It's been very quiet around here for a long time now. But, I've continued to dress up mostly in swimwear. I got into a naughty habit for a while earlier this year, which I'll describe some other time. The usual routine of indulging in some femininity while my family is out of the house continued happily, until a couple of weeks ago.
My wife found my stash.
Or rather, I had absent-mindedly left it out, in plain sight, and went to work for the day. She texted me asking what it was, and I knew I was sunk. I felt physically ill. I considered coming up with some crazy explanation, but ultimately, I knew I had to tell her the truth, as painful as that would be.
So when I came home, I sat her down, and told her that the bathing suits, lingerie, and shoes in the bag she had found are mine. And that I wear them. Because I like it.
She was horrified. She felt like I had betrayed her. It's a huge lie, that I've concealed this from her for over ten years. In fact we just came home from a 10th anniversary trip when this happened. She suddenly felt uncomfortable in my presence. She didn't trust me with our son.
We spent the next several evenings talking about my secret. I told her almost everything. She's mostly concerned that I'm gay, and I assured her that I'm not. I'm actually quite confident that I'm not, in spite of all of this. She made me throw away my stash, while still feeling bad about it. She's very conflicted about it. She wants me to stop doing it altogether. I told her I would, and I'll really try, but I also told her that it's not really possible to stop. For now, I'm more than willing to at least pause so she can process it.
After we talked, each evening, we made love. We have always been very close and intimate and in love. Except for this, we've had a very open and honest relationship. In some ways, it's brought us closer together. She feels like she needs to fuck more to break this habit from me. She doesn't understand that it just doesn't work that way. The sex has tapered off a bit the last few days, but I've been constantly horny every since she found out. I'm thinking about wearing women's clothes non-stop.
She asked me not to wear her things. I promised her I won't. I really will try not to, as much as I'd love to. It's especially hard that I don't have my own things anymore. She sort of understands that I need to do it sometimes, but she really doesn't want me to.
When I told her that my habit was to wear things while she's out of the house, at first she felt reluctant to leave me alone, for fear that I'd do it again. I'm alone now, and I'm sure it's crossed her mind. It's like a test. I want to tell her that I desperately want to order some things for myself: a swimsuit, some panties, a bra, and even some shoes. I'm taking a business trip this week anyway, and I don't know how I'll handle being alone in a hotel room with nothing feminine to wear. It would have been a perfect opportunity, but now I'd have to buy something first.
She's not at all interested in ever participating in this with me. She wants a manly man, and this utterly turns her off. I still hold out hope that she'll come around. It's too soon now, though. The alternative is that I continue to do it in secret, and she may be OK with that. She'd rather not even know.
Meanwhile, I have felt somehow more free since she found out. It's a relief that I no longer have to bear this secret anymore. I fantasize now that eventually she'll accept this, and I can openly keep some feminine things in my dresser. I'm already toying with ordering some things. But I need to be patient.
She doesn't know about this blog yet. She doesn't know the full depths of my fantasy. I did explain to her that it's all about becoming a woman. She doesn't understand it at all. But she still loves me. She says so, and her actions prove it. This does put some doubt in her mind. I'm doing what I can to convince her that I love her still, that I'm the same person she married. But from her point of view, because she never knew this side of me, and it's not something she ever wanted or expected, she feels like she didn't truly know me. So I'm not at all who she thought I was.
Boyshorts
Contemplating a New Swimsuit
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| My zip-up scuba one-piece |
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| A lost favorite. (sigh) |
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| Sexy Grommets |
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| Metallic and Pink... |
Therefore, I'm pining for a new one-piece that can fill that hole in my closet.
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| Not actually a swimsuit |
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| Loving the ruffles |
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| Looks like fun |
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| Cute cut-outs |
Even if it doesn't, I'm such a sissy, buying women's swimsuits for myself!
The Essence of the Feminization Fantasy
At its root, this feminization fantasy is a confusion of cause and effect. As rational adults, we all know that wearing feminine clothes does not cause one to become female. And yet, that's precisely the core of the fantasy. The very fact that there is a strong social stigma against men wearing women's clothes suggests that it's true. Even if it is impossible, everyone just knows that wearing women's clothes irreversibly feminizes men.It's a feedback loop: once you begin, no matter how innocently, you start to spin uncontrollably towards becoming a woman. All it takes is a small taste to get started.
At first you're afraid of the consequences. You know that it's physically and physiologically impossible to become a woman by wearing women's clothes. Still, you proceed with caution. Nobody can find out about it. You start slow, just in case. You know for sure that some things you'd never, ever dare to do, because that would be going too far. But what's the harm in imagining it?
Pretty soon, you find yourself compelled to do that last thing you fantasized about, and the boundary becomes something else. Then the new taboo becomes key to the fantasy, and soon after, reality. By the time you realize that you're in a tailspin, it's much too late. You realize that the only thing that turns you on is becoming feminine. You try to turn back to more normal tastes, dial down the femininity a bit, maybe purge your sissy wardrobe in shame. Inevitably, you come back to it, stronger than ever, boundaries be damned.Now you know you want to be a woman. The idea paradoxically gives you a massive erection. You dream of sucking cock, getting fucked in the ass, and dressing like a slut at all times. As you consider transitioning and fulfilling your dream, you look back and wonder: didn't you always want to be a woman? Weren't all of those experiments over the years just your repressed femininity struggling to come to the surface? Or was it your dressing up that developed your femininity over time?
So while it is true that wearing women's clothes won't make a man physically become a woman, it certainly does affect him psychologically.
