24 Hours En Femme: a Follow-Up

After I wrote about my day dressed as a woman, I took a long bath in the Jacuzzi tub. I played for a bit with my bathing suits, since I couldn't leave them out of the picture. I modeled each of them in the bathroom mirror, one after the other. It was such a tease, so different from my usual furtive sessions. I settled on the one-piece, which for whatever reason felt the most feminine to me. I tried to draw it out as long as possible, but I came pretty quickly, and very hard. While in the bath, planning my night's escapades, I had decided that I would taste my own jizz, as a way of succumbing to my desire for a feminine experience, so I slurped up some of it, even as the pink fog was lifting. It tasted gamy, not altogether bad, but overall quite gross. It's very hard to remain in the right frame of mind to enjoy it. Nonetheless, I was still excited about sleeping in panties and a nightie. I was fully committed to it.

I had washed some of my lingerie, and had it drying on my towel rack, and it was liberating having all my feminine stuff out in the open. I put on my nightie and panties, and got ready for bed. I had tossed my drab pajamas in the hamper already. As expected, I could hardly help myself from luxuriating in feelings of femininity and reckless abandon. I could take my time, enjoy the idea of remaining in my feminine attire all night, and probably repeat the experience, multiple times.

I eventually dozed off, sleeping uneasily with my tired arousal keeping me in a state of semi-sleep. At some point, the baby woke up crying. He had never seen me in such an outfit, and I had to think about whether to change or not. In the end, I thought it best to just remain in my nightie. I comforted him for a good 30 minutes, rocking him back to sleep while wearing panties and a satiny nightgown! I was a little bit uncomfortable about it. What if he somehow remembers someday? Did he even notice at all? Certainly he rested his head on my bare shoulder, which is usually covered in a t-shirt.

In the morning, I brought myself to climax yet again, and thoroughly exhausted my drive to dress like a woman all day. I had decided to return a couple of things to the store, because I have far too much girlie stuff now to easily conceal. So I ended up not keeping the sports leggings, which I had planned to wear that day. I put them on one last time, and loved how comfy and cozy and sexy they were, and questioned my decision. But in the end, I had to part with them before I ruined them.

I was done for the time being. I cleaned up after myself, the guilt and shame washing over me in anticipation of T__'s return. I was anxious about leaving some trace of my activities. In the end, everything was fine, and she remained oblivious. I was a bit disappointed in my lack of determination to see my plan through, but in the end I came only a couple of hours short. 

Thinking back on it now, I fondly remember pushing the stroller around the neighborhood with girl clothes just under the surface, partly visible, and wish I could do it again soon. I think I might even do it in women's leggings, in public, for all to see, because who even cares? I even put on the dress and tights and shoes last week again during a brief moment alone at home, and thoroughly loved it.

Getting My Fill

By the time I ended my business trip, I had lost all enthusiasm for wearing my nightie overnight. But, since I hadn't brought any of my male pajamas, I had no choice. I was stressing out about having nail polish on my toes, and the effort I would need to remove it in the morning. I was experiencing a girlie hangover.

I found myself hideous in my girl stuff. I couldn't stand the sight of myself. I'm so hairy and pudgy in all the wrong places that I would recoil at the touch of my own body. It wasn't so much a dysphoria as a realization that my body in women's clothes is grotesque. I'm fine with being masculine, and the feminine clothes only made me feel ridiculous and gross.

Of course that didn't cure me of my fetish. One thing that kept nagging at me was a latent desire to wear a bathing suit, which I neglected to bring on my trip. Within a couple of days of arriving home, I put on a one-piece and made myself feel better. Ever since, I've been on a back-to-basics kick centered on swimwear. This culminated a couple of days ago in wearing my most special bikini, and I've been dying for more ever since.

So what the hell happened?

I think this confirms the sad fact that I don't have gender dysphoria. I only wish! I'm perfectly at ease as a man, and if anything I'm uncomfortable about presenting as a woman. I have a long way to go to be even remotely passable as a woman. I haven't even actually ever really tried. All I ever do is fantasize about it, and wank about it, and indulge in a bit of crossdressing. I think if I ever did try to transition, I would have an incredibly difficult time of it.

I've been getting heavily excited about transition before-and-after photos. I'm so envious of the people who have done it, and it fuels my fantasies. I let myself daydream about becoming a woman. I know that people who do actually have gender dysphoria have to live with an incredibly difficult burden. It's horribly shallow of me to wish I suffered from their affliction. It would give me a good reason for developing my fetish, and a goal to aim for. Instead, I have these delightful fantasies whose fulfillment would most likely make me deeply unhappy, and ironically grant me the gender dysphoria I currently and so callously envy, only in the wrong direction.

Building Up My Stash Again

I went nuts and bought a bunch of girl stuff again. I felt like I really need some shoes, so that was at the top of my shopping list. I ended up buying two pairs: wedge sandals and pumps, both glittery, along with a pair of teddies, back-seam stockings, and two more one-piece swimsuits.

The swimsuits are to replace my previous swimsuit purchases. I've struggled to get the right size. Too many t
imes, I've ordered something far too small, and struggled to get into it. Last time, I ordered size L, but ended up disappointed in the looseness of the fit. Bikinis are much easier, because the main problem with one-piece suits is the torso length. With the larger sizes, the hips end up not being nearly tight enough. This time, I ordered medium. I received one of them already, and it fits pretty well. It's just a bit too short, torso-wise, but the hips fit much better. We'll see how the other one fits when it gets here in September.

The teddies are something I've been thinking about for many years. I had "borrowed" one from a girlfriend many, many years ago, and it was exquisite, but I had almost no access to it. I think I wore it maybe once or twice. I ordered two, again because of concerns about the size: one S, one M. The S fits nicely, so I haven't bothered with the M, and will probably just return it.

As for the shoes, ever since my wife found my stash, discovered my secret, and forced me to purge, I've really missed wearing heels. Something about wearing women's high heels puts my fantasies over the edge. Usually, the focus is on my erogenous zones, but in this case, they're so unnecessary and so gratuitously feminine that somehow they become the best part. I especially like shoes with ankle straps, because they feed a sort of forced feminization fantasy. I've never had access to pumps that fit me. These new ones, when they arrive, will be a new experience. The wedges sprinkle glitter all over the place, so I have to be very careful with them.

The shoes also take up a lot of space, and I'm not sure where to hide them. I'll have to think about it before the pumps arrive, because my current hiding space is just about full.

Why Wear Panties?

My Wife's New Nightie

It's been difficult lately to find the time to feed my femininity. My wife and I had a romantic weekend at a hotel, and I had bought her a new nightie for the occasion, but unfortunately, she was on her period. I still got to have some fun rubbing up against her while imagining myself in her outfit.


