TAKE A LETTER JENNY PART ONE

John leaned back in his chair and sighed wearily. It had been a long day at the office, even by normal standards, but it was almost over and he was so much looking forward to tonight. He put his hands behind his head and surveyed his 'kingdom'. He smiled at the thought, but in a way, his being manager of the Accounts Department was similar to the role of a benevolent despot. He had been promoted there at a young age, and had initially found it difficult to order people around, but over the months he'd grown to enjoy his position of superiority. It was quite pleasant to occasionally overreact to some small error, just to ensure people knew who was in charge. Of course, the thing that made his role easier was the fact that he had a department full of women. Not that he had any choice in the matter - being surrounded by females all day was not something he particularly enjoyed. All that giggling and silly chatter, and oohing-and-aahing over the new dresses they'd just bought! He looked at each of them through the glass walls of the office. He could see Jan, his secretary, who was leaving the next day as her baby was almost due. "I must get a replacement sorted out," thought John. Then there was the clerical staff. Denise and Elaine had both been with the company for a couple of years. John laughed inwardly at the thought that neither of them knew he'd seduced and bedded the other. Promises of promotion had helped, of course, but they should learn not to be so naive. His eyes rested on Debs, the new girl. Only 19, a figure like heaven and a face to match, with long blonde hair caressing her slight, girlish shoulders. He would have his way with her before the year was out. "Can we go through the report on the new budgeting system, Mr Fielding?" John's thoughts were interrupted by the attractive, if rather formal redhead standing by his desk. Lisa was the Assistant Manager, and the reason he was so looking forward to tonight - after months of persuasion, using every trick and chat-up line he knew, she'd finally agreed to have dinner with him. "Yes, yes, of course, Lisa. But please call me John - I can't stand too much formality with someone so pretty." He thought he detected her wince slightly, but she smiled. "I'm so looking forward to this evening Mr Field... erm, John, but there's been a slight change of plan. I thought we could have dinner at my place - I'd love to cook for you." John was amazed - this was better than he could have hoped for. Dinner at her place, a few quiet drinks, soft music, then... well, who knows? John found her house with no trouble and stood poised before the door. He collected his thoughts before he rang the doorbell - he still hadn't got over the surprise of her agreeing to go out with him. In fact, he'd almost given up trying. He'd assumed that she'd learned of his opposition to her appointment as Assistant Manager, arguing that a man should be doing such an important job and there were enough women in his department already. However, senior management had been impressed enough to overrule John, which caused him some resentment. In the early days, he'd made life very difficult for her, often treating her like a dumb secretary in front of other staff and giving her menial tasks to do. When he realised she wouldn't break, he decided that it would be easier to bed her. He rang the doorbell.

The door opened and John almost took a step back. She looked stunning, more like a real woman than she could ever look in those business suits. Her red hair was swept up on top of her head, she wore discreet but effective make-up and her black, figure-hugging dress was delightful. "Don't stand there on the doorstep all night, John. Come on in." He entered the hallway and the door closed behind him... The fog lifted, to be replaced by a throbbing headache which made John wish for unconsciousness again. Suddenly he was aware of a tugging at his wrist and, with his headache temporarily forgotten, he realised that his hands were tied to the edges of the brass bedhead. Not only that, but his feet were tied at the other end of the bed in a similar manner. He raised his head, despite the dull ache in his brain, and also saw that he was completely naked. The panic of being caught in such a vulnerable position caused him to struggle against the rope, but all he succeeded in doing was to tighten the knots still further, so that the pain became almost unbearable. He lay back with a moan of frustration and tried to remember what had happened to lead him into such a bizarre situation. He hadn't had too much to drink - he'd deliberately stayed sober in order to increase his chances of seduction. He remembered the meal well enough - he'd been in top form, complimenting her on her looks and getting into an amiable debate about the superiority of men. He remembered the two of them retiring to the sofa for drinks, the first, fumbled forays into lovemaking, and then... blackness. That was it! His drink had been drugged. He vaguely remembered her laughing softly as he struggled against sleep, and the whispered remark in his ear: "Now we'll see who's the superior sex..." And so here he was - defenceless. He'd made it to her bedroom all right, but not in the way he'd planned. He heard footsteps and looked up. She entered the room wearing a flowing pink satin dressing gown which she immediately allowed to drop to the floor, revealing her beautifully rounded, naked body. John felt a wave of relief - this was merely some strange sex game after all. Then the feeling vanished, to be replaced by a shiver of fear, as a cruel smile of victory played around her lips. Suddenly John understood - this was for real! A surge of renewed confidence came over him as, with her back to him, Lisa rummaged through her wardrobe. "Get these bloody ropes off me right now! There'll be hell to pay at the office if you don't stop being so damned stupid. I'll... AAAARGHHH!" He screamed as the stick came down sharply across his naked thighs. Tears welled in his eyes but she continued to ignore him. He was about to protest again, but the stinging in his thighs convinced him to keep quiet. As Lisa continued to get dressed, he realised that she was preparing for work. He looked through the crack in the curtains and he became aware that it was morning... surely she'd have to let him free to go to work? "Are you going to untie me now? I can't be late for work." He was aware that a note of submission was beginning to enter his voice. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about work" she said, "I'll pretend that you phoned me to say that you're too sick to come in today. That will leave you with plenty of time to think about your future." She sat on the edge of the bed and waved a handful of Polaroids in front of him. "These should convince you that, unless you do what I say, I can destroy your reputation at work. Either you obey my orders or these get circulated to our senior management." She showed him a series of photographs and he blanched. While he had been unconscious, she had dressed him completely in 'little girl' clothes. He stared in fascination at his shaved body dressed in the bonnet, pink blousette, short flared skirt that exposed the frilly panties underneath, frilled white socks, and to complete the humiliation, a large pink dummy in his mouth. Worse still, the photographs had been shot in such a way as to make him look like he was totally awake and enjoying himself!

"But why are you doing this?" he pleaded. "Simple. You've made my life hell since I joined the department, and your pathetic attempts to seduce me made me hate you even more. Now's my chance for revenge. All I have to do is show these photographs at the office and you'll never be able to work there again." John panicked. "No, please don't show these photographs to anybody!!! I'll do anything, honest, I will!" She seemed to reconsider. "Anything, you say? Well I won't show them just yet. I'm going to leave you here like this and I'll come home at lunchtime. Meanwhile, you'll have plenty of time to think just what you're prepared to do to stop me from ruining your career. The only thing that will satisfy me is if you make up for all the humiliation and frustration you've put me through these last few months. And there's only one way you can do that - you can be my maid for the weekend." With that she got up and left, before John had had time to realise what she was asking him to do. John spent the rest of the morning thinking about what Lisa had said. Part of him refused to accept that any woman could possibly want a man to act as her maid, but the care and attention to which she had gone in order to trap him like this, plus the obvious hatred she'd shown towards him had been enough to convince him that it was all for real. Then, too, there was the painful reminder of the stick cutting down across his legs. John decided to go along with the whole thing, at least until he could somehow get those photographs. By the time Lisa returned from work, the agony of the ropes cutting into him made John desperate for release. He looked at her with pleading eyes as she walked into the bedroom, but she seemed to discount his presence completely. Again she sorted through her wardrobe, but this time John knew she was selecting the garments for him. He didn't dare to look. Finally, she spoke. "I'm going to untie you now, but you'd better behave yourself or else you'll feel the full weight of my stick on your pretty behind. When you've been let free, I want you to put these clothes on one by one - and VERY SLOWLY. I want to admire the effect as you become a new person. I also think we ought to give you a new name for your role - what do you think?" John didn't answer, until the sting of a hard slap across his face made him mumble "Yes, yes, a new name. Whatever you say" SLAP!! "Whatever you say, MISTRESS!" "I'm sorry - please don't hit me - whatever you say... mistress." John was aware of a grovelling tone creeping into his voice. "Good. Well, it has to be something suitably feminine and submissive, to remind you of your new role in life. I think we'll call you Jenny. Do you like that... Jenny?" Her tone was mocking. "Yes, I like my name a lot, mistress." She seemed appeased and began to untie John's hands. Despite her previous cruelty to him, John couldn't help but get excited when she leaned over him and her warm breath caressed his face. She noticed his sudden erection and slapped him hard again. "I don't want to ever see that again! You're my maid now, and I'm beyond your wildest dreams." John cried inwardly, but allowed her to untie him without saying anything. She stood before him. "Before you get dressed, I want you to kneel before me and beg me to let you put on your pretty new clothes. DO IT!"

