Gurls I Admire

I've been longing for some feminine action lately, to the point where I'm contemplating wearing panties at the office under my man-clothes. I ran a quick errand today with my off-white satin panties, and it just feels so much more comfortable! I put on the matching bra when I came home, and felt what I can only describe as relief at feeling the soft fabric against my chest.

Kyoko Matsushita

Of course, I've been looking at my favorites as usual. Some gurls out there deserve recognition for what they've accomplished. They are an inspiration to me, and I envy them deeply.

First and foremost, there's Kyoko Matsushita. She mostly wears swimsuits and pantyhose, and she is absolutely gorgeous. She manages to look like a real woman every time. Her body is slim and curvaceous, and her pictures tickle my swimsuit fetish. She also wears all kinds of form-fitting dresses and lingerie.

Amazingly, she does this in secret. She lives as a man the vast majority of the time.

This makes me fantasize about how practice makes perfect: she's worn girl stuff so many times, and so many different outfits (surely hundreds!) that she practically looks like a woman now. I love the idea that wearing women's clothes will gradually turn a man into a woman. He may think it's harmless at first, that it's OK to get a thrill from it now and then, but that every time he does it, it makes him that much more feminine, until he starts looking like Kyoko Matsushita, and can no longer hide how feminine he's become.

Diary: Leaving Town With Shaven Legs

I'm a week away from beginning my trip to California, where I will spend the next year or so of my life.  Hockey season is over, and most of the people I know will not see me again for a while -- or at least, they won't have any reason to see my legs.


Which is a bit of a shame, really, considering how they look shaved.  

For the first time ever, I have completely shaven my legs.

I shaved them some seven years ago, but only partly, shortly before I met A__.  I bought a satiny lingerie outfit, with white fishnet stockings and a garter belt, for that occasion.  I have nothing new yet this time, but I did shave as much of my leg hair as I could.  It only took me about an hour, too.

I quickly showered to clean up any loose hair, and discovered the radically different texture of shaven legs.  My skin is so soft, so smooth, so slippery when wet.  Lathering my legs with soap was strange, because the soap had no hair to cling to.  I got horny rubbing my legs to clean them.  Even drying them was a new experience.

As soon as I dried off, I slipped on some black stockings, and hooked them onto my garter belt.  I have never seen my stockings cling so easily to my legs.  I have effeminate legs, covered in sheer nylon!  And they will be like this for a few days at least, before the hair starts growing back.  So I might as well enjoy this while I can.  I won't look normal again for another 3 or 4 weeks.

Fiction: Secretary's Diary

OK, let's face it: that's not a very compelling story.  It's just not quite as interesting when I haven't been. . . converted yet.  The conversion is the best part.  There's little that's psychologically interesting about having already experienced it all, and just chronicling how I'm doing it again.  It's just that it gets so boring to tell the same old story over and over again.  I can pretty well reduce it to this: I am forced, duped, or otherwise compelled to wear women's underwear; I discover that I like it; I continue to wear it and get a sexual kick out of it, and long to become a girl.  The story ends when I decide at last that I want to be a girl.  The fun is all in the discovery and the forsaking of manhood.  So really the best thing I can do is come up with new fantasies telling that same story again and again.

              By the way, I had Anca petting on top of me, and I was feeling like our roles were inverted.  I felt like I was the girl, getting fucked by the strong body on top of me.  She was having her period, so we couldn't fuck; but I was in the right mental state to feel like a girl. 

              Anyway, another tedious fantasy:

Life is tough these days after graduating.  It's so hard to find a decent job.  So I ended up as an office temp.

              My boss was female.  She was a very aggressive woman.  She loved authority.  But she was also quite an attractive woman.

OK, let's try this again, as a diary:

Monday

My interview at the Butterfly Corp. went quite well.  Must say that the woman who interviewed me, who will be my boss if I get the job (knock wood) was quite a sexy woman.  She wasn't necessarily beautiful, but something about her was sexy.  The way she carries herself, the way she moves, I don't know what.  But I look forward to seeing her every day.  Imagine having her to look at every day!  Yow!

