The Excitement of It All

You know, for the longest time in my life, I felt like I was going through the motions.  Things just seemed boring, repetative, and bland.  Get up, go to work, come home, make dinner, and repeat.

Of course there are several little pleasurable things that I fill the time with in between: movies, sports, friends, internet.  No life's not a complete waste.  I try to make it the best that I can, but I do find that at times I've been less than satisfied.

In particular, I remember my college years, which had some great memories, but sometimes I felt like I was doing the same thing.  I wanted something more, and found myself sitting safely at the same bar with the same people, talking about the same stuff.

I was restless and dissatisfied, and yearned for something more, yet I wanted to fit in too, so I stayed smiling and talking about nothing like I always did.  I think I used to blame my friends for being unoriginal and boring but really it was my fault.  I was too scared to go out and explore, and on top of that, I was suppressing my feminine, crossdressing, sissy, inadequate feelings.

If only I could have faced them at that age...Oh how I dream of being 18 again and knowing that I could have become a serious crossdresser...the dream of it all...

But I know I can't go back.  But I still have my present and future, and I've steadily progressed, taking little baby steps at embracing my true sissy self, and each little thing brings such excitement., pleasure and peace into my life

You Can't Have It Both Ways, or Can You?

I'm always torn between which is more important, my feminine side or my masculine side.  In the throes of passion, of course I'm ready to cut all ties with my male self and become a full-time woman for the rest of my life, but when my head clears (and you know why ; ) I suddenly sober up and think to myself, "What was I thinking?  I was just comtemplating wearing a bra under my white shirt and going to the store?"

I've been back and forth between both sides so often that I think I fully understand my feelings for both of these perspectives on life, but I never really do settle on one.  Sometimes I just do my male thing, and other times I feel like I want to princess it up, and go out in a dress with a petticoat.

With some things, however, you cannot go back.  Pierced ears comes to mind, as does corset training.  Shaved legs can be another, and sometimes makeup can still show up.  People knowing your secret can be a "never going back" moment, because as soon as a girl knows that you're wearing a camisole under your shirt, you best believe it will soon be common knowledge.

So for me, this leave me stuck in the middle.  I'm not entirely masculine.  In fact, as I walked into work this morning, my balls nicely held in by my soft panties, and I realized that I began to walk a little more femininely.  It was a bit deliberate but a bit natural too, and the fact that it felt right was a strange realization.  I'm never going back.  I know that now.  I'm a sissy for life.

Still, I feel the need to act a part.  Sitting with my legs crossed and my cock tucked, my legs naturally slid to a girls' crossed leg postion.  It felt nice, but someone was looking, and I had the urge to shift my legs to a more masculine position, but then consciosly put them down again.

There are times when I have to be a man: at work, around friends, when negotiating some sort of business.  I can't wiggle in my panties, cross my legs, and feel soft and caring.  I have to act a part, but the femininity is seeping into my everyday words and actions.

The Diaper Incident

I really enjoy writing some petticoating and feminization fiction, but this story is true. After a lot of introspection, I believe this is the root of my panty fetish.

 

It takes place in the 70’s, when disco was king, and fashion was outrageous, but my family wasn’t having too much of that.  They were pretty conservative for the most part, living in the Midwest, they had more of a sense of 1950 values.  Strict and religious, I had a definite sense from them of what was right and wrong.

I was the last of five kids, and needless to say, with one parent supporting the family but not always working, it was economically hard on the family.  What did I know about money and stress?  I was five years old.  I was a boisterous and strong-willed child who did not think before he spoke or acted, and that got me into a lot of trouble.  I guess part of it was because I wanted attention, and part of it was because I was a stupid kid.  Whatever the reasons, because of the stress, financial problems, and lack of time, my parents’ response was usually something where they would fly off the handle. 