John knelt before her, with the first signs of tears welling in his eyes. He'd never been so humiliated before, but he knew it would be impossible to resist her. "Please mistress, please let me wear my pretty new clothes. I want to wear my dress and high heels and stockings and apron. Please mistress... I just want to serve you and be your maid."   She seemed pleased and allowed him to stand. The humiliation of having his naked body paraded before her was overwhelming, especially as she watched him with a cool, appraising look. She handed him a pair of black, delicately laced panties with a tiny red rosebud motif. He shivered slightly as he lifted his legs into them and pulled them on. He suddenly felt very embarrassed, but she handed him a jet black corset and indicated that he put it on. He kneaded it over his rather slim body and breathed in as it settled into place. Suddenly, she grabbed the laces at the back and pulled hard, until John felt all his remaining breath escaping from his lungs. He gave out a sudden little scream. She fastened the corset and he realised that his breasts filled the cup and completed the girlish outline of his body. He also felt more trapped than ever, as if the corset was locked around his body. Her eyes gleamed as she handed him the sheer, black silk stockings. They felt so soft and delicate that John was almost afraid to feel them in case he laddered them - and incurred the displeasure of his mistress again. He put them on very gently, which heightened the sensation as they glided over his shaved legs. He knew something was happening which could never be revoked, and the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability was growing with every item of clothing she forced him to wear. Next came the shoes. They were shiny black court shoes with a stiletto heel and a pretty little bow at the back. He forced them onto his feet and silently cried as he stood up and the pain became intense. "Now, walk over to the mirror, Jenny," she mocked. He staggered over to the full-length mirror and immediately understood why she had chosen this particular punishment for him - he looked so feminine, with his calves stretched into shape by the high heels to give the impression of a leggy girl's body. This impression was helped by the slimming effect of the corset, which not only pulled in his waist but also gave his hips and bust a much fuller, feminine appearance. John began to almost enjoy the transformation! "Now then, Jenny, I think you should wear this." He picked up the elaborately-frilled and laced petticoat and, raising his arms in the air, let it rustle down his body. He watched, fascinated, as it settled into place around his waist, reaching just above his knees. He played with the delicately trimmed edges and wanted to cry. This wasn't right... and yet it felt right to him. The jet-black cire dress cam next. It hugged his body as far down as the waist and then flared out with the petticoat. He teased it into shape to produce the best effect, and was suddenly conscious of her staring intently at his every move. "Enjoying yourself... Jenny?" He realised then that his humiliation was complete - he was standing before her with a man's features and a girl's body. He wanted to hide, to avoid her mocking glance. He knew how ridiculous he looked. "W-w-would you make me up, please mistress?" he pleaded. He knew it would be the only way to look even vaguely normal, and yet he understood that if this was to go any further, he would rather be mistaken for a girl than be seen to be a transvested man. All the same, he hated to ask her to complete his humiliation - it seemed like a final admission of defeat.

She led him to her dressing table and gently sat him down. She applied the foundation cream, and he just sat back passively. He closed his eyes as she applied the eye make-up, face powder and blusher, and finally the flaming red lipstick. His eyes wouldn't leave his reflection in the mirror when he finally opened them - he was completely transfixed. "Now then, I have a wig for you to wear, but first you must prove to me that you deserve it. Practice walking and talking in the proper manner, and curtsying, and if you please me I might decide to let you wear it." She walked out of the room, locking the door behind her. John immediately got to work, walking in the most feminine way he knew. He was helped by the heels and the shape of the corset, and he was aware that his hips were swinging and his stocking-clad legs were constantly brushing each other. He practised curtsying, daintily lifting the hem of his dress and, placing one foot before the other, slowly bobbing up and down. He was too busy worrying about his mistresses fury to think about how he might look. When she re-entered the room he felt almost like a woman and was eager to show her the progress he had made. She laughed at his attempts to walk without tottering on his high heels, but seemed to enjoy his curtsy, which seemed so subservient when she was watching him. He talked in high-pitched, soft voice and she congratulated him on his natural ability to behave as a girl. To show her satisfaction, she placed her hand in the carrier bag which was by the bed, and with a flourish produced a beautiful mid-length blonde wig. It had been styled to produce a very feminine look, with flowing, delicate curls flicking out. John fingered the silky tresses with eager anticipation. He placed the wig on his head and adjusted it until it felt tight agains his scalp. He wasn't prepared for the little gasp of surprise which Lisa inadvertantly gave out and rushed to the mirror to see the effect for himself. When he looked at his reflection, his legs almost gave way from underneath him. Staring back at him was a young, pretty girl with a shy smile and a soft, feminine face. It was amazing how the wig produced the final transformation. Suddenly his stance, his gestures, even the sound of his voice felt so wonderfully, naturally womanlike. "Right, Jenny my darling, it's time for you to go to work. You can start by cleaning all the floors downstairs, and I'll inspect your work when I come home this evening. It had better be spotless - or else!" John spent the rest of the day working as he had never worked before. The endless scrubbing and dusting and cleaning wore him out, and yet he had to admit to a certain satisfaction with his menial tasks. He bagan to hum to himself and swish his skirts around his legs. He looked in the mirror at every opportunity to admire his prettily made-up face, and realised that his new role was becoming very natural to him. Suddenly the doorbell rang and John's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to ignore it but the glass panelled front gave away the fact that he was in the house. He walked as daintily as possible to the door, opened it and saw Elaine from the office! In his most feminine voice he said "Hello, can I help you?" "Oh, yes. You must be Jenny, the maid. Lisa told me I'd find you in. She asked me to come round to pick up a pair of shoes for her. She wants to wear them this evening." John felt a wave of relief - she hadn't recognised him. "Right away, miss. I'll show you to the mistress's bedroom" he said in his high, girlish voice.

Elaine followed him up the stairs and John thought it was ironic that the girl he had bedded only a few months ago was now looking at him as a dumb servant girl. He wanted to shout at her, to tell her who he was, but instead he only blushed and helped her look for her shoes. When he had shown Elaine out, John carried on dusting and cleaning. He was aware that it was getting late and realised that Lisa must have gone to Jan's leaving party. He didn't dare stop working in case she punished him again, so he continued to vacuum and clean until she returned late in the evening. She seemed a little tipsy. Almost without thinking, John curtsied and helped her take off her coat. She seemed pleased by this little impromptu display of acceptance of his new role, and asked for a demonstration of his new-found femininity. John minced before her, careful to walk gracefully and with a feminine sway. He felt humiliated, but at the same time he was anxious to please her, and not solely because of the threat of punishment. He curtsied again, and then sat opposite her, with his hands folded demurely on his lap. She looked around to assess the results of his housework and then addressed him. "Well, Jenny..." She paused to let the name sink in. "I'm very pleased with your progress. You make a very pretty little maid, and your work around the house has been excellent. I'm going to prove my confidence in you... I'm going to let you serve at a dinner party I'm hosting tomorrow evening." John felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. Serve at a dinner party? In front of lots of people? He would not do it, not in a million years! She must have read his thoughts, because she proceeded to remind him that the photographs were waiting at work, and she had disposed of all his male clothes so that there was no way he could leave the house. The hopelessness of his situation began to dawn on him, and the next thing John knew he was sobbing uncontrollably. Lisa put her arm around his heaving shoulders. "There, there, don't cry Jenny darling. You'll be magnificent. And by Sunday, it'll all be over and life can get back to normal." But John continued to sob - he knew life would never be normal again. End of Part One    

Sylvia was the co-founder of S.T.A.R (Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries) along with Marsha P. Johnson and was the first president of the organization.

Sylvia was born on July 2, 1951, in New York City. Orphaned at the age of 3, she was raised by her grandmother. Sylvia ran away from home at the age of 10 because of non-acceptance of her gender orientation, and over the next 10 years survived as a hustling street queen. Sylvia has always been an activist at the street level, ready to demonstrate and ready to go to jail to make the point she is trying to represent.

Her most recent incarceration came as a result of the police riot which occurred following the Matthew Shepard "Political Funeral" in New York City. One of her earlier exploits was scaling the walls of New York's City Hall in a tight skirt and 4-inch heels in order to open the doors to admitting the gay and lesbian demonstrators attempting to gain admittance. (They removed her with a fire ladder before she got the doors open).

Sylvia was active in queer politics in the 1970s and was a direct witness of the shameful deletion of transgendered people from the proposed Gay Rights ordinance in New York City by gay and lesbian leaders who were willing to sacrifice trans people in order to get their own rights protected. In spite of "giving up" transgendered people, gays and lesbians still did not get their ordinance passed until 18 years later.

Sylvia Rivera took a hiatus from active political work from the late 1970s to the early 1990s, when she worked as a food service technician with the Marriott Corporation in Tarrytown, New York. Nevertheless, during this period she never missed the Christopher Street Liberation Parade (now known as the New York City Heritage of Pride Parade). She also organized periodic drag shows in Tarrytown. In the early 1990's Sylvia returned to New York City after losing her job, and went through several years of homelessness, living on the same piers where Marsha P. Johnson was found dead.

Sylvia resumed her political activities as an advocate for homeless people, queer people, and the transgender community. In 1997 she came to live at Transy House. She continues to be active on the Stonewall Riot Veterans, the Metropolitan Gender Network. the MCC of New York, the Anti Violence Project, The Fed Up Queers, and many other organizations. Sylvia Rivera has been featured in many books and articles dealing with Stonewall and queer activism.

One of the best sources is "STONEWALL" by Martin Duberman. She has also received many honours and awards in the United States and overseas for her lifetime of political activism for the queer community, including recognition by the Washington DC Transgender Alliance, the AmBoyz, and the New York Puerto Rican Gay and Lesbian Organization.