Monday

So I started my new job at the butterfly corp today.  The boss, Ms. A., is quite the knockout, alright.  My job sucks.  I have to be her gopher, in effect.  I do all the dirty grunge work around the office, but mostly menial tasks for her.  I get her coffee and take her clothes to the cleaners.  I type up letters for her.  I'm almost her secretary.  I wouldn't bother with this job if the money weren't so good, and if the boss wasn't so attractive.

Monday

Still adjusting to new job.  Boss gives me lots of funny looks, I think.  I always wonder when things like this start if they're all in my imagination, or what.  But I can't help ogling her as she moves around the office.  She always wears skirts, to show off her wonderfully lithe legs.  I don't think I could ever love her or anything, but damn it, she's sexy.  I just can't get over it.  I might even say that I think I'm developing a crush for her.  Yikes!  What kind of weird position does that put me in?  I do look forward to coming in to work every day, though, and what can I say?  It's good for a start, I suppose.  Who knows?  There might be some room for advancement in there.

The following Wednesday

Argh!  I don't know what to do anymore!  The boss propositioned me.  She asked me if I would like to meet her after work for some dinner.  I didn't know what to reply.  First of all, I have a horrible crush on her, which makes working for her almost intolerable.  Second, I don't know whether I should feel threatened if I don't do it.  She'll probably fire me.  What will I do then?  I desperately need the income.  But hell, she's attractive enough, and I do have a thing for her, so what do I care if I whore myself to her?  Who knows, I might get a raise or a promotion. . . The trouble is, how do I explain all this to L [my girlfriend]?  She sure as hell doesn't have to know.

Thursday

Dinner was tasty.  So was Ms. A.  She brought me home with her tonight for a nightcap.  I couldn't refuse her advances.  Even if my morals or my code of ethics had tried to stop me, I don't think I could have resisted her.  She has me in the palm of her hand, and she knows it.  She barked out commands in bed, which I gladly followed.  It wasn't about me, it was all about pleasing her.  We both want nothing more than to please her.  She sure has a nice body for a woman her age.  Christ, she must be only 30.  Anyway, she kicked me out when she was done with me.  I wonder how I'll face her tomorrow.  And she warned me not to tell anyone about it, or else I'd lose my job.  She'd fire me for sexually harassing her by spreading rumours about things that went on between us.  And who would believe me over her, anyway?  Well, that's fine with me.  Who would I tell, anyway?  It would be pretty embarrassing, I think.

Friday

Ms. A brought me into her office for a closed-door meeting today.  She had me fuck her right there against a wall.  It was a real quickie.  Then she told me to get out and the day went on as if nothing had happened.  I'm never leaving this job.

Monday

I thought about Ms. A all weekend.  She obviously hasn't.  She tells me now when we small talk before I bring her her coffee about what she does on the weekend.  She went out with some other man, she tells me.  Had a great time.  A wonderful man, possible husband, she says.  Is she saying that just to needle me?  She knows that I wouldn't dare mention what went on between us.  That would be taboo.  So I worked all jealous and pissed off all day long.  She must be playing mind games with me.

Tuesday

Ms. A didn't call me into her office today again.  I'm wondering if I'll ever have that privilege again.  Life sucks.

Monday

Finally, after a whole week without tasting of my boss's flesh, she called me into her office again.  "Rob," she told me, "You're doing such a wonderful job around here, but I'm feeling the pressure from upstairs.  I'm afraid that I'll have to reconsider your position with this company if I want to keep you."  I was scared stiff.  Was she letting me go?  "The department doesn't have it in its budget to keep a gopher around for me.  But there is a possibility of me getting a secretary."  "Secretary?!?" I ejaculated.  I don't want to be a secretary.  No way.  I'm a writer, not a damned typist.  "Yes, a secretary.  Now, since you're so good," she said, getting up from behind the desk, and sitting on the corner right in front of me, showing me plenty of leg, and fondling my shoulder, "I don't want to let you go.  You'd be doing pretty well the same work, but it would be more formal." 

