Diary: Stages

The stages:

1. awareness: subject becomes aware that some men wear women's clothing for a sexual kick
   
   • - understands that it's not just for fags
2. awakening: subject understands the erotic appeal
   
   • understands the inherent femininity of women's underwear, skirts, bathing suits, etc.
   • feels a slight flush of curiosity about bondage scenarios with forced feminization, and what it would do to a man
3. experimentation: subject is curious enough to try for himself
   
   • tries on some fetish (stockings, underwear, bathing suit, whatever) either by "force" (visit to a dominatrix) or out of boredom, and fulfills himself sexually with it
     
4. humiliation: subject begins to worry that his experiments are destroying his manhood
   
   • as experimentation repeats, and becomes a habit, our subject denies himself as much as possible
   • rationalizes by saying he likes the feel of tight silk against his crotch, that it has nothing to do with panties being feminine
5. escalation: subject tries on skankier and skankier clothes, as his humiliation drives his desire (this may require more explanation)
   
   • prolonged privation leads to exponentially increased desire: the longer he goes without wearing panties (or whatever), the more extreme his fantasies become.
     This is absolutely key: his fantasies from the beginning are about becoming feminine, but he's hardly even aware of it.  It drives his first fantasies, but doesn't fully enter his consciousness, because he's rationalizing it.  As he denies himself, the fantasies, unfulfilled, have more time to develop, and creep more into his conscious mind.  When he eventually gives in to his irrational desires, mere panties aren't good enough: in his fantasies, he's becoming completely female, and so he wants his reality to come closer to his overwhelming fantasy.  He gets himself a bra, and is shocked at how it magnifies his climax.  It also magnifies his shame, and leads him to deny himself again.  This in turn leads to even more outrageous fantasies, which he eventually fulfills by wearing something even more feminine.  Before he knows it, he's wearing lingerie, stockings, heels, makeup, etc. and hating himself more and more for it.
   • "I'm not gay"
   • subject is in denial about his secret cocksucking fantasies
   • subject invariably feels deep shame when he comes, and when not under the grip of his fantasies, wants to abandon them (which makes them so much more potent)
     
6. capitulation: subject accepts and understands that he now wants to be a girl (still privately)
   
   • accepts that he dresses up because he wants to be feminine
   • unabashedly fantasizes about sucking cock
7. exhibition: subject comes out of closet
   
   • everything was hidden up to now.
   • wears at least something feminine at all times
   • strives to go out in drag, hoping to pass
   • parties at gay bars, trolling for cock
   • gets fucked by men
8. transformation: subject strives to physically become a woman through surgery, hormones, etc.
   
• ultimate fulfillment: growing boobs, having vaginoplasty, feeling a cock pump giz into neovagina

A Morning Adventure

I took the morning off from work because I'm expecting a delivery of furniture between 10:30 and 12:30. We've just moved, and I've been surrounded by clutter for the last few days, including piles of ___'s underwear, shoes, and various other fantasy-inducing ultra-feminine items. I've been holding it together quite well, mainly from the fatigue of lugging heavy boxes and furniture, but every now and then something catches my eye, and I briefly speculate about putting on something girly.

I crawled into bed last night completely free of such thoughts. As I drifted off to sleep, I nearly jolted awake remembering that I would have the morning mostly to myself! I immediately began to fantasize about wearing stockings, or maybe ___'s fishnet tights. I'd have her entire wardrobe at my disposal. I fell asleep thinking about some of her more elaborate lingerie.

While I stayed in bed watching her get ready, I was eager to get into something -- anything! -- feminine. I wanted to slip into the black and pink silk nightie she had under her pillow. I wanted to steal a pair of her panties. I controlled myself, and waited patiently for her to leave. Then I calmly took care of some business while having a leisurely breakfast.

Unfortunately, I realized then that I had a quick errand to run, and that I had better do it well before the delivery arrives. But I didn't want to lose time I could have otherwise spent feminizing myself. The best solution, I realized, would be to put on some lingerie, and hide it with my regular clothes as I ran my errand. This would satisfy my craving, and it would give me the added thrill of secretly running around town in frilly panties.

With heart aflutter, I retired to the bedroom, carefully picking through piles of clothes, in search for ___'s black bustier, matching panties, and stockings. I was eager to feel stockings on my legs, and I wanted a feminine treat, and this is the most outrageously feminine outfit I could think of. I chuckled as I put on my own jeans and t-shirt, luxuriating in the sensation of my legs in stockings and garters. I didn't bother with socks, for an added thrill.

