Diary: More Capitulation

I've been feeling rather girlish lately.  Unusually so.  I swear that sometimes I catch myself fantasizing a little too much about being a girl.

I think I'm just horny lately, and this stuff just comes out the same way that it always has.  I imagined myself the other day walking around in a pretty pair of high heels, and a miniskirt.  A woman, striding confidently in her heels, lithe, slim, smooth legs, powerfully and unabashedly powering me forward, my butt hitched in the air in its little panties.  I think of myself walking around like a girl.  And it excites me.  

On a heretical note, I was fantasizing about A__ [my girlfriend] today.  Nothing transgendered, unfortunately.  I was thinking about her standing naked in front of me, and me caressing her delicious belly and nuzzling into her spongy cunt hairs, lovingly, tenderly, and hornily.  I want to get her so horny about it that she wraps her legs around my face and starts really rubbing it in, while standing, as she grabs a wall or something for support.  Hmmmmmm. . . .

Anyway, back to my fantasies.  

Today, I want to explore the idea of succumbing to the new lifestyle.  I don't think I've left anything unexplored in here about that subject.  So here we go again, as trite as it may seem.

The idea of resisting, and then accepting, and then embracing the idea and the act of wearing women's underwear interests me.  I love to pretend that I don't really want to wear them, that I've never worn them before, but that the experience impresses me, and that after a variable period of time during which I wear them I decide that I'm never wearing anything else.

Just think of the shock of first wearing women's underwear.  The shock of experiencing lace and silk and skimpiness all at once, that first time.  I imagine the wonder of the initiate.  The revulsion, at first, to the very idea.  Then the gradual acceptance of it as an irreversible fact: I am wearing them; how vile; but it's too late.  So then I decide to take them off.  But the seed is in my head.  I start to think of what happens to my sexuality when I do that.  And I forget every time I fantasize about it thereafter.  

In purely fantastic terms, I wear the panties, and tear them off in revulsion.  But I can't forget the pleasure of the experience, and I inevitably crawl back for forgiveness.  Or I'm nabbed the very first time by the pleasure, and I don't want to relinquish it.  I struggle with my desire for a while, and then I give in completely to girlishness.  I consider my options, and eventually overwhelmingly opt for women's clothing.  I abandon masculinity completely.  I refuse to go back to men's clothing.  And I want the transformation to be complete.
You know, I would have worn my bikini to sleep last night if only I had some kleenex left.  For the first time, I can say that I actually felt like wearing women's clothing to sleep.  That first and last time with the lingerie I forced myself.  I wanted to continue with the bikini all night.  I was still horny, but unable to do much about it.


Maybe tonight.  

And maybe actually doing it really signals that I am ready for that total change that I fantasize about: I am about to renounce my manhood, and wear women's clothing exclusively, and become a girl.