              I can't repeat exactly what she said.  But she expects me, in short, to be her secretary, but not in the modern, gender-inclusive sense: she wants me to fill the role of a female secretary.  All the other execs have one, she whined, and she wants one, too.  But it wouldn't look right if her secretary were male.  For one thing, people would think she was doing it for sexist reasons.  For another, they wouldn't appreciate putting someone of my talents in such a tedious position.  I asked her what she meant by having me become her female secretary.  She told me that she would fill me in later as she gathered more information on the subject.  So she left me out in the cold on that one.  But then she made me give her head after, and then I resumed my workday.  I expect a more detailed answer by the end of the week.

Wednesday

This is getting pretty weird.  I don't know who I am anymore.  I did things today that I don't think I'll ever admit to doing to anyone.  I can't believe what that woman made me do! 

              I don't know quite how to say this.  Suffice it to say that I did something very perverse, and very nasty.  Something that no man would ever admit to.  But what's a diary for?  I have to intellectualize this, I have to look back and figure out what the Hell I was thinking.

              Today, Ms. A surprised me in her office.  She had given me some lingerie outfit to take to the cleaners.  Or so I assumed.  She had me close the door when she called me in to get her laundry.  But that's when she started kissing me passionately, trying to seduce me.  Of course, it worked quite well.  This time, however, she had me take my pants off entirely.  I was wearing nothing below the waste.  We sometimes do this to enjoy some exotic positions on her desk.  But she took away my boxers, and handed me her lingerie.  "I'm afraid," she said "that you're going to have to change a couple of things in your lifestyle."  She commanded me to put on her panties.  I stood there dumb with her underwear in my hand, incredulous.  "Put them on," she growled, "or get out of my office and go home."  Intimidated by her threat, I stepped into her panties.  Yes, I wore her underwear.  But that's not even the worst part.

              We hadn't had sex yet.  She was still horny.  I had been, but I felt a little silly and very embarrassed to be wearing her underwear.  Nonetheless, she threw me on her desk and rubbed her crotch on mine.  "Get used to it," she said, "or else you're fired."  This time she made me come, and she made me clean it up myself.  She made me lick up my semen. 

              I came out of that office frightened out of my wits.  Underneath my dress pants I wore frilly panties.  I had no choice but to wear them all day long.  But it's worse.  Much worse.

              I think that that was by far the most intense sexual experience I've ever had. 

              She made me take home another lingerie outfit in a cleaner's bag.  She told me that I'd better be wearing it tomorrow, or else she would fire me. 

              This would normally be the place to ask: what should I do?  But I think my choice is pretty clear.  I don't even have trouble making it.  I'm going to wear that lingerie under my clothes tomorrow.  I need the job, for one thing.  For another, who has to know except for her and me?  And besides, it's really not so bad to wear.  I barely notice it.

Thursday

What an embarrassing mistake!

              I had it all planned: I would keep the lingerie hidden in the trunk of my car so that L wouldn't see it.  Of course, it would be disastrous if she ever found another woman's underwear on my person.  So I would drive to work, and change into the lingerie in the washroom.  Simple.

              So that's what I did.  My heart pounded all the way.  I could barely eat this morning.  But I got to the washroom safe and sound, with the lingerie concealed in my tote bag.  I didn't realize how difficult it would be.

              I forgot how busy that washroom can be.  And, like every other washroom, there's a good foot-high opening between the floor and the bottom of the door.  How was I going to manage this without being seen?  I took my pants down, as if I were taking a shit.  I put the panties where my boxers were.  I quickly lifted my leg and put it back in, deftly removing my loafers as I did so.  I don't think anyone noticed me doing it.  It could have been quite noticeable: I had to put on these silky burgundy panties, very frilly and high-cut, and make sure that no one would see my legs.  But that was the easy part.  That and the bra.

