Tonight, I explore the aspect of humiliation in wearing women's clothing.
A movie made in 1932 called The Blue Angel involves a very powerful transformation: a proud schoolteacher falls for a burlesque actress, and slowly abandons his dignity. He eventually becomes a clown, and is forced to perform in front of his home audience. He is the butt of all the jokes. The experience destroys him. He is humiliated to death. He becomes less than humble. Once the pride of his town, he becomes the lowest form of life. The humiliation is just so powerful, so pathetic, that one can't help but feel sympathy for him.
Humiliation plays a different role in transvestism, I think. It often enters in the story when I slip into some silky panties, and even in the stories I've read on the Internet. There humiliation virtually defines the experience somehow. It is closely linked with the moment of discovery and transformation.
So there I am, surrounded by sexy feminine lingerie. I can't help but strip down and put some on. Just then, I am discovered, in full effeminacy. I am humiliated, but discovered. What can I do? There is no escaping the shame.
As a matter of fact, I have felt that shame very closely. I have been discovered. It sure wasn't fantastic. It was awful. But there are worse experiences, I suppose.
To think of the fantasy in three different stories, I recall that all of them had some link with humiliation. The Kim story exploits it most: Kim is constantly humiliated: when he first appears in a short dress in front of the secretary; when he first appears to her in his lingerie; when she refers to him as "she;" when she snaps his bra. He is constantly humiliated, but he continues to submit. The cheesy story about the kid and his stepmother also deals with humiliation. He is humiliated when the girls discover that he wears women's underwear. But it turns out pretty good for him, because they turn him into a girl (awwww). The sorority house story also uses humiliation. The candidate gets humiliated when he is caught having sniffed the panties, when he is forced to wear a bikini bottom, and to dress like a girl. He doesn't know how to react. He enjoys it, but he is afraid of what people will think.
I think that all of these stories must resort to humiliation to get to the point where the transgendered man must face his pleasure and accept it. I think of my own fantasies: I'm supposed to resist becoming female, being effeminated. I am forced somehow into wearing panties. I am ashamed to be seen in women's attire. But I love it so much that I don't care.
The whole point seems to be that I know full well what my social obligations are as a man. One of them is to not be feminine, of which the most important aspect is wearing female underwear (why it's an important aspect I can't quite understand just yet, much as I've tried). I come to actually wear some at some point, and my masculinity comes into question, because I have broken a social rule against wearing women's clothes. I am humiliated, because my carefully constructed identity has been destroyed by this one act of effeminacy. I am debased because I have violated one of the most important rules of my identity as a male. I know it's wrong, and I'm caught doing it. It's humiliating, because I am caught publicly doing precisely what I assert I should not be doing. But that's where it becomes interesting: I have to be caught publicly, or else it's no fun. Now that someone knows, they have to exploit that knowledge, and force me to wholly abandon my masculinity and become wholly female. And I submit, because I know that I am tainted forever. I can never be fully masculine, because I have dressed in a girl's panties. My masculinity, if I should maintain it, would be suspect.
The humiliation becomes the crucial point in the moment of discovery. I become aware not only of my treason of male identity, but of my pleasure in wearing women's underwear. Everyone knows what I do; why fight it anymore? I succumb completely.
Here's a basic scenario from my fantasies: I am a regular man, who has never even dreamed of wearing women's underwear. But somehow women take over the world, and I become a slave to a woman or a group of women. She strips me naked and puts me in her underwear. I am always in a subservient position to my women in these fantasies. I am humiliated by wearing her underwear. She makes me prance around in it, and I feel totally ashamed, uncomfortable. She never lets me take it off. She makes me continue to act effeminate, without pause. She rewards me when my effeminacy pleases her. At some point, the humiliation gives way to pure pleasure. I am no longer ashamed of wearing panties and bra; I allow myself to be absorbed in the moment, and just feel girlish for a while. And I love it. I begin to understand that I love wearing women's clothing. And I become a complete girl.
In another scenario, I am exposed to some sort of lingerie, and the humiliation comes when I beg to wear it again. I beg to become female. Or else the humiliation comes in simply admitting that I love to wear women's undergarments, by secretly sneaking into a closet or lingerie store and trying things on. The humiliation comes in the consciousness that I can't stop myself from wanting to be feminine. That's when the fun begins.
I have come to realize in reading those TG FAQs that I simply have a severe panty fetish. I have sexual thrill when I come into contact with women's underwear, because it defines femininity. But what remains unclear is why I would want to make myself feminine, too. Once, in the fantasy, I am humiliated and I begin to admit that I love to wear women's clothes, I start to imagine wearing all sorts of feminine attire. I start to imagine doing all sorts of feminine things. I feel most amazing when I imagine that in my fantasy, as I masturbate in lingerie, when I remove it I must put on some panties and go to sleep. The high points of my fantasies come when I think about becoming a full-time girlie. I am so absorbed in my new discovery of femininity that I want to acheive it totally by wearing only women's underwear, forever. The Kim story interests me because Kim has to wear his lingerie constantly, and become a girl. He is lucky, and I envy him. I wish I had his wardrobe full of women's clothing. I wish I could shave my body and lounge around in lingerie all the time, and have girls snap my bra to remind me that I am not a real girl, but a wanna-be. It reminds me of the horrible incongruity, the barbarity of my own body in those dainty little garments, and how I want them to change my body. Kim becomes female very gradually, but quite dramatically. I wish I could parade in front of girls and try to impress them with my girlishness. It's humiliating at first, but eventually quite gratifying. It's the moment of shameless abandon, of desiring pure girlishness that makes the experience fun.