Within 10 minutes, I had accomplished my mission, and returned home completely undetected. I could now frolic around to my heart's content for an hour or so until the delivery arrived.

Naturally, I couldn't do this without proper shoes, so I rummaged through a box where I knew I could find the one pair of ___'s shoes I can actually squeeze my feet into. As I sat down near the front door to buckle the sandal strap of the first shoe around my ankles, I heard voices outside. I dismissed them, thinking they must be neighbors, and certainly not the deliverymen I was expecting to show up more than an hour later. As I was working my way into the other shoe, there was a knock on the door.

Panicked, I shouted to please give me a minute. Twice. With one shoe on, I hopped into the bedroom, desperate to divest myself of this embarrassing outfit. There was no way I could remove the shoes, stockings, and corset in any reasonable amount of time. There was no way I would let anyone catch the slightest hint of me like this. The only way was to put on my jeans and t-shirt again, with a loose sweater to avoid showing bra straps and cups through the shirt. But there was one more problem: my stockinged feet.

Since I had no time (nor desire, truly) to unhook the stockings from the garters, my feet were obviously in black hose. This would surely be most obvious to the deliverymen. I needed to hide my feet somehow. Amazingly, it took me an agonizing 5 seconds or so to think of putting on socks. When the idea finally occurred to me, I realized that I had no idea where my socks were. I was panicking, knowing that the deliverymen were waiting at the door. Then it came to me: while I had no idea which pile contained my socks, I remembered that some recently laundered ones sat on a chair, right by the front entrance. But that would also be suicidal. As I calmed myself down, I noticed a pair in a laundry basket, and coolly put them on.

The men dropped off my furniture, oblivious to the secrets I share with Victoria. They were an hour early, and caught me quite literally with my pants down. Within ten minutes of moving boxes around and a polite amount of small talk, they left.

I had dodged a bullet. As an added bonus, I now had the rest of the morning to play dress-up. I practically tore off my man clothes, and put the sexy sandals back on as soon as they were gone. Then I put on a gorgeous little skirt and strutted around for a while. I like to prolong my pleasure by doing mundane things around the house en femme. I write this now wearing the same outfit described above. Perhaps there will be more.

Have I learned nothing from my adventure this morning?

Changes

I'm taking a new stab at this. Previous attempts were far too explicit and potentially non-anonymous. What can I say? I was in the grip of my delusions. Looking back, it was little more than an exercise in exhibitionism.

While I stopped posting out of sheer embarrassment, I haven't stopped dressing up like a girl and frolicking about like a randy tart. I've also developed some ideas for content offline, which I am glad to start sharing. I have multiple streams of thought to dip into. Perhaps someone will even read it.

Updates will be irregular and infrequent. There will be no photos.

Fantasy: Litérature Vérité

The fantasy had taken hold, and wouldn't let go.  It was the usual scenarios, all mixed together.  I was refining the back story over and over again, getting more and more excited as I circled around the denouement, coming closer and closer each time, from different angles. 

I was captured by a bunch of evil girls who were forcing me to wear a bikini... or a one-piece swimsuit... or they had captured me long ago, and forced me to wear all kinds of other things, trying to feminize me, but I was resisting... Yes... but by now, I knew that I was close to my breaking point... No, I was well past my breaking point, and they had me right where they wanted: begging them to wear a one-piece bathing suit... Yes, I beg them, but they refuse... I've worn so much other stuff by now, over the course of my captivity, that I've even begun to turn girlish, but they never let me wear a bathing suit... Yes, and I absolutely must wear it, I'm obsessed with it... They know that I'm not ready for it, that it will utterly destroy what's left of my manhood, and they want to drag this on forever... Or maybe they know that it will set back my feminization, while I want desperately, but secretly, to accelerate it... yes, it's a trick: they want me to prove just how badly I want to be a girl, so they contrive to have me steal it...

My fantasy settles on the one-piece swimsuit.  I shake loose of my reverie just enough to consciously reach my secret spot, between my bed and the wall, for my stash of girlie things.  I rummage around, and pause after touching each item, trying to guess in the dark what I'm fondling, each time considering for a moment whether or not I'd rather wear that instead, and alter my fantasy accordingly.

Hmmm, my black bustier... lingerie is always fun, but I really can't get that image of Heidi Klum in her swimsuit out of my mind.  I want to feel like that... How about my pink string bikini?  That's pretty fun.  But not as fun, oddly enough, as my silver bikini... oh, how I love the bra on that one... but no, the fantasy is about a one-piece.  Yeah, that's right... I don't like these little cotton panties... ah, here it is!

