Tuesday, December 10, 1996

Fiction: Metamorphosis, and Fantasy Smoragasbord

The other version:

One day, Andy wakes up in his apartment, where he lives alone, and discovers to his horror that his clothes are gone.  His closet is filled with skirts, dresses, and blouses; his dresser filled with lingerie.  He has no clothes to wear.  What can he do?  He has to go to work.  He calls in sick, and hopes that his hallucinations will disappear when he wakes up the next day.

The next day, nothing changes.  He touches the clothes, the panties, the skirts, and gets aroused, because of their sensual feel, the silkiness, the coarseness of lace, the tightness. . .  He forgets this, and goes back to sleep.

The next day.  Same thing.  He decides that he must put some clothes on, or go insane.  He starts with the underwear, struggles with it, it being his first time snapping on a bra, and looks at himself in the mirror.  He can't stop thinking about what he's wearing.  He breaks down in a quivering mass of sexual energy, overcome by his own femininity.





Back to the endless philosphising and quantizing of my experiences as a cross-dressing wanna-be girlie.  
What a strange psychological effect it is to wear clothing designed not for my kind of body, but for the kind that turns me on.  I love what girls' underwear contains.  I want to be like them, badly, when I wear it myself.  What an odd sensation, when you think about it.  Most men, when they see a beautiful photo of a girl in lingerie want to fuck her.  I, on the other hand, want to wear what the girl's wearing.  I love the way it accentuates and emphasizes female curves.  I love the way the texture matches that of the girl's skin.  But why do I want to wear it myself?  It just doesn't make sense.  I love girls' bodies.  Why should I want so badly to feel like one?


It's a complicated question.  What do I want when I wear women's clothes?  Obviously, I have a desire to quench, a strong, often overpowering desire.  Can I ever put my finger on just what that desire is?  It's unfathomable, in a way.  I'm sure I've touched on it before.

I just spent the last hour reading stuff on the WWW about transvestites and fantasies.  One story which wasn't bad, but not quite accurate was about an adolescent who discovers femininity because of late puberty.  His stepmother teased him, and he stole her lingerie at his friends' suggestions.  He was transformed into a total girl, complete with breast implants and a full wardrobe.  He had choice all the way through.  He wore panties under his clothes, and hung out with girls.  He became his stepmother's daughter in a cheesy happy ending.  The other was more shocking.  It was about a wimpy little guy whose domineering wife turns him into a maid.  She goes so far as to turn him into a fag who succumbs to "feminine pleasure."  

Sometimes I want that too.  I often fantasize about getting fucked like a girl.  I love to wear women's underwear and think that my genitals match the clothes.  But I really liked the slow transformation.  One problem: it hardly talks about the masturbatory ecstacy of wearing girls' clothing.  The cheesy one involved dresses and makeup and stupid things like that.  The wimpy guy was forced to shave his body and wear all sorts of female attire, and prance around like a girl at his fiancee's bidding.  I kinda liked that one, except for the complete transformation into a faggotty girl and the overlooking of the enjoyment of panties.

I've told many fantasies here.  What's the point of telling another?  I almost came during some of the choice bits of the wimpy guy story.  I have to isolate the key points.  Firstly, I am a male to begin with, a complete, virile, heterosexual male without any kind of effeminate or homosexual tendencies.  Second, I encounter women's underwear, either by accident or by force, and am amazed to discover how incredibly compelling it is to wear it (but why is this so?  That's what I need to worry about!).  Third, I start wearing it with increasing frequency, until I wear it only, and I can't stop myself.  Fourth, I become a girl, or become a total transvestite.
There are variations on the theme: 2) am I forced to wear the panties, or do I discover them by accident, or do I always have an innate but repressed desire for them? 3) Do I wear it increasingly to become more feminine deliberately, or just for titillation?  4) Do I like boys?

I think I want it all.  I want to be the virile male who wears panties by accident, by chance, on a bet, and discovers their potential; who is then slowly converted to wearing them all the time, and enjoying it more and more, even to the point of fucking both girls and boys to incredible pleasure; who becomes female at first for titillation, but gradually succumbs to the point of deliberately wanting to be female, so great is the titillation; and finally, being good buds with a gorgeous girl, fucking both her (in a loving, feminine lesbian way) and boys now and then.  My girlfriend and I could rub our sexy female bodies together, she feeling my hard and incongruous dick, while we discuss our escapades with boys.

I always come back to the reluctant start, deliberate finish scenario.  I imagine that I discover panties, and hate myself for doing it.  But I get a nagging urge in my head to do it again, and this becomes more and more frequent, until it becomes an obsession.  Then I wear it all the time, and enjoy it all the time, and it makes me feminine, until the point of my final conversion.

I still like that scenario where I have to slowly develop my femininity.  I have to masturbate naked in the feminizing way first, then with pantyhose and nothing else a certain number of times; graduate to leotards and tights; then to bathing suits; then to bikinis; then to panties.  In the scenario, I have an infinite number of repetitions to do before I graduate to anything interesting, but I become so enthralled with the idea of wearing bikinis or panties or lingerie that I skip grades, as it were, and endanger myself for the sake of the feminine ecstasy, and am inadvertently transformed into a sexy woman who cavorts with other sexy women.