In the following days, I struggled a bit with some pent-up arousal. One night, just after turning in for the night, I remembered that there was a load of laundry spinning in the dryer which needed to be taken out, lest it get all wrinkled. My wife was already asleep, and I was somewhat restless, so I went to take care of it. The dryer was still running when I got to it, with only a few minutes to go. I didn't want to go back to bed for the short time that was left on the timer, and I didn't want to just stand there, either. What could I possibly occupy myself with?

I suppose I could have just stopped the dryer, and the clothes would already have been dry. Instead, I snuck over to my stash, slipped out of my pajama pants, and put on the panties of my favorite bikini.

As I luxuriated in the glorious girlishness of my panties, I remembered a notion I had not long ago about keeping a pair of panties in my work bag so I could wear them at the office. Since I was already fiddling with my stash, and T__ was asleep, this seemed like a perfect opportunity to smuggle out my favorite satin panties. The dryer stopped, and I sadly slipped off the bikini, and returned it to its hiding place. I emptied the dryer, and trudged back to bed, but not before hiding the satin panties in my work bag.

My Satin Panties

The next day, as soon as I got to the office, I rushed to the men's room and discreetly changed into my satin panties. They felt wonderfully soft and tight around my tush every time I moved or got up for some coffee. But as the day wore on, I knew that I wouldn't get any reasonable opportunity to cum. Sadly, I changed back out of my panties in the afternoon, and my arousal went unfulfilled.

Amazing Panties by Axami

That was a couple of days ago. Today I had a bit of time to catch up. I didn't get to wear anything, unfortunately, but I did get to cum. I came fantasizing about wearing panties, and a bustier, and stockings, and lovely high heels. Inside my panties I had a soft, delicate, wet and slippery pussy, just aching to have a hard cock thrust into it.

That's the basis of my fantasies: imagining that I have a vagina. The rest, including the clothes, is secondary, but it helps the fantasy along. It makes me think that wearing enough bikinis and lingerie will eventually turn me into a woman. It hasn't happened yet, but it certainly has made me more feminine. That's what turns me on about shemale porn starlets and convincing crossdressers: it's possible to achieve womanhood with enough practice.

Interactivity Thwarted, Again

A few nights ago, my wife and I were watching TV when Lauren Conrad's joke about her favorite position being "CEO." It totally went over T__'s head, and I pretended that I knew exactly what it was and that I'd show her forthwith. We eventually ended up in the bedroom, where I directed her to put on a form-fitting black nightie and a pair of sexy 3-inch heels. She was already wearing my favorite panties, which are black microfiber with lace accents in strategic places.
we heard about

She rarely dresses up like this for our lovemaking anymore, for various reasons. I only remember her wearing shoes in the bedroom once before, several years ago, and then only for a very brief moment. She knows I love it when she wears lingerie, but it makes her self-conscious, so she only does it on special occasions.

Because of the name of the "position" and my presumed knowledge of what it entails, there was a slight subtext of a domination, although I left it entirely ambiguous as to who would be on top, as it were. She asked if my telling her what to do made me the CEO, or whether her wearing fancy shoes made her the CEO.

As she stood by the bed all dolled up, I couldn't help but think of the times I'd worn those panties and that nightie (the shoes in question unfortunately are far too small for my feet.) As I pulled her down on top of me, she kicked off her shoes, and I soon stripped off her lingerie and took her missionary style, the way she likes it best.

As I fucked her, she asked when she would get to be CEO. "You mean you want me to wear the nightie and the fancy shoes?" I replied, as if I were joking and not praying that she'd go along with it.

"No!" she protested, appalled, "I want to wear the nightie!"

Thus, I will continue to wear lingerie -- hers and my own -- in secret, for the foreseeable future.

Insatiable

While writing that last post, I mentioned knowing that if I had no boundaries, I would wank myself to death. I thought I had written about this before, but searched for it throughout my writings, to no avail. I wanted to link to the article I thought I had written, as a case in point. But there is no such article. Therefore, here's a little story about my insatiability when it comes to feminizing myself.

One evening, with my wife out of town for a bachelorette party or some such, I had decided to make full use of her absence to engage in as much girlish debauchery as I could handle. There was so much that I wanted to wear, and in only one night, that I hardly knew where to start. I have limited ability to recuperate at my age, so every wank must count.

Usually, when she's not far away, I have limited time to enjoy my femininity. I browse around the web for things that interest me for a while, which normally feeds some specific fantasy. I then fulfill it by wearing whichever girlie item fits the fantasy best. Sometimes, I'm already obsessed with some specific garment, and develop an elaborate fantasy around it. In any case, it's over after one wank, so I prefer my fantasy to match what I'm wearing, to maximize my pleasure. At times, this isn't enough to satisfy me, for various reasons. I actually keep a diary of every "incident", including what I wore, how much I enjoyed it on a scale of 1 to 10, and a brief description of the circumstances. Merely documenting this after the fact often launches me into another fantasy, so I find myself wanking again in another garment. This second orgasm is usually much harder to achieve. Interestingly, when making love to my wife, I can never muster the lust to come twice.

On this particular evening, I knew that I had all night. I was ravenous for femininity. I had a plan. Since I had no fear of interference, and total privacy for many, many hours, I decided that I would spend the evening wearing nothing but women's clothes, and sleep in my wife's little slip dress that she left behind under her pillow. I had fantasized many times about doing this, but inevitably my playtime would end after succumbing to the temptation of orgasm. This time, I was determined to at least see how long I could go, and try to avoid masturbating.

I whet my appetite browsing the web for the usual: pictures, stories, captions, videos, and so on. I probably wore swimwear while doing so (my records are sketchy, so I'm not sure). I tried to hold out, but probably lasted only an hour or so. In spite of my ambitions, I achieved my first climax quite quickly after all that preparation. In fact, it was too quick to be fully satisfactory. Thinking of my original plan, rather than giving up right then and there, I changed into a bikini. The thought of actually executing on my plan was so arousing that I couldn't resist coming again, soon after putting it on.

By now, I was already tired. My penis was sore from having climaxed twice. With resignation, I cleaned up the mess, and thought my valiant attempt had no hope of continuing. But there again was that thought: now that I've gotten it out of my system, I can surely wear women's clothes without having to masturbate. This would be somewhat less fun, but satisfying nonetheless, on an entirely different level. I slipped into my corset, stockings and high black boots, figuring that if I was going to do this, I might as well challenge myself.

I settled onto the sofa in my lingerie to watch a movie. I spoke to my wife on the phone. The whole time, I counted my blessings that I could wear such an outfit. I lounged happily in my feminine attire, fondling the lace of my panties and the smooth nylon of my stockings, snapping my garters, and adjusting my bodice. Before long, and much to my delight, I gave in to temptation yet again.

