Now the second thing: doing girl stuff with a girlfriend.
I imagined how incredible it would be to suddenly establish a kind of girlish relationship with A__ [my girlfriend]. She would want to share stuff with me that she only talks about with girls. Just like she did when she tried to make her brother wear a dress when she was young, so she could have a sister to play with. I would talk to her on the phone the day before, and we would agree to do girl stuff this weekend. I would show up at her place, and we'd start.
This would certainly involve us prettying ourselves and each other up. We would have to dress up, and show each other how pretty we can be, and share tips about boys and what they like, and how to please them. So we would strip down and take separate showers, and get made up. I would have to discard all my clothing, and coyly slip into my girlie underwear. Panties and bra. Lingerie, even, if I feel naughty. We could discuss underwear. We would try different things on. It would be a lingerie fashion show, among girls. No need to feel out of place. It would be fun. I would try on all sorts of stuff. Of course, I would have shaven first, to look more sleek and feminine.
We'd try on other stuff, and just cavort around like girls in our underwear. We would put on skirts and dresses and other girlish stuff, and do our hair and our makeup. I would be completely effeminated. She would make me as female as possible, and we'd both love it, and eventually just fondle each other to sleep. In our panties or nighties or whatever.
Diary: Capitulation
They [stories] pretty much do [only need to end when the hero decides to wear women's clothes only], I must agree. That's the climax. It builds and builds until the poor sap decides that he wants to become a girl, totally. He starts small, and reluctantly, but he slowly abandons his inhibitions, and gives in completely, and joyously. He totally rejoices when he can intellectually proclaim his femininity.
There are therefore two things that I want to discuss: the intellectual transition (again), and a very powerful fantasy I had about doing girl stuff.
So what does this intellectual recognition of femininity entail? I suppose it only entails what I experienced myself: discovery of pleasure in femininity and fulfilling that pleasure. But there's so much more, I think. It must start with a clean slate. Or maybe not. I've been through all this before. Clearly, one must experience a moment when that pleasure had yet to be experienced, and a moment after the experience. Mine came at a young age. In most of the stories I've read, it occurs to the hero only in adulthood. But there is always a discovery, and a capitulation.
Here's the deal: it's all about the fragility of our socio-sexual roles. What is masculinity? What is femininity? From this point of view, femininity is psychologically linked to women's clothing. Our society has clearly defined rules for gender differentiation by clothing. Or at least of feminization. Only women wear skirts, and lingerie, and brassieres, and bikinis, and high cut silk panties, and lace. But they also wear pants, and shirts, like men do. But the most important part is the underwear. That's where femininity resides. Bras and panties. Only girls wear them. Men wear something different. So gender identity can be defined simply with clothing.
Another aspect of society is that it frowns upon effeminate men, moreso than on masculine women. For a man to wear women's underwear would mean contamination, effemination, emasculation. A man who wears women's underwear can no longer be a man: only women wear women's underwear. So by willingly slipping into a pair of silk panties, I renounce my manhood. It instantly transforms me into a woman. My identity is bestowed by my underwear, so I am woman when I wear women's underwear. How ironic that I do it for sexual pleasure, by rubbing my male genitals, and therefore indulging in male sexuality even as I fantasize about acquiring female sexuality.
The discovery of women's underwear means abandoning masculinity. It's just like in my fantasies, just like in my experience. It all agrees on that point: it takes only one taste to set the conversion in motion. I wore those little stockings when I was five years old, and enjoyed the experience; I guiltily pursued the experience through the years, always wanting more and more, to the point where I now own a woman's bathing suit, a pair of panties, pantihose, and a lingerie oufit including a garter belt, fishnet stockings, and a satin teddy. I have worn just about everything I can think of. I still plan to become totally female for at least a few days, shaving my body hair off, wearing makeup and clothing like a woman constantly for the whole time. Notice the gradual capitulation to abject femininity. My fantasies have always followed the same pattern, as do all the stories I've read: an initial experience surprises the subject with pleasure, which he does not want to admit to, to maintain his masculinity. Then he slowly succumbs to more and more femininity. He becomes more and more comfortable with wearing women's clothing, to the point where he ultimately wears only women's clothing, and becomes truly female by taking hormones and undergoing a sex change.
That's the key: becoming more and more accustomed, until it becomes routine, normal. Another irony: I wear it for pleasure, yet I fantasize about wearing it as a habit. That's the high point of my fantasies now: wearing only women's underwear until I die; masturbating in something sexy, and then slipping into a pair of white cotton girlie panties afterwards. Always wearing something female. I sometimes look forward to wearing panties after I'm done. I never do, but I'd like to. It's all part of the gradual acceptance. Maybe one day, I'll achieve that, and aspire to something more, and so on until I am female.
