I think I only do this when I’m lonely. I feel bad about myself, so I give up and turn myself into a girl. It’s a symptom of a more general lack of self-confidence. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
As always, I’m talking about utter feminine abandon. Not even a tiny shred of masculinity remains. More feminine than a real woman.
It’s always the mental part that intrigues me. So many aspects of it turn me on. I like the idea of deception, of being tricked into becoming a girl; or rather, being tricked or forced into making that initial discovery, which makes everything else inevitable. There must be a conscious decision to fully embrace femininity, and do it so gladly that masculinity becomes embarrassing. There must be a moment when a man decides, after pondering for a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year, or a decade, that he likes the idea of turning into a girl, and pursues it as fully as he can for at least as long as he can keep from coming. While the deception might lead to the birth of the idea, it is this moment of abandon that makes it so exciting.
The hero must realize, no matter how briefly, that yes, it would be very sexy to put on women’s underwear, because it will surely and irrevocably corrupt his manhood and turn him into a beautiful, sexy, gorgeous girl. He must realize that he wants, at that moment, nothing more than to become absolutely female, even if it means casting aside his masculinity forever.
That’s the one flaw in so many of the stories I’ve read. Our man becomes a woman by treachery and deceit. Or by force. Or by hypnosis. Even though it’s exciting, the real beauty of the idea is that of wanting to. I certainly don’t need any hypnosis to want to turn myself into a girl. Why should my hero?
All it takes is the seed of the idea for my man to start that steady ascent to womanhood. Once it crosses his mind, it consumes him, and he becomes female.