Why Wear Panties?
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| 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.
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| My Satin Panties |
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| Amazing Panties by Axami |
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.
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.
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.
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.
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| Kyoko Matsushita |
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.
Goodbye to an Old Favorite
Every now and then, my wife picks through her closet for stuff she doesn't wear anymore, and donates it. The latest batch included a pair of wedge sandals that I probably wore as much as she did.
They were my first pair of heels. They were too small for me, but because of their shape and suppleness, I was just barely able to wrap the straps around my ankles and reach the very last buckle-hole. Wearing them was uncomfortable, but a constant reminder that I was wearing something outrageously feminine.
I wore them one last time before letting them go, along with a gorgeous bikini of hers that I also used to borrow often, and which she is thankfully keeping, for the time being, even though she hasn't touched it since long before she gave birth. I fantasized about being forced to wear that outfit to a swimming pool, and being unable to deny how much I love it.
Farewell, old friend! You will be missed.
They were my first pair of heels. They were too small for me, but because of their shape and suppleness, I was just barely able to wrap the straps around my ankles and reach the very last buckle-hole. Wearing them was uncomfortable, but a constant reminder that I was wearing something outrageously feminine.
I wore them one last time before letting them go, along with a gorgeous bikini of hers that I also used to borrow often, and which she is thankfully keeping, for the time being, even though she hasn't touched it since long before she gave birth. I fantasized about being forced to wear that outfit to a swimming pool, and being unable to deny how much I love it.
Farewell, old friend! You will be missed.
What Am I Wasting My Time On?
I typically have no more than one day per week to indulge in my fantasies. I can't read sissy blogs or look at pictures of transsexuals when I'm at the office, and when I come home I have to do family stuff. That leaves the one day I work from home: I close the door to my home office, and while my wife runs errands with our toddler, thinking I'm hard at work, I can't help but secretly feed my fetish.
Ideally, if I had ample free time alone as I did when I was single, or if my wife knew and approved of my predilections, I'd be more able to get some writing done. Instead, I have to rush through my favorite sites to find something to wank to, and get it over with quickly before she comes home. I spend the rest of the day going back and forth between actual work and these idle fantasies.
So what exactly do I wank to?
As with most crossdressers, I am keenly interested in beautiful women. I've read about sex addicts who need to see something extreme before they can even come close to climax. I'm the opposite: I can wank to just about any picture if it's of a pretty enough woman. It's what goes on in my head that makes me come.
For example, this is what I jerked to today:
I found this by accident while price-checking some beauty product my wife asked for for Xmas. I've been obsessing over her most of the week. What makes her so unbearably hot is the notion that I could buy that dress, and those boots, and I could become that feminine.
I don't spend as much time as I used to window-shopping lingerie and swimsuits online. I've made all kinds of goo contemplating and even actually purchasing and wearing such things. In the last couple of years, I've found myself drawn to pictures of convincing crossdressers and transsexuals, and of genetic girls given photoshop penises. This all used to repulse me, but now it fills me with admiration, envy, and hope: how incredibly lucky they are to have become feminine! How I wish that could be me!
Ideally, if I had ample free time alone as I did when I was single, or if my wife knew and approved of my predilections, I'd be more able to get some writing done. Instead, I have to rush through my favorite sites to find something to wank to, and get it over with quickly before she comes home. I spend the rest of the day going back and forth between actual work and these idle fantasies.
So what exactly do I wank to?
As with most crossdressers, I am keenly interested in beautiful women. I've read about sex addicts who need to see something extreme before they can even come close to climax. I'm the opposite: I can wank to just about any picture if it's of a pretty enough woman. It's what goes on in my head that makes me come.
For example, this is what I jerked to today:
I found this by accident while price-checking some beauty product my wife asked for for Xmas. I've been obsessing over her most of the week. What makes her so unbearably hot is the notion that I could buy that dress, and those boots, and I could become that feminine.
I don't spend as much time as I used to window-shopping lingerie and swimsuits online. I've made all kinds of goo contemplating and even actually purchasing and wearing such things. In the last couple of years, I've found myself drawn to pictures of convincing crossdressers and transsexuals, and of genetic girls given photoshop penises. This all used to repulse me, but now it fills me with admiration, envy, and hope: how incredibly lucky they are to have become feminine! How I wish that could be me!
Commitment
It's hard to find the freedom to fantasize about being a woman at this time of year. All the same, the only way this blog can work is if I commit to posting something regularly. So that's what I'm trying to start now. I'm aiming for at least one post per week. I'll keep mixing fantasy and reality, but everything is clearly labelled, so there should be no confusion.
Meanwhile, I have to use my precious little time wisely. I'm continuing to work on some fantasy stories, but I can't help but spend a lot of it on just looking at dirty pictures and masturbating.
Meanwhile, I have to use my precious little time wisely. I'm continuing to work on some fantasy stories, but I can't help but spend a lot of it on just looking at dirty pictures and masturbating.
Yes, I'm Still Here...
It's been over a year since I've posted here. What a shame.
I've been writing my stories very slowly. There just isn't time, now that I have an active toddler. When I do get into the mood, which is still quite often, I'm consuming, not producing. I'm sorry, but I haven't got anything to show you.
My enthusiasm for cross-dressing has changed somewhat over the last year. It has gotten to the point now that whenever I do it, I feel rushed, so I end up climaxing long before I want to. Sometimes I don't even get a full erection. More often than not, I now either borrow my wife's things, or wear nothing and just fantasize while I wank. It has become much more of a cerebral activity. I rarely go to the trouble of digging out my stash anymore. In a way, I like it better like this. The duplicity wears on you after a while.
