Diary: A Writing Project

Alright, now I've decided to start an ambitious project: I will start writing a piece of fiction, in secret, about transvestitism.  I'll tell it like one of my postmodern tales.  It will be narrated by both the shrink and the patient.  The patient will be the trannie, and the shrink will present his case, not quite as a case study, but as a long anecdote, an interesting tidbit of information.  Much of the story will be the patient's diary.  It will be edited by the shrink.  And perhaps another person.  It will be my original idea for my story of two narrators.  The trouble is that I can never reveal what I am doing, and I must (if at all) publish this under a pen name, for fear of having my name forever associated with transvestism.

Anyway, here's the basic plan:

Foreword by the shrink.  Introduction to the subject from a pseudo-scientific perspective.  Then a disclaimer: this is not science.  This is an interesting story for the world to hear and enjoy.  The shrink, however, must treat his subject with a bit of detachment, a bit of disdain, and even a bit of admiration.  He must not, however, edit the diaries too extensively.  He treats his subject seriously.  I, on the other hand, will treat him comically.  The trick here is to figure out exactly what a shrink would do in such a situation, having heard such a disquieting tale of sexual perversion, and who will not admit to finding it incredibly arousing (although there should be hints).  I'm not even sure that this shrink should be male.  How about a female shrink wondering about the effect of these revelations on her own views of gender roles and whatnot.  Yes, I think that that's the way to go.  Anyway, the foreword will be straightforward on the surface, but actually quite satirical and comical under the surface.  My hero (the patient) will be a trickster figure, running around trying things, being foolish, straddling definitions.

Then, a similar structure as that of Gone Indian.  The shrink will talk a bit, then the diaries, alternating until near the end.  An important difference: the story will not follow a linear chronology as Kroetsch tends to.  It will have to be completely logical in its leaps and bounds, but, as the shrink takes it from scattered literary remains, she must piece it together somehow, not necessarily systematically, but narratively.  She will use her bits to comment on the diaries, and to make her points about gender roles in today's society, (subtly) about how our generation is so obsessed with the right to be individual that it accepts such behaviour blindly as an expression of the "true" self.

It will end somehow.  I'm not sure how.  But it must end.

I just did a quick search on [the college library database].  I came up with at least 9 promising titles.  This could be quite daunting.  I don't even know when I'll have time to do all this.  Oh, well.  I'll find time somewhere.

Anyway, all this is for another file, I think.  I'll copy this stuff over.

Diary: Fantasy Creeps into Mind at Awkward Moment

I had a little accident during foreplay with A__ soon after that last installment.  We were petting naked, when the thought struck me that I could be wearing her panties right then.  I had been reading a Cosmopolitain that she had brought home, and was inspired by one little blurb: something about whether you prefer such and such a sexual fantasy, or "a pillow fight with both of you dressed as your favourite Spice Girl," or words to that effect.  There was also a panicked woman writing to a help columnist that she had caught her man wearing her undies, and that he couldn't get hard anymore, he was so ashamed; the columnist suggested that the woman include that little quirk in their lovemaking; she also mentioned that it's very common.  Anyway, I imagined myself, not for the first time, wearing women's underwear with her and frolicking girlishly in silk with her.  But for the first time, I imagined it as more than just a fantasy.  This time, I imagined the implications of her first time with me in women's underwear.  I imagined how demeaning it would be for me to compare lingerie with her, how much shame I would feel at being dressed like a woman beside her.  Her reaction hardly mattered.  I would have felt totally naked, totally undressed before her.  I would be bare in my deepest secret, and completely at her mercy.  She could rage at me, or make fun of me, or feel sorry for me, or mope.  She might or might not accept me; but she would acknowledge me as wearing women's clothes.  God, would I love to dress up like a Spice Girl and do girlish things with A__.  Anyway, the emotion that I imagined I would feel if she could have seen me right then wearing her underwear made me come so fast that I felt completely embarrassed.  

Tonight, I almost dared to venture out dressed up as a girl.  I wanted to.  I really did.  It's snowing.  I chickened out.  I figure that I can probably get away with a little masquerade up and down [my street] late at night, with no one around.  I want to feel the wind blowing on my stocking-clad legs, and onto my naked thighs.  I want to prance around like a girl.  I did, however, tonight, wear my lingerie to go shopping.  Of course, nobody knew.  It was pretty fun anyway.  I wanted to look for more fun stuff, but I have to remember to shop for A__'s Xmas gift.