At this point, I would normally start feeling a little ill from all the strain, and more than a little over-satiated. And so it was then. But I had a seed in my head. I felt like I could go no further, but by now I was wondering if I even could cum if I tried. I struggled a bit to think of what I'd want to wear, but the very idea of being such a sissy that I could still climax after everything I had already done, spurred me on. I chose my favorite swimsuit, and carried on, knowing that I still had to somehow sleep wearing panties and a nightie.

It was less difficult than I had thought. It was somewhat painful, as with an overworked muscle, and it hurt to even have an erection, but the overload of femininity was too much to keep me from succeeding. I came again!

It was late by now, and I was exhausted. I felt like there was no amount of masturbation that would cure me of this fetish. All I had to do was allow myself to fantasize, and I could keep cumming over and over again. The idea that this dirty little fetish was impossible to satisfy made me want to come yet again! Somewhat unnerved, I slipped into the nightie and panties as planned, brushed my teeth, and went to bed, excited about sleeping en femme. I was drifting off to sleep, and just wanted to enjoy some sweet girlish dreams. I tried not to think about what I was doing.

It was no use. I woke up in the middle of the night with a massive erection, throbbing with the dull pain of muscular fatigue. I would not be able to sleep until I wanked it out, so I once again satisfied my urges.

By now there was no longer any doubt. I had discovered that there is no practical limit to my arousal when indulging my feminine fantasies. I could literally wank myself to death if I allowed myself to. It was also both arousing and disconcerting to confirm that my ample appetite for straight heterosexual intercourse was far smaller than that for feminization. This was not surprising. That the latter was limitless, was.

By morning, I was so worn out and so sore that I couldn't imagine how I would explain to my wife why I wasn't eager to fuck her when she returned. I schlepped around all day in a fog from my exertions of the night before. I had only now, after all these years, discovered the magnitude of my problem.

What Could Have Been

Often when I make myself feminine, I think back to some decisions I made years ago, and how different my life might have been had I done things differently.

I had been sharing the rent on a house with a co-worker some years ago, and secretly prancing around in all sorts of lingerie and swimwear. He had no idea. Still, I felt frustrated by my lack of freedom to express my feminine side all throughout the house. When he was out of town, I would take advantage of the opportunity without any fear of discovery. When the time came to move out, I decided that I would get a one-bedroom apartment and live alone, just to allow me the pleasure of living in girlwear whenever I wanted. I imagined ordering lingerie for delivery to my front door on a regular basis, with hardly any risk of discovery.

Pretty much as soon as I moved in, I met a girl, and she was coming over all the time, and we were having sex so often that I could hardly keep up. This naturally left me with very few opportunities to dress up. This same girl is now my wife, and the mother of my child.

The sissy thing to have done would have been to either get rid of her or involve her in my fetish for women's swimwear and lingerie, rather than keeping it secret. She might have stuck around if I had told her or shown her, but it doesn't matter: the point would have been to choose femininity over masculinity.

My garter slip

Today, while she was out, I risked wearing my garter slip, stockings, and shoes, for the first time since she almost caught me. While I luxuriated in the tight, soft fabric, I fantasized about how if not for her, I could have chosen a very different path. I imagine myself wearing lingerie every day in that old apartment, expanding my collection of panties and bras and bikinis and shoes and skirts and dresses. I would have masturbated ecstatically in a garter slip like this one, only instead of quickly cleaning up, hiding my girlish garments, and immediately getting back into my male clothes, I would have cleaned up and immediately put on some simple satiny everyday panties and gone on with my day. I know that if I had no boundaries, I could happily wank myself to death, never tiring of the femininity of it all. Eventually, I would have come out of the closet, so to speak, and become proudly transsexual.

These thoughts brought me to a quick but satisfying climax. And it's not the first time. Even now, as I retell it, I'm getting horny again.

Alas, it was not to be. And yet, I still think I made the right choice. I wouldn't give up my "normal" life, with my loving wife and beautiful baby, even for that. But I can still have fun now and then, pondering how it might have been.

Lingerie Dream

I've been obsessing over trans fiction lately, as I revisit my old diary. I loaded all of the stories from the long-defunct Michelle's Mid-Day Break onto my e-reader. I read a few last night before going to sleep. My wife has terrible eyesight, so she can't see what I'm reading.

I had a hard time falling asleep, excited as I was about stories of feminization. The one I read just happened to involve wearing a bikini. I tossed and turned fantasizing about how life would be if I hadn't met my wife, and I could wear girls' stuff all the time.

In my dream, T__ was having me try on lingerie outfits, mainly consisting of bustiers and panties. I remember being surprised that she would want me to wear girl clothes. I wasn't at all hiding the fact that I wanted to, but she was choosing what I would try on. In particular, I remember wearing a satiny off-white bustier with black panties and stockings, and then trying on a black bustier with the same panties and stockings. I had a flowing white satin robe on as well. I think I wore makeup, too.

How I wish it were true! But sadly, it's just a dream. She told me once about a disturbing dream she had in which she found me "hideous." I asked her to elaborate, expecting that she'd say I looked deformed like Quasimodo or something, but instead, she complained that I looked feminine, which she found repulsive.

Therefore, I continue to prance behind her back.

Preparations for a Massive Gurlie Bender

The perils of a double life are really starting to take their toll. My wife is pregnant, and we're both ecstatic about it. However, current arrangements have made it nearly impossible for me to indulge in my secret fantasies. She's always around when I am, which has left me the last few weeks with very few opportunities to prance around in anything feminine. However, the one time I did, it was like I'd forgotten how good it feels, and I re-discovered femininity in a bikini all over again. While I was used to feminizing myself practically every other day, I now treasure these rare moments more than ever before.

It came as a wonderful and welcome surprise to learn the other day that my wife might be taking a 5-day trip at the end of the month. This would leave me alone to my devices the entire time, and given the dearth of opportunities lately and for the foreseeable future, I'm determined to take full advantage.

The plan is to spend pretty much the entire time wearing something girlie. I intend to wear panties at work under my clothes every day, play with lingerie and swimwear and makeup and outerwear when at home, and sleep in at least panties, and possibly nighties every night. I'm going to feminize myself as much as I possibly can.  I want to come as close as possible to living as a girl during this time. I only wish I had some pretext to get rid of my body hair.

In preparation for my bender, I've gone nuts ordering some items I've been fantasizing about for years. Naturally, they're swimsuits. I ordered them today to be sure to get them in time. It's possible that my wife may not take her trip after all, in which case I probably will have to return it all unworn, since I can't imagine when or how I could ever bring any of it into the house undetected.