              There were also some stockings in the package.  I hadn't anticipated that.  But somehow I managed.  It was very hard: I had to take off my sock somehow, and put it back on, without anyone noticing.  Then I had to do it again.  I must have spent 10 minutes in there trying to figure out what to do with the garter belt.  Fortunately, I gave myself plenty of time.  So off I went to the office with sexy women's lingerie under my clothes.  I was mindful to take a dark solid coloured shirt to make sure that the bra wouldn't be noticeable underneath.  Still, I feared that the strap would show under the material.

              With all this rigamarole, however, she didn't even call me into her office.  I prayed all day that my ordeal would have some kind of benefit, but she never asked to see me.  Only at the very end of the day did she come to my desk and tell me, "don't worry, I didn't forget what I told you yesterday.  Consider yourself lucky that I didn't have time to check.  You'd better wear it tomorrow, though, or else, you know the consequences.

              So, just like that, I was duped.  She made me wear her lingerie all day, and she didn't even bother to make sure.  So now I have to worry: will she check tomorrow?  And if so, I'd better be wearing it.  I cannot risk that she calls me into the office, and I'm not wearing it.

Tuesday

Finally, she checked me out today.  She was quite pleased.  She was glad to see that I had heeded her warning.  It was a test.  She had been playing with me all along.  She complimented me on it, too.  I was red-faced.  The things I do to keep a job!  It all paid off, though, because she mounted me like she did last time.  I'm not ashamed to say that it surpassed even that moment as the greatest sexual thrill ever.  And I did it all in women's underwear!  She told me to take it to the cleaners to get rid of my come stains, and she handed me back my boxers, which she had kept in her desk.  She told me that I could wear those again if I wanted to, that my job wouldn't hang in the balance.  That's when I asked her about my job.  "Oh, I still haven't found out yet.  I'll let you know as soon as I can."

              So what do I make of this?  I wore her lingerie for five days, and what for?  More importantly, she made me feel things that I'm not sure I can admit to myself.  What was it about that experience that made it so good?  I'll tell you: it was the lingerie.  She made me totally aware of what I was wearing when she humped me in her office.  She snapped my garter belt, my panty elastic, my bra.  She fondled my nipples.  I swear that I felt like what I imagine a woman feels when she's getting laid.  I don't know what this means, I don't know what this makes me.  But I wore women's lingerie, and I liked it.  Even so, I hope that I never have to do it again.  I can't handle it.

Thursday

She has me like putty in her hand.  She has me begging to wear her underwear in her office.  She told me that she won't let me, unless I shave my body hair, and get my own.  So that's what I've done.  L is baffled.  She doesn't understand.  She caught me wearing her bathing suit today.  I wanted to see if it was anything like lingerie.  It was almost as good, I must say.  She is packing her things up and leaving me.  She hates me now.  But I couldn't care less.  Ms. A will certainly keep me satisfied.

              As by her suggestion, I bought some lingerie after work.  It's going to take me a while to build up a wardrobe.  But I'll go to work from now on all sleek and sexy under my business clothes.  All feminine.  As long as L doesn't tell anybody about this. . .

Friday

Finally, Ms. A has told me what I have to do to keep working for her.  She explained what she means by becoming her female secretary.  I have to become a woman, at least on the surface.  She's going to pretend to fire me, and I will come in for an interview as a woman, applying for the secretary's job.  So I'll be coming in to work from now on in skirts and blouses and dresses.  And I'll still be Ms. A's gopher.  Only, I'll be a girl now.

This could be more interesting if I have my narrator decide to wear women's underwear only after finding out what the new job entails.  But that could be tedious, too.

Fiction: Wardrobe Machine Malfunction

NEW!  You no longer have to worry about buying clothes!  Our tele-clothing service will dress you automatically!  Download the latest fashions from our website, and PRESTO!  You will be wearing a complete outfit, without even having to move!