Fiction: Caught and Kicked Out

(I'm having trouble latlely about whether my hero(ine) should start off completely innocent, or if I should start him off as a closet girlie like me.)

I've long had this strange habit.  I like to wear women's clothes, and particularly their underwear.  But I've been careful to never let anyone know about it.  Not anyone.  It's a disgusting little habit, but I just can't help myself.  It just makes me feel so wonderfully sexy.  I mean, what man can seriously look at a pair of panties, or a garter belt, or nylons, and not feel aroused?  I've taken the next logical step: I put those things on.  I think they look irresistibly sexy, and I want to be in them.  I want to be like the girls who would wear such things: beautiful, sexy, bouncy, juicy.  When I slip into some lingerie, I want to be a girl.  I want to be as lucky as them, to have all those sexy little panties and bikinis and leotards to wear all the time.  Girls don't know how good they have it.

It just so happens that one night, A__ was away at her parents'.  Or at least, that's what the plan was.  I took advantage of the opportunity to pull out my lingerie and parade around in her clothes.  As I said, that was the plan.

We live in the middle of the city.  Our front door leads to one of the busiest streets anywhere.  Even at night, there are people milling about.  It's a very busy area.  

I didn't hear her when she came home.  She was trying to sneak up on me, as I so often do to her.  I didn't hear her unlock the door.  Imagine her surprise when she saw me right away, prancing around in her mini-skirt, her silky underthings clinging to me underneath.  I know that I probably almost fainted: her waist is much slimmer than mine, not only because of our gender difference, but because she is so much smaller than me.
  
Anyway, she went ballistic.  She ran at me and started hitting me.  She beat me on the head a few times, and then she threw me out the door.  All the way out the front door, as a matter of fact.

So there I was, all sprawled out on probably the busiest sidewalk ever made, wearing nothing but women's clothes.  I even had a pair of women's shoes strapped onto my feet.  They made it difficult to run, but they sure felt sexy against the nylons wrapped around my feet.  

I sort of picked myself up off the floor knowing full well how ridiculous I must look in women's clothes.  People were staring at me.  I felt so naked.  And there was nowhere to hide.  Not even an alley, or a bush, or a doorway.  I was standing there, looking like a complete freak, in the most public place in town.  I might as well have been on a stage.  

I self-consciously sashayed to the front door, which was locked, and pounded.  "A__!  Please let me in!  A__!"  I looked over my shoulder, and noticed that a small crowd had begun to gather at the spectacle.  I could feel the little summer breeze blow up my skirt and tickle the naked skin of my thighs, left exposed by my garter belt and stockings.  I was quite sure that people could see the little straps on my butt leading to the stockings as I stood there, whaling at the door.  I was so ashamed.  Most girls don't even dress that revealingly!

I had no choice.  I couldn't get in.  I couldn't just stand there with all those people staring at me.  So I did the only thing that I could: I ran away.  

I ran away in my high-heeled shoes, my skirt too short to flap in the wind.  I tried to slink around walls, and sort of hide myself wherever I ran.  But everywhere I went, people saw me.  I was irrevocably exposed!

At length, I found my way to a dark alley, where I hid behind a dumpster.  But I was still trapped.  What could I do?  Take off my (or, more accurately, A__'s) clothes?  Was running around naked any better than running around in women's clothes?  No, I had to keep my clothes on, despite the fact that they weren't really mine.  I had to stay like this until I could somehow get back into my house.  I had to walk back there, too, and create another scene.  I had no money, no keys, nothing.  Just me and my clothes.

As I stood around pondering my situation, I marvelled at how different it feels to be dressed like a girl outdoors.  I still felt very sexy.  My shoes made me so conscious of my effeminate situation every time I took a step that I couldn't forget what I was wearing.

What was I to do?  I had to get home somehow.  I was totally helpless out here.  And I was dressed like a girl to boot.  I slinked to a pay phone on a dark street corner and called A__ collect.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetie."

She paused.  "Hi."

"Sweetie, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?!?  What the Hell was that in my apartment?!??  It sure as Hell wasn't my R__!"

"I'm sorry dear.  But it's getting cold out here.  Please, let me in."

"Why should I?"

"A__, please.  You can't just let me sleep outside dressed like. . . this."

"I shouldn't let you do anything dressed like that!"

"A__, I'm sorry.  Please, just please let me come home.  It's not the way it looks.  I'll explain everything."

Another pause.  "Alright.  Come home.  We'll talk about it."  And she abruptly hung up the phone.

