Would to love to share tips on poses and angles. I like to think I capture a relatively feminine look that’s easy to achieve with practice.

Feeling feminine

My TS/CD/TV Story

Tonight I feel the girl inside me stirring again, asking to be written into existence.

I have carried her quietly for so long—tucked into the soft, hidden chambers of my heart, where secrets live and dreams wait for courage. She has always been there, watching the world through my eyes while I learned how to survive in a role that never fully fit. She learned to whisper instead of speak, to hide instead of bloom.

I have always been feminine. I have always felt the pull toward softness, beauty, silk, lace, and being seen not as a man pretending—but as a woman becoming.

I didn’t begin crossdressing until a few years ago, late in life, after decades of wondering and silence. A boyfriend encouraged me—someone who saw the femininity in me and cherished it. I was already submissive in spirit, already gentle, already carrying this quiet feminine current inside. When I put on a bra, slipped into panties, and felt lingerie against my skin, it felt natural. Familiar. Like recognition.

I had suspected this part of myself for years, like a faint melody always playing in the background. But that day, standing there in softness, I didn’t just suspect it—I knew. Not as fantasy or curiosity, but as truth. Something ancient and undeniable finally named itself.

I imagine walking down a street in a dress that catches the light, my skin warm in the sun, people seeing me as I wish to be seen. I imagine being admired, desired, even framed on a wall like a pin-up girl from another era—confident, glamorous, unapologetically herself. That vision makes my heart ache with both joy and grief.

So much of my life has been spent in silence. So much of me was taught to hide. I am still learning how to peel back the layers of fear, religion, politics, family expectations, and my own hesitation. I don’t know where this path will lead—only that I am tired of pretending she isn’t there.

For now, she lives in quiet places: my room, my thoughts, the gentle arms of someone who understands, the rare spaces where I can exhale and be Chrissy. I wonder sometimes if that is enough. I wonder what it would be like to let her walk freely in the daylight.

No one in my family knows her. Most of my friends don’t. They see the version of me that learned how to blend in, how to be acceptable, how to survive. They don’t see the girl who has been waiting so patiently inside.

Tonight I write her name here, like a prayer.
Tonight I let her breathe.

Chrissy.
She is real.
She is me.

And even if the world never fully knows her, I know her. And that, for now, is something.

With love,
Chrissy

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61586994341520

https://x.com/TunnellChrissy

#sissy #sissyboy #gurl #shemale #trans #femboy #femman #tgirl #crossdresser #transgirl #transowman #gay #lgbtq