I pull it out as quietly as possible, and put it down under the sheets beside me.  I strip out of my shorts, thinking for a moment of keeping my shirt on.  There's always something sexy about having girlie stuff on under my boy clothes, like it's an admission that I might look like a man on the outside, but on the inside, I'm utterly feminine.  But even stronger is the idea of abandoning all connection to male attire, and succumbing completely to women's.  I pull off my shirt, and remain naked for no longer than it takes to figure out where the front of my bathing suit is.  I'm such a sissy that I can expertly get dressed in women's underthings in the dark.  The suit slides into place, and I slip my arms into the straps.  I adjust the suit so that it sits right on my body.  I tweak my nipple briefly, fantasizing about the cups of my swimsuit being properly filled.  I let the mist of my imagination thicken back around me, and delve headlong back into my fantasy.

I'm still reworking the back story, although now I'm at the climax.  I'm wearing a one-piece suit, and it's outrageously feminine, and I'm resisting letting it overtake me too fast.  I'm on my stomach now, gently humping my balled-up shorts, savouring every long stroke.  As I fondle my hips and my waist, I imagine myself standing up, in my fantasy scenario, wearing a swimsuit, looking every bit as feminine as Heidi Klum, fondling myself exactly as I am in my bed.  The soft, tight, feminine fabric rubs and stretches on my enormous cock.  In my mind, my cock shrinks away to nothingness, as I fully and wilfully succumb to irresistible womanhood.  My captors catch me red-handed, and I show them how proud I am of defying them.  No, wait... the fantasy shifts again... I am not caught, but I am secretly far more effeminated than they know.  I am in a store full of women's swimwear and lingerie, and I strut around in my new body, scouting out what I'm going to wear next.  What could I possibly wear that could top this in feminine sexiness?  My mind drifts to lingerie, and I imagine myself selecting a nice pair of lacy bikini panties and a matching bra, trying them on...

My cock rubs vigorously against my balled-up shorts.  It's ecstasy.  I'm wearing a women's one-piece swimsuit, very high-cut and tight, and I become conscious that I'm already looking forward to wearing something even sexier.  I'm such a fucking sissy!  I love it!  This realization amplifies my pleasure tenfold.  I'm longing for sexy lingerie that I don't even possess!  My massive erect penis, awash in extraordinary pleasure, is somehow blotted out in my mind, replaced by a soft, fleshy cunt.  Flashes of fucking cross my mind, and I am the girl!  I rub harder and harder, treading dangerously close to the point of no return.  I don't want to come!  I want this to go on forever!  I imagine myself a slutty little bitch, fucking and sucking cock, and loving every second of it!  Every time I come close to coming, I slow down, break the rhythm just enough, and continue.

At last, I can no longer resist the lure of such massive pleasure, and I pass the point of no return.  I do this consciously, and my fantasy dissolves a bit as I prepare for the imminent mess.  The pleasure is phenomenal.  It takes my breath away.  My hand darts into the suit through one of the leg holes, and I cup it next to my dick's head, and pump a huge quantity of semen into it, to the point of overflowing.  My legs shake with the intensity of it.  The remaining mist of fantasy quickly disperses, and I find myself short of breath on my stomach, wearing a smelly blue girlie swimsuit, with a huge mess of giz in my hand, afraid to move for fear of spilling it all over my bedsheets.  I have to be careful as I roll onto my back, and keep the swimsuit from touching the goo on my belly.

I reach for the nearby box of kleenex with my left hand.  This is very tricky.  Over time, it's inevitable: a growing yellowish stain grows on the belly of my swimsuit.  I used to come right into it, heedless of the mess I made.  But now I realize that I need to be more discreet, and more respectful of these wonderful items of clothing.  They are like magical relics, which I must be careful to avoid defiling with my disgusting manhood.  They are pristine vessels of femininity.  Meanwhile, I carefully slide out of my swimsuit, after wiping as much away as I could from my right hand and belly.  At some point I have no choice but to allow the swimsuit to touch a bit of semen.  I clean the rest of the mess, put my shorts back on, and tuck the object of my sin back into its hiding place, a little bit ashamed and disgusted with myself, yet luxuriating in afterglow, the fantasy fulfilled as best as I can.

If I really spent some time developing my fantasy, I sometimes find myself fantasizing about how girlish and sissy I've been, and find myself doing it all over again, usually with some other article of clothing, only with not nearly as much pleasure.  Then I fall asleep exhausted.