First, there's the scuba one-piece with the zipper in the front and an adjustable belt, from Venus.  I've been dying to wear one of these since the 80's. I had an intense experience with a one-piece suit in my formative years, after what seemed like ages of fantasizing about wearing one without ever daring to. I always find myself coming back to them. This one in particular has always seemed out of reach. Not anymore!


Speaking of my formative years, it was a short leap from one-piece suits to bikinis in my twisted mind. Swimsuits have always held a very special place in my heart. I couldn't resist also buying this bikini version of the above, in black. Once again, it's a matter of expanding my horizons: I've worn all kinds of bikinis, but only once or twice have I managed to wear one with a belt, or a sports top. The belted one I wore I borrowed, and it was one of my favorites of all time. The belt's accentuation of the hips drove me wild. The sports top was also borrowed from the same dresser, but with a different bottom. It's particularly fun because it's harder to put on and take off. Once it's on, it feels like I'm trapped in it, and I find that very exciting.

Then there's the skirted bikini. The sports top I mentioned above went with a skirted bottom. I had never before thought about wearing such a thing before I discovered this one. The moment I put it on, I was smitten. I wished I could keep it, but alas, I couldn't risk it. Ever since, I've been dreaming of the day I could add one to my collection. The original one had a tight and straight skirt, but this one is ruched, which is quite interesting. Overall the original was sporty, but this one is clearly a fashion suit. I had a hard time choosing a top, but settled on the 5-way bandeau, whose versatility will be a blast to explore.

To complete the plan, I figured I could use a couple more panties, since I'll need undies every day of my binge. Since I've gravitated so much to swimwear, I have only a few panties. These two looked promising. I got the satin lace-up in black, and the all-over lace in ivory.

I'm driving myself crazy with anticipation. I sure hope everything falls into place.

Incorrigible

I've had a decent bit of fun with the garter slip I ordered, but not as much as I'd imagined. Not yet, anyway.

This happens to me every now and then with certain outfits, particularly ones that I'm experimenting with. I latch onto a lovely picture of some garment, and I become obsessed with wearing it. Then I get one, and it's not as much fun as I'd hoped.  In general, I think the first time is never as much fun as later incidents. Often, however, the same garment later becomes one of my favorites.

For example, there's the blue one-piece swimsuit I bought years ago. I had picked it out of a rack at a drug store, and gotten nasty looks from the cashier. When I first wore it, I didn't like it at all. Eventually, it became the one thing I wore most of all! Then there's the teddy I ordered from VS a few months ago. I was unhappy with it the first couple of times, but now it's definitely one of my favorites. I haven't worn it all that often, but something about the lacy fringe on the leg holes drives me absolutely crazy with femininity.

Anyhow, I found my stash to be quite complete after that last purchase, so I didn't renew my P.O. box. I have so much girlie stuff now that I can't even hope to keep up!

But there's always more stuff to be had.

T__ decided to do a bit of spring cleaning. She was going to donate a bunch of stuff, and while she had stepped out for a bit, I inspected the items she was getting rid of. Sadly, one of them was the bikini panties, missing their bra, which she often wore when we first started seeing each other. I've certainly worn those panties far more than her. Those are now gone.  But at the bottom of one of the boxes was a little black dress that she used to wear in those days. I saw an opportunity to have something I wouldn't otherwise be likely to get for myself, so I stashed it away.

Yes, I now own my very own little black dress! Finally, I can wear something reasonable with my stockings and knee-high boots!

I'm wearing it now, along with some pantyhose I bought at the grocery store the other day, and my VS satin panties and bra. I feel like I'm living the dream now.

Shipment #3

I was pretty saturated with the last shipment. I have so much feminine stuff now I don't know how I'll ever wear it all. Remember my declaration that I'd focus on swimwear? Well not too long ago, I got tired of all the bikinis, and got a strong hankering for some lingerie.

On a strong impulse, I went for the white garter slip I'd been dreaming of for months, and an appropriate pair of white panties. They finally arrived today.

I must admit, I wasn't feeling particularly keen on my little adventures lately. With the package in my car with me on the long ride home from work, I tried so hard to get myself into a little fantasy so I could get more enthusiastic about my new frillies. Try as I might, I just couldn't sustain a fantasy. Too much else on my mind.

Tonight was perfect for bringing this home, because the wife is out. When I arrived, I promptly unpacked my goodies, and inspected them, more interested in hiding them than wearing them. When I felt the unreal softness of the slip, my heart melted. It's exquisite! And now I had to put it on!

I rushed into the bedroom and squeezed myself in. It's wonderfully tight, all the way to my butt, where a set of garters await my stockings. It clasps in the back like a bra, which gives that wonderful feeling of being harnessed into something feminine, with no way out. The panties are OK. I have similar ones. I think I would have preferred something a little different, but I'm sure I'll enjoy them anyway.

Tomorrow morning, I'll put them both to the test. I'll have the time to put on some stockings and shoes with them.

Saturday will be even better, as I'll have the entire day and night to myself!

The Unboxing II

At lunchtime, I slunk down to the parking garage to spend some quality time with my newly acquired girlie clothes.  I had been thinking about them all morning, especially since my brief glimpse of one of my new shoes amounted to a religious experience.

I nervously looked over each shoulder as I exited the elevator and walked to my car.  There was nobody here, and even then, I'd be fairly well hidden in my car. Nobody would even come by, much less have any idea what I was up to.

Once again, I opened my box and unloaded its contents onto the passenger seat. This time, however, I would not be content with merely contemplating each item through its clear plastic wrapper. I needed to examine them much more closely, if for no other reason than to confirm whether they met my expectations. The problem with ordering clothes online is that things look much better on the screen (especially when worn by a stunningly beautiful supermodel) than in the hand.  I was already surprised by the apparent padding in both the lingerie bra and the bikini top, never mind the boldness of the shoes. What else might be different from my expectations?  Would any of it disappoint?

I started with the satin panties. The first thing I noticed, before I even opened the wrapper, was a pretty bow on the front. I hadn't noticed it in the picture. I was pleased to notice the pretty stitching along the legs, and the lace accents on the front. When I tore open the wrapper and took them out, I unfolded them in front of me. They looked fantastic. I trembled with glee at the thought that someone might see me admiring women's panties in my car. I regretted that I had no way of putting them on then and there. The satin was absurdly soft. This was better than I had even thought it would be.  I had expected something much smaller and flimsier, like my wife's microfiber panties. These are more elaborate and somehow more substantial.

Next came the matching bra. I was already delighted by the padding, which I now confirmed was the reason for the volume of the package. I never expected to get this kind of help! Now I could look like I have a reason for owning a bra! Even better was the satin all the way around to the back. This bra is prettier in many ways than any of my wife's. I couldn't wait to wear this with my new panties. I had fairly low expectations for my new underwear, and this far exceeded them.