I love crossdressing and im just so feminine too im a pretty girl

I like CDs that are on HRT therapy, feminine and sexy smooth all over

In this year of Our Lord 1885, I, a gentleman of four-and-sixty summers and considerable corpulence, find myself irrevocably committed to the most elaborate and humiliating semblance of a widow in deepest mourning, nay, a sissy crossdresser, every contour of my person exaggerated into an absurd excess of feminine propriety at the unyielding command of Madame. My unwieldy frame is confined within a voluminous gown of black bombazine, its lustrous silk bodice drawn so severely that my affixed bosom rises and falls in mock matronly dignity. Upon my head sits an immense crape bonnet, enveloped in multitudinous folds of black crepe veiling that descend softly over my countenance and shoulders like the very pall of perpetual bereavement, its diaphanous gauze quivering with each breath and rendering me a figure of spectral, enforced delicacy.
Beneath this sombre raiment, a prodigious crinoline encircles my ample waist, distending the skirt to such extravagant breadth that every halting step discloses the lace-fringed hems of my cambric under-drawers and the delicately trimmed tops of my black lisle stockings, secured by embroidered satin garters. At times madame requires silk hose of the sheerest texture, yet the mortification endures undiminished. My feet, protesting and swollen, are imprisoned within patent leather ankle boots of four inches’ Louis heel, their pointed toes permitting a glimpse of my varnished nails in pitiable vulnerability. Should indolence be suspected, Madame fastens the straps with black satin ribbons, forestalling any attempt at relief. My hands, bearing permanent false nails of gleaming pearl, are gloved in lace mittens, adorned with rings upon every finger, while a jet choker of frilled design encircles my thick neck as a badge of submission. The whole attire is so profoundly girlish, so burdened with widow’s frippery, that it would provoke scandal even among the most devout matrons of Her Majesty’s court.
I descend from our Brougham in the crowded precincts of Covent Garden, With utmost caution I arrange my skirts, the heels resounding sharply upon the cobblestones, and proceed with mincing steps, hips swaying perforce beneath the crinoline’s dominion and the boots’ perilous elevation. Soft laughter ripples along the stallholders. Smiles of polite astonishment. Complimentary remarks follow. “La, madam, what a most becoming habit of mourning!” one declares. “The veil is exceedingly elegant, and those boots quite the mode!” They suppose it a seasonal fancy. I colour deeply beneath the crepe, threading my way through the ordeal with measured tread, aware that I shall return in seven days, and seven again thereafter, clad precisely thus, bereft of any festal pretext merely a creature wholly subject to his lady’s will.
I procure the articles enumerated upon Madame's list, tea of finest quality, spices, and provisions discharge the account, and retire with mincing gait to the carriage, crinoline whispering, veil fluttering like a mourner’s sigh. Madame directs that I convey her thither beforehand, yet she commands me first to enter and obtain her broadsheet and sweetmeats. As I totter across the thoroughfare, heels clacking, a lady seated in an adjacent Hansom calls out: “Those boots are positively ravishing, madam!” I turn, the veil shifting with ethereal grace, and reply in a low, submissive tone, “I am most obliged to you, Madame is pleased to attire me in this manner at all times.” She laughs with genuine delight. “Would that I might prevail upon my own husband to exhibit such commendable obedience!” Having restored Madame to her residence, I repair to the wine merchant’s. The moment I enter, eyes fix upon me chuckles, prolonged gazes. The proprietress cannot forbear a smile at my boots, her glance ascending to my carefully plucked brows, arched with precision. “Heavens preserve us,” she exclaims, “this is no mere passing fancy of costume. You have worn it for a considerable period, have you not?” I venture a faint, veiled smile. “Indeed, madam… it is the garb prescribed for me upon every occasion of shopping. I endeavour, by degrees, to grow reconciled to it.” A youthful clerk conveys the case of port to the carriage. He chuckles softly. “You bear it with uncommon grace, sir.” Madame assures me that habituation shall ensue. “In due course, the sense of mortification will diminish,” she declares with quiet conviction. “You will become thoroughly accustomed to your station as my devoted maidservant.” She contemplates the future with satisfaction: I, attending to the household in full uniform, discharging her every errand, awaiting her return in patient seclusion. Upon her entrance, I must execute a profound curtsey and relieve her of mantle and parasol. At every ingress or egress from a chamber curtsey. All domestic duties devolve upon me, performed amid the perpetual rustle of bombazine and crinoline.

Brilliant stories is back , I love sharing my tales from the chronicles of Alex , a teenage feminine young man at 17 beginning a journey of self esteem , steamy sex and becoming a sexy , sassy chick with a dick , with amazing friends who love him /her for who they are xxx wouldnt that be a nice world.

In the dim parlour of a narrow terraced house on the edge of town, where the January dusk pressed against fogged windowpanes, Hanimefendi (once Tony, though the name now felt like an old coat left in the attic) sat perfectly still before the tall cheval mirror.
At sixty four, the body that looked back at her was soft and heavy, rolls of flesh pressing against the seams of her chosen mourning. Yet every inch of it had been reclaimed in Barbie Pink the violent, unapologetic pink of bubblegum, flamingos, and little girls’ birthday dreams. She had buried the muted blacks and charcoals of conventional widowhood the same afternoon she buried her former self. Grief, she decided, deserved better than drabness. Grief deserved to scream.
Her long gown swept the floorboards in heavy, liquid folds of pink satin. The fabric caught the lamplight in subtle, expensive highlights shimmering like wet sugar or the inside of a seashell. Tiny seed pearls marched along the modestly high neckline and down the front in orderly, virginal rows. The sleeves ended in deep cuffs of gathered pink chiffon that trembled with each slow breath.
Over the gown rode the blouse: glossy, deluxe, almost liquid in its sheen. Frills cascaded from throat to waist like a waterfall of spun sugar ruffles upon ruffles upon ruffles, each edge finished with the thinnest piping of darker rose. The cuffs alone could have doubled as christening bonnets.
But the true crown was the headscarf.
An oversized triangle of blush pink satin, almost cartoonishly large, draped from the top of her head and cascaded past her shoulders in glossy waves. She had tied it under the chin with an extravagant bow, the ends trailing like rabbit ears. Pinned beneath it floated a sheer pink chiffon voile veil long enough to brush the upper swell of her ample chest, fine enough that her features showed through like a watercolour left in the rain. The veil softened the male jawline she had once hated, blurred the double chin, turned every blink into something theatrical and tender.
Her mouth was a dramatic wound of matte fuchsia, outlined sharper than a paper cut. Above it arched brows drawn in powdery rose, while the eyelids shimmered with pearlescent pink shadow and were rimmed in vivid bubblegum liner that flicked outward in exaggerated Rococo commas. Cheeks bloomed with circular rouge like a porcelain doll painted by an over enthusiastic child. The overall effect was sissy maid meets Marie Antoinette in full defiant mourning feminine, excessive, absurdly pretty, and deliberately inconsolable.
He, her male persona had hated the colour pink. Called it childish. Called it weak. On the nightstand sat the little brass urn containing what remained of him, his cremated wardrobe of male clothes, positioned so that the urn had no choice but to stare at her forever.
Hanimefendi lifted one plump, ring laden hand. The nails were lacquered the exact shade of strawberry marshmallow. She touched the veil where it lay across her lips, pressing the satin bow against them as though kissing herself goodnight.
I wore navy coloured clothes for forty-one years, she whispered to the mirror, voice low and cracked from crying and cigarettes she had given up in 1998. Navy and sensible shoes and ‘yes dear’ and ‘not now.’ You had your funeral in charcoal. Mine is pink. Barbie bloody pink. And I’m not sorry.
A tear escaped, cutting a bright path through the rouge. It hung on the veil like dew on candyfloss before soaking in.
She rose slowly, arthritic joints protesting and moved to the ancient radiogram in the corner. The needle settled onto an old 78. A scratchy soprano began to sing something unbearably sentimental about lost loves and rose gardens. Hanimefendi began to sway. The gown whispered against itself. The frills trembled. The veil floated like breath.
In the mirror a vast, pink, glittering figure danced alone widowed, overweight, outrageously made up, and for the first time in six decades entirely herself.
She was mourning, yes. But she was mourning in colour. And the house, for one evening at least, smelled faintly of rose talc, hot satin, and the sweetest kind of revenge.