I slinked back to my apartment, trying hard not to let anyone look at my face too closely.  Luckily, my long, luxurious hair covered most of my face.  

I finally managed to make it back home.  And A__ waited for me at the front door.  "Let's go for a walk," she said as I scurried to the entrance, desperate to get out of public sight.

"Please, A__," I whispered coarsely.  "Let me in!  Let me get out of these clothes!"

"No."

I stopped in my tracks.  "Why do you want me to walk around like this?"

"Because you need to be taught a lesson.  You want to wear my clothes, then you'll just have to wear them for the time being."

I stood there sheepishly.  "I'm going for a walk," she said.  "And I'm not opening that door.  You're either coming with me, or I'm not ever letting you in there again."

Again, I had no choice.  I went with A__.  

She led me through the crowded streets, she wearing pants, I wearing a mini-skirt.  I could sense her anger.  

"So?" she demanded.  I didn't know where to begin.  "Well, spit it out!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," I answered sheepishly. 

"That's just not good enough.  What the Hell are you doing in my mini-skirt?  Why don't you start there?"

"I just wanted to wear it, that's all."

"Why?  Why?  What are you, some kinda drag queen?  Is that it?"

"No!"

"Then what the Hell are you wearing my clothes for?  You're even wearing my undies, aren't you?  Aren't you?"

"Yes."

"So what gives?"

"A__, can we please not do this in public?"

"No."

"Please, let's go home.  You've taught me my lesson."

"I don't think I have."

"You have!  Can you imagine what it must be like to be dressed like this in public?"

"I sure can.  I do it all the time.  But the difference is that I'm a girl, and you're not."  She sure had me there.  "You're not supposed to wear things like that.  But hey, you're wearing it."

"A__, I never meant for anyone to see me like this.  Now the whole town knows.  And people are staring at me!  Please, let me go home!"

"NO.  I want you to understand what it is that you're doing.  You're dressing up like a girl, but you're not letting anyone see you.  I, on the other hand, have to look pretty all the time, and I'm supposed to have people stare at me all the time.  I think that it's time you started to understand exactly what it is to be a girl."

"But I don't want to be a girl!"

"Then why are you wearing my clothes?"

I couldn't answer.  Why was I wearing her clothes if I didn't want to be a girl.  Even though we were discussing it, I wasn't feeling so odd anymore.  What else could I say?  "Because I like them."

"So.  There it is.  You like wearing my clothes because you like them.  Why don't you just admit it?  You like wearing my clothes because you want to be a girl."

"No!"

"Oh, yes.  And you'd better admit it.  Not just to me, but to everyone.  You want to be a girl.  And you might as well start coming out of my closet now."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you're going to wear my clothes in public if you want me to even let you step through my door again."

"But I am!"

"I mean voluntarily."

I was stuck.  "You can't do this to me."

"You did it to yourself.  Now you have to live with the consequences."

"So what exactly do you want me to do?  I'm already dressed like a girl in public."

"I want you to throw out all of your clothes, and wear only mine.  We've already started."

I grumbled.  "What if I refuse?"

"What choice do you have?  Everyone knows your little secret already."

"Alright.  Let's just go home."

"What's that?"

"I said, alright.  Now let's go."

"I want you to shout it out to everybody."

"Shout what out?"

"Tell them that you're wearing women's clothes, and that you love it."

"You want me to shout that?"

"Yeah," she retorted, "Who'll ever believe it."  She lifted my skirt as she said it.

Angrily, I stepped up a tree planter, and shouted: "I'm dressed like a girl, and I LOVE IT!"  I looked down at her, and she still looked angry.  "I LOVE IT!"  I repeated, just to spite her, just to make sure she heard me, just to make sure that she couldn't go back on me and tell me that I never did it.  "I FUCKING LOVE TO DRESS LIKE A GIRL!  AND I WANT THE WHOLE GODDAMNED WORLD TO KNOW IT!  DO YOU HEAR ME?" Each shout made me feel more and more liberated.  "I LOVE TO WEAR WOMEN'S CLOTHING!  I LOVE TO DRESS LIKE A GIRL!"

I looked down at last, after a crowd had begun to assemble, and saw a look of satisfaction on A__'s face.  I jumped down, and strutted away from her in a huff.  Every step made me feel more and more effeminate.  And I strutted right down the middle of the sidewalk, shaking my girlish little tush.  A__ followed behind me, but I didn't even look back.  I had said it, and I suddenly realized, blushing proudly, I had meant it.  And everybody knew it.

