Would love to hear your thoughts xxx
Would love to hear your thoughts xxx
it’s been months since i last dressed in Women’s clothing.
i strayed from the path of my true heart
this week i saw one too many cute feminine outfits on real Girls and i cracked and gave in to the true sissy-gurl nature that i’m hiding inside
without a doubt i should be crossdressing
it feels so right and like such an honor to wear Women’s clothing
The cardigan was an off-white color which i fell in love with. I’ll try a larger fit i think. It felt so feminine and i adore the clean, perfect, cutesy cut of these.
The leather skirt fit like a dream. Free People are so my brand as i tried a vegan leather bomber with ribbed waist by them a couple of weeks back and it looked like it was made for me and worked my waistline just right paired with the sweater crop-top i wore under it.
I’m not sure about the double leather? I mean, i love wearing (faux) leather all over but it may be a little, hmmm, i don’t know what
now i just need to do something about my hair and makeup and masculine hands
vegan leather skirts (wine and black) by Free People, white crew neck cardigan by Macy’s, Ralph Lauren Lace Sheath dress, Chinese Laundry Platform Heels, Faux Leather Jacket by (Guess maybe? i tried a few different ones)
As a sissy crossdresser, it feels like a privilege to wear Women’s clothes. i worship the Female sex and go out of my way to serve and assist any Ladies that i come into daily contact with. It feels like my natural place in the universe to be forever trying to emulate the superior sex but never quite making it and remaining a feminized emasculated tribute, ready to be a good provider for beautiful and fashionable Goddesses.
It makes me happy. Some may think that a strange and self abusive state of mind, but it’s far from it.
Perhaps, just as there are Alphas and Betas, etc, in every race, there are those who are fulfilled in a role such as mine. A follower, a provider. Why else would i allow myself to be locked away in a chastity cage and for Girlfriends to take lovers while i look after the home, wash the lingerie and polish the heels, go shopping with them for attractive outfits and be a comforter in time of need?
I would love to hear from any Females who ever desired to have this kind of two man (man not being a suitable word, but you know what i mean) relationship like i had with a couple of ex GFs
Thanks for reading
I lifted the angora sweater over my head, surprised by how light it felt for it’s size; it was one of the oversized H&M sweaters made famous by the Lana Del Rey commercials that had me and too many other real girls slightly unhinged with desire. A wardrobe gap had instantly appeared as She floated to Her microphone in that mist, so untouchable; an impossible animal.
Impossible. There’s something of the unbelievable about an angora sweater in it’s full bloom. We dare not yield to the irresistable want to touch. An invisible girl passes on a bicycle, stealing the eye of every man and Woman, Her back and shoulders clung to by a pinky white haze, ready to fall apart in the drift of a cloud.
I just wanted to hold one as it held me, and together hold their gaze, as they hold their breath and we all dare each other’s touch.
I cycled past a billboard of giant Lana in a vast pink fuzz that overtook the sky as all heavens should and obscured all other thoughts as only the most poisonous dreams do.
It was Lust. For Her or for IT or for Her wearing IT…..?
……for me wearing it?
For the lust of some other whose only resolve can come from wrapping up in me so hard i’m choked and transformed into finally untouchable.
Standing in line with it doubled up and wrapped a little around the hanger, i feel the familiar vulnerability burning through me from the million, knowing smiles, all imagined. They must know; these young women clutching jeans and tees and plain, sharp purses and nothing even remotely as feminine as the pink angora sweater the blushing young man between them half-hides.
“These are so gorgeous” Says the cashier in the monochrome stripes and gothic jet ponytail. “It’s supposed to fit a little big in case you were wanting one that’s a little more close cropped” She smiles and hands me the bag.
I shave especially for the ceremony. Silk, full cut panties and matching ivory bra with seamed dark pantyhose under scandalously luxurious leather shorts. No other top, of course, but there definitely is a brooding mascara and a thick pink lip under a shining wig of dark bangs.
Pulling it from the bag, I feel all the floods of motions that run through the newest of lovers and cutting the tags becomes a drawn out play in a strange bedroom.
It lifts with an unexpected lack of weight and holds it’s form in places where other garments fall to pieces.
It drops on to me with an audible sigh and I gasp as it takes me over for good.
My Ex Girlfriend feminized me while She kept another, Real Man, boyfriend on the side.
Early on She hinted at what was to come.
“You’ll have to get used to that if you are going to be a girl” She said once, out of the blue.