Then I unwrapped the bikini bottom.  I had ordered the double-string bottom, which was new to me. With all the bikinis I've worn, I have never experienced one like this.  The closest was my ex-girlfriend's, which didn't have the string bows, just two parallel strings on each side.  I wasn't sure what it would look like in practice, but in the pictures on the website, they were sometimes crossed, sometimes not, sometimes had a string bow, sometimes not. This was the first mystery I wanted to solve; but before that, I couldn't help but notice that the material was not at all what I expected: it was more plastic than smooth like a normal swimsuit. This was going to be a new experience altogether. Also, the silver was more lustrous than in my previous silver bikini. The effect is once again shockingly sexy, far more so than any other bikini I've worn. The sides, meanwhile, turned out to be much closer together than in the picture. At first, I thought they might be completely different from the pictures, but then I realized that the strings are stretchy, and possibly adjustable. I have no doubt that this will be a fantastic new addition to my secret wardrobe. The double string is the best of both worlds: the width of the side and the string combine beautifully to accentuate feminine hips.

The bikini top was a mild surprise as well. This, too, was padded, which should be fun to play-act with.  I was expecting more of a brassiere, with a clasp at the back. Instead, it ties both behind the neck and at the back. The material makes it hang together in a way that is completely unlike any other bra I've ever worn. It should be quite fun to experience it.

The metallic silver teddy was the wild card in all of this. I ordered it because it was cheap, and because it appeared to have lace accents and bows at the bottom, which made them much more appealing than a simple metallic bodysuit. I was blown away by the wispiness of the fabric: even though it covers much more than my bikini and undies, it's much less substantial than any of the other pieces I'd unwrapped. It clasps at the bottom, like a good bodysuit. I couldn't hope to fold it again because the material flowed in my hands like liquid. This should be fascinating to put on. It should go quite nicely with my shoes, too.

Last but not least, I released the right shoe from its paper trap and examined it much more closely. I had planned to eyeball it to see if my gargantuan abomination of a foot would even come close to fitting in it, but now that I saw it, the shape made such comparisons utterly impossible. This shoe is so completely different in shape from anything that I've ever touched that looking at it gave me no clue as to whether or not it would fit. This left me with the dizzyingly attractive option of having to try it on.

As I removed my own shoe, a young man walked behind my car, and entered his own, which was parked directly to the right of mine. Only a mere glance into my passenger window would have shown him the open shoe box with pink and white paper strewn inside it. I pretended to fiddle with my music player while he climbed into his car, backed out, and drove away. I got no indication that he even looked at me, or noticed anything at all about what I was doing. Nothing feminine (other than the pink paper and shoe box) was visible.

As soon as he left, I dutifully resumed my mission of trying on the lovely shoe. I kept my sock on, to avoid defiling it with my horrible naked manly foot, and also to have a little slipperiness, like the little nylons they provide at women's shoe stores. I tried desperately to squeeze into the toe, but it wasn't getting to the tip of the shoe. As I forced in my foot, the shoe kept tipping over, and digging into my floor mat. I couldn't see what I was doing down there. At last, I decided to try strapping it on, but I couldn't see the strap, either. However, I was able to get such a length of the strap into the buckle that I am confident that I will succeed, when I have more time and space. Anyhow, there is no larger size. Also, I am able to fit into one pair of my wife's shoes, which are at least two sizes smaller, albeit with much struggle and stretching of straps. The bigger challenge will be walking in them, which will probably also squeeze my toes down lower into the shoe.

As soon as I was satisfied with my divine footwear, I packed it into the box again, and moved all of the paper aside for easy access. I put everything back into the packing box, closed it, and went back to my office.  All of this was done in less than 15 minutes.

Now I find myself unable to concentrate, and avoiding work by writing this. I would love to spend more time hidden in the shadows admiring my purchases. Getting to know them will require much more intimacy, however, and much more time.

The Unboxing

Today I retrieved from my secret postal box my first secret delivery of feminine attire.  This was a bold initial experiment, which cost me quite a bit of money, and delivered me more new stuff at once than I've ever attempted before.  I picked up my package from the post office on my way to work. It came in a simple, nondescript cardboard box.

For days, I had anticipated this moment. I could even dare to wear my new panties this very day! That would be incredibly risky: I contemplated how I could even get them on, given the lack of necessary privacy even in the men's room at the office.  I also worried about defiling them before I could even really appreciate them.

Already back on the road, yet unable to contain my excitement, I cut the tape sealing the box while waiting at a traffic light. When I pried open the box flaps, I immediately noticed each item sealed into its own plastic bag.  One by one, I pulled out these bags and placed them on the passenger seat, for all the world to see: the bikini bra; the satin bra; the bikini panties; the metallic teddy. But where are my satin panties? Did they mess up my order? The shoe box lay at the bottom of the box, with a packing slip and catalog on top of it. Were my panties together with the bra? That would explain the volume of the bra bag. But the packing slip shows it as a separate item, and I did order it separately. The label on the bra bag says nothing about panties. My heart sank with fear of disappointment.

These quick explorations were cut short when the traffic light changed, and I had to go.  I quickly tossed everything back into the box, and drove on.  Almost every traffic light was green, which would normally be a good thing, but I wanted to spend time inspecting my goods.  Where were my damned panties?  They had to be hidden inside somehow.  I finally hit another red light, and pulled out the shoe box. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the panties in their bag, folded flatter than any other item, underneath where the shoe box had been.  I pulled them out and put the shoe box back in, followed by all the other items. Everything was now accounted for.

I finally arrived at work, and pulled into a parking space in the garage.  I arrived just in time for a morning meeting, but it would have to wait.  Well hidden from prying eyes, I again pulled out all of my new garments, and marveled at each one in its plastic wrapper. Both bras were much puffier than I expected; were they padded?  But what I really wanted to see were the shoes. I pulled the shoe box out of the packing box, and placed it on the passenger seat.  I cut the tape that held it closed, and peered into it. The shoes were covered in paper. I peeled aside the top layer, revealing the right shoe.

I was stunned by the boldness of the pattern, the shine of the leather, the height of the platform at the toe, and the outrageously feminine shape of the shoe overall. I moved more paper out of the way, and tried to lift it out of the box to get a better look at it.  It was still tangled in some packing paper, and as I pulled at it, the sheer height and slenderness of the heel, which had remained hidden, became shockingly evident. I couldn't even see it, yet I was awed and disconcerted by it.  I had touched the shoe of a Goddess, and I would soon giddily sacrifice myself to its overwhelming femininity. Somewhat intimidated, I gently released the shoe, closed the box, and put everything back into the packing box. I didn't have time for this.