Usually it was my father, and I cringe at the memories of the beatings.  I still can hear the anger in his voice, beating me unmercifully for something as simple as not eating dinner (I had a very particular palette).  All I could do was beg for him to stop, and eventually curl into a ball, and find a place inside myself until the beatings stopped.  Most often, he used the back of his open hands, but it was still hard, and some hits knocked the sense out of me for several seconds.  It went far beyond discipline and teaching a lesson, and it seemed to be a vent for his anger.

In some ways it forced my personality inward, and I often played alone and was very shy and imaginative.  For some reason – I have no idea why – I started wetting the bed around age five.  At first my mom didn’t notice – I’d pull the blankets up and let it dry – but eventually she saw the many stains in my mattress and exasperatedly asked me why I was doing it.

I had no answer, and she threatened to put me in diapers if I continued to do this.  I begged and pleaded not to be put in diapers, and she told me, “You know what to do then.”

I think I was good for a couple of days.  She’d wake me, pull back the covers, feel the bed and let me get on with my day.  One day, however, I woke with a wet feeling between my legs.  I think I secretly changed my wet underwear, but when she came and felt the bed, it was unmistakably wet.  Her frustration welled up inside of her.

“You know what I said will happen…”

I begged, god how I begged, but she had no mercy.  I think it was a Saturday, because I didn’t have to go to school.  She made me strip from my underwear and lie on the bed.  Anxiously I heard her opening closet doors in the other room.  She returned with a bath towel, talcum powder, and some old diaper pins.  She laid out my implements of shame on the bed next to me, sternly saying something like, “If you’re going to act like a baby, I’m going to treat you like a baby.” 

I distinctly remember one moment though, and that’s the point of this story.  I distinctly remember her lifting my legs, sliding the diaper beneath me, putting talcum on my privates, and fastening the diaper with pins.  The feeling was a shudder of shame and control at the hands of a female, and a strange, new feeling went through my body.  I didn’t have a word for it then, but I think I know now.

I was made to wear the diaper that entire day and all that night as I slept.  I was told that if I could go a week without wetting the bed, there would no longer be any need for the diaper.  I tried, I really tried, but for some reason, I kept having accidents at night.  My frustrated mother added plastic pants to my wardrobe and rubber sheets to my bed, adding to my shame.  I remember her pulling those crinkly plastic pants out of the package and displaying them before me.  The package had a picture of a baby on it and I cried.  I was also acutely aware of the fact that there was a box of diapers in the closet for me.

Even though my brothers and sisters probably already knew, I was obviously pretty apprehensive about my family knowing about my accidents, diapers, and plastic pants, but I guess my mother thought the humiliation would help me improve my behavior.  She openly discussed my bedwetting with my father in the kitchen, and I painfully waited on his reaction, hoping his anger wouldn’t explode like a volcano.  She also changed my diaper each day with the door open, and wouldn’t let me close it.  My brothers and sisters could see everything as they walked by.  I usually had to wear the diaper and plastic pants when I was at home.

Since there was little improvement after a few weeks, she threatened me with the humiliation of having to wear the diaper and plastic pants to school.  I was in the first grade.  At this I really pleaded, and again was told, “You know what to do then…”

I really didn’t want to wear a diaper in front of my friends, so I really tried and was doing better, but one fateful night, it happened again.  My mother woke me for school, felt my diaper, and sure enough it was wet.  She flung the covers off of me, pulled down my diaper, gave me a spanking, and put a fresh diaper and plastic pants on me.

“I told you what would happen if you wet the bed again!  You have to wear the diaper to school.  And don’t try taking it off at school because I’m going to check on you, and if you’re not wearing your diaper, you’ll have to deal with your father.”

I begged, oh how I begged and cried.  I didn’t want to wear a diaper in front of my friends, but it seemed I had little choice.  I walked to school with a puffy diaper in my pants, and the crinkling sound of the plastic pants.

Of course, some kids noticed, and thankfully I can’t remember too much of the humiliation, but I do remember denying the diapers under my clothes vehemently.