JUNG'S ANIMA THEORY AND HOW IT RELATES TO CROSSDRESSING

  Jung also believed that every woman has an analogous animus within her psyche, this being a set of unconscious masculine attributes and potentials. An idealized (but not universal) history the crossdresser can be outlined as follows: Each boy has traits that society considers feminine. When a boy displays these traits, they meet with disapproval. The boy represses these feminine traits, which become the anima. The boy develops a normal male persona (mask), and enters the world. He goes to school and follows a career. The urge to actualize his repressed female potentials manifests itself in dreams and fantasy. At midlife, he experiences unhappiness due to the unrealistic and limiting nature of his masculine persona. At this time he may feel a strong, even overpowering interest in wearing women's clothes, or of being a woman in fantasy. This urge is natural and healthy: it is because his completeness as a person requires expressing the potentials he has repressed. Lacking societal cues that validate or guide his impulses, he experiences confusion. The world says crossdressing is wrong, but his 'heart' says it is right. Guilt, shame, moral concerns, and his own overly idealized view of masculinity constrain his crossdressing. He also asks questions like "Am I gay" and "Should I change my sex?" The stage of confusion can last years and decades. The crossdresser may dress often, delve into the culture of crossdressing, or even take female hormones. Or he may remain highly closeted. But the hallmark of this phase is that he remains confused and highly ambivalent, uncertain how to proceed. This seems a terminal point for many. However, the theories of Jung and others imply that this is not the proper end point, but merely arrested development. If the crossdressing urge is really adaptive--a response by the organism to remove barriers that have effectively repressed half of the man's potentials--we can speculate that further developmental stages are possible: The crossdresser recognizes the positive, healing meaning of crossdressing. At this point, crossdressing becomes supported, rather than rejected, by the ego; he may then pursue crossdressing as a constructive activity, now freed from previous moral constraints. But, by the same token, recognition of the positive meaning of the urges also brings an appreciation of sensible limits. The crossdresser gradually experiences his "inner female." As he does, he finds parts that are of fundamental importance, and realizes that these transcend labels of 'male' or 'female'. He also learns to distinguish the positive, profound parts of the anima (spirituality, love, beauty, etc.) from the trivial (promiscuity, vanity, etc.). For a while the crossdresser experiences his male and female personalities as distinct. Eventually he allows parts of the female into his ordinary male personality. This stage gradually merges with the next. The inclusion of the female effects a change in the male personality, producing a new personality that is better than either alone. The female empowers and transforms the male. This stage is ongoing. The new self continues to grow--presumably in the direction of greater spirituality and service to others. It is consistent with the anima theory that the urge to crossdress may diminish during these later stages. The crossdresser now understands that it was not the clothing or being a woman that he sought--these merely symbolized the deeper aspects of his personality he sought to express. Once he experiences and expresses these aspects directly, female clothing itself has less meaning and importance. N.B. The original and full version of this article appears at: http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/cathytg/anima.htm

Today many fashionable clothes are designed for wear by either sex. Slacks and jeans, sweaters, frilly shirts, bow ties, jaunty hats and stylish boots often "look even better on a woman", as the advertising slogan used to say. But, while a woman might happily dress in a man's suit and tie, the poor fellow who tries to step out in a cocktail dress or evening gown is risking his reputation, if not his personal safety. Despite this, thousands of men get a harmless kick out of dressing in women's clothes. Contrary to popular belief, transvestites are not necessarily homosexual, although they all willingly confess that they pursue their compulsion to gratify the softer, more feminine part of their natures. In a world torn apart by violence surely this is no bad thing. Transvestites are particularly attracted by the glamorous aspects of femininity. They spend hours grooming themselves for special occasions, shaving their legs and bodies, spending a fortune on luxurious skin creams and other cosmetics. The excitement comes as much from the anticipation of wearing them as the fulfilment. Some transvestites identify with a specific feminine type - the saucy french maid, the femme fatale or the music hall star. Others contrive to look and behave as much like normal women as possible. Still, more will want to dress in a stimulating material, such as satin, silk, rubber or leather. Others will seek female domination, bondage or humiliation in conjunction with their crossdressing. Psychologists say that a fetish is an association between some object and pleasant sexual experience or the desire for it. Certain materials are considered sexually provocative and today there are clubs, publications and clothing shops which specially cater to those with a predilection for rubber, leather, silk, satin and lace.  

Rubber of course, has long been associated with hygiene, being widely used in hospitals and the nursery. Those who delight in wearing rubber underwear, dresses or shirts, or regularly sleep and make love on rubber sheets, are recreating some childish paradise in which the smell or touch of rubber played a delightful part. Rubber particularly appeals to those adults who enjoy baby games. Leather is associated with hunting and gives a chance to identify with our primitive forebears to whom the wearing of skins was a symbol of sexual and social status. Leather is also identified with belts, straps and instruments of restraint as well as with whips and Flagellation. Silk, satin and lace represent softness, elegance and femininity. The growing fashion for transvestism may imply that men are beginning to show a softer side to their nature. Foot fetishists are among the most common. They will literally grovel before an attractive woman, sometimes in public, and beg to be allowed to worship her feet. If she is wearing boots or high-heels and stockings then so much the better. To be allowed to admire, touch and kiss her foot is paradise indeed, and the more haughty and contemptuous the woman the better the foot fetishist likes it. If she graciously allows him to remove her footwear and kiss her bare toes he is likely to curl up and swoon with delight.  

The psychology of Bondage is obvious. If a transvestite is restrained he has no way of escaping from the feminine attire which he has been compelled to wear, thus assuaging his conscience. It would be a matter for outrage if there was the slightest element of coercion in bondage games. In fact, not only do many women enjoy being the "victim" but so do many men. How reassuring it must be in our repressed society to know that, in the face of overwhelming passion and temptation, we are totally incapable of resistance! It permits us to enjoy the delights of sex in total innocence. Such ideas have long lurked in the folklore of sex. In the Greek legend, Prometheus was chained to a rock as punishment for stealing fire, and his name had become a symbol of an organisation promoting bondage. The story of Samson and Delilah, the binding of Gulliver by the Lilliputians, Joan of Arc at the stake, the exploits of Houdini and the pictures of Christian martyrs have similar sexual undertones. The relationship between the prisoner and the captor is a recurring and popular theme in literature and films. The prisoner is naked, chained and buried in the deepest dungeon or behind the highest prison wall, apparently totally helpless. The captor, intelligent, cruelly attractive, is dressed in sexually-provocative clothes. Just as there are many different types of transvestites, so their sexual interests vary and although we have briefly touched on some, there are many more: corsetry, depilation, voyeurism, enemas, the list is endless and reflects the sexual practices of the population at large.

Transvestism thrives on the differences between men’s and women’s clothing – that’s obvious. The difference between a man’s sock and a woman’s stocking is especially satisfying. The sock is coarse, the stocking sheer. The sock doesn’t advance beyond the shin, the stocking clings intimately to our thighs.

A sock is something you use – with a stocking it’s closer to a relationship. You have to treat her gently (I make no apology for calling a stocking ‘her’ – she’s too much like a lover to be an ‘it’). You need to smooth any raggedness from your nails. She should be caressed, not tugged.

There is something sensuous, too, in fastening the suspenders. Position them carefully. They must grip the welt, not the sheer fabric beneath. Slide the suspender gently into place, feel it take the tension. I love that moment.

The contrast between the female suspender belt and the nearest male equivalent is at least as striking as that between stocking and sock. If I were making a film, and wished to make a male character look entirely ridiculous, I would deprive him of trousers and put him in sock suspenders. They must be the least flattering garment ever devised – it’s no wonder that so few men wear them.

If, making that film, I wanted to make my leading lady look as sexy as possible (in a bedroom sort of way) I can’t think of anything better than suspernders. Let her lose her skirt – or trousers – to reveal stocking tops and suspenders. It can’t fail.

Thirty years after stockings and suspenders were ‘replaced’ by tights, a lot of women still have them in their lingerie drawers – and on their legs. The appeal of the stocking continues, and not just for transvestites. Indeed, very few transvestites could squeeze themselves into the tiny suspender belts made for teenage girls long after their mothers – or grandmothers – swapped stockings for tights.

Possibly the most sexy pictures I’ve ever seen were in a glossy women’s magazine. It showed the model hitching up her skirt with one hand to adjust a suspender with the other. It wasn’t the look at her sexiness of what one of my friends describes as ‘one handed magazines’ – it was an I want to be that girl sexiness. Inevitably so as glossy women’s magazines exist to sell clothes, make-up, perfume, all things femme. They’re in business to make the reader want to be that girl.

The point is that stockings and suspenders can ooze sex appeal to women as well as to men. All the same, the sex appeal for the two genders seems to be rather different. For men it has to do with stocking tops and suspenders being displayed. For women – and for at least some transvestites – it has more to do with them being hidden.

I have an illustrated history of girlie magazines. It includes a fair number of pictures of girls in stockings and suspenders – as we’d all expect. In every case, stocking tops and suspenders are fully exposed. If there is any other clothing, it’s pushed back well away from the thighs. The girls are presented as ready for sex. There is always the sense of their being observed, all of the girls seemed aware of the camera.

In women’s magazines, it seems a much more private thing. The image of the girl adjusting her suspender, which I found so sexy, seemed to capture a fleeting moment in which stocking top and suspender were revealed. Only a moment later, one has the impression, the glimpse of underwear will pass into history. The suspender will be adjusted, and the girl will drop the hem of her skirt. Then there will be no way for anyone but her to know that she’s wearing stockings rather than tights.

There is something similar in the magic moment of seeing a woman in stockings and suspenders climb inexpertly into or out of a car. It’s very sexy. In that sexiness there is a strong element of sharing a secret with the woman.

Another difference between the women’s magazine image and the one for men is that the girl adjusting the suspender is self-absorbed. The act of adjustment is for her alone, it does not have the look of a display for another person. In spite of the camera, it remains private. The person who looks at that picture and thinks I want to be that girl – whether woman or transvestite – does not see herself as displaying the suspender for the benefit of an onlooker.

In all of this, the transvestite is in a rather privileged position. We can place ourself in the private world of the woman. This is an especial satisfaction when stepping out with suspenders and stocking tops hidden under our skirts. We know, but no one else does.

Alternatively, we can take the part of the male observer. Many of us do this while standing before a full length mirror in our favourite undies. We are both the man who looks, and the girl at whom he looks. It’s no wonder that we love mirrors so much!

It isn’t just a matter of looking good though – stockings and suspenders feel exquisite. It’s hard to think of more enjoyment to be had from simply wearing clothes than the sensation of sheer hosiery clinging to our legs. The stockings feel great as we roll them on, but even better as the suspenders take up the tension. The suspender belt, too, feels a whole lot nicer once it’s engaged with the stockings

There is something lovely about running ones hand up a woman’s leg, under the skirt, caressing her nylon sheathed thighs, toying with a suspender and hooking ones fingers inside the stocking top. Wonderful as that certainly is, the sensation from within the stocking is even better. As the hand explores, everything which makes the stocking such a delight to wear is intensified. It’s electrifying!

