Tuesday, September 01, 1998

Diary: The Seed Grows

The thought, I am sure, has at least occurred to everybody.

I mean, everybody's heard of transvestites, so they can certainly admit to having imagined a man wearing women's underwear. The first thing I think of is how disgusting and un-feminine they look, no matter how hard they try. It's a short step from there, though, isn't it? Girlfriends will cajole and kid when seeing a transvestite that, "yes, darling, why can't you be more like him?" Or ask straight out if they've ever worn panties. For most men, it's shockingly perverted. They wouldn't dream of forsaking their manhood, or even joke about it, around their girlfriends or wives or mistresses.

But then, that little seed has already been planted. 

Add to that living with a woman: even if she's the mother or sister or some other relative, there's always women's dainties around. What man doesn't get turned on thinking about women's underwear? I've read that men need to see their women in underwear, that it's more appealing to them; they need a signal of femininity. What's more feminine than women's underwear? Not only does it cover the sexiest parts, it accentuates them.
It's difficult for any man to shop for lingerie. That's because there's an uncomfortable stigma about being seen in such a den of girlishness. Who but a girl - or a sissy - would be seen in a place like that? And men know what's pretty, too.

So there's definitely an association.

Secretly, they think about it. They're embarrassed to admit that they're interested in women's underwear - so much so that they can't shop for lingerie without breaking into a cold sweat.

Imagine picking up an article of gorgeous, absolutely female underwear, and being aroused by it. It's so feminine. I have no right to touch it. Merely touching it jeopardizes my manhood. How can I handle being exposed to something so powerfully girlish? I can't: I get so horny that I have to do something about it. Even when I see it on a girl, it drives me crazy. It used to be when I was five or so that girls were icky. A boy could never survive the stigma of hanging around with a girl, or else suffer the humiliation of being called a sissy. The other boys would think that I'm one of them. They would think that I'm secretly a girl. All boys had to resist girls, because we all knew that they were out to assimilate us and make us do all sorts of stupid girl things, and make us wear frilly pansy pink girlie clothes. I'm not surprised if I carry a remnant of that with me even today.
As a matter of fact, there's the idea of the old ball and chain: she'll domesticate you if you commit; she'll turn you into a sissy! You won't be a man anymore, because you can't go bowling or boozing with the guys anymore. Girls are dangerous that way. They want you to be a girl, too.

But men commit all the time. There comes a time when they have to betray the boys, and give in to the girls. The danger exists from day one, when little boys clump together in frightened cliques, berating anyone who dares to show that they feel that same, strange attraction to girls that they each secretly feel individually. They make each other sense that it's powerfully wrong, yet they each feel that they desperately want to. And so the seed is sown.

I know it's wrong, thinks the little boy, but it feels so good when I think of girls. Maybe I am one of them, after all. Imagine: what if my parents are wrong, or what if they've decided to pull some cruel joke on everyone, and I really am a girl, but everybody thinks I'm a boy? That must be it! The girls want me to join their ranks, I can feel it. I am drawn to them. Oh, I would be so free if I could only join them! They would take care of me. They would rub me right here where we're different, and make me like them. Right here they would rub me. Rub me right off. And I would be a girl. Rub me here. Rub me! Oh, rub me! Girl! I'm a girl now! Oh, God, I'm going to turn myself into a girl if I just rub myself! Oh, it feels so good! I want to be a girl! I love feeling like a girl. 

Then it's over and I'm ashamed, and I know that I'm a boy, and that I let everybody down.

Then it starts again. The longings come back. Then I begin to think that girls wear some pretty specific clothes. Boys don't have flowers and frilly lace on their underwear. Girls look so good in their underwear. If I want to be a girl, then I have to wear some of that, don't I? But do I dare? That's the trick, isn't it? I don't want anybody to know, but I want to try it. I start to imagine all sorts of bikinis and bathing suits and stockings and garter belts and panties and bras and teddies. . . I want to wear them all! Just thinking about it makes me feel so good! Imagine how good it must feel to be that sexy! I figure that I've only thought about being a girl so far. I've never actually tried to be one by wearing girls' clothes. Surely doing that will instantly transform me into one, and I'll never be able to regain my manhood. I know it's dangerous. I'm afraid to try.
I try. I don't care that I'll never be a man again. I just want to be a girl now. To Hell with being a boy! It feels so good when I touch women's clothes! I imagine myself wearing only silky women's panties and garter belts and bras from now on. I'm Hell-bent on becoming feminine. I'm only wearing pantyhose on top of my own underwear, but I'm picturing myself in lingerie, bikinis, etc. etc. etc.. Physically, I've barely done anything; mentally, I'm willingly going way too fast. I can't go too fast physically, because I'll never be able to turn back. If I take it slow, I'll be able to work my way up to it, and hang onto my manhood. If I go too fast, I'll be totally transformed overnight, and I'll have a lot of explaining to do. But it's so much more fun to go fast! I want to be girlish NOW!

Before I know it, I'm wearing all the stuff I fantasized about, loving the way it makes me feel so delicate and girlish. And I can't stop.

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