Thinking back, I used to take such huge risks. I used to wear swimsuits in the garage early in the morning while my wife slept. I no longer feel confident enough that I can get away with such things, and I no longer even feel that it's necessary.
Meanwhile, whenever we have sex, I'm secretly fantasizing about being her, or about becoming a woman. It's the only thing that turns me on. She still hasn't got the slightest clue.
Part of the reason I stopped posting here is that I'm not sure what this blog is for. What do I want to do here? There's such a huge mix of different things going on here that rather than try to continue doing something -- anything -- I just throw my hands up and write nothing. It feels like there are two voices here: the fun one with the sexy fantasies, and the depressing introspective meta-voice of this post. I'm beginning to wonder whether the two should never co-exist. I think they need different blogs.
I've noticed that the blogs that turn me on are most likely heavy on embellishment. Confessional stuff like this is pretty rare, and for a good reason: it's anti-climactic, for the most part. I don't feel quite right about feeding people all kinds of bullshit about my sex life, but I do feel like there needs to be somewhere to reveal these dirty little secrets of mine. As for my fantasies, they'd benefit from being unburdened by any pretense to truth.
Stay tuned. Things are going to change.
I've been writing my stories very slowly. There just isn't time, now that I have an active toddler. When I do get into the mood, which is still quite often, I'm consuming, not producing. I'm sorry, but I haven't got anything to show you.
My enthusiasm for cross-dressing has changed somewhat over the last year. It has gotten to the point now that whenever I do it, I feel rushed, so I end up climaxing long before I want to. Sometimes I don't even get a full erection. More often than not, I now either borrow my wife's things, or wear nothing and just fantasize while I wank. It has become much more of a cerebral activity. I rarely go to the trouble of digging out my stash anymore. In a way, I like it better like this. The duplicity wears on you after a while.
Thinking back, I used to take such huge risks. I used to wear swimsuits in the garage early in the morning while my wife slept. I no longer feel confident enough that I can get away with such things, and I no longer even feel that it's necessary.
Meanwhile, whenever we have sex, I'm secretly fantasizing about being her, or about becoming a woman. It's the only thing that turns me on. She still hasn't got the slightest clue.
Part of the reason I stopped posting here is that I'm not sure what this blog is for. What do I want to do here? There's such a huge mix of different things going on here that rather than try to continue doing something -- anything -- I just throw my hands up and write nothing. It feels like there are two voices here: the fun one with the sexy fantasies, and the depressing introspective meta-voice of this post. I'm beginning to wonder whether the two should never co-exist. I think they need different blogs.
I've noticed that the blogs that turn me on are most likely heavy on embellishment. Confessional stuff like this is pretty rare, and for a good reason: it's anti-climactic, for the most part. I don't feel quite right about feeding people all kinds of bullshit about my sex life, but I do feel like there needs to be somewhere to reveal these dirty little secrets of mine. As for my fantasies, they'd benefit from being unburdened by any pretense to truth.
Stay tuned. Things are going to change.
Story in the Works
I have a new story in the works. It's been a very long time coming. It's been fun and exciting coming up with the outline, to the point where it's all I can think about, even when I'm making love to my wife. It creeps into my mind when we fool around, and I fantasize about the juicy bits so much that it keeps me hard and ready to go at any time.
The story is about two life-long rivals, constantly competing with each other over money, power, sports, women, and anything else you can think of. One finally gets the upper hand, and utterly destroys the other, taking possession of everything he has, including his woman. Thus defeated, the loser is forced to become his rival and ex-wife's sissy maid slave.
There's nothing particularly revolutionary going on there, but it's awfully fun to write! I'll post some juicy bits as a teaser when I'm further along. It's going to take some time, though, since I can't safely work on it very often, so please, be patient.
The story is about two life-long rivals, constantly competing with each other over money, power, sports, women, and anything else you can think of. One finally gets the upper hand, and utterly destroys the other, taking possession of everything he has, including his woman. Thus defeated, the loser is forced to become his rival and ex-wife's sissy maid slave.
There's nothing particularly revolutionary going on there, but it's awfully fun to write! I'll post some juicy bits as a teaser when I'm further along. It's going to take some time, though, since I can't safely work on it very often, so please, be patient.
My Wife's Panties
My wife is beautiful and sexy. In the mornings and evenings, she tends to strip down to her panties and walk all around the house doing mundane things. She doesn't even do this with the slightest intention of arousing me (at least, not consciously). Naturally, it drives me crazy with lust.
When we fool around, I love to get started with her still in her cute little panties. I like to rub up against them, and feel the fabric on top of her naughty bits. Then when we fuck, I imagine that I'm her, prancing around in her panties, and taking a big fat cock inside her pussy and having her way with it.
Of course, when she's not around, it's a constant struggle to not raid her panty drawer. But I can't help myself. As much as I enjoy my own stash, and there's a huge thrill to having my own panties, she has much more variety. I try to avoid playing with it because I don't want to arouse suspicion, but sometimes I fall hopelessly under a spell, and I must wear a particular one.
For the last few days, I've been obsessed with these silky black tangas with lace trim. She looked so unbelievably hot in them, and I just have to play with them. I'll be quick, but it'll be so worth it.
When we fool around, I love to get started with her still in her cute little panties. I like to rub up against them, and feel the fabric on top of her naughty bits. Then when we fuck, I imagine that I'm her, prancing around in her panties, and taking a big fat cock inside her pussy and having her way with it.