Stockings give rise to a whole range of more simple thrills as well. As ordinary a thing as crossing your thighs – allowing one nylon thigh to stroke the other – can be tremendous fun. Another delight is to step out in skirt and stockings on a warm day. The cool area of the upper thigh above the stocking top is something to relish. It feels even better with a breeze to play about your thighs. The breeze cannot only caress your thighs directly, but it can also stroke them with the fabric of your skirt. Wear something silky, you won’t regret it!

Come the winter, it must be admitted, a strip of cool thigh above the stocking top is a whole lot less pleasant. It is then that tights come into their own, and the denier I prefer zooms up from 15 to 70. But I’m never really happy with tights. They don’t feel as good – and they sure look a lot less sexy.

Stockings are sexy – and they’re practical for sexual purposes. As long as the knickers are worn over the suspenders, there’s no need to disturb stocking or suspender to have sex. The knickers slide down (do it slowly, perhaps with the teeth) and we’re ready for action.

The same thing applies for both women and transvestites. Sex with both of you in stockings carries my strongest recommendation. The friction of nylon upon nylon – wow!!

Sex in tights, well there’s a joke about that:

HE: “If I’d known you were a virgin, I wouldn’t have done that…”

SHE: “If I’d known you were going to do that, I would have taken off my tights…”

It’s hard on your clothing, but tights-wrecking sex is perfectly possible. It can be fun too, but to make it work properly you really need to prepare for it in advance, in spite of the joke.

Normally, someone in tights wears a pair of knickers underneath. The knickers can’t be removed without removing the tights or putting an awful lot of work into wrecking them. Try the experiment at home and I’m sure you’ll agree – tights-wrecking sex really needs an absence of knickers.

There are other kinds of feminine hosiery. Fot a start, we have girly socks. With more than a hint of the shcoolgirl, these certainly look cute on catwalk models. How well a transvestite can carry them off is another matter. With these, how they look is everything. They don’t caress your legs as a stocking does – or even a pair of tights.

Another variation is the hold up – a stocking without the suspender. Here, the first objection is: stockings feel good, so why do without them?

Sometimes there may be a reason. I think that suspenders look really naff under a lycra skirt. That said, my lycra skirts are the only good reasons I’ve ever found for wearing hold ups.

Lycra skirts appeal to the tart in me, and about four years ago I wore them quite often with hold ups. When I stopped, it had nothing to do with the lycra. It was that the hold ups were so bloody uncomfortable, they cut into the thighs.

The thigh is a very sensitive part of the body – in fact I see it as almost a sexual organ (licking the inside of the thigh, above the stocking top, is highly recommended!). Hold ups may suit the sort people whos idea of fun is represented by nipple clamps, but I don’t like them.

Wearing feminine clothes is a very special experience. There’s a saying The most fun you can have with your clothes on – but I have much more fun with them on than with them off. So – why go for half measures? Let’s pamper ourselves.

As far as I’m concerned, that definitely includes stockings and suspenders. They’re great! Don’t you love them too?

Chris was just a little late on puberty, being 13 years old and not experiencing it yet. Consequently, he was a bit confused about his sexuality. Most of his friends were already going out with girls at school, while he still couldn't relate to the fascination of young girls bodies. He knew he definitely wasn't turned on by boys bodies... the only thing that ever gave him an erection was watching his older sister Janet getting dressed. It wasn't so much her body that turned him on as the clothes she wore. Seeing her delicately lift her pantyhose to the toes of her feet, then slowly, elegantly sliding them up over her feet, up her legs, until the waistband hugged her hips and the center seem kissed her crotch. Observing her hands deftly strapping a bra around her firm, round breasts. Watching slim, stocking-clad feet slip into bright red high-heeled shoes. These were the things that aroused his sexuality. Chris always wanted to try on her clothes, but his frame was a little smaller and he knew they wouldn't fit him nearly as well as they did his sister. Then one day, something happened. He came across a picture of himself as a two-year-old, with Janet at ten years old standing near him. His mom had dressed him in a little blue shirt, but from the waist down he was clad in bright red tights. They were the same color as the tights his sister was wearing. All of the sudden Chris felt his penis stiffen and throb, confusion beginning to cloud his mind. He had erections before, but this time it was different. A shiver went up the spine, heartbeats quickened slightly, and a strange tingling, tight feeling engorged his penis. He stood up, and hurried off into the attic in a state of confusion, not knowing what was going on. There were several dressers in the darkness, lit partially by a window at the far end of the room. The attic was spooky without anyone else around--Chris almost never went up there alone. But something called out in his subconscious. Look around. Quickly. Open the drawers. Search.

    In about twenty minutes, all of the dresser drawers had been opened, odd clothes were strewn about the floor. Then something caught Chris' eyes. With the bottom drawer of the big mahogany, bureau pulled out, space beneath was exposed that revealed a shiny red garment. He reached in and grabbed it. It was soft, stretchy, and very slippery. Held at full length, it had the shape of a body, from neck to toe, with long sleeves and a small zipper in the back. What was it? Like tights and a leotard joined together, but no seams except along the arms and up the inner legs. A full-body unitard. He dropped them. What a strange feeling! Like doing something wrong, yet so compelled to indulge. In a brief moment, Chris had all of his clothes off and he sat on the cool floor. The air had a slight chilling effect, causing a tingling sensation across his skin. The zipper of the unitard slid down easily, revealing the inviting insides of the lycra garment. He rolled up the right side and pulled it onto his right foot, covering the toes the way Janet put on her pantyhose. Swiftly and eagerly, the spandex slid upwards, a snug fit to the upper thigh. He repeated the same with the left side, his crotch throbbing steadily. Standing up, Chris gave a firm but gentle tug, and the whole lower half of the unitard covered him up to his waist, a soft smooth snug feeling all over. He darted both hands through the arms, reached behind, and pulled up the zipper. Ohhhh..... The light from the window danced across his body, and he could see himself in a mirror on the adjacent wall. There stood a young boy, clad so snugly in red lycra from neck to toe. At this point, Chris had trouble containing himself. Hormones coursed through his body, tingling sensations shot up the spine, and a compelling tight feeling surged through his maleness. How could something feel so good?? Both hands raced all over, taking in the stretchy smoothness of the lycra encased about him. He laid down and hugged himself gently, drenched in ecstasy. Moments passed. "Chris? Oh, Chris! Where are you?" It was his mother calling. Oh no! She couldn' find him like this. What would she think?? He laid perfectly still, not to make a noise. Her voice came closer, approaching. Suddenly, he noticed that the attic door was slightly open. Certainly, that would lure her to open it further and look inside! "Chris??" His mother was only a few feet away now. But suddenly Chris was distracted. He felt a little odd, the unitard was slightly tighter around him somehow. And it got worse. The lycra seemed to have a life of its own, pulling, stretching, almost seeking to embed itself in his skin. He wanted to cry out! "Chris?? Where are you? Humph! I could've sworn he came up here after school." A hand reached for the door handle, casting a dim shadow onto the attic floor, right beside a limber leg completely covered in red lycra. Chris felt hot flashes waving across his body. He began to shake slightly, a tight tingling sensation welling deeply in his penis. He felt like he was going to explode in a sexual fervour, like never before. Thunk! The door closed. Footsteps walked off, downstairs. His mother was gone. Shiver! Tremble! He couldn't control his body. Crotch pulsating, nipples pinching, skin crawling. As if he had been punched in the stomach, Chris doubled over and moaned. His voice cracked, caught between boyhood and puberty, then smoothed with a feminine sigh.

  Something was wrong. It felt as if the nipples on his chest were swollen. What happened? He reached down between his legs, hands sliding over the red lycra, to find that his penis was gone! Small thin lips running up and down, a small bump on the top that tingled with a touch, was all that was left. His hands felt smaller, his legs were thin, feet smaller. He touched himself more, only to finally realize that he had lost something--his boyhood. He now had the body of a girl! Christine, not Chris. Her vagina pulsated, fresh from the transformation, eager to be loved. In a confused daze, she slowly brought her hand to it and stroked softly. Her newfound girlhood called for more. She pressed firmly between the lips of her vagina, massaging the clitoris. More, faster, firmly! Her head turned to the side and she caught sight of herself in the mirror. In spite of the shock, she could see how lovely her new body was. Sweet long legs stretched out to the sides, pretty feet pointed outward, small breasts with nipples perked tightly. Her hand rubbed more briskly as her eyes stared back in anticipation. A quivering began, deep inside, like she never felt before. Like the rumble of a tidal wave, pleasure quaked through her body. The red lycra body danced in the dark, to a tune of newfound sexuality. Christine gave out long deep moans with each repeating orgasm until she was completely spent, her love juices darkening the unitard between the legs. Her heavy breathing relaxed, giving way to slow soothing sighs. She rested and thought about her new predicament. What would she do, now that she was no longer a boy? She giggled, revealing a peaceful smile. What did it matter? She never felt better before in her whole life. The End

A Dominatrix Account

They don't only look effective - when the arms have work to do, sleeves get in the way. The belt is also of shiny black leather, with a silver coloured metal buckle. Of the same colour metal are a pair of handcuffs hanging from the belt. More black leather is strapped next to the handcuffs - a neatly coiled whip. It is for this, especially that the arms should not be emcumbered. There is no shortage of transvestites who would like to meet the vision of a dominatrix. At least some of them would like to be her, but I go further - I am her. At first sight, there seems little mystery in the connection many of us make between transvestism and submission or domination. Our clothes define our role. For the transvestite they are obviously important in defining who is masculine, who is feminine. It is but a step further to define who is dominant and who is submissive.

Submissive

Some forms of clothing, especially uniforms, give one person authority over another. Military uniforms are a good example. The clothes an officer and a private wear are essential to their relationship - the officer's uniform marks the wearer as someone who may issue orders to the person in the private's uniform.

