This is what I used to fantasize about when I was a boy:
Women are determined to catch men, and turn them into girls for their amusement. Men catch on and learn to resist. They catch me, and start turning me. They start me off with pantyhose. I know that my only hope is to have some layer to protect me, so I put the pantyhose on over my own underwear. But the girliness seeps through somehow anyway, and I'm tainted. The women catch on, and force me to do it without protection. I try to cling to something masculine: first, a t-shirt, then maybe a watch or a ring -- anything at all. But at last, I am left completely without protection.
(In reality, that's exactly how I progressed. I didn't dare wear anything else, because it was too feminine; even this was dangerously girlie, and I risked becoming feminized each time I wore it.)
The problem is temptation: a small, weak part of me wants to give in to the girls, because it feels so good. But I must continue to resist. Without the protection, I feel utterly helpless, and I fear the next stage: leotards!
(once again, I had to move forward slowly. I couldn't just wear a swimsuit without protection, because it's far more feminine. At first, I tried it on with my underwear on, but I wanted more. I couldn't dare, so I dreamed up this fantasy of leotards, which were in fashion at the time. I did this by wearing a swimsuit over pantyhose. Eventually, I found a real leotard, but only after it was much too late.)
The women force me to wear pantyhose ten times before I get leotards. Halfway through it my fear turns to curiosity. By the end, it's fantasy. When at last the first ultra-feminine shock of leotards hits me, my fear returns. It's too much! What have I done! I must resist! I can't give in to this girliness, or else all is lost! But they will force me to wear leotards 100 times before I am worthy of wearing a one-piece swimsuit. The thought horrifies and excites me at the same time.
I ease into the transition, because the leotard tights are similar to pantyhose, but with the added terror of the bodysuit, with its high leg cuts. Bathing suits, of course, look just like the leotard without the tights.
(I probably gave in almost immediately to the swimsuit. I was still very apprehensive about it for a long time, and only wore it when I was desperately overcome.)
Sooner than I realize, I finish my 100-leotard initiation. I am given a fairly modest one-piece swimsuit. I must wear 1000 of these before I can touch a bikini. I nervously put it on, wishing I had some protection again. The sensation is so intensely feminine that I come almost immediately. I am blown away. I know now that I am utterly feminized in my heart, and only my body remains. I love the idea of wearing 1000 one-piece swimsuits, but I can't wait to put on a bikini.
(I now have discovered a less modest swimsuit, and after a few lame attempts in my own underwear, furtively, nervously, afraid of being caught, I dare to do it completely unprotected. The sensation utterly destroys my inhibitions. I am overwhelmed by its femininity, and I know now that there's no point in pretending to protect myself. I am beyond protection now.)
The 1000 swimsuit trial drives me insane with desire for a bikini. I desperately want a bikini! But the women won't let me have one. At some point, I manage to sneak into their storeroom, and secretly put one on outside of their schedule. I know that they schedule it this way to properly prepare us for womanhood, and that breaking with the schedule puts me at risk of becoming too feminine, but I don't care!
(I don't have access to any bikinis. I must rationalize my lack of one by pretending that I have to go through an ordeal before I am worthy. But my fantasies won't be restrained. I fantasize about lingerie, too, even though it's practically inconceivable to me to ever get any.)
I make a habit of sneaking to the store after wearing a one-piece all day. I am now trying on bikinis, teddies, garter belts, stockings, and everything I can get my hands on. Nobody needs to know! By the time I get to bikinis legitimately, the women are surprised at how easily I handle it, and how easily I put it on. They suspect, but I don't care! I'm supposed to wear 10,000 bikinis before I can wear any kind of panties, but I've already done that, so what do they know?
(I stole bikini bottoms from someone's dresser. I couldn't dare with the bra, because I was both afraid of getting caught, and convinced myself that the bra wouldn't do anything for me. It's not like I really wanted to be that girlish, after all, I told myself. It was just another defense mechanism, even this late in the game. Eventually, I stole another bikini, but with the bra this time. I could hardly just go with the panties anymore, because now I craved the fully feminine outfit.)
The women, it turns out, have known all along about my secret escapades. In fact, they secretly encouraged it. The schedule is fake, and is made to test my desire, and push it over the edge. We laugh about it as I put on an bustier, panties, stockings, and shoes, and go merrily along being girlie.
(At this point in the fantasy, I come all over myself, and suffer terrible guilt and shame.)
No comments:
Post a Comment