My heart racing, I rushed up to my office to join the meeting, only five minutes late, still reeling from the realization that I now have incredibly sexy 4 1/2 inch heels, of which I am woefully unworthy. The rest of the day would be spent fantasizing about my new stash.

First Order

Having secured a PO box for deliveries, I wasted no time in starting to put together an order from my favorite vendor.

The main mission was to fill in my underwear collection.  I realized recently that my current stash only includes two pairs of panties, one of which is part of a lingerie outfit.  I thought it would be important to embrace my feminine side by wearing panties more often, possibly even when out in public, but I would need a whole lot more for that to be possible.

The first order of business was finding suitable panties, and then getting a matching bra. The ideal panties, in my mind, are silk or satin, and off-white. This is perhaps the first distinction I was able to make between boy underwear and girl underwear, and it seems quite true in its simplicity.  Surprisingly, this wasn't the easiest thing to find at a lingerie store, given that they specialize on the edges of the spectrum: fantasy lingerie from the minds of horny men on one side, and comfortable everyday cottons on the other.  However, I did pick out a winner: ivory satin bikini panties with lace accents, and a matching bra.  For good measure, and given the discount when buying more than one, I also selected the same in black.

Then I fell into the usual trap: I spent an inordinate amount of time looking at swimwear. I wanted something cheap to fill out my collection, and wanted something with decorative hardware. I almost ordered a lovely bikini with rings at the sides, but I balked at the color and pattern, and anyway was unsure whether it really did come with the rings. I instead chose a double-string bikini, in the same metallic silver of my old favorite bikini that I wore hundreds of times back in the day.

The bra I chose was a push-up halter, pictured here in gold.

Then I threw in a super-cheap but sexy teddy just for fun.  It was only 6.99, and the lace and bows at the legs were simply too pretty for me to pass up at that price.

Now I was ready to complete my order, but I wasn't quite convinced.  The total was rather high, and I wondered whether I was really getting exactly what I wanted.  I thought about ditching the teddy, but it was so cheap as to make no difference.  Then I thought about the underwear.  Sure, it would be nice to have more underwear, but I wasn't even totally sure if the kind I had chosen would be suitable. I realized that I was getting sucked in by the discount for buying more than one, and that it wasn't a very good deal after all.  So on a whim, and with a devilish grin, I dropped the black panties and bra, and added a pair of super-cute shoes.


I've wanted some tall strappy sandals for a long time, but I've never had the courage to buy any.  I've bought FMB's, but I've grown tired of them.  At last, I will have appropriate footwear to feed my perversions.

I filled in my info, and clicked submit.  I now have a bunch of lady clothes on their way to my secret postal box, and I can't wait to get my hands on all of it.

I'm particularly excited about the shoes.

Taking Full Advantage of a Rare Opportunity

So today, my wife had an outing, and she wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning. When she told me about it, I got very excited for all the fun things I could wear while she's gone. I'm insatiable when I have time to myself.

Since I had gotten ample warning, I had been making plans all week to get myself something special. I looked around on Victoria's Secret, Fredrick's, and so on, and was just overwhelmed by my options. But that's a lot harder than it seems: I have to somehow acquire my girlie goods, and I can't really mail order any of it, because it won't get here in time. I have to shop in person.

This took a first aborted trip to a Nordstrom Rack store, where I was horribly disappointed in myself for not really spending the time to really look, for fear of being seen fondling women's clothes. My real problem was that I didn't know what I wanted.

So I thought about it. I needed to get something I've never had. I've tried on just about everything under the sun. I've been fantasizing about a monokini for a while, but I've already got too many swimsuits. So I decided to get a corset and some knee-high fuck-me boots.

Since the wife left early in the morning, this gave me the opportunity to actually wear panties all day long. I put them on, and never looked back. I wore my own over top, to avoid detection. Then, after a long day's work, I went to Fredricks and DSW and got the requisite items. I've been wearing them ever since, and I love them! I've been fantasizing all night about how they're turning me into a real girl, and how lovely it would be if I could wear stuff like this all the time.

It'll be a long, wonderfully erotic night...

Fiction: Forbidden Knowledge

When I was a boy, I learned to think of everything to do with women to be forbidden.  I feared it, as did all of my peers.  It was improper for boys to ever see girls' underwear.  There were very strict social norms against boys having anything at all to do with feminine things.  This makes sense: as a child, you're still trying to form a sense of identity, and gender is one of the most immediately comprehensible aspects of it.  It's like a lifebuoy that we cling to, to assure us of who we are.

So imagine what it must have been like to have to wear girls' tights for a school play, so our kindergarten teacher could have us all dressed like flowers.  Now, suddenly, it was ok for boys to wear girl clothes.  But deep down, I knew that it was subversive.  It was even comical, but not so embarrassing since all the boys had to do it.  

I, for one, had tasted the forbidden fruit, and I wanted more.  It planted a seed in my head which in a few years' time, when puberty started to hit, would grow like a weed.

It is forbidden for men to wear women's clothes.  Those who do are cast out of polite company.  It's simply unacceptable, deviant, and perverse.  But why?

First, it was pantyhose.  They seemed innocent enough, since I had already effectively worn some in kindergarten.  But this time, it was more serious.  I wanted to.  And when I did, it felt so good.  I learned about how it feels to have sheer nylons on my legs.  This knowledge is forbidden to boys and men.

From there, my thirst for knowledge only expanded.  I knew full well that it was perverse, and at that young age, at the beginning of puberty, sexual matters are secret; so I did this entirely out of sight.  Nobody would ever know.  I felt guilty about it, too.  But I always wanted more.  Then I fantasized about wearing other forbidden things.  There was far more forbidden knowledge to be learned, and I needed to gain some experience in order to fully appreciate it.  I developed an elaborate fantasy about how I'd have to wear pantyhose hundreds of times before I would be permitted to wear leotards, and those thousands of times before I could wear a bathing suit, and so on.  This was partly a way to rationalize that I did not have access to these things, and would have to leave it to some distant, unimaginable future.

Soon enough, I did try on a leotard.  But before that even happened, I borrowed my mother's swimsuit.  Now I was in trouble.  There was no turning back, and I knew it.  I was deeply ashamed, but that didn't stop my intense cravings.  I would look at pictures of sexy girls, and imagine wearing their bikinis.  Now I was actually stealing things from people, and keeping it hidden in my room.  Just about every day, I would masturbate in something girlie.  Meanwhile, I was slowly becoming a man.

By now, my desire for lingerie was overpowering, yet it remained always out of my reach.  Eventually, I did steal some panties, and wore them often.  I was gaining lots of knowledge and experience.  I could put on a bikini in the dark under my bedsheets.  But it was seldom good enough.