There are uniforms popular with transvestites which work in much the same way. The most commonly found are the schoolgirl and the maid - both of these have proved good sellers for such companies as Transformation. No doubt they are to be found in many a transvestite's wardrobe.

It is interesting, and may be significant, that the most easily available uniforms are for the submissive roles. Since such companies as Transformation respond to public demand, this obviously means that submissive uniforms are more popular than dominant ones.

Before me are the catalogues of three companies offering such outfits as maid's and schoolgirl uniforms. One catalogue also includes a harem outfit. Another has a range of little girls' party dresses in adult sizes. None of the three includes a policewoman's uniform, or anything else suggesting the dominant.

I know a tranvestite who wished to assemble a headmistress outfit - an obvious counterpart to the schoolgirl one. Unable to find exactly what was required in the stocks of fantasy clothing specialists, the person in question went to a supplier of genuine academic regalia to universites.

If this indicates that people regarding themselves as submissive outnumber those preferring a dominant role, it does no more than confirm my experience. This is certainly least as true amongst transvestites. Many of them may turn out to be a lot less submissive than they seem - but I'll come back to that later.

Connection

The link betwen uniforms and sub/dom is no mystery. However, people in realistic-looking fantasy uniforms seem to be in the minority on the sub / dom scene. At any club catering for such interests, you'll find most of the devotees in leather or rubber, with a few opting for PVC.

I recently picked up a flyer for something called Club Whiplash. The name says it all - or almost so. Apart from paying to get in, the flyer's only demand on members is how they may dress; "VERY STRICT DRESS ONLY, Rubber, Leather, Lingerie, PVC" - no mention of uniforms.

There is, of course, some overlap between uniforms and the kind of dress demanded by Club Whiplash. Rubber/PVC maid's uniforms are certainly available. Mostly, however, the rubber and leather clothing remains quite seperate from the uniform items. Most of the rubber wear being sold - and worn - is not uniform, and most fantasy uniforms are not rubber or leather.

The connection between rubber / leather and sub / dom is less easy to explain, but is very strong. There may be a direct connection between some rubber garments and bondage - being encased in tight stretchy rubber is only a step away from being tied up.

Likewise, leather is a traditional material for harnesses. Not only is it used for harnessing horses, but also - at least when I was a child - for reins used to restrain young children. I wonder how many children so restrained grew up to have a liking for being harnessed in leather?

These considerations, however, fail to explain a number of things. One is that while many rubber garments fit like a second skin, not all of them do. There is a considerable body of interest in mackintoshes, for example. Nor is there any correlation between looser and tighter fitting garments and the submissive or dominant roles.

Both rubber and leather are worn by the dominatrix and the submissive partner alike. True, there is often a distinction between the garments proper to the two roles - but that distinction is often not as clear as might be expected.

Amongst rubber devotees, the submissive parties are known as "damsels in distress." In reality, the "damsels" are often male. Transvestism in rubber is nearer the rule than the exception.

Historic

A "damsel" may be in a mackintosh or tightly encased in Latex. Likewise, the person responsible for the "distress" may be dressed either way. Indeed, either or both of them may combine both forms of rubber.

That said, there are garments proper only to one role or the other. Rubber masks containing inflatable gags or other devices restricting the ability to breathe are strictly for submissives. Masks leaving the nostrils and mouth clear, resembling those worn by historic executioners or torturers, are for the dominant partner.

Other items strictly for the submissive partner include those exposing, encasing or entering the wearer's private parts. (In so far as any of their parts remain private!) These include rubber shorts open at the crotch, with a built-in penis sheath, or with an integral dildo. Similarly for submissives are garments equipped with D-rings or fixings for restraints.

For lovers of rubber and leather alike, high stiletto heels are pretty well essential for both the submissive party and the dominatrix. They are suitable for the submissive, perhaps, because they make it more difficult to walk - and much more difficult to run. They may possibly be seen as dominant because of their suitability as weapons. Having a stiletto pressed hard into the flesh is an extremely painful experience.

Turning to leather, the items worn by submissives are more likely to consist of straps (like harnesses) than are the garments worn by the dominatrix, but arrangements of leather straps can feature in the clothing of the dominatrix as well. In her case, they are likely to leave less of the body uncovered. This is probably the main distinction on a superficial level.

Sometimes, similar straps have entirely different purposes. For example, the submissive may have leather straps at the wrist for use in binding or fettering, or for support when using the whip.

Indeed, these are very useful - cracking the whip can put a lot of strain on the wrist joint. Similar supports are worn by tennis players, archers, and others. It's a question of avoiding sports injuries.

In all of this, the whip is bound to arise (and fall). A means of hurting your partner is an essential part of the experience. The submissive must surrender to the dominatrix. If that surrender doesn't include the power to inflict a little pain, it doesn't mean very much.

Actually, a lot of so-called submission doesn't mean a great deal. Many who call themselves submissives, not least transvestites, want to lay down all sorts of conditions. The more conditions they make, the less they submit. It can easily become a waste of time for all concerned.

Whether they realise it or not, laying down conditions makes the experience less satisfactory for the submissive partner as well as for the dominant. There is some point in having an emergency signal which will enable the submissive to bring the session to a close - it can be used to stop things getting out of hand, but the signal should only be given in the most extreme circumstances.

The essence of submission is letting go. Someone else takes charge. The submissive can, in a real sense, relax. It may be painful relaxation, but is none the less relaxing for that.

Submissive

Viewed thus, it is little wonder that there are more people eager to submit than dominate. It should also be clear that any effort to take charge (on the part of the submissive) defeats the object of the exercise. Yet they will try to control the situation. They deserve a good whipping - or perhaps they'll have to do better before they truly deserve one.

Near, the start I mentioned both the whips and the handcuffs. The latter, or any form of tying or chaining, can be a big help in allowing a submissive to let go. Hands cuffed behind the back is not a good position for laying down conditions. Being held securely at each wrist and ankle is even less good for it.

Binding is very useful in a submissive's progress, but it requires trust. Indeed, the trust in one's dominatrix is in itself a liberating experience. But that trust is not to be gained instantly.

It is easiest to take things a step at a time. It's better to start with tying rather than chaining or handcuffing. However difficult it may be to cut through stout cord (especially with hands tied) it looks a lot less threatening than with a chain.

Better also, to start with the hands tied in front, rather than behind the back. This leaves the submissive feeling less helpless - and with some justification. Likewise, it is a good idea to have the submissive become accustomed to bound wrists before passing on to binding the ankles as well - or to binding to a fixed or heavy object.

I knew a girl who wouldn't take on the role of dominatrix because she thought the submissive was really in charge - and the dominatrix was serving the submissive rather than vice versa. Badly handled, things can work out that way. The submissive requires careful training - for benefits of both partners.

It is also a good idea to set the submissive to some useful work. Obviously, this can't be done during periods of highly restrictive binding - but work can be done, for example, with hands cuffed and attached to a wall by a few yards of chain. It is good to have someone else attend to the chores. Also - it helps to establish who is slave and who is mistress.

Sensitivity

This distinction may not be as clear and obvious as one might expect. In some sub / dom relationships the partners swap roles from time to time. They may even adopt a roughly 50 / 50 division of the submitting and dominating.

Moreover, even when the roles are distinct, it is a truism that one cannot dominate properly until one has learnt to submit. The role of dominatrix calls for a great deal of sensitivity - it's certainly not just a matter of tying them up and whipping them.

It needs to be stated that truly fulfilling sub / dom is essentially a loving relationship. Failure to realise this leaves many sub / dom experiences deeply unsatisfying. The dominatrix must give - and understand what she is giving; the submissive must trust completely - and surrender utterly.

The dominatrix's pleasure - and skill - depends on knowing how it feels to be tied, helpless, in that position. In knowing how the caress of the lash feels - now gentle, almost tickling; now severe, most definitely painful.

Submission and domination is a shared experience. A shared pleasure. To work properly it is love.

Most couples do it, anyway. It is part of love's game to use the teeth. Sometimes gently. Sometimes biting hard.

The use of whips and chains takes that experience a stage further, a stage closer to the ultimate love. However hard I strike, I do it with love.

Love and my spike heeled boots - painful combination. But what could be more exquisite?

Younger Crossdressers

First, here’s a little of my history for you to compare your experience with.

I first crossdressed when I was 5 years old–I put on an old blouse and skirt and hid under the bed covers. My mother discovered me, and, looking a little confused, told me that I shouldn’t do that.

I didn’t dress again for several years, but the desire was always there. When I watched television I constantly hoped to see a crossdressing character or theme. Many cartoons had crossdressing scenes, which I loved.

I thought often about being a girl. My idea of heaven was a place where you could just look at a picture of a girl and you would wake up in that scene as her.

I had a fantasy of a machine that would turn me into a girl: I’d enter at one end onto a conveyer belt, and would go through various steps until I emerged as a girl at the other end.

I often prayed at night to wake up the next morning as a girl. I would sometimes dream I was a girl. In the dreams I would be wearing a dress or walking down the street with a cute pony-tail. I’d try to hold onto the feeling of these dreams for as long as possible. When I was aware that I was dreaming, I’d try to control the scene into one where I was a girl.

I never felt that I *was* a girl or a girl trapped in a man’s body. I just strongly wanted to *become* a girl. As a boy I did reasonably well. Though shy and anxious, I was smart and got attention for that. The older boys scared me, but I was able to defend myself against the bullies my own age.

In high school I started to dress again,”borrowing” my sisters’ clothes from the dirty-clothes bin or from her bedroom, and occasionally my mothers’ lingerie.

Then there was no internet–if there had been, I don’t know what would have happened.