Of course, when she's not around, it's a constant struggle to not raid her panty drawer. But I can't help myself. As much as I enjoy my own stash, and there's a huge thrill to having my own panties, she has much more variety. I try to avoid playing with it because I don't want to arouse suspicion, but sometimes I fall hopelessly under a spell, and I must wear a particular one.
For the last few days, I've been obsessed with these silky black tangas with lace trim. She looked so unbelievably hot in them, and I just have to play with them. I'll be quick, but it'll be so worth it.
Counter-productive Abyss
Given my situation, I have limited windows of opportunity to explore my feminine side. This includes browsing the web for things that interest me, reading other blogs, and so on. It's been a few months now since I posted anything. Partly, this is due to being busy with my obligations as a husband and father. But there's another problem preventing me from producing the work I'd like.
Whenever I do have an opportunity to fulfill my fantasies, I spend much of my time feeding it by looking at pictures of transsexuals, reading other fantasies, and browsing for lingerie and swimsuits. By the end of my window, I have to wank because that's the whole point, and before I know it, my wife is home, and I have to stop immediately and return to normal. I'll have written not a word, and the urges remain, but my time was not spent productively.
Therefore, I have dozens of fantasies and a huge over-complicated story with a large ensemble of characters dancing in my head, just waiting to be committed to writing, and I never get quite enough time to get cracking.
I've thought about stealing time at work to do it surreptitiously, and have done so before, but I'm too busy at work to get into such things there. I have very little time to write at home now that I have a child. So when can I do it?
Whenever I do have an opportunity to fulfill my fantasies, I spend much of my time feeding it by looking at pictures of transsexuals, reading other fantasies, and browsing for lingerie and swimsuits. By the end of my window, I have to wank because that's the whole point, and before I know it, my wife is home, and I have to stop immediately and return to normal. I'll have written not a word, and the urges remain, but my time was not spent productively.
Therefore, I have dozens of fantasies and a huge over-complicated story with a large ensemble of characters dancing in my head, just waiting to be committed to writing, and I never get quite enough time to get cracking.
I've thought about stealing time at work to do it surreptitiously, and have done so before, but I'm too busy at work to get into such things there. I have very little time to write at home now that I have a child. So when can I do it?
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.
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.
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| My garter slip |
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.
The Trouble with Secrecy
I very recently became a father. Since my wife is in no condition to have sex yet, I have no other outlet for my raging desires other than some barely satisfying dry humping, and my ever-rarer secret girlification sessions.
Of course, this would be much easier if only she knew and approved of my intense desire to become feminine, but she doesn't, and I'm not ready for her to find out, especially now. Therefore, my ability to indulge, and even to write about it, is severely curtailed.
I would love to let her in on my secret, but it's so far past the point of keeping a secret now that it's a terrible lie. I truly and deeply love her, and my new baby, and I wouldn't dare jeopardize my relationship with them both. As much as I love to fantasize about being a girl, my public life has time and again proven to be more important to me. Forced to choose, I choose my family.
All the same, I am unable to give up my compulsion. I sneak into a bikini and heels the moment she leaves the house, whenever I'm sure she'll be gone for a while. And I love every second of it! I don't think I can ever completely give it up, but I can't imagine that it's going to remain this easy to hide my habit from my growing family forever. Therefore, I have to indulge while I still can.
Of course, this would be much easier if only she knew and approved of my intense desire to become feminine, but she doesn't, and I'm not ready for her to find out, especially now. Therefore, my ability to indulge, and even to write about it, is severely curtailed.
I would love to let her in on my secret, but it's so far past the point of keeping a secret now that it's a terrible lie. I truly and deeply love her, and my new baby, and I wouldn't dare jeopardize my relationship with them both. As much as I love to fantasize about being a girl, my public life has time and again proven to be more important to me. Forced to choose, I choose my family.
All the same, I am unable to give up my compulsion. I sneak into a bikini and heels the moment she leaves the house, whenever I'm sure she'll be gone for a while. And I love every second of it! I don't think I can ever completely give it up, but I can't imagine that it's going to remain this easy to hide my habit from my growing family forever. Therefore, I have to indulge while I still can.
Almost Caught
My wife has a reasonably predictable schedule. Since I got her pregnant, she's been going to a particular place for some exercise twice a week. I have often taken advantage of these 2-hour absences to frolic girlishly in my secret stash of lingerie and swimwear. As I noticed her preparing to leave a couple of days ago, my heart leaped with anticipation for the fun I was about to have.
No sooner did she leave did I retrieve my secret stash from its difficult-to-reach hiding place. I eagerly stripped out of my male clothes, and pondered my many feminine options. I had ivory satin on my mind from a scene in an old film noir I had just watched, so I chose my matching panty and bra set. It wasn't really anything like in the movie, except for the color and fabric. I put on my fishnet pantyhose and my little black dress, and finally my lovely 4 1/2 inch heels.
I figured I had a plenty of time to savor my femininity, so I pranced around like this for some time. I made myself a cup of tea, and tried (but failed) to take pictures of myself in my outfit. I love how my shoes make my ass stick out, and how lovely it looks in my LBD, and I wanted to capture it for posterity. I fiddled around with this for a little while and gave up because I wasn't getting the photos quite right.
By now I had worked myself up into quite a lather, so I retired to the bedroom, and wanked. I had just cleaned up the semen, and taken off my dress, when I heard the unmistakable sound of keys fiddling in the front door! And here I was in the bedroom with my stash on the floor, wearing high heels, fishnet pantyhose, satin panties and a bra! I had to hide myself and all my stuff, and fast.