I was so confused.  Sometimes, I would wonder if I were actually a girl, and whether my parents and doctors had made some terrible mistake and made me a boy.  But I knew this wasn't so.  At the same time, I was shyly obsessed with images of girls in lingerie and swimwear.  I fantasized all the time that they would force me to become like them.

By early adulthood, I had been with girls, and secretly worn their underwear.  I started buying myself things, like lingerie and swimwear.  I had accumulated quite a collection.  I had learned more and more, to the point where I had become a sort of expert in feminine undergarments.  I fantasized about ordering lingerie online.  I made laundry lists for myself.

One girlfriend actually bought herself some lingerie and left it in my room, since she was afraid of what her mother would think.  I wore it at least 10 times more than she did.  When she and her family went away on vacation, and I was given the responsibility to water their plants, I took the opportunity to try on just about everything she owned.  No man should know so much about women's clothes.  Especially not what it feels like to wear them.

Relationships with women lasted long, but not forever.  I would start feeling guilty about wearing their underthings while their backs were turned.  I found myself focusing on my fantasies instead of finding new girlfriends.  Wearing lingerie and swimwear was so satisfying that I hardly needed any fulfillment from any woman.  I moved into my own place, and played with my outfits in secret, alone, just about every night.

I developed fantasies of becoming a girl.  I wrote all sorts of them down.  I read other people's fantasies, too.  I learned a lot about men who want to become women.  I bought a bustier, and a patent leather halter mini-dress.  I owned about 5 swimsuits.

I moved away to a different city, and began to spend lots of my extra cash on women's clothes.  I became obsessed with shoes.  I had decided that I knew enough about wearing girls' clothes that I could wear only them when I was home alone.  I would sleep in nightgowns.  I would wear skirts and corsets and stockings and pumps while cooking dinner, watching TV, or vacuuming.  My little French Maid's outfit was particularly fun for doing chores.  This is when I felt ultra-feminine.  I still wanted more.

I started wearing only women's underwear, all the time.  I wore them to work under my boy clothes.  In winter, I would wear a bra, which nobody could see because of my thick outer layers.  I threw away all my boy underwear in a moment of passion.

Soon I started keeping my legs shaven.  Then my chest.  It made the girl clothes feel so much sexier.

Then I found out about a certain questionable drinking establishment where men were encouraged to dress like women.  They provided change rooms and lockers, so you could travel there as a man, and conceal your true colours from the outside world.  Now I saw how much more I had to learn.  Some of my fellow patrons were gorgeous.  I was terribly manly looking.  I had some competition.

As I improved my womanly looks, I learned to spurn the advances of men.  For God's sake, I'm not gay!  Sure, I fantasized often and guiltily about furthering my forbidden knowledge, but apparently I wasn't ready yet.  I longed for the taste of cock, which only women know.  Everything I learned about women made me want to know more.  But after years of happily pushing the limits, I had finally found a new and significant barrier.

People knew now that I was a transvestite.  I stopped caring.  I would wear androgynous clothes to work.  Sometimes I'd have a bit of makeup on.  It was difficult for a while, but I got used to it.  I hardly needed my male wardrobe anymore.

Determined to learn my lesson, I practiced with some dildoes.  I had misgivings about putting them in my ass at first, because most women don't do that, but I figured I'd hardly be feminine if I couldn't have a penis inside me.

Around this time, as I whimsically looked into how I could get a sex change, I discovered that some doctors make a distinction among transsexuals: those who genuinely are women trapped in men's bodies, and men who love to make themselves feminine.  The distinction is remarkably clear.  The former have always been outwardly feminine, and have no trouble pretending to be girls.  The latter are actually very masculine, typically engineers, policemen, soldiers, or other masculine professions, and struggle to come off as women.  Furthermore, the former want to be women so they can have sex with straight men.  They are thoroughly homosexual.  The latter are interested in women only, although they fantasize about sex with men, there is never any emotional connection.  These doctors further posit that the latter should never be allowed to have sex changes, because they really are men through and through.

Recognizing myself as being firmly in the latter camp, I began to doubt my fetishes for stockings and panties and corsets and swimsuits and fellatio.  But I couldn't prevent them.  I envied those who were allowed to become girls.

Unable to resist, I finally sucked my first cock at my favourite bar.  It was a terrible fiasco, as these first attempts always were.  After almost vomiting at the end of it, semen all over my face and skirt, I vowed never to do it again, and stayed away for weeks.  But in retrospect, I became aroused at the thought that I had sucked dick, like a girl.  I had gained another piece of forbidden knowledge.  It comforted me to think that this practically made me a girl now.

They say that practice makes perfect, and I began to meet with a certain man to improve my technique.  I think I became quite skilled.  It was almost too easy to have him teach me how to take a cock in the ass.  By now I wanted to be as gay as possible, because it made me feel so feminine.  When he pounded my ass and came inside it, I could only think of how feminine I was.

Now I became serious.  I had sexy piercings on my belly button, my nipple, and my tongue.  I was ready to learn the final forbidden lesson: what it feels like to have a penis in my own vagina.  The thought excited me to no end.  I was nervous when I made the first appointment.  Lucky for me, the doctor didn't believe in this hogwash about autogynophiles.  I would begin to live as a girl full-time, without exceptions, and take hormones after a year.  A year after that, I would have the surgery and have a small piece of my small intestine cut out and my sensitive parts attached to it, to make it look and feel like a pussy.

It was hard to come out to my family, but eventually, they accepted it.  Work was sensitive, but at least they were prepared for it.  It felt good to be dressed like a girl all the time.  I had a few sexual adventures, too.  I was overjoyed to start taking the hormones, until taking so many pills became a drag.  I had waited so long to fill in my brassieres, and finally, it was happening.

My mind began to change.  I was much more emotional.  I thought about stopping, but I persevered.  After all these years of gaining feminine knowledge forbidden to men, I was finally really beginning to feel like a girl.

I still knew, though, that I was an autogynophile.  Deep down I knew that I am fundamentally attracted to women, not men.  Yet the thought of my own vagina was far too tempting.  I needed this last bit of forbidden knowledge.

At last, the surgery was done, and I became a woman.  It was months of visits and bandages and stitches and ointments before I could use my new body.  In spite of decades of preparation and longing, nothing could adequately prepare me for the reality of it.  I was aroused by the knowledge that I now had a pussy, but at first I couldn't even touch it.  My arousal felt so strangely displaced.  It hurt at first, terribly, because of the surgery around such sensitive parts.  But eventually, it healed, and I learned to find my clitoris.  It felt like somone had exposed the head of my penis to a nuclear blast.  Later, I discovered that deep inside my new vagina are the nerves that were once on the shaft of my penis.  It took days of desperate experimentation, but I eventually discovered a truly feminine orgasm.