Variation: war of the sexes scenario.  This wearing of women's clothing by slow stages is a male gov't program to dull male senses to women's clothing.  The women like to tempt the men with sex, and then capture them and effeminate them and turn them into girlish sex slaves like in the story.  The gov't programme prevents this, because men become so accustomed to it that they aren't embarrassed if they are forced to wear girls' clothing; they retain their masculinity and are able to fight back/escape.  Women would normally start their men with panties right away; so the government starts slow and works its way up.  Those who eventually get through the whole thing are indifferent to women's clothes -- or at least pretend to be.  Here I am, in basic training.  I slip on the pantihose, but I enjoy it way more than anyone else.  The other men can handle it.  To them it's a joke.  But I get a thundering hard on, and everybody notices.  That's why I never pass.  They always tell me that I'm never ready to move onto the next level.  But they have to keep trying.  Meanwhile, I always have a voice in the back of my head tempting me to taste the pleasures of the top levels.  I secretly fantasize in my pantyhose.  One day I sneak into a pair of leotards and end up in heaven.  I vow to skip levels according to my rules.  I soon get into bathing suits and bikinis.  I am so ecstatic that I can't control myself.  I start yearning for femininity.  I am a traitor.  I soon move into the lingerie, and am so taken by it that I am forever sold on wearing girls' clothes, and becoming female.  Others like me overthrow the oppressive male regime, and we all become girls together.


Also, picture this under a female gov't.  Men are being trained to be subservient to their women.  They are not supposed to enjoy sexually the simple wearing of women's clothing.  Or it's an acquired taste that needs to be developed.  They do not allow one to skip stages, or else they risk not being subservient.  So I start innocently enough, but can't resist cheating.  The discover, but only warn me.  They don't know the potential of my desire.  I quickly move onto higher and higher levels until I am transformed by the panties, become a chick with a dick, and they have to treat me as an equal, and we cavort together like I'm one of the girls, except that we pleasure each other.

I also like the idea (or I once liked it) that I strictly obey the rules, because they let me wear women's clothing so ridiculously often.  I really do want to wear 10 000 bikinis, then move on to 1000000 panties and lingerie outfits, before they allow me to become a girl.  It's just like school.

I really enjoy the idea of an insidious change of which I am only barely aware until it's too late.  I somehow start wearing panties, innocently, at my wife's urging.  Say, because I run out of clean underwear one day, and she lends me her butchiest pair for the day.  I don't notice anything, but the experience subconsciously stays with me.  I am paranoid about getting into an accident or someone noticing in some way.  But I forget about it.  It starts to happen more often.  She absent-mindedly hands me her sexy panties.  I put them on.  It keeps happening every now and then.  I daringly admit to myself that I like the feel of them, the tightness, the silkiness, the high-cuttedness.  They aren't all that comfortable, but they have a certain charm.  It becomes a ritual.  I start telling her I have no underwear, even if I do, and she lends hers to me without a thought.  It happens every week.  I start noticing that when I wear it, my sex drive increases.  I sometimes come in my pants at the merest thought of my beloved in her skivvies. . . like the ones I'm wearing.  I feel close to her.  I justify it like that.  Then it's soon forgotten.  Then I start getting more comfortable around her with her underwear on me.  It becomes normal.  She gives me some of her unwanted panties to fill out my underwear drawer.  I gladly accept them.  They are mine now.  I start buying her more and more lingerie, with the conscious aim of increasing her wardrobe, with my new found sense of women's fashions in undergarments.  She starts giving me her old panties, and I wear them instead of my own.  It becomes part of my wardrobe.  Eventually, I wear only girls' panties.  And I find nothing totally wrong with the idea.  I am defensive and paranoid about outsiders finding out, but I feel infinitely more comfortable in panties.  Fooling around with the wife becomes more intense because of the silk rubbing against the silk.  For fun she gets me to wear a bra of hers, that matches her old panties.  I do it jokingly.  I start doing it everytime I notice that it matches my underwear.  I start contemplating the rest of her wardrobe, particularly bathing suits and bikinis and lingerie.  I know now that I have a problem.  But I can't stop.  I don't want to stop.  I try to.  I try very hard.  I wear her old brassieres with my panties regularly, and we horse around, each wearing female underwear.  She coyly enjoys her little sissy boy.  I coyly enjoy being her little sissy boy.  We start playing dressup games.  She wants to see what I look like as a girl.  She puts makeup on me.  At first I'm grotesque.  Then I get prepared first, to get the full effect.  I start shaving my body to get the full effect.  I wear pantihose and stockings and garter belts-- the whole nine yards.  Still, outwardly, I am male.  But I am becoming more and more female.  I can't stop myself.  I rarely want to stop myself anymore.  When I am with the wife, we are girlfriends.  We still horse around.  We love the feeling of silk on silk, and of smooth, shaven body on smooth hairless body.  I really want to be a girl now.  I look at her enviously of her pussy and her tits and her waist.  I start taking hormones.  I grow tits.  I have a female wardrobe now, and we are like girl roommates.  The best of friends.  My budding titties rub against hers pleasurably.  I still rub my dick against her.  I love it.  

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