The fuel for the fantasy's pleasure is the fear that these simplistic identities are accurate. I accept that they are accurate when I effeminate myself; but I also assert that they are false because I nonetheless remain masculine. When I do it, I want to become effeminate, and I always have. It's always been the main part of it, fantasizing that I can wear women's clothes just like real women do. It always meant aspiring to femininity, fully cognizant of the possible consequences of losing my manhood. I always wanted to lose my manhood in those moments to become a woman. Always, without exception. I find it so pleasurable that I don't care that I will lose my masculinity; I rejoice that femininity entails always wearing the things that give me such pleasure. To Hell with manhood if I don't get to wear bikinis and lingerie!
There are therefore two things that I want to discuss: the intellectual transition (again), and a very powerful fantasy I had about doing girl stuff.
So what does this intellectual recognition of femininity entail? I suppose it only entails what I experienced myself: discovery of pleasure in femininity and fulfilling that pleasure. But there's so much more, I think. It must start with a clean slate. Or maybe not. I've been through all this before. Clearly, one must experience a moment when that pleasure had yet to be experienced, and a moment after the experience. Mine came at a young age. In most of the stories I've read, it occurs to the hero only in adulthood. But there is always a discovery, and a capitulation.
Here's the deal: it's all about the fragility of our socio-sexual roles. What is masculinity? What is femininity? From this point of view, femininity is psychologically linked to women's clothing. Our society has clearly defined rules for gender differentiation by clothing. Or at least of feminization. Only women wear skirts, and lingerie, and brassieres, and bikinis, and high cut silk panties, and lace. But they also wear pants, and shirts, like men do. But the most important part is the underwear. That's where femininity resides. Bras and panties. Only girls wear them. Men wear something different. So gender identity can be defined simply with clothing.
Another aspect of society is that it frowns upon effeminate men, moreso than on masculine women. For a man to wear women's underwear would mean contamination, effemination, emasculation. A man who wears women's underwear can no longer be a man: only women wear women's underwear. So by willingly slipping into a pair of silk panties, I renounce my manhood. It instantly transforms me into a woman. My identity is bestowed by my underwear, so I am woman when I wear women's underwear. How ironic that I do it for sexual pleasure, by rubbing my male genitals, and therefore indulging in male sexuality even as I fantasize about acquiring female sexuality.
The discovery of women's underwear means abandoning masculinity. It's just like in my fantasies, just like in my experience. It all agrees on that point: it takes only one taste to set the conversion in motion. I wore those little stockings when I was five years old, and enjoyed the experience; I guiltily pursued the experience through the years, always wanting more and more, to the point where I now own a woman's bathing suit, a pair of panties, pantihose, and a lingerie oufit including a garter belt, fishnet stockings, and a satin teddy. I have worn just about everything I can think of. I still plan to become totally female for at least a few days, shaving my body hair off, wearing makeup and clothing like a woman constantly for the whole time. Notice the gradual capitulation to abject femininity. My fantasies have always followed the same pattern, as do all the stories I've read: an initial experience surprises the subject with pleasure, which he does not want to admit to, to maintain his masculinity. Then he slowly succumbs to more and more femininity. He becomes more and more comfortable with wearing women's clothing, to the point where he ultimately wears only women's clothing, and becomes truly female by taking hormones and undergoing a sex change.
That's the key: becoming more and more accustomed, until it becomes routine, normal. Another irony: I wear it for pleasure, yet I fantasize about wearing it as a habit. That's the high point of my fantasies now: wearing only women's underwear until I die; masturbating in something sexy, and then slipping into a pair of white cotton girlie panties afterwards. Always wearing something female. I sometimes look forward to wearing panties after I'm done. I never do, but I'd like to. It's all part of the gradual acceptance. Maybe one day, I'll achieve that, and aspire to something more, and so on until I am female.
The fuel for the fantasy's pleasure is the fear that these simplistic identities are accurate. I accept that they are accurate when I effeminate myself; but I also assert that they are false because I nonetheless remain masculine. When I do it, I want to become effeminate, and I always have. It's always been the main part of it, fantasizing that I can wear women's clothes just like real women do. It always meant aspiring to femininity, fully cognizant of the possible consequences of losing my manhood. I always wanted to lose my manhood in those moments to become a woman. Always, without exception. I find it so pleasurable that I don't care that I will lose my masculinity; I rejoice that femininity entails always wearing the things that give me such pleasure. To Hell with manhood if I don't get to wear bikinis and lingerie!
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