This was the ad for the newest teleporter gizmo.  You pick your outfit, step into the machine, and it tailors the latest styles for your precise measurements and zaps the new clothes right onto you.  I tried it out at the store.  You walk in there naked, and program whichever outfit you want to wear, and it just snugs onto you before you know what hit you.  It was an amazing idea: no more having to shop for hours in the stores, trying to find clothes that fit.  You could get the exact clothes you needed, just like that, in your exact size, and instantly.  It wasn't cheap, but it sure was convenient.

So, unable to ever find time to shop for new suits, I bought one.  I loved it.  Snazzy suits, thousands to choose from, and instantly on me.  I even got the ties I needed just like that.  The damned thing even gave you a good pair of underwear.  It was too perfect.  It had to screw up.

I had slowly abandoned all of my own clothing.  This was just far too convenient.  Even on weekends, I stepped directly into the machine after a shower, and presto, some bumming around clothes.  I had come to rely exclusively on this machine for my clothing needs. 

So one day, while browsing through the catalogue, I picked the first non-descript pair of jeans I could find.  Some of the clothes weren't presented on models.  I picked worn blue jeans and a white t-shirt, white sports socks and sneakers.  It zapped on my clothes, and I went about my business.  Somehow, something felt different.  The fit wasn't quite the same as it usually was.  It was somewhat tighter on the waist, and my briefs felt a little high cut.  I thought I might even have been wearing a thong.  But it wasn't in any way uncomfortable: quite the opposite.  I felt extra-snug, and a little exuberant.  I think they even made me a bit horny.

I ran a few errands in town, and when I got home, I needed to piss.  I unzipped my pants, and digging for my dick, felt silk.  Silk?  I thought.  Why do they zap me silk underwear?  I pissed without even thinking about it.  The thought of silk underwear almost made it impossible to piss.  It got me thinking of the kind of underwear that women wear, and what that kind of underwear covers.  Also, the silk felt really nice against my skin.

So I went on that day, even hornier than before, thinking of how sexy my girlie looks in her undies.  Ooooh, those curves, those beautiful round little curves!

I only noticed much later when I returned to the bathroom to take a dump that I was, in fact, not only wearing silk underwear, but women's silk underwear!  I was shattered.  The panties I had been wearing all day had lacy trim all around them.  There was no mistaking them for some kind of effeminate men's briefs.  They were women's panties.  But what could I do?  I had to take them off, and run around without underwear for the rest of the day.  I knew that it would be quite uncomfortable, but I had no choice.  I noticed the tag in my jeans as I pulled them back on: "Jeans for women."  But at least they weren't as noticeable.

Clearly, I had made a little mistake.  I chose women's clothing instead of men's.  I would have to make sure that the people responsible for my machine heard my complaint.  I strode to the phone, undies in hand, ready to give them Hell.

Just as I picked up the phone, I realized how stupid it would sound.  First, I would have to admit that I just wore women's clothing all day, and that was just not something that I was prepared to do.  They would know my name, and they would all laugh at me.  "You wore women's clothes all day, and you didn't even notice?" they would ask, disbelieving.  I turned livid with shame.  What an embarrassing mistake!  I could never complain.  It was my own stupidity that got me into this fix in the first place.  I would have to be careful in the future.

Months later, it happened again.  I felt a little snug in my clothes as soon as I felt them on me, and I suspected immediately what had happened.  I checked the programme on the machine:  "Men's casual weekend wear: worn-in jeans, briefs, sports socks, white t-shirt, sneakers."  That was exactly what I had been careful to order.  I peeked into my pants, and saw, to my horror, that I was indeed wearing women's underwear again.  I simply could not understand it.  Nor could I forgive it.  I mustered all my courage and called their toll-free hotline.

"Tele-clothing services, Amy speaking, how may I help you?"

"There's a problem with my machine."