I picked up my stash, and locked myself in the bathroom. I frantically stripped out of my girl clothes, as quietly as possible, and shoved them into my overflowing secret stash box. I had trouble closing it properly because of the haphazard way in which I threw everything in. Once I got it to close and snapped it shut, I noticed a baby blue ribbon from my garter slip sticking out the side. So now I had this ridiculous box, with nowhere to hide it in this small bathroom! She would undoubtedly see my stash box, and wonder what it is and why it's there, and what the blue ribbon is sticking out of it. I was carefully shoving it into a cabinet, the only one where it might fit and not be immediately obvious, when she finally came looking for me.
"Honey," she said from the other side of the door, "you seem to have lost your clothes. What are you doing?"
"I'm taking a crap," I replied, voice quivering, much too close to the door, still trying to conceal my stash box, and making all kinds of suspicious noises.
"Are you O.K.?"
I muttered something in response, and heard her walk away to the other bathroom. "You're funny," she said. I took this opportunity to finish hiding my stuff, put on a sweaty t-shirt I had hanging on the hook on the back of the door, and came out of the bathroom. I wasn't wearing anything but the shirt. She came back as I was putting my pants back on.
"What's wrong," she asked, concerned. "You're so pale! And you're all clammy. Are you sick?"
"Uh, yeah. It must have been something I ate."
"Hey, didn't I make the bed earlier? Did you take a nap or something?"
"Umm, yeah, I was feeling bad,so I had to lie down for a bit."
I couldn't believe I was getting away with this so easily! My heart was pounding as she comforted me in my presumed sickness. I think I was trembling a bit, too. She gave me a couple of almonds to eat, which she had read are good for digestion, and which she happened to be munching on at the time. They were like ashes in my mouth. "I need some water," I said, and stumbled to the kitchen, relieved that she was following me. I poured myself a glass from the tap, and gulped it down. Even that was difficult, but it did help me play sick.
"What happened to you?" she asked. "I leave for half an hour, and all Hell breaks loose!"
Things settled down after that. She's 8 months pregnant, and no longer feeling very mobile, so she sat on the sofa to watch some TV and catch up on Facebook. This gave me a chance to eventually move my stash box from the bathroom to a closet, where I could hide it a little bit better and less conspicuously. But then I worried about it constantly for the next few hours, and eventually moved it somewhere better. I couldn't put it back to its normal place without making a ruckus.
My wife isn't stupid. She surely suspects that I was jerking off in her absence. But bless her heart, she hasn't mentioned it since. This stage of her pregnancy makes it pretty hard for us to be properly intimate, so she knows I'm losing my mind from lack of sex. But at least she still has no idea that I'm a sissy. Somehow, especially now, it would be disastrous if she found out.
The icing on the cake: she now habitually wears some of my t-shirts to bed, because her pregnant belly is so huge that her own pajamas no longer fit around it. Funny how that works, isn't it?
"I miss my clothes," she whines as we cuddle in bed.
"What's the matter? You don't like mine?"
"You don't have dresses, skirts, and pretty shoes!"
Considering how shell-shocked I was (and still am) about that day's incident, I couldn't even look her in the eye as I freaked out inside. "Do you wish I did?" I asked, not hopefully, but accusingly.
Sadly, and predictably, she answered, "No."
 |
| Janet Leigh wearing a gorgeous teddy in A Touch of Evil |
I figured I had a plenty of time to savor my femininity, so I pranced around like this for some time. I made myself a cup of tea, and tried (but failed) to take pictures of myself in my outfit. I love how my shoes make my ass stick out, and how lovely it looks in my LBD, and I wanted to capture it for posterity. I fiddled around with this for a little while and gave up because I wasn't getting the photos quite right.
By now I had worked myself up into quite a lather, so I retired to the bedroom, and wanked. I had just cleaned up the semen, and taken off my dress, when I heard the unmistakable sound of keys fiddling in the front door! And here I was in the bedroom with my stash on the floor, wearing high heels, fishnet pantyhose, satin panties and a bra! I had to hide myself and all my stuff, and fast.
I picked up my stash, and locked myself in the bathroom. I frantically stripped out of my girl clothes, as quietly as possible, and shoved them into my overflowing secret stash box. I had trouble closing it properly because of the haphazard way in which I threw everything in. Once I got it to close and snapped it shut, I noticed a baby blue ribbon from my garter slip sticking out the side. So now I had this ridiculous box, with nowhere to hide it in this small bathroom! She would undoubtedly see my stash box, and wonder what it is and why it's there, and what the blue ribbon is sticking out of it. I was carefully shoving it into a cabinet, the only one where it might fit and not be immediately obvious, when she finally came looking for me.
"Honey," she said from the other side of the door, "you seem to have lost your clothes. What are you doing?"
"I'm taking a crap," I replied, voice quivering, much too close to the door, still trying to conceal my stash box, and making all kinds of suspicious noises.
"Are you O.K.?"
I muttered something in response, and heard her walk away to the other bathroom. "You're funny," she said. I took this opportunity to finish hiding my stuff, put on a sweaty t-shirt I had hanging on the hook on the back of the door, and came out of the bathroom. I wasn't wearing anything but the shirt. She came back as I was putting my pants back on.
"What's wrong," she asked, concerned. "You're so pale! And you're all clammy. Are you sick?"
"Uh, yeah. It must have been something I ate."
"Hey, didn't I make the bed earlier? Did you take a nap or something?"
"Umm, yeah, I was feeling bad,so I had to lie down for a bit."