In college I was too busy to crossdress, and dorm rooms offered no privacy anyway. But I did smoke marijuana, and, when I did, the fantasy emerged. Both during high school and college, I never dated girls (or anyone else).

I graduate school I was again very busy, but I did have girlfriends. When they were gone I would sometimes wear their clothes, which felt really nice.

So that’s my history during my young years. There’s no need here to talk about later stuff here, except to say that now I basically crossdress once a week or every couple of weeks to go out. The rest of the time I spend as a guy.

This is just to let you know where I’m coming from. Anyway, the important topic is you, not me.

If you are a young crossdresser–especially if you are experiencing a lot of confusion or unhappiness about it, then here are some things to consider. You have friends You are not alone in this! It might seem like Life has singled you out for abuse. But there’s a lot of other people out there feeling the same thing. And all those who have had a difficult time share a special bond. They recognize, and feel an instinctive responsibility to help each other. The best way to express this is the lines from a song:

I made it through the rain, I kept my world protected.

I made it through the rain, and kept my point of view.

I made it through the rain, and found myself respected by the others who, got rained on too.

and made it through.

This too will pass The teens and early twenties are perhaps the most stressful, anxious times in life. It’s amazing how many problems go away by themselves within a few years.

If you’re being harassed, don’t worry about it. By the time you’re in college or the workplace, it stops. Other people eventually mature and have other things on their minds–they’re really not much interested in picking on other people.

In general, things get better as you get older. Even if all the problems don’t go away, they feel much less overwhelming. You develop patience and even a sense of humor. You can say, “Is life absurd? Very well, life is absurd–maybe it’s supposed to be that way.” And then you can deal with it on those terms.

The real problem is that we like to believe life runs smoothely. Then, if something goes wrong, we get upset. In other words, it isn’t life’s difficulties that upset us so much–it’s that our world view of “everything is supposed to be fine” get’s shaken, and that’s what upsets us.

About this the Buddha said “Life is very difficult. Once you understand that, life becomes easier.” Accept uncertainty Maybe you don’t know if you are a boy or a girl–or which path to take. And this makes you anxious.

Okay. Who says that you’re supposed to know? The anxiety comes not from the confusion, but because you think you’re supposed to have an answer. Accept that you don’t have an answer. Maybe you won’t have one for a while. That’s okay. Suicide A statistical law of the universe is that things move toward the average. That means if things are really bad, they will tend to get better by themselves.

There’s no point doing something desperate like suicide. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Think about that. You are important You were put on this earth for some very important reason. You probably don’t know now what that reason is–in fact, you might never know. But you can be sure that there is a reason. Other people need you–they need your concern; they need your support; they need your help.

Understanding that is a big key to life. As long as we dwell on our own problems, we’re never happy. The reason is because as a social species, human beings are designed to help each other.

To paraphrase John F. Kennedy’s words, “Ask not what others can do for you; ask what you can do for others.” Once you realize that, a huge and impossible burden is lifted from you– that of worrying about yourself!

Nobody can see their own life objectively. However, we’re really pretty good at sensing another person’s problems; and can truly help them, because we’re objective about their problems. Don’t believe everything other people say Black-and-white thinking is a big problem. These days it seems like there are two extreme views about transgenderism. Religious fundamentalists say ‘queer’ is completely bad, whereas most transsexuals and crossdressers say it’s completely good.

Most people have the sense to dismiss the first view, but, unfortunately, few see the shallowness of the second view. The view that “if it feels good, do it” has itself become a religion.

The truth is that “moderation in all things” and “finding the middle path” are still good ways to go. There’s no need to be all one thing–all male or all female; all hetero or all gay. It’s a mistake to think like that. Taking the harder path

Short-term pleasure is seldom the sign of a right choice.

So, for example, taking hormones, and plunging into a femme lifestyle might seem very attractive. In fact, it is attractive, in the sense that it offers sensual pleasure. But that doesn’t not make it the right or smart choice. For one thing, as noted above, part of life is to learn that you don’t just exist for your own sake. You’re here for a reason, and a big part of that reason is to help other people. So in making decisions, you have to consider not just what makes “me” feel good now, but what will make me feel good in the long term, and what choice will benefit other people.

I don’t mean being a martyr or making yourself miserable by helping other people all the time. No, I’m definitely saying being happy yourself. I’m just suggesting that part of true happiness is going to involve helping other people. Keep your options open

However old people are, they feel like they know everything. Everybody is like that.

If you look back to yourself 5 years earlier, it’s clear you know more now. The same will be true 5 years from now: you’ll know more, and, looking back to now, you might smile to think how confident you were and how much you didn’t know.

That is one reason to be cautious about making limiting decisions. A few transsexuals report being *completely* certain they are a girl from early childhood; but more often, transgenders merely have the intense desire to be a girl. Or some look at their female fantasies, and from these they infer “apparently I am a female and not a male.”

In the first case–utter certainty–then perhaps it makes sense to pursue Hormone Replacement Therapy and Sexual Reassignment Surgery. But in the other cases that must be strongly questioned.

It used to be that only the first group were considered candidates for a sex change. But gradually the standards have become increasingly lax, thanks mainly to a social climate of laxness. Now some people embark on a change of sex just on a whim.

That just doesn’t make sense. Human nature is such that each person has many conflicting desires. One has to balance these desires. When you feel you want to be a girl, that may seem like it’s coming from your very core. However, in a week or two, the wish may be weaker, and other aspects of your personality may be dominating. The fact that a wish might seem very strong does not mean that is who you really are. It’s just one wish among many parts of your personality.

Young crossdressers may feel pressured to use feminizing hormones, knowing that the earlier they use them, the more complete the feminization will be.

A big problem is that these hormones can and do cause infertility. You may not have an interest in “fathering” children. But as you get older that feeling might develop.

Further, you might be mainly attracted to girls. If you adopt a female gender, possibly you could find a compatible woman somewhere. But in truth, your odds of finding someone are much better if you have a male gender.

Think of it this way. What attracts you to a girl? Most likely you like a pretty, feminine girl, not an unattractive, very “butch” type. The same works for girls. Most are attracted to male-looking guys, and not attracted to guys who look like and dress like girls.

One of the advantages with being a guy, in fact, is that you can meet this need of girls. You can be her “man”, her protector and provider. Self-destructive behavior Many aspects of the TG and gay scene are plainly self-destructive. Consider clubs, for instance. People to go nightclubs where everybody’s smoking and drinking. The drag shows don’t even start until midnight, and people don’t get home until 3:00 or 4:00 am. It takes days to recover. And some people do this more than once a week!

This kind of stuff is really dumb. Morality is not obsolete So regardless of what you choose–to be male, female or both; to be hetero-, gay, or both– you need to chose in a sincere way and with an aim to do the right thing. These days people are brainwashed to believe “it’s all relative; there is no ultimate right or wrong.” That’s a self-serving view, used by people to justify their own choices.

Morality is not obeying a set of rules. It’s making a concerted effort to find out what is the right thing and to do it. The bigger part of that is recognizing and avoiding self-deception. Counseling Counseling can help. Yeah, I know what you’re saying–counseling is crock! Well, it certainly can be that. But there are a few good counselors.

But counselling really works when the energy is coming from you. You have to genuinely want to understand yourself. It takes effort. The counselor is just a tool for you to use to help understand yourself.

There are many bad counsellors, but there are good ones, too. You have to be prepared to screen several counsellors to find a good one. If one treats you like an object and not a person, find another.

One thing you can always do is to read a lot. There’s almost no limit to how much you can learn about yourself just by reading–though few people take advantage of this.

Reading can bring you to the gate of understanding, which a counsellor can help you pass through. But without reading, you don’t get to the gate, and counselling can’t do much except give you emotional support (although sometimes that alone is needed).

In fact, reading is probably more important than counseling, but doing both is better still. Enjoy life Well, just so I don’t seem like a wet blanket, I want to emphasize that’s it good and important to enjoy life. It’s true, I limit my crossdressing to part time. But I make a point to enjoy myself while I’m doing it.

There’s lot’s of other things to enjoy too–fresh air and exercise, a beautiful day, friends, music, etc.

Sometimes we blow our problems out of proportion. Enjoying the good things in life helps us get them back into perspective.

Here I am with my plum colored hair in a feminine cut and style. I have full make-up on, mascara, permanent eyelashes, lipstick, eye make-up, fully made up. With my permanent arched eyebrows it’s so obvious that this is not a one-time dress-up. If anyone sees me that will know that I’m being femmed up for life. My little maid’s cap is perched on my coiffed hair. I have super glued posts in one set of my ears, it cannot be removed and every few days my ears are checked to be sure that the glue isn’t coming loose. If this happens I have to mince and get more glue for Sarina to re-apply.

I have on the frilliest panties, lace all-around with fishnets today. Other days I wear various stockings or pantyhose. 4-inch patent leather pumps are the usual shoes when I’m in my maid’s attire. With lots of toe cleavage are on my feet. Sometimes Sarina likes to glue them on if she feels that I’m being lazy and I try to sneak them off.

I have on a lace-up bustier, with my glued on breasts. And this is covered with a black satin maid’s dress. With lace on the hem, puffy sleeves and peasant collar. I have the ultimate addition for embarrassment. It’s a crinoline full petticoat that fits around my waist. This puffs my dress out so that you can see my panties, and my stocking tops. Permanent glued nails with rings and of course the maid lacy gloves are on my arms. I have a little frilly choker around my neck as well. Its so over the top that its really girly for even a girl.

I have to go to the mall looking like this. I pull into the parking lot and wiggle in to J.C.Penny’s. Because it s a few days before Halloween, all the female clerks giggle and laugh and are so complimentary on my outfit. I tread the humiliation when I have to go shopping again next week and the weeks to come in the maid’s outfit and they realize that I’m a sissy and completely under my wife’s control. I have to take the escalator and buy several items, mince out to the parking lot and go to my next assignment. Here I am going to a Convenience store.