"Yes sir?  What is the machine doing?"

"It's not giving me the clothes I ordered."

"Could you give me more detail?  Is it not fitting properly?"

"Yes, it fits perfectly."

"Is the colour wrong?  Is the style a bit different?"

"The colour's fine, but the style's not right at all."

"All right, sir, I'll need your account number to look into it more closely."

I read her my account number.

"Men's casual weekend wear: worn-in jeans, briefs, sports socks, white t-shirt, sneakers," she read.

"That's what I ordered."

"And what did you receive, sir?  Can you describe it to me?"

"It gave me the wrong kind of underwear."

"It didn't give you briefs?"

"No."

"What did it give you, sir?"

"It gave me, uh, well. . ."

"Sir?"

"It's kind of embarrassing."

"We can't solve the problem unless you tell us exactly what it is, sir."

"Well, it gave me, uh, women's underwear."  My shame had taken the fight right out of me.

"Women's underwear?  Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Can you read me the UPC code, sir?  Maybe they're just a particular style of men's bikini briefs."

"They're definitely not men's briefs."

"The UPC code, sir?"

I blushed as I undid the top button of my pants to get a look at the panties, suddenly realizing that I was still wearing them.  "Hold on a minute, I can't see the tag."

"It should be on the back, sir."

"Hold on.  I'll have to take them off."

I put down the receiver and slid out of my pants and undies.  I found the tag: "40920-83831," I read.  I heard her tapping at a keyboard and humming as she waited for the information to come up on her screen.

"Hmmmm. . . it seems that you have indeed received women's underwear, sir."  I could hear her giggling a bit.

"What's so funny," I thundered.

"You've been wearing women's underwear, sir.  I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh, it's just that--"

"Don't give me that!" I screamed.  "I want a full refund and a new pair of underwear!  And I want it now!"

"Yes sir.  Right away sir.  Just re-order the underwear that you want, and we'll zap it right onto you.  We truly regret the error."

I hung up the phone and stormed back into the machine.  They sent me my proper underwear, and I went on with my day.

The very next day, it started getting serious.  I ordered bumming clothes again, but I didn't get anything even close to what I ordered.  This time it gave me a long dress.  Underneath, I had a matching set of panties and bra.  I was both furious and acutely ashamed.

"Your orders are coming in wrong!" I thundered over the telephone.

"What do you mean sir?"

"I'm getting things that I can't wear!"

"What's wrong with the clothing, sir?"

"It's not what I ordered."

"I'm sorry sir, but it seems that you've had this problem before?"

"Yes!"

"I think we'll have to send someone over to service your machine, sir.  When is a good time for you?"

I set up the appointment for later that day.  Only after I hung up did I realize that I was still wearing a dress.  I couldn't get through again all day.  I tried to change into something more comfortable in the machine, but it was disconnected.  "Warning," it read, "disconnected because of network problems.  Please wait for repair crew."  I was trapped in a dress, waiting for people to come and fix my machine.

I expected men to show up.  But it was a pair of women.  Men would have laughed it off.  Women were cruel and merciless.   They didn't have to laugh.  Their looks said it all.  It was the most embarrassing moment of my life: wearing women's clothes against my will in front of other women.  Still, it was better than being totally naked.

I waited for them to leave before I got changed.  I was getting sort of used to wearing a dress.  It was pretty damned comfortable, I had to admit.  But I also had to admit that it was strictly for girls.  I wouldn't be caught dead wearing a dress again. 