I couldn't believe I was getting away with this so easily! My heart was pounding as she comforted me in my presumed sickness. I think I was trembling a bit, too. She gave me a couple of almonds to eat, which she had read are good for digestion, and which she happened to be munching on at the time. They were like ashes in my mouth. "I need some water," I said, and stumbled to the kitchen, relieved that she was following me. I poured myself a glass from the tap, and gulped it down. Even that was difficult, but it did help me play sick.
"What happened to you?" she asked. "I leave for half an hour, and all Hell breaks loose!"
Things settled down after that. She's 8 months pregnant, and no longer feeling very mobile, so she sat on the sofa to watch some TV and catch up on Facebook. This gave me a chance to eventually move my stash box from the bathroom to a closet, where I could hide it a little bit better and less conspicuously. But then I worried about it constantly for the next few hours, and eventually moved it somewhere better. I couldn't put it back to its normal place without making a ruckus.
My wife isn't stupid. She surely suspects that I was jerking off in her absence. But bless her heart, she hasn't mentioned it since. This stage of her pregnancy makes it pretty hard for us to be properly intimate, so she knows I'm losing my mind from lack of sex. But at least she still has no idea that I'm a sissy. Somehow, especially now, it would be disastrous if she found out.
The icing on the cake: she now habitually wears some of my t-shirts to bed, because her pregnant belly is so huge that her own pajamas no longer fit around it. Funny how that works, isn't it?
"I miss my clothes," she whines as we cuddle in bed.
"What's the matter? You don't like mine?"
"You don't have dresses, skirts, and pretty shoes!"
Considering how shell-shocked I was (and still am) about that day's incident, I couldn't even look her in the eye as I freaked out inside. "Do you wish I did?" I asked, not hopefully, but accusingly.
Sadly, and predictably, she answered, "No."
The Long-Lost Diary
At last, I've gotten around to publishing my long lost diary, which goes all the way back to the mid-90's. It tracks my thoughts and fantasies through all those years.
Feel free to start at the very beginning. I've added some commentary here and there to explain some things. Rereading it was fascinating for me, as I relived some key events in my development as a sissy. Here it is for posterity, for the whole world to enjoy. Names of people and places have been censored to protect the innocent.
Enjoy!
Feel free to start at the very beginning. I've added some commentary here and there to explain some things. Rereading it was fascinating for me, as I relived some key events in my development as a sissy. Here it is for posterity, for the whole world to enjoy. Names of people and places have been censored to protect the innocent.
Enjoy!
Various Girlie Dreams, and Consequences in Real Life
I've been going crazy with deprivation lately. It's going to blow up soon, and it'll be incredibly fun, but I have to wait for now.
Because of my runaway fantasies, I dreamed last night that I was walking around something like a Las Vegas casino resort, with lots of people around and long distances between places. I was wearing knee-high black boots with pointy toes and high heels, and maybe some sort of lingerie or little black dress. I was light on my feet, and proud of my outfit. I didn't at all care what anybody thought about it.
Some time later, I was playing with eye makeup in my hotel room, when I heard my wife arriving. I had thick black mascara and eye shadow on my right eye, and I was desperate to remove it before she could see me. I managed to rinse it off in the sink just as she arrived, and I had to hide the mascara from her, in my hand, desperate to hide it somewhere. Then the whole dream just devolved into some other events that I only vaguely remember, but all while trying to hide from my wife the fact that I'm wearing something feminine.
As a tribute to my dreams, I'm wearing my black lace-up panties all day, and damn the consequences.
Because of my runaway fantasies, I dreamed last night that I was walking around something like a Las Vegas casino resort, with lots of people around and long distances between places. I was wearing knee-high black boots with pointy toes and high heels, and maybe some sort of lingerie or little black dress. I was light on my feet, and proud of my outfit. I didn't at all care what anybody thought about it.
Some time later, I was playing with eye makeup in my hotel room, when I heard my wife arriving. I had thick black mascara and eye shadow on my right eye, and I was desperate to remove it before she could see me. I managed to rinse it off in the sink just as she arrived, and I had to hide the mascara from her, in my hand, desperate to hide it somewhere. Then the whole dream just devolved into some other events that I only vaguely remember, but all while trying to hide from my wife the fact that I'm wearing something feminine.
As a tribute to my dreams, I'm wearing my black lace-up panties all day, and damn the consequences.
Desperation Leads To Naughtiness
Since I had stashed my new stuff in my messenger bag, I had it with me at work all day. I could think of little else. So when the time came to go home, I was compelled to go to the restroom, hide in a stall, and try it on.
I got as far as the hot pants and one stocking before I gave up. It's all very, very small on me, and it was getting complicated. But I still managed to rub one out right there.
See, this is what happens when I go too long without relief!
I got as far as the hot pants and one stocking before I gave up. It's all very, very small on me, and it was getting complicated. But I still managed to rub one out right there.
See, this is what happens when I go too long without relief!
I ♥ Halloween
I've had so few opportunities to dress up lately, and my pregnant wife is mostly unable to have sex, so I'm losing my mind. I'm going overboard now, fantasizing about feminization everywhere, always. I've gone so far as to discreetly work on my memoirs project at the office.
Another consequence of this lack of proper release is that I've impulsively increased my already cumbersome wardrobe. I already have so many things stashed away that my hiding place strains with plenitude. Yet I couldn't resist getting some more.
I've never taken advantage of Halloween like this before. Every year I fantasize about maybe getting one of those sexy costumes they make for women, but I generally keep my wits. But not this year. I didn't get myself a full costume, but I did succumb to a few accessories that I just happened to find in the drug store's seasonal Halloween section.
