the goddess. The surviving men despair for the loss of their champion, whom they presume dead. But the goddess goes on to capture the rest of the men. As a final embarrassment to her defeated foes, she produces her captive, their former champion.
He emerges onto the stage at her command. He is completely subservient to her. He is wearing his male clothing.
She publicly commands him to do silly things, like kiss her delicate, stockinged feet. She commands him to remove his clothes in front of her as in a strip tease, dancing like a girl. He stands naked in front of her, for all the world to see.
Then she stands up, and tells him to stop. She commands him to sit like a dog. She begins to remove her own clothing. She simply drops it on the ground in front of him. Then she has her other slaves put the two sets of clothing in two piles, and bring her out another skimpy outfit.
In front of the whole world, she asks him to get dressed in whatever clothing he prefers. Whatever he feels more comfortable in. Without hesitation, he slips into her discarded clothing, greedily, lustily, as if he were digging into a meal after a long period of fasting. He prances around like a girlie, happily attired in the goddess's skimpy underwear. The whole horde of men are completely demoralized, and are forever defeated.
The end.
Of course, within this whole comic book story is the matter of choice. The moment when the champion discovers the virtue of wearing girls' underwear. He is given the choice, and he reluctantly discovers why he has feared for so long to act out his secret fantasy of slipping on women's panties. He discovers that doing so is far more sexy and far more satisfying than anything he has ever experienced. He discovers that he loves it so much, that he can't prevent himself from going back to it.
Still, I like the idea of training. Or of a long period of transformation, involving countless guilty forays into femininity. Like me.
Just think. They have to train him to wear it. But they always watch. They are always a part of the process. Unlike me. They enjoy watching him initially refuse to wear what they put in front of him, and slowly give in, not to their coaxing, but to his own irresistible desire. Like mine. He simply can't stop himself from wanting to wear women's underwear. So he wears it, and while he wears it, longs for the next time.
One thing I was intrigued by tonight, before I began to write this drivel, was how in the earliest stages of my experimentation, I was always afraid of direct contact with the feminine garment. Or to be more specific, I always needed some kind of protection on my genitals from actual women's wear. I had to be wearing my underwear underneath the pantihose or bathing suit I dared to slip into. I needed that anchor to my sexuality. I couldn't accept that I was succumbing to abject femininity when I put on some article of women's clothing. meanwhile, I fantasized about it all the time. I used to roll up my underwear to make them more skimpy, and thus more feminine. This was very satisfying for a time.
But slowly, I allowed myself, in my feverish desire, to remove my protection, and expose myself to the consequences of wearing only women's clothing. It was a long process. It sometimes began again when I tried something new. Eventually, probably after the second bathing suit, I leaped into whatever I captured naked and fearless. I wanted to feel as feminine as possible.
But the process was still quite fun. It was most exciting. I remember my first tries with pantihose only vaguely. They were my first concrete experience with women's clothing. At first, I was very careful not to go overboard. But I had such a powerful desire to wear them. All the time. Whenever I was horny, I wanted to wear something, or pretend to wear something. So wearing pantihose was first, not only because I always found it so sexy, but because it was so abundant (as I soon discovered, when I dared to sneak a peek into mom's dresser). What harm could there be if I stole a pair from the hamper for a few minutes, I thought. I used to come into it, too. But I started off protected; of that I am sure.
I don't remember when I began to keep a pair of pantihose under my bed. I don't even know if by then I had begun to experiment with wearing pantihose naked. But boy, was it fun. And shameful. I was very careful about it.
I don't remember when I began to "borrow" the first bathing suit, either. But I do remember wearing it only for a short time at first, returning it guiltily, and then masturbating. And at those times, I wore it protected, I'm sure. The incident I most remember was the discovery of the second bathing suit.
I tried it on, mostly because I had stuffed the first one, which I had stolen, all covered in come, into the sides of my waterbed, where it began to stink horribly. So I needed a new one. I tried this new one on one afternoon, with my underwear on. And I was shocked to discover how wonderfully tight and thick and smooth it seemed to be on my body. I danced around in it, but soon took it off. It was just too intense. But soon thereafter, palpitating with desire, I returned for it, and tried it on naked. It was the most intense experience up to that point of my young life. I was amazed. I was hooked. I loved it.
But I think I already might have owned the first bikini bottom. That one was extraordinarily intense, too.
Anyway, the point is that I had to protect myself from the magical power of the article of women's wear. It's like a firm belief in sympathetic magic: if I wear women's clothing, I will become a woman. The idea appealed to me in a very sexual way, even though I didn't want to admit it.
Now I do readily admit it in private. I'm wearing my lingerie outfit now, and wish I had a bra to go with my panties. Or smaller panties with a matching bra. And a nice little skimpy bikini. That's all I want. One day...
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