After I buy my wife’s lunch and pick her up. She orders me to go in and buy a paper and some candy. A woman across from where we are parked calls out and comments on my shoes. I have to tell her that my wife dresses me like this all the time, she giggles and says she wishes she could get her own husband to dress like that.

Next stop after I drop off my wife is a liquor store, there everyone looks and laughs and the cashier loved my shoes, she makes comments about my plucked, thin arched brows and she tells me that she can tell that this is a serious outfit, and that it looks like I’m dressed like this for some time. I smile and tell her that this is what I have to wear to go out shopping and I have to get used to it. I have a young man carry the case of beer out to the car. He laughs and tells me that I look good in the outfit.

Then I go to a card store to buy some tape and it is filled with women. The getting out of the car, straightening my skirt, and walking across the parking lot, or anywhere in these heels its so embarrassing. You have to take little steps and wiggle to get anywhere.

There are at least 6 women in the store when I mince through the door. Besides the 2 working there who giggle and smile when they see my sissy outfit. Everyone comments on my shoes and dress. They all think I look cute. What will they think when I have to go back in a few weeks, still in my maid’s dress, with the heels clicking along the cement and me wiggling into the store trying not to look too embarrassed as I buy a card.

Sarina tells me after a while I will not be so humiliated. I will get used to being a maid. She is looking forward to my cleaning and running her errands and knowing that I am sitting at home waiting for her. When she comes in I have to curtsey and take her coat.

And every time I enter and leave a room I have to curtsey each time. I cannot sit down except in the kitchen. I have to do all the cooking, make the meals etc and of course clean each room in my outfit. Sometimes sleep in panties and stockings and the one of the most embarrassing is wearing a tampon when my wife gets her period. I have to change it when I go to the bathroom. And I also must wear the panty liners as well. I have to experience all the problems that females have.

I am so worried when I have to go into the food store this weekend, days after Halloween and shop for the groceries. It will be so embarrassing. Will I ever get used to being in the outfit wiggling around town on my days off?

HER SISSY

It wasn’t that she was tired of me or the life we had created for ourselves, it was more that she wanted to be in control.

That she knew what she wanted almost made it worse, because she didn’t know how to go about getting it. Oh sure there were times when she felt the way she wanted to feel. She felt that kind of power and control when she would tease me so that I was almost ready to come, then she would make me beg her to let me fuck her.

She had been thinking about those times when she had taken the dominate role and after a bit of thinking she started to realize just how easy it was for her to get me to submit to her.

Kelly was a bright girl and she gave the whole thing quite a bit of mulling over. In fact she had even conducted a couple of experiments over the last two weeks. Once she refused to let me come until I had tounged her to numerous climax’s. Another time she had pretended to be upset with me and after telling me over and over how bad I had been she got me to agree to letting her spank me.

She couldn’t think of a better demonstration of my submissiveness then to be bending over while I held my dress or skirt up around my hips so that she could spank my now defenseless ass cheeks, unless it was what she was planning on doing to me.

She hoped that forcing me to listen as she told me how much she enjoyed punishing me would make me eager to let her do it to me any time she wanted. “Yes, I think that out of all of the things we have done together, I enjoyed spanking you ilke a naughty little girl more then anything else!” She told me. She smerked when I told her that I was glad that she enjoyed it. “Any time I can be part of something that you enjoyed doing I feel like I’ve done something nice for you.” I told her, then I added, “If there’s anything else that you think you would enjoy doing don’t hesitate to try it. Just go ahead and tell me what you want me to do.”

“Really?” she asked, sounding as if she didn’t believe me. “You just go ahead and tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.” I told her. She smiled and then told me that she wanted me to be her slave so that I HAD to do what she told me to do.

“Then consider me your slave.” I told her. “And I’ll just assume that I have to comply with anything you want of me.” She looked at me for a moment, then she ordered me to spread my legs so that my balls were completely accessable for her. I swallowed hard and then slowly moved my legs apart until they formed a wide Vee.

She nodded as she slid her hand up between my upper thighs. “I love to think that they are hanging like they are and just waiting for me to decide what I want to do to them.” She told me.

“They are.” I said. “You own my balls as well as everything else if I’m your slave.” I told her.

“That’s right.” She said with a smile. “And that would mean that I had a perfect right to do anything I wanted to them. Anything at all!” She closed her fingers around the two small nuggets. “What I want to do to my balls is make them hurt!” She said wickedly. She then crushed them aginst each other as she made her fingers form into a fist.

I doubled up and groaned as my tummy was gripped by strong cramps. “Oh yes. I can tell that they hurt.” She gasped as she squeezed them even tighter. My hands pressed into my tummy as I fought to catch my breath.

“Spread your legs wider slave, as wide as you can!” She ordered. I heard her laugh when I opened my legs as wide as they could go. “Yes, now I can do anything I want to them.” She said. “Even smash them under one of my knee’s!” She added as she slid one leg up between mine.

She released her grip, then raised up slightgly. When she lowered herself down I felt her hard knee start to flatten them under it. Once again I was doubled up from the way she was abusing my balls.

“God, they feel as if they just flattened right out like squashed pancakes.” She sqealed, then she lifted off of them. “If your my slave and I own your body, then I also own your asshole!” She exclaimed with a chuckle.

But all and all she still wasn’t sure how to go about doing what she thought she wanted to do. That is until my birthday started to get close. She had purchased a new monitor for my computer and she decided to hide it in the garage.

There were a number of boxes of old paperwork and such and she felt that one more box wouldn’t be noticed. The Friday before my birthday she got home several hours before me and she went out with the idea of moving things around so that she could stash her present in an inconspicuious spot.

Most of the things were covered with dust and such and she quickly got fed up with trying to make it look like nothing had been disturbed. Finally she had had it and shoved several boxes to one side so there would be room for hers, but when they landed on the garage floor she was suprised by what spilled out.

From her perch on the ladder she could clearly see all kinds of womens clothing. After a closer inspection she knew that these things weren’t just a bunch of old discarded garments. Some of the blouses and other pieces were up to date styles. In fact she found a slip that she knew was part of Vanity Fairs newest line.

With a growing curiousity she looked through the two boxes of lingerie, dresses, skirts and blouses. She even found a fair number of almost new high-heels in the second box along with a very complete collection of make-up.

She was still a little confused when she picked up the small square booklet, but her confusion didn’t stay with her very long as she glanced at the photographs that were inside. I had been crossdressing since the age of 12 or so and although I had tried to stop, I found that I couldn’t. I had never told her about it and dressed up only when she was away. Over the years there had been some pictures friends had taken of me when I was completely dressed and made-up.

She was not only suprised to learn about this part of me, but she was also suprised to see that I made a very good looking woman. As she glanced at the photo’s a smile began to appear on her face, a smile that kept growing bigger and bigger.

After putting the boxes back like they were she put the computer monitor in her car so she could return it. She had a better idea about what she should get me for my birthday then that.

That weekend she went out of her way to be a tease. She would flash me her fanny and more of her breasts then she usually exposed and at night she would eagerly engage in fourplay, but we didn’t seem to ever get around to having sex. She wanted me to be as fustrated and horny as she could make me when my birthday came.

The same thing continued to happen that Monday and Tuesday and by Wednesday morning I had an almost permanent erection. I was just finishing my cup of coffee before going to work when she came into the kitchen and informed me that she had called my work and told them that I was sick.

“In fact.” She said gleefully. “I told them that you probably wouldn’t be in until next week.” Now it was my turn to be suprised as she took my hands and pulled to my feet. She led me into the spare bedroom, then told me take off all of my clothes.

“I bought you several new outfits for your birthday.” She said. Her playful attitude was contagious and I was starting to have a good time just getting undressed. She took each piece as I removed it, including my shoes and my watch. She told me to wait where I was, then disappeared through the doorway.

I didn’t know what to think when she returned empty handed, but she didn’t give me much time to think about it because she stood right in front of me and started to take off her clothes as well. After slipping off her high heels she slipped her hands under her dress and skillfully pushed her pantyhose down off of her legs.

She left them laying on the floor by her feet as she did the same with the pair of brightly flowered panties she was wearing. Only instead of letting them fall to the floor she made sure that they hadn’t goten turned inside out and then she held them out in my direction.

“I thought you might like to wear some of my things!” She said knowingly, then she added. “In fact I know that you would like to wear them!” She stared at me while she continued to hold her panties out for me to take.

Inside I was almost out of control at the prospect of her dressing me up in her feminine garments, but I tried not to let it show. “I don’t understand.” I said as I took her panties into my hand.

She planted her hands on her hips, then narrowed her brow. “Don’t you give me any of that crap!” She said sternly. “I know all about you and I know that your nothing but a little sissy at heart.” She swung her hips back and forth in an exagerated feminine movement.

“And I also know all about your dressing up in girls clothes!” She said matter of factly. This caused me to almost go into shock and I stood and stared at her, not saying a word. “Now, you be a good girl and do what I tell you to do so I don’t have to punish you!”

She said in a stern voice she outright ordered me into her panties. “Now put those panties on right now!” She stamped her foot just to make sure I knew she was serious. She wanted to jump with excitment when she saw me hold her panties open and then step into them, but she remained like she was as I pulled them up my legs and passed my hips.

As soon as I had done that she unzipped her dress far enough that she could pull her arms free. “After you put on your bra your going to go into the bathroom and shave all that hair off of your legs!” She said as she unfastened the clasp so that the lace and satin bra slid down her arms. Just like she had done with her panties she held it out. I was still dazed as I gingerly took it from her. I pulled it around me and hooked it together, then pulled the straps up onto my shoulders.