We went to look for Halloween accessories over the weekend, and I happened to notice among the costumes some fishnet tights, and a package of fishnet stockings with ruffled hot pants. These were outrageously adorable, and I fixated on them. I felt like I had to have them. Besides, I haven't had fishnets in years. Also, I'd been wanting a pair of opaque nude pantyhose, which I figured I could buy anywhere.
Yesterday, I made a plan to go to the grocery store on the way to work, which would surely have at least the same type of stuff, as well as the nude pantyhose, which I could purchase discreetly at the self-checkout. Unfortunately, the grocery store had a surprisingly scant selection of Halloween attire, and a pathetic pantyhose section. They did, however, have cheap fishnet tights, so I at least got those.
This failure percolated in my head all day. I made plans to try again on my way home, but this time I would go to the same drug store where I had seen the fishnet stockings with ruffled hot pants. When I got there, it was thankfully almost deserted. This gave me ample opportunity to carefully choose what I wanted. I started with the pantyhose. This store seems to only sell sheer pantyhose. I chose what I thought would be the closest to what I wanted, and returned to the Halloween section at the opposite end of the store.
Now there were a couple of children in the same aisle with me, and I tried to keep it cool as I inspected various packages of feminine accessories, with a package of pantyhose in my hand. I carefully selected an unopened package, checked the size, and verified that everything that was supposed to be in the package was included.
Right next to the costume hosiery were various cheap wigs. I figured I would look a lot more feminine with a decent head of hair, so I inspected those, too. The blonde ones looked very sparse, so I went with black instead.
At the checkout, the clerk didn't raise an eyebrow. It was extremely easy. I went back to my car to inspect my goods, and conceal them in my messenger bag. That's when I discovered that my nude pantyhose is sheer, and therefore not at all what I wanted. But the hot pants and stockings look glorious, and I've been dreaming of them ever since. I'm not sure when I'll ever get to wear them, but I'm on the verge of trying them on somehow with my wife in the house.
This is how desperate I've become. I don't even know where I'm going to keep all of this stuff.
Another consequence of this lack of proper release is that I've impulsively increased my already cumbersome wardrobe. I already have so many things stashed away that my hiding place strains with plenitude. Yet I couldn't resist getting some more.
I've never taken advantage of Halloween like this before. Every year I fantasize about maybe getting one of those sexy costumes they make for women, but I generally keep my wits. But not this year. I didn't get myself a full costume, but I did succumb to a few accessories that I just happened to find in the drug store's seasonal Halloween section.
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| Fishnets with Ruffled Hot Pants |
Yesterday, I made a plan to go to the grocery store on the way to work, which would surely have at least the same type of stuff, as well as the nude pantyhose, which I could purchase discreetly at the self-checkout. Unfortunately, the grocery store had a surprisingly scant selection of Halloween attire, and a pathetic pantyhose section. They did, however, have cheap fishnet tights, so I at least got those.
This failure percolated in my head all day. I made plans to try again on my way home, but this time I would go to the same drug store where I had seen the fishnet stockings with ruffled hot pants. When I got there, it was thankfully almost deserted. This gave me ample opportunity to carefully choose what I wanted. I started with the pantyhose. This store seems to only sell sheer pantyhose. I chose what I thought would be the closest to what I wanted, and returned to the Halloween section at the opposite end of the store.
Now there were a couple of children in the same aisle with me, and I tried to keep it cool as I inspected various packages of feminine accessories, with a package of pantyhose in my hand. I carefully selected an unopened package, checked the size, and verified that everything that was supposed to be in the package was included.
Right next to the costume hosiery were various cheap wigs. I figured I would look a lot more feminine with a decent head of hair, so I inspected those, too. The blonde ones looked very sparse, so I went with black instead.
At the checkout, the clerk didn't raise an eyebrow. It was extremely easy. I went back to my car to inspect my goods, and conceal them in my messenger bag. That's when I discovered that my nude pantyhose is sheer, and therefore not at all what I wanted. But the hot pants and stockings look glorious, and I've been dreaming of them ever since. I'm not sure when I'll ever get to wear them, but I'm on the verge of trying them on somehow with my wife in the house.
This is how desperate I've become. I don't even know where I'm going to keep all of this stuff.
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.
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.
A Dream: Caught by Mom
I just woke up from a vivid dream in which I was caught wearing a woman's swimsuit.
I was living in my parents' old house, in my old bedroom. It was night. I had a shopping bag full of women's clothes, fresh from the store. I was putting on a one-piece swimsuit, which was completely unlike any I have ever seen: it was a sort of monokini, where the sides of the bottom had to be attached with hooks, like the back of a bra. Putting it on was quite erotic, as I had to delicately attach each side on my hips. The top part had wide shoulder straps. It was brownish, with a sort of wavy pattern. The material was thick, and it was delightfully tight.
No sooner had I strapped myself in, my mother barged into the room -- which she never did in real life -- and started talking as she dropped off some laundry or something. She walked right past me, and I covered myself with dirty clothes that had been piled on the floor, so she wouldn't see what I was wearing.
Somehow, she managed to talk for some time without taking note of me obviously hiding something. I couldn't completely cover myself, so when she turned around, she could clearly see what I was wearing, in spite of my pathetic attempts to hide it. She was obviously annoyed that I was wearing women's clothes "again" and wondered aloud if I was ever going to move on from this phase.