You would think that this solved the problem, but it didn’t.  My mother was at her wits end, and one day threatened to put a sign in the front yard saying that I wet the bed and wore diapers.  She threatened to invite all of my friends and kids from the neighborhood over and would parade me in my diaper in front of the sign.  Every word scared me to death because I believed she would do it.  She finally got on the telephone that day and called my best friend up, saying she was going to tell him I wet the bed and wore diapers.  I cried and pleaded with everything I could summon, and she hung up and left that as a warning.

I think that is what finally did it, traumatizing as it was, and my bedwetting days were over.  I no longer wore diapers to bed, and the plastic sheets eventually came off the bed.

That was the beginning of something, and when I discovered my sister’s panty drawer in the fifth grade, it was a continuation of this seed that was planted when I was five.

Whatever happened back then either embedded something in my mind, or made me aware of a feminine side of my personality.  I think I’ve always denied it, and thought of myself as a regular guy, but here I am thoroughly enjoying petticoating stories, and wishing my wife would force me into panties.

I’m not trying to assign blame or anything – life is what it is - but the moment that diaper was forced up my legs changed me forever.  It’s strange how childhood humiliation later turns to erotic fantasy.

 

Marriage and the Sissy: Problems with Sex

I'm not going to say everything is perfect, but it's not bad right now.  Of course I'm always pushing things, but for the most part, we've reached an equilibrium.  I mean, I'm not insistent about being feminine all the time, and to be honest, I like reverting into man mode at times.

It's actually kind of weird.  I'll be on the couch, wearing panties, a bra, and a nightie, watching sports and acting like a man in every way, besides the fact that I'm wearing women's clothing.

But of course there are problems.  My wife is seriously afraid of someone finding out.  I mean, my drawers are filled with panties, skirts and blouses.  My closets are filled with dresses.  All it would take is someone at a party getting nosey, but I doubt that would happen.

The biggest problem now is sex.  Although I can masturbate several times a week in panties, getting together with my wife is becoming few and far between.  I just...don't find that attraction anymore.  It's moved from every couple of weeks, to once a month, to once every few months.  She complains a lot, but I tell her that we could have a lot of sex if we incorporated dressing into our sex lives.  My wife if firmly against this, so we have infrequent sex.

Sometimes I try to hold out and not masturbate (which is another problem) but it's hard to at times.  I don't know if this is a normal thing that couples go through, or if this is a crossdressing thing.

Caught...again

(Here's the original post I began writing after my wife found my dildo.  It was hard explaining that I was just experimenting.)

If you're like me, you probably start your secret habits by carefully hiding everything away.  My naughty secrets are in a box, in a box, atop some hard to reach shelf, so that there's little likelyhood of my wife encountering them.

But after a while, I begin to realize that I'm using these things on a daily basis, and I begin to get less careful in my hiding.  They'll go from a difficult place to a medium place, and then one day, I'll have to deal with my wife saying, "What the hell is THIS?"

This time, it was my dildo.  Actually I had bought it for her a few years ago, hoping that she would use it on me.  She declined, and it sat in the closet for years.  Recently, I've been experimenting with anal, and got lazy, leaving it out of the box where it was hidden in the back of the closet.

Putting away some of my clothes, my wife saw it and almost lost it.  I think she's almost gotten used to the fact that I dress, she lets me wear panties, and I have a drawer full of women's clothing.

When she saw this, she went crazy.  She already thinks I'm gay, and this didn't help matters.  I awkwardly explained that I was experimenting, and she told me to get rid of it.

I told her that I would, but I don't know if I want to.  I still consider myself heterosexual, but I have to admit that I've been falling deeper and deeper into the hold of fantasizing about cock, and being a woman for a man.  I kind of want to tell her that I would like to be a woman in a lot of ways, but I know that she wouldn't understand.

Right now, it's blown over once again, and everything's back to normal, but I know that storm will come up again when she starts to get emotional once again.

