Diary: the Lost Fantasy of Domination

I have written many sordid fantasies in my notebook.  Contrary to practice (and security), I have refrained from tearing them up afterwards.  Another small step towards more freely admitting my fetish.

So here I sit again, at another person's computer, eagerly awaiting my own, so that I can put whatever I want on it.  I have read just about everything interesting on Dragscape.  One was about a dominant bitch who turned her submissive husband into a girl, up to the point where he sucked off her boyfriends to get them hard enough to get into her, looking completely female.  She forced him to start hormone replacement after months of making him wear only women's clothes.  God, that turns me on: gradually becoming female at the whim of a beautiful woman.  And it all starts with the clothes. . .

When I put on something girlish, I imagine myself being molded into a female shape by the shapely contours of my clothes.  Above all, I imagine my dick obliterated into a lovely, soft, curvaceous cunt under those tantalizing silks.  It's what I crave most desperately, coupled with the thought that it's disgusting, that it's unnatural, perverted, treasonous, effeminate.  Yes, I know that wearing this will make me girlish.  But I don't care!  It feels so good!  And why does it feel so good?  Because it makes me feel so feminine!

Take that fantasy about the war of the sexes, in which I, the masculine hero, get captured and embrace my conversion as vehemently as I opposed it.  I fight the women because I am a man, and I don't want to be anything else.  But when they introduce me to femininity, I embrace it even more fanatically than they do.  I know when they first expose me to their clothes that I will indubitably become female sooner or later.  And it feels so good that I anticipate each step, to the point where I actually crave femininity.  

I've somehow forgotten about the whole domination fetish that once possessed me so.  I used to fantasize that some cruel woman forced me to wear her underwear, and that I would become her servant.  Somehow, the innocence of that fantasy is lost.  There is something gone.  I remember my Baroness figurine bending G.I. Joes to her will.  I remember disassembling the figurines and reassembling the men with her body parts, and getting all turned on by it.  They would discover what it feels like to be female, and they would become her slaves, and join Cobra.  A total reversal.