I pushed the buttons, and waited for my proper clothes to zap on.  Imagine my anger when I stepped out of there wearing a one-piece women's swimsuit.  It was so snug upon my body that I felt trapped inside it.  I had never worn anything like it before.  It was so high-cut above the thigh, and so smooth.  I felt more than a bit ridiculous.  I tried again, for the same outfit.  This time, I ended up in a long black skirt, a coloured mini-t black stockings and high heels.  I felt the skirt brush against my legs as I stumbled out again.  I couldn't believe it.  I had to try again.  And again.  Each time I wore another feminine garment.  Nothing out of the batch was even remotely masculine.  I was conducting a fashion show of women's clothes.  I must have tried on thirty different outfits.  I was less and less surprised each time.  I was getting more and more embarrassed.  I could not get out of women's clothing.  I couldn't call back for more repairs.  I was trapped.  I even tried ordering women's clothing, hoping to get men's clothing in return.  I got exactly what I ordered.

I could do no more.  Here I was trapped in women's clothes.  Nothing I did would get me anything else.  I was being forced to dress like a girl.  But I had to keep trying.  Perhaps if I tried just underwear again it would work.

I ordered boxers, and ended up in black lace panties and a matching bra.  I ordered matching silk panties and a bra, and got exactly what I ordered. 

I was beginning to have a bit of fun with this.  I could only laugh at my misfortune.  I ordered a bathing suit again, and got it.  It was as interesting to wear as before.  I walked around a bit in it, and found it very arousing to have my dick so gently and softly squeezed.  I traced the trim with my hands as I would have had the bathing suit been on a girl.  I was starting to ham around, acting like a girl.  I was getting curious.  I wanted to try everything that I had never worn before.  I ordered a bikini.  It was fabulously sexy.  I ordered all sorts of lingerie.  I picked out a garter belt and silk stockings. 

Finally, I ordered the sexiest lingerie I could find, but received plain old boxers instead.  I was crestfallen.  Then I realized that this was what I wanted all along.  I had spent the whole day trying on women's clothes, and had actually liked it.  I swore to never fall into that again.

The next morning, getting ready for work, the machine zapped me again.  I gasped in horror again as I found myself wearing a silk teddy and stockings.  Worse, the machine didn't let me go.  I was strapped in somehow, struggling to get out.  All I could move were my hips.  I struggled to get out of the machine and the lingerie, but could not.  Each gyration of my hips produced an incredible amount of pleasure.  I tried to fight it, but it would not let up.  I dropped to the floor when it released me, just before I climaxed.  All crumpled on the floor, I could feel my sexy stockings caressing my legs.  I struggled to regain my composure, and fought the urge to finish myself off.  I managed to control myself, but could not bring myself to remove the lingerie.  I felt so sexy in it.  The suit I had ordered fell out of the machine somehow.  I looked at it and put it on to go to work.  But I still wore the lingerie underneath, and could barely concentrate all day because of what I had on under my clothes.

I came to look forward to wearing women's clothes.  I prepared myself every day for it, and became increasingly satisfied.  I tried on everything.  I wanted to wear everything feminine in that catalogue.  I began to shave my legs.  Then the rest of my body.  I wore only women's underwear under my clothes from then on. 

Diary: Alternate Ending to Basic Training

Okay, the end is really bad.  I don't like the way that I was always exposed to women's clothes.  The middle should have been different.  It should be virtually impossible to graduate to underwear.  So it should be like this, after I experiment with bathing suits:

Everyone tells me that I'm out of control.  But I didn't care.  I kept doing it happily.  I couldn't resist.  I didn't care that I was effeminating.  I graduated very quickly to underwear.  They had to count all my experimentations, and bump me up.  I was always the best and most enthusiastic of the group.  I went so far as to shave my body.  I even took female hormones to outdo my colleagues.  I had decided to become a girl.  There was no stopping me.

That's still kind of empty.  I love that sorority house story where that guy is exposed for the first time to women's clothes, and is asked to join the sorority voluntarily.  They even try to talk him out of it.  But he insists.  He wants to be a girl.  He wants to maintain that pleasure of wearing women's underwear at all times.  He willingly takes the hormone pills.  That really turns me on: there's nothing left for him, just women's underwear, and growing tits.  Becoming a girl, with no strings attached.

I'm just babbling again.  I better quit.  Tomorrow could be a very big day.  When I buy my bikini.