She stepped closer to me and started to adjust the straps so it fit me. “I noticed you didn’t have any trouble getting it fastened closed!” She said in a teasing voice. “You must have had plenty of practice.” She added.

Once she was satisfied with how she had adjusted the straps she pointed toward the bathroom. “Now go shave off all that ugly hair.” She ordered, then she said. “Young ladies don’t have body hair sprouting out all over like that!”

She knew that she had made the correct judgement about me when she saw me start for the bathroom like she had ordered. In truth she didn’t know how right she was because I became very submissive when I was dressed.

Fifteen minutes later I was standing in front of her while she examined me. I had shaved my legs like she said, but I also shaved my chest, arms, armpits and had shaved around my now small triangular pubic area.

“Very good!” She said after looking me over. “Your looking more feminine already!” She said in an obvious attempt to embarrass me and when she saw that she had made me blush her confidence doubled.

“Go pick up the nylons I was wearing and put them on next!” She said with a nod. I didn’t waste any time complying and after my legs were encased in her nylons she made me put on her high heels. In just a couple of minutes I was standing in front of her again.

She let me stand like that for a little bit as she cupped and carressed her firm naked breasts. “Hmm. I like telling you what to do.” She coo’d in a sexy voice. “It makes my nipples hard.” She added.

After a bit she lowered her hands to her sides and then lifed her dress a couple of inches so the lacy hem of her slip peeked out from under it.

“Do you like my pretty slip sissy?” She asked, using that teasing tone of voice again. I told her that I liked it very much. “You want to wear it don’t you panty-waist?” She taunted.

Again I told her that she was correct. Hearing this she dropped her dress down so the slip was no longer exposed. “Then beg me to let you wear my slip sissy.” She told me. “I want to hear just how much you want to wear it!”

I slowly got onto my knees so she was towering over me. “Please Kelly let me wear your slip.” I begged. “I love slips and I’ve never worn one that had been worn by you first.” I pulled my panties up so that my cock was clearly visable under the front panel. I had been slowly getting harder and harder and now it was pretty close to being fully erect.

“Just look at how hard my cock is from me just thinking a about wearing your pretty slip. Please let me put it on and I promise to do whatever you say. Please!” I begged. She stood over me smiling for a little while, then she nodded. “Ok, you may take it off of me and put it on sissy.” She said, with a snicker. I gently reached up under her dress and carefully pulled her slip down her legs and then held it while she stepped out of it.

Once she had I eagerly slipped my feet into the waistband and then pulled it up into place. The lacy hem came to just above mid-thigh. “Oh you look so sexy in my bra, nylons, panties and slip!” She said softly. “So sexy you make me wet. My little sissy makes my pussy wet when he does what I tell him to do!” She said in an athoritative voice.

“I’m glad you think I’m a sexy.” I said meekly, then added. “And I love it when you tell me what to do.” She smiled when she heard me say that.

“Good.” she told me. “Because from now on I’m going to be telling you exactly what to do. Understand?” She asked. I lowered my head and then told her that I understood.

She pushed her dress down so it fell in a circular ring around her feet. Daintily she stepped out of the center of it. She told me to pull it up into place, but added that I shouldn’t zip it closed just yet. I worked the dress up over my hips, I had to tuck my slip back down afterward, then held it tightly around my middle.

Kelly had busied herself with something in a box, but now she turned so she was facing me again. “These are what I got you for your birthday sissy!” She said, holding out a pair of silicon breast forms. They were so realistic that they jiggled like jello whenever she moved her hands.

I felt them for a minute as I thanked her and after she handed them to me she pored a thick layer of super-glue on the back of each one. “You know what I want you to do.” She said as she snickered.

“I want you to push those breasts into place so they will be permanently glued to your chest.” She reached out and pulled the straps of my bra down off of my sholders, then pushed the satin and lace cups so they were forced a couple of inches lower then they would normaly be.

“Come on sissy.” She ordered sternly. “Glue those titties to your chest. I know you want to!” I slowly raised both breast forms up toward my chest. “That’s a good girl.” Kelly said to urge me on. When they were about an inch away from where my own breasts would be, if I had any, Kelly placed her spread hands on the nipple side of each one.

With increasing pressure she pushed them closer and closer until they were being firmly crushed aginst me. It only took a second for the super-glue to set. She pulled my hands away along with hers. I felt the expensive silicon breasts pull at my chest as they were allowed to hang freely on thier own.

She began to knead them with her fingers. “I don’t know how you would ever get them to come off.” She said happily. “But that’s ok, because this is how I want you to look.” She ordered me to pull my bra back up and then gave me permission to zip up my dress.

Once it was securly fastened closed Kelly stepped back and looked me over. She was now naked and I was wearing what she had been wearing just a short time ago. She spread her feet to about sholder width.

“I’m going to put make-up on you because I want to make you into as much of a woman as I can. But now while your still obviously nothing more then a sissyfied male I want to watch you eat my pussy.” She said forcing me to my knee’s.

“I can always remember what you looked like right now, because your never going to look this masculine again!” She added as she pulled my face tightly aginst her wet crotch.

Kelly had busied herself with something in a box, but now she turned so she was facing me again. “These are what I got you for your birthday sissy!” She said, holding out a pair of silicon breast forms. They were so realistic that they jiggled like jello whenever she moved her hands.

I felt them for a minute as I thanked her and after she handed them to me she pored a thick layer of super-glue on the back of each one. “You know what I want you to do.” She said as she snickered.

“I want you to push those breasts into place so they will be permanently glued to your chest.” She reached out and pulled the straps of my bra down off of my sholders, then pushed the satin and lace cups so they were forced a couple of inches lower then they would normaly be.

“Come on sissy.” She ordered sternly. “Glue those titties to your chest. I know you want to!” I slowly raised both breast forms up toward my chest. “That’s a good girl.” Kelly said to urge me on. When they were about an inch away from where my own breasts would be, if I had any, Kelly placed her spread hands on the nipple side of each one.

With increasing pressure she pushed them closer and closer until they were being firmly crushed aginst me. It only took a second for the super-glue to set. She pulled my hands away along with hers. I felt the expensive silicon breasts pull at my chest as they were allowed to hang freely on thier own.

She began to knead them with her fingers. “I don’t know how you would ever get them to come off.” She said happily. “But that’s ok, because this is how I want you to look.” She ordered me to pull my bra back up and then gave me permission to zip up my dress.

Once it was securly fastened closed Kelly stepped back and looked me over. She was now naked and I was wearing what she had been wearing just a short time ago. She spread her feet to about sholder width.

“I’m going to put make-up on you because I want to make you into as much of a woman as I can. But now while your still obviously nothing more then a sissyfied male I want to watch you eat my pussy.” She said forcing me to my knee’s.

“I can always remember what you looked like right now, because your never going to look this masculine again!” She added as she pulled my face tightly aginst her wet crotch.

Her response was to ram her hips forward a third time. She kept applying more pressure until her hips were pressing firmly into my ass cheeks. “You took all of me cunt!” She rudely told me. “I love the way you look bent over like you are and with my cock buried as deep as it can go into your pussy!” I felt her grab my hips with her hands. “Now I’m going to show you what it feels like when you get a good hard fucking!” I was gasping and pleading with her to be more gentle as she moved her hips away from me so her cock was withdrawn from my tummy.

But all of that stopped when she slammed it back into me, sinking all the way in with the one thrust. My legs were convulsing and my inner thighs felt as if they had been slashed with a sharp knife, but the stabbing, searing pain flooding out from my violated hole into my groin and cock was all I really felt.

Several more times she plowed into me like that, which left me laying under her like a limp rag. I was slipping in and out of reality as she started to steadily pump her cock in and out of my once virgin pussy. I regained my sense’s and was greated by the still painful sensation of her rythmic fucking.

“Oh you take it good bitch!” She moaned. “Your so nice and tight, just the way I like them.” She added. I felt her sink all the way into me and then hesitate for a moment, but then she picked right back up with the same ferious tempo. Several more times she hesitated like she did before.

I was still finding it hard to move my legs and I moaned when I felt her take my cock into her hand. She bent it back between my thighs and then pulled my panties back up where they belonged so that the crotchband kept it like that. I could only gasp when she began to use both hands to stroke along the narrow strip of my panties that passed between my legs.

She knew how to make the smooth nylon move over my imprisoned cock so that in less then sixty seconds I was almost ready to squirt my come right into my own panties. She sensed how close I was and she started to give my swollen cockhead a good working over.

“Come on bitch!” She yelled. “Come in your panties for me!” She forced the head of my cock down between my cheeks. “Show me how much of a slut you really are cunt!” She shouted. A couple of strokes later she began to spank my ass cheeks with her open hand right through my panties.

“I ordered you to come you little slut!” She said swatting me even harder then she had been. She wrapped her fingers around my shaft as far as my panties would allow, then she started stroking me from the front of my panites to back over the head.

She saw my inner thighs tense up right before my hot sticky fluid started to shoot out of my cock. That gave her time to slip one hand under the waistband and shove her fingers in front of my cock. This allowed her to catch every squirt on her fingers, which she proptly shoved into my well fucked hole.

In this manor she managed to force my pussy to be filled with my own sticky sperm. “Oh sissy!” She gasped. “I got hot thinking about your own come being forced into your pussy!” She said as she pulled my panties back down to my thighs. “So I’m going to have to fuck you again!” She said with a laugh.

“Oh god, you’ll kill me!” I cried out meekly, but I was suprised at how easily she sank into me.

“Your come makes a good lubrication bitch, just like all women’s pussy’s are suppost to do.” This time I actually felt myself pushing back to meet her forward thrusts.

“Oh Kelly, fuck me.” I begged. “Fuck my pussy good, fuck my pussy hard!” I gasped.

“You can count on it slut!” She gleefully told me. “You can count on it.”