This is a tricky one folks.  I think she was willing to put up with a lot of the dressing, but a rubber cock has signaled something else to her....

Oops: You Can Never Hide Your Sissy Behaviors for too Long

Originally I wanted to get caught.  I was tired of getting the ladder out to get my outfits out and having to put them away.  In the delusion of my lust, I began leaving panties and things in easy to find areas, and one day my wife actually found the panties.  It wasn't as sexy as I imagined, but it did get the truth out there.

As her reluctant acceptance of some things began to take place, my imagination was exploring other new things like: wigs, makeup, jewelry, etc.

Each time my wife found something new she would get extremely angry with threats of leaving, and threats for me to get rid of the particular items.

I think she was fine with the feminine things, but always kept asking if I was gay, and I would firmly deny it, and I was telling the truth, but in my exploration of sissy things, I began to experiment with anal stimulation.  I had bought a strapon for my wife a few years ago that she refused to use, and began to play with that.

It became a somewhat frequent activity, and each time I would carefully put it back in its box and shove it to the back of the closet again.  After a while, I began to get lazy, and just placed it by itself on the shelf in the back.

One day, while she was looking in my closet, she found it, and immediately knew.  She questioned me, and I was reluctant and embarrassed to admit that I had, in fact, been using it.  I was too embarrassed to say much, and kept avoiding answering, while I was trying to think of what to say.  Eventually, I admitted to what I was doing.  I didn't know what the consequences would be.

She was shocked and really questioned my sexuality at that point.  I thought that would be the end of the marriage for real.

She told me to get rid of it, and embarrassed, I told her that I would, (but never did.)  Time has gone by, and I think she's adjusted once again.  We've had some nice nights together as a couple, and I think the thought is out of her mind for right now.

I can't tell you how hard it was to admit to my wife that, yes, I was toying my asshole because I wanted to feel like a woman.

It would be sexier if she would fuck me with it, and have me beg to be fucked like a woman, but the reality is that her reaction was one of anger, pain and confusion.

I guess it's all how you look at something.  I see it one way, she sees it another.  I might have dodged a bullet on that one though.  I can't tell you how disillusioned she was knowing that I stuck things up my ass.

Marriage and the Sissy: Accepting Panties

There have been a lot of moments in between that I haven't had the time to put to text.  Like I said in an earlier post, she knew that I was dressing, and just pretended that it wasn't there.  She said that she was not sexually attracted to me as much.  I can see her point.  It's like someone said on a crossdressing forum one day, "If your wife started dressing like a dude and wearing a fake mustache, would you be attracted to her still?"

The answer for me: No.

Still, I feel such a strong urge to dress that I didn't want to squelch it like I did in the past.  But for her sake, I dressed as a man most of the time, which wasn't that big of a thing, and I didn't mind doing.

Still, part of me wanted to push the envelope, and I while I was changing would walk past her in just panties while going to the bathroom.  She'd loudly object, and I'd laugh.  I kept doing similar things, just to see how far I could push it without having her explode in anger.  I know her tipping point.

Little by little, she began to protest less.  It was like a rubber band that was stretched out and didn't contract as much anymore.  Every now and then, to my surprise, she'd explode about something, but for the most part, she began to accept it.

For a while, she accepted seeing me in panties.  I was thrilled.  I wore them, and she just didn't say anything.  I tried to add a camisole, but she was not having it.  When winter came, I started wearing a bra and slip under my robe.  After a while, she began to accept this too.

From there, I started wearing a simple cotton nightie around the house.  This is the point we're at right now.  I can wear a bra, panties and a simple nightie around the house.  For the most part, I'm pretty happy with this, since this is what I'd wear on a regular lazy day anyway.

I can't wear anything to bed.  I can't wear dresses or anything besides my nightie around the house.  For me, this is satisfactory, and hopefully I can do more in the future.  I'd like to wear an occasional skirt sometimes...