I didn’t ask.
“Can I put makeup on you?” She asked, giggling, on more than one occasion.
Naked, on our bed, one afternoon “One of my deepest fantasies is to take you with a strapon…..Look, it’s getting you excited just at the thought of it” She told me, in an emasculating tone while stroking me in a way that made collusion unavoidable.
Maybe She knew.
For forever I had lived in a silent world of secret jealousies everytime I saw a pretty girl in a cute outfit. And it only got worse until the point of total obsession.
How does She feel in that leather jacket with it’s sleek cut that enhances every feminine curl?
My DNA cries in pain to be expressed in the glossy bow of the perfect red lip
I would only ever wear heels
She brings it up again as we drift to sleep.
“You can chose the size and color. We should get a life-like one. Some of them feel so real”
A nervous silence
“Can I wear your lingerie”
Her laugh is accidentally cruel and half triumphant.
“You, can, wear, anything, you, want”
In the months that follow I’m introduced to a chastity cage. It keeps me sexually frustrated and with no release and causes me to confess more than I wanted to in the pink haze of some overwhelming feminized madness. My love of bold, but elegant makeup. The styles and garments I can’t help focusing on; The sheath dresses, the leather skirts , the flowing or classic cut womanly cardigans, the garter-belts and chunky necklaces.
The transition speeds up and becomes more permanent.
Sex consists of me pleasing Her while She texts Her Real Man.
She doesn’t hide it.
Somehow all I feel is a contented bliss, like my proper position in life is being fulfilled by this journey
We haven’t spoken in a couple of years
I hope She is happy
they sent me forty six messages of rage.
the men responding to my personals ad.
i had posted a picture of myself in a cropped aran swing cardigan and leather shorts from which the ribboned tabs of a garter belt peeked to cling to lace stocking tops.
i liked that outfit for the contrasting materials.
they liked it for the way it provoked the beast in them.
now i was a ‘whore’ and i ‘deserved’ them and ‘needed’ parts of them.
almost all of them sent a picture of their strength and a couple sent videos.
chubby thumbs kneading at speed until a swelling and spit across a color print-out of me, soaking my cardigan into a dull rainbow.
the emasculation you feel is almost blissful in intensity. When you find yourself one day wrapped in several layers of female garments, all a little too ‘haute couture’ for a wednesday night sofa. The black cherry beads pendulum forward as you lean to adjust your posture with the laptop slipping on the satin of your pencil skirt. The shellac tips of your fuschia glue-ons demurely press out a brief curiosity to the one amongst the furious rupture of murder-spewing muscles. The one who commanded authority by making you completely Woman with his light words.
my chaste princess swells in her cage.
How long has she been locked? I check the calendar. Almost three weeks of my manhood padlocked in an erection-proof device.
fuschia tips to the search bar to enter the name of my favorite store. i wonder if he’ll like me with a patent purse and tweed skirt.
He likely wont give a damn.
i hope he writes back in a rage.
i want to wear leather upon leather
lamb soft leather upon redolent plump leather
a leather dress under a clean leather jacket, flashing like liquescent black glass
a mandarin collar with snapping buttons in fire-engine-red, cuffing my obedient neck
a lot of crossdressers want to wear leather
it’s a cliche
im a cliche
(a man who owns a powerful leather skirt and high-waist leather shorts, with a row of three shiny buttons that beckon needfully to the witnesses of my woeful corruption)
so i want to be feminine in easy falling cashmere
i want countless tiny cardigans with barely seen buttons to hang to my waist
open and defenseless to rough hands that fit with control
waterfall, boyfriend and cropped in ghostly angora
(a man who owns 3 shades of Jackie. Worn just for real Females to recognise my submission and respect of their superiority. Honestly, when i pull through the pink wool sleeves, every time, it feels like the greatest privilege)
i used to date girls but now the years of color have chalked my lips to a softness only an endless lipstick craving can bring
my calves fashioned by the daily torment of stilettos; my thighs ceaselessly tied beneath the gift-wrap pull of taughtly ribboned garter-belts
satin and lace spirals of so much flora and caligraphy, incarcerate and eradicate the male, worn or ownership remembered just sitting in stacks of white and powder blue silk, as the overtake the drawer with the single disappearing pair of boxers; the most gentle prison
the chastity cage beneath my panties
holds me useless and content
happier than ever
emasculated, i date real Men
they want me to wear leather
leather upon leather upon leather
until their rage drowns me momentarily in silk