This drastic reconfiguration of my cock, which had foolishly led itself to its own demise, was incredibly disturbing.  I cursed myself for mutilating my most precious body part.  I wanted to fuck girls with my dick again.  I realized that I could never do it again.  I cried a lot those days.

Armed with my new girlhood, and desperate to truly experience it, I trolled my old haunts for some action.  But none of my old boyfriends were interested anymore.  They were gay men, and fucking girls -- even formerly male ones -- did not at all appeal to them.  It took many depressing months of trying before I finally got one.  He was ugly and disgusting, but I needed to feel a penis inside me.  I hardly even took notice of him as he fucked me.  All I could think of was how incredibly sexy and feminine I felt and looked.  Now it was simply a matter of trying different positions.  Somehow, it was still never enough.  It dawned on me that I must be a lesbian.

At last I knew the price of my forbidden knowledge.  In the end, I am a man, no matter what my crotch looks like.  I am insatiably attracted to women.  I betrayed my gender, my identity, for a sympathetic fantasy about the object of my desire.  I was punished the moment I learned my first lesson when I was a young boy.  I was cursed with an insatiable desire to know everything that was forbidden to me from the beginning.  I should have been humiliated enough to stop long ago, at many different stages.  But instead I took it to this irreversible end.

And just the very thought of it makes me unfathomably horny.

Fantasy: My First Fantasy

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.)

A Dream

I dreamed last night that my wife and I had a big soiree to attend. So I went to a mall to buy myself something to wear, but I was obsessed with buying girlie stuff. Back at home, getting ready, I put on black panties and black tights. My wife wasn't totally unhappy about it. I was going to wear a short, tight skirt, but she had me put on some pants instead and out we went.

The party is a blur of old high school acquaintances and evening wear. Of course, at some point I think I ended up without my pants, exposing my tights, but it was taken as perfectly normal.

When it was time to go home, we had to return my pants to the store for some reason. The owner was furious about having to deal with a tranny like me, and kicked us out of his store. Then he followed us with a gun, me happily without my pants again. I wasn't afraid of him at all. He kept missing, until finally I fought him, and woke up.

What was interesting about this was that my wife, who in reality has no clue about my secret, knew about and tolerated it, as long as it remained private. How I wish that were true, but I'm far too chicken to ever tell her.

Diary: Contemplating Coming Clean

Lately I've been fantasizing about ordering some swimwear, lingerie and shoes online and having it delivered in a plain FedEx box to my office.  I would then hide my new fetish items somewhere and indulge in them whenever my wife isn't around.

At times, I feel ridiculous about it.  Will I be able to hide it properly from her?  Will anyone notice where the packages are coming from when they arrive at the office?  How often will I even be able to use it?  Is it worth the risk?  Other times, I am overwhelmed with longing for self-feminization.  Last night, I masturbated in the dining room while browsing for such toys, imagining myself sneaking into the garage and slipping into that glorious silver one-piece swimsuit from Ujena, while T__ sleeps upstairs, none the wiser.  I felt shame when I ejaculated, but I was aroused all night. 

Even now, having made raucous love with her only an hour and a half ago, I gravitate here to ponder my secret feminization.  I have finally developped the setting for my story: the fictional world and characters that I've sought all my life just happen to be centered around my perversion.  I want to write about it, develop a web site around it, possibly make some money from it.  How can I possibly do this in secret?  I love my wife, but I have never had the guts to even hint at my secret desires.  How can we be complete together when she doesn't know this most essential truth about me?

Thus, I have inevitably begun to imagine what it would be like for her to know.  I would tell her somehow, break it to her gently, but unequivocably.  What follows, I can only imagine now.  I present a few scenarios, plausible or not, of how it might shake down.

Pessimistic

She's in denial at first.  Then I prove it to her somehow.  She's devastated.  She's horrified.  She cries for days, refuses to speak to me.  She tells everybody, and I'm publicly shamed and humiliated.  She files for an annulment.  Meanwhile, I continue to cavort in my stash of undies, but I lose my intimate companion, my wife.  Remember, I suffered such terrible despair before I met her.  It would be unbearable, if not for my pathetic outlet.

Optimistic

Denial, as always.  She understands immediately what I'm going through, and she's a bit surprised about it, but enthusiastic about sharing some clothes.  She wants us to shop for lingerie as soon as possible, and we immediately romp around in her lingerie.  It becomes a staple of our sex play.

Cautiously Optimistic

She hates the idea.  I have crushed her image of me as a masculine sexual powerhouse.  She's appalled that I've spent so much of my spare time over the years contemplating this sick delusion of mine.  She's livid that I've worn her clothes, and masturbated in them.  She weeps for days.  She hates me.  But she can't stay upset with me, because she loves me.  She forgives me, and learns to understand and support my fetish.  She adapts to it, and eventually finds it delightfully kinky.  She indulges me once in a while, but I have to do her some serious favours to earn the right to do it.  We work out a deal that when I buy her lingerie, I get some for me, too.

Realistic

She'll be devastated, there's no question.  But she'll come around.  She'll lose a lot of respect for me, and feel terribly betrayed that I never told her before we got married.  She won't understand that I still love her, and that I'm not gay.  She will insist that I stop, that I never do it again, and that I seek help to kick the habit.

I'm almost fantasizing about wearing that silver swimsuit in the bedroom with her.  She'd indulge me to the point of having me shave my body and prance around like a girl.  She'd do my makeup and we'd giggle like schoolgirls as we model lingerie.

Perhaps it's preposterous, but damn would it ever make my life easier.  I wouldn't have to hide (unless I indulge when she's not around), and I could keep my stash in plain view.  However, as I figured above, it's highly unlikely that she'd accept it.  Moreover, the more I sneak around, and the more careless I get, the more I risk getting caught.  Part of the reason I want my own stash is to avoid using her clothes, and therefore avoid damaging or soiling them.  Also, I get to choose whatever strikes my fancy, as long as I can order it inconspicuously.  The drawback, of course, is always the risk of her finding it, or worse, catching me in flagrante.  It's pretty well guaranteed to happen eventually.

In conclusion, I really must come clean, no matter what.  It's going to be extremely difficult, and most likely extremely painful, but it must be done, somehow.  At least by telling her, it wouldn't be so much of a shock, and it wouldn't be so heartbreaking.

Too bad it'll never happen.

What I need to do is lead her to it.  I've been thinking about really emphasising the lingerie for the next little while.  Then I can start admitting at the very least that I have a thing for ladies' underwear.  I can reinforce it slowly, and work up to how I have stolen some before.  I can gauge her reaction to know how far to go.  But I must not stop.  I have to continue until she knows all about it, and is sworn to secrecy.