She then proceeded to pick through my shopping bag, and making fun of the slutty tops I had bought myself. For some reason, they were all tops. She was telling me that I had atrocious taste in women's clothes, and asking just why I wanted to wear such things. I sat cowering in the corner, humiliated.
As she got up to leave, I also got up, and came out from under my covers. She had caught me, so there was little point in hiding anymore. I told her firmly that I wear it because I like it. She didn't understand what I said, so I repeated it, heatedly, and felt a swell of pride as I asserted myself.
Then a bunch of other things happened, which I don't clearly remember. It had something to do with my brother passed out in the bathtub of the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom, and my mother being more concerned with him and his obviously more serious problems than me and my relatively harmless ones. After she'd taken care of him, she fell asleep on my bed, exhausted (because this all happened in the middle of the night). I was still wearing my swimsuit and walking around the house now, and I was annoyed that she would sleep on my bed. There was nothing even remotely sexual about her being there, in case you're jumping to some Freudian conclusions. I went back to sleep beside her, in my swimsuit.
I woke up disoriented, in a different room, in a different bed, with a different woman sleeping beside me. The dream was so vivid, it took several seconds to adjust back to reality.
I was living in my parents' old house, in my old bedroom. It was night. I had a shopping bag full of women's clothes, fresh from the store. I was putting on a one-piece swimsuit, which was completely unlike any I have ever seen: it was a sort of monokini, where the sides of the bottom had to be attached with hooks, like the back of a bra. Putting it on was quite erotic, as I had to delicately attach each side on my hips. The top part had wide shoulder straps. It was brownish, with a sort of wavy pattern. The material was thick, and it was delightfully tight.
No sooner had I strapped myself in, my mother barged into the room -- which she never did in real life -- and started talking as she dropped off some laundry or something. She walked right past me, and I covered myself with dirty clothes that had been piled on the floor, so she wouldn't see what I was wearing.
Somehow, she managed to talk for some time without taking note of me obviously hiding something. I couldn't completely cover myself, so when she turned around, she could clearly see what I was wearing, in spite of my pathetic attempts to hide it. She was obviously annoyed that I was wearing women's clothes "again" and wondered aloud if I was ever going to move on from this phase.
She then proceeded to pick through my shopping bag, and making fun of the slutty tops I had bought myself. For some reason, they were all tops. She was telling me that I had atrocious taste in women's clothes, and asking just why I wanted to wear such things. I sat cowering in the corner, humiliated.
As she got up to leave, I also got up, and came out from under my covers. She had caught me, so there was little point in hiding anymore. I told her firmly that I wear it because I like it. She didn't understand what I said, so I repeated it, heatedly, and felt a swell of pride as I asserted myself.
Then a bunch of other things happened, which I don't clearly remember. It had something to do with my brother passed out in the bathtub of the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom, and my mother being more concerned with him and his obviously more serious problems than me and my relatively harmless ones. After she'd taken care of him, she fell asleep on my bed, exhausted (because this all happened in the middle of the night). I was still wearing my swimsuit and walking around the house now, and I was annoyed that she would sleep on my bed. There was nothing even remotely sexual about her being there, in case you're jumping to some Freudian conclusions. I went back to sleep beside her, in my swimsuit.
I woke up disoriented, in a different room, in a different bed, with a different woman sleeping beside me. The dream was so vivid, it took several seconds to adjust back to reality.
I Finally Got My Swimsuit!
My exchanged swimsuit has finally arrived! I lugged it around all day yesterday, unable to stop thinking about it. I couldn't wait to try it on to see if this one fits. I even considered slipping into it in the restroom at work, but I was thwarted by the impracticality of having to take off all my clothes with the risk of people coming in at any time.
I eventually put it on late at night after coming home from a planned excursion. I snuck into the bathroom to put it on, with the pretext that I was using the toilet. It was still somewhat difficult to get my shoulders through the arm holes, but it was definitely much easier. It still felt like a trap that I couldn't easily escape from, which in itself is arousing. The bathroom wasn't adequate for truly enjoying it, so I decided to retire to my office to continue. To that end, I wanted to hide under my male clothes just in case my wife got up. I couldn't risk just putting my white t-shirt over the top of the suit, because it would be visible through it and would stick out at the back of my neck, so I zipped it down and shimmied my shoulders out without too much trouble, and peeled the top down and folded it into my pants. The bottom part stayed as it was.
Once I was comfortably hidden in my office, I was better able to appreciate it. It took a while to get a good rhythm, given the circumstances, but I did manage to succumb to its femininity. Amazingly, I found it much more difficult to get out of, weakened as I was by my climax.
I'm looking forward to more in-depth experiments.
I eventually put it on late at night after coming home from a planned excursion. I snuck into the bathroom to put it on, with the pretext that I was using the toilet. It was still somewhat difficult to get my shoulders through the arm holes, but it was definitely much easier. It still felt like a trap that I couldn't easily escape from, which in itself is arousing. The bathroom wasn't adequate for truly enjoying it, so I decided to retire to my office to continue. To that end, I wanted to hide under my male clothes just in case my wife got up. I couldn't risk just putting my white t-shirt over the top of the suit, because it would be visible through it and would stick out at the back of my neck, so I zipped it down and shimmied my shoulders out without too much trouble, and peeled the top down and folded it into my pants. The bottom part stayed as it was.
Once I was comfortably hidden in my office, I was better able to appreciate it. It took a while to get a good rhythm, given the circumstances, but I did manage to succumb to its femininity. Amazingly, I found it much more difficult to get out of, weakened as I was by my climax.
I'm looking forward to more in-depth experiments.
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