(It seems pointless to me to continue the story.  I would like to say that the hero went on to wear A__'s underwear forever, and that he got to dress up in her nightgown that night.  But that would be anti-climactic.)



Anyway, I would like to add that I'm experiencing the most amazing sexual rush ever by wearing all this stuff tonight.  I feel incredible.  I feel like such a little bitch.  I even went out on the deck like this.  Tonnes of people at the bus station can certainly see me.  I didn't go out in public, but I sure loved the feel of cool air on my legs and naked thighs.  This is just fantastic.  

That wonderful part about this fantasy that keeps me going is this: no matter how far I go, I can always go further.  I have gone further than ever tonight, and it only gets better and better.  Right now, I want to be a transvestite full-time.  Fuck men's clothes.  I want skirts, dresses, lingerie, bikinis.  This is just unbelievable.  I can't wait till I can go all the way.  Maybe I should even tell A__ about this, and involve her in it, too.  It would be even better if I could do it even when she's around.  But that would be crazy.

Diary: Fully Dressed

Now, I've gone pretty far.  It's been a while since I've been able to update this document, but lots has happened.  I've had to hide my stash.  I put it in a locker at the [shopping mall].  I had to wear some of A__'s underwear for the past few weeks.  One time I actually did retrieve my magic bag from the locker.  Then I put it back.  But this time, it's gone.  I went to get it again, but the key didn't turn.  My stuff is as good as gone.  

That really put me off.  I was looking forward to looking like a girl tonight.  I had a big plan.  I knew that A__ was leaving for the night.  I could sleep alone.  So that means that I can take advantage of her absence to wear women's underwear.  I planned to get my stuff from my locker after work, get home, and change into my lingerie outfit.  Then I would have put on my outerwear over top and gone to the bank and the grocery store, and no one would have noticed, except me.  But that fell apart when I discovered that I couldn't have my stash anymore.  Then I got home and A__ was waiting for me.  She didn't leave until 7:15.  I went shopping in my own clothes.  

I was determined, however, to wear something.  I wanted to do it all.  I want this to be the night that I wear women's clothes all night.  I've tried many times, but failed.  So I took off and came back.  I wanted to check out [the local discount stores], to see what they might have.  I eventually returned from the supermarket to find an empty apartment.  I had decided to try the lingerie store on [the nearest major street].

It took a little while.  I was a very calm and deliberate shopper.  I know what I want to wear.  So I settled on a stretch lace teddy, a garter belt, and some black nylon stockings.  It cost me $60!  But I have my fix now.
I've gone as far as I dare right now.  I'm wearing my new outfit.  I cooked myself dinner with it on under my clothes.  But now, after dinner, I'm wearing A__'s black mini-skirt and her white button-up t-shirt.  I put on makeup for only the second time ever, and I didn't feel the least bit apprehensive about it.  I put on eyeliner, eyeshadow, mascara, and lipstick.  I preened myself in the mirror.  My God, what a transformation!  I might even look sexy, If I could shave my body hair!  My legs look gorgeously sexy in these nylons, and that mini-skirt.  My face even looks feminine.  I'm as much like a girl now as I can be.  The only thing I need now is a shave!  I even let my hair down, which really helps a lot.

I have never gone nearly this far.  I wish I could do this all the time.  I've been fantasizing about escaping for a month or so, somewhere where no one can find me, and shaving every hair off my body, and becoming totally feminine for at least one whole day and night.  I would put on makeup, a dress, lingerie underneath, and be totally cleanly shaven.  Then I would sleep in a nightgown, wake up, and wear women's underwear for the whole time I'm there.  That would be so incredible!  I desperately want to do it, but it won't happen for at least another year.  And now, for a little fantasy...

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: Affirmation

And the secret comes out: the most intense sexual gratification I have ever experienced came while I wore women's underwear.  I like to fantasize about becoming a girl by wearing lingerie and swimsuits and skirts.  I love to wholly forsake my masculinity by imagining myself turning into a woman as I frolic in tight effeminate garments.  I love to think that I can destroy my manhood by embracing feminine ways.  I often think that I want to be a girl because girls get to wear such wonderful clothing all the time. 

That said, let me begin another useless chronicle of my feminine side, which I will probably never read again.  It only gets my juices flowing, as it were.

Science fiction always provides an easy way to explain the kind of metamorphosis that I want to experience.   Here's another new fantasy, in the sci-fi genre.