The same thing that on us girls mind, trying to be girly, feel feminine, look sexy, be naughty . I hope everybody is have some me time, it always makes me feel so happy

Mistres s is telling me to wear cotton panties every day-and large ones. This is to constantly remind me of my desire to become more feminine, as the gusset will not contain me and I will be continually pulling them up and adjusting myself.

Not happy, had to report another member for harassment today, for trying to discredit me, its no secret that some of my pictures are AI , however its my face feminined, a lot of us wear masks on here, some wear silicon masks some wear makeup two hide the face, I hide behind my AI image because I am not ready to show the world who I am, my wife and daughter know anout my cross dressing its created a mountain of problems more with my wife than my daughter, I almost have a non existent relationship with my wife now, two people know of me as Zara outside of here, however there are members on here I have seen out and about while I am the male version of me, I live in a very small town where a lot of people know each other being found out can destroy more than I am willing to loose, but if it means I will need to leave this site for my safety then that's what I will do

Feeling feminine in this

Hi everyone , beginning of another week , hoping to dress as much as possible , it can be frustrating when you cant be the person you want to be , I often wonder why people crossdress , what is their personal goal through wearing the opposite sexes clothes , I know mine being honest is mostly sexual , I get such a great contented feeling from being dressed and being feminine , I also being honest after the explosion do feel a little guilt / shame but thankfully it doesnt last to long and I cant wait to slip into stockings once more as soon as possible , have a great day everyone xxxx

It's really interesting how something so simple can look so great...

I love this red dress and black stockings... it makes me feel very feminine and I like it :)

Hello everyone,
I started this way, feminine way, and i m liked

Good evening, sweets

I want to take a moment to clarify something important about myself, honestly and openly. Deep down, I do wish that I could transition and live fully as a woman one day. That desire is real and has been with me for a long time. However, at this stage of my life, I also have to be realistic. Because of my age, potential medical and surgical risks, the complexities of hormone therapy, and the fact that so many people in my everyday life know me and relate to me as male, I don’t believe a full public transition is something I can truly pursue.

So for now—and likely for the foreseeable future—my feminine side expresses itself in more private ways. Crossdressing, embracing my sissy identity, and allowing myself to feel soft, feminine, and girlish happens in specific spaces and safe arenas, like this website. It’s not about shame; it’s about boundaries, safety, and navigating the world as it is, not as I wish it could be.

That said, I want to be very clear about one thing: I do love being perceived as feminine and being treated like a girl. Emotionally, relationally, and romantically, that’s where my heart lives. Because of that, I am not looking for a fellow sissy, crossdresser, or trans girl as a romantic partner or spouse. I respect them deeply, and I’m absolutely open to friendship and community with them—but romantically, I want to be the girl.

In a relationship, I want to be the feminine partner. In a marriage, I want to be the bride.

I am attracted exclusively to men—very masculine men. Broad shoulders, solid chest, bear-like body hair, a deep voice, confidence, and a take-charge presence all make my heart flutter. I’m drawn to strength, grounding energy, and masculinity that feels protective and assured. That dynamic matters to me, both emotionally and romantically.

Thank you for taking the time to hear me out and understand where I’m coming from. I believe clarity is a form of kindness—to myself and to others.

Kisses,
Chrissy

http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

Here are the top photos from last year - starting my recall is my photo being on a runway. Almost 5,000 views and one share. This photo really brings out my feminine energy. I was totally glamed out! "I Can Dream"

I have been wondering... Hear me out! Crossdressing has been a way for me to escape "reality" and relax, be myself and to explore my better side (feminine). Every time I dress up, I am transported to another realm of existence, a better realm so to speak.
For me, dressing in Lace panties, making sure everything is tucked and covered. depending on my mood, a nice bra with my inserts, making sure it is covered, and then an elegant dress, gown, suit or whatever, with my dark hair wig.

For me, this is proper Cross Dressing: Elegance, Graceful, Attraction, the Contours of your Body, Expressing yourself to others the best way possible.

For many, Crossdressing is only a way to (please excuse the term) "Get Laid" or a show of their spanners and backsides. Yes you do get spanners and backsides that are just too yummy to ignore, if cleaned properly, you don't want oily hands.. But that is my point. Being a lady is taking proper care of yourself, and putting your best foot forward.

I believe that Crossdressing, Transgenders and many more are an escape for people that was forced into a mindset that didn't/doesn't suit them, an idea that makes us feel that we do not belong.

And we are wearing these "labels" that they gave us, with pride and our chin held high!

Disclaimer: I do apologise if I stepped on any toes today, it is not my intention!

Why Do We Like Butts?

This question stuck with me after seeing a dumb Facebook meme. A guy tells a woman she has a great ass. She replies sarcastically: “Thank you! I keep poop in it.”

Crude—but true.

We defecate through our butts. And yet, across cultures, centuries, genders, and sexual orientations, humans are deeply attracted to them. Straight, gay, bi, queer. Cis, trans, gender-nonconforming. People admire them, desire them, sculpt them, and eroticize them relentlessly.

So why?

The answer isn’t about function. Attraction doesn’t work that way. It’s about signal, shape, and meaning.

From a biological and evolutionary standpoint, there is broad scientific consensus that humans are drawn to certain body shapes because they act as visual cues of health and fertility. Research in evolutionary psychology shows that hip width, fat distribution, and lumbar curvature correlate with reproductive health. A pronounced lower-back curve visually emphasizes the buttocks, and a favorable waist-to-hip ratio is widely perceived as attractive across cultures.

The brain isn’t thinking about anatomy or waste. Just as people don’t look at mouths and think about digestion, attraction filters out function and locks onto form.

That resonates with me. I’m attracted to butts—the curve, the fullness, the way the lower back opens into flesh. It’s immediate and bodily. I’m especially drawn to very feminine women and their hips and butts. Their embodiment feels like a distilled expression of femininity—grounded, confident, complete. There’s desire there, but also admiration and longing.

At the same time, I’m keenly aware that men are attracted to my ass.

I feel it in their gaze, in how attention lingers. That awareness shapes how I inhabit my body. As Michel Foucault argues, bodies are never neutral—they are read, eroticized, and positioned within systems of power (Foucault, The History of Sexuality). When my body is desired for a part culturally coded as feminine, I’m not just being wanted—I’m being located as receptive.

This is where gender theory becomes personal.

I’m a sissy crossdresser. I don’t yet know if I’m trans, and I’ve stopped treating that uncertainty as a problem. What I do know is that my gender has taken shape through repetition, recognition, and power. Judith Butler argues that gender is constituted through repeated acts that solidify into identity over time (Butler, Gender Trouble). When I soften my posture, present femininely, and allow myself to be read in certain ways, I’m not pretending. I’m performing gender into being.

My attraction to men is structured around masculinity, dominance, and control. I’m drawn to men grounded in their power. Submission, for me, isn’t weakness—it’s orientation. Yielding clarifies my femininity rather than erasing it.

This connects to why attraction to butts often overlaps with interest in anal sexuality. For some, anal sex symbolizes dominance, possession, or control—access to a guarded, vulnerable space. For others, it represents intimacy, trust, and bonding. For many, it’s a mix of both. In heterosexual contexts, it allows penetration without pregnancy; in male-male contexts, it is the primary site through which penetration and possession are symbolically enacted. In every case, the butt becomes a site of power, vulnerability, and meaning.

From an embodiment perspective, this makes sense. Maurice Merleau-Ponty argued that the body is not an object we possess but the medium through which we experience the world (Phenomenology of Perception). My body learns who it is by responding—by yielding, being read, and being desired.

So yes—we poop through our butts. That’s true.

But humans have always been capable of holding multiple truths at once. The same body part can be mundane and symbolic, functional and erotic. What matters isn’t what the body does, but what it means when another human desires it—and how that desire shapes who we become.


What are your thoughts??
-Chrissy

https://chrissyinsd.blogspot.com/

#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy

Do I have large thighs? (Please suggest some diets or exercises to make them more feminine.)

Hi sweets,

I use the name “ShemaleChrissy” because I’m male and deeply identify with femininity and the desire to be female. I haven’t started transitioning yet, so I still look male. I’m also still learning makeup, hair, and styling, so I don’t always present as feminine as I’d like in everyday life.

Sometimes I use face filters online to explore and express that feminine fantasy. That said, my body is always my real body, and I always include at least one natural, unfiltered photo. I do that intentionally so I’m not misleading anyone and so people know exactly who they’re talking to.

Recently, someone told me I’m “not really a shemale” and should change my username. I’m open to honest feedback, but the way it was delivered was rude and disrespectful, so I blocked them. I welcome fair suggestions and thoughtful discussion, but I don’t tolerate harassment or abuse.

So here’s my genuine question, asked in good faith:
How would you describe me? Shemale? Sissy? Crossdresser? Something else entirely?

I’m still figuring out my identity and language matters to me. If you have thoughts, I’m happy to hear them as long as they’re shared respectfully.

Thanks for reading,
Kisses,
Chrissy

#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

Take me! You got my back against the wall! I have nowhere to go!

I enjoy looking like a woman. I am too old and too set in my ways to fully #transition, so while I do dress #feminine in private and under my boy clothes, I don't do it in public and I haven't learned how to use makeup and wigs yet. So for now I live my life as a #woman in fantasy, online, using face filters from Snap chat. But t be clear: that is my real body, I am that smooth (I shave weekly), and I do this not to fool people I always show my true self, especially to potential dates. #gurl Thoughts? Kisses! - Chrissy

#sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

Hard Decision ...
to be Feminine

Wow! One of my photos has hit 7,000 views. I am really honored to feel somewhat popular.

Just finished going to my stylists. I have two of them now. One did my hair color today then braided it and also waxed my eyebrows. The other gave me a great manicure. Light pink nails. Getting me ready for holiday parties. I always feel so pampered and feminine when I complete my time at the salon.

Whats the task or chore you do that you hate but would be a pleasure when dressed feminine

Gotta be feminine x

Why am I happier dressing up and being girly doing more general feminine stero type things than being manly being a man

Will post more of my FL photos soon, but have this wonderful photo to share. A dream of mine - in a field of flowers- breathing the fresh air and showing off my feminine body - yes this really is me.

Wish I looked this feminine for prom xx

Good evening! I enjoy looking like a woman. I am too old and too set in my ways to fully #transition, so while I do dress #feminine in private and under my boy clothes, I don't do it in public and I haven't learned how to use makeup and wigs yet. So for now I live my life as a #woman in fantasy, online, using face filters from Snap chat. But t be clear: that is my real body, I am that smooth (I shave weekly), and I do this not to fool people I always show my true self, especially to potential dates. #gurl Thoughts? Kisses! - Chrissy

#sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

From my jogging on the boardwalk set. So hard to believe I was in 87 degree sunny weather just two days ago. Such a fun outfit to wear and show off to all who saw me running. I felt so feminine and fit. And yes i did have quite a few onlookers.

I need someone who will make dreams come true by helping push me further and further into full time feminine life until im living full time as female i am dressed up now and want to give my social media account passwords some pictures and videos that i would die if anyone i knew saw them and starting now give me specific instructions to record myself doing and if with in a decent amount of time if you don't receive proof video or anything else you ask i want you to expose me

Hey all you beautiful girls, I love all of you, you’ll are beautiful, sexy and have great tips to help out a girl in need, I love feeling feminine and would love to dress with someone and go out

I enjoy looking like a woman. I am too old and too set in my ways to fully #transition, so while I do dress #feminine in private and under my boy clothes, I don't do it in public and I haven't learned how to use makeup and wigs yet. So for now I live my life as a #woman in fantasy, online, using face filters from Snap chat. But t be clear: that is my real body, I am that smooth (I shave weekly), and I do this not to fool people I always show my true self, especially to potential dates. That is why the first two pics show me as my fantasy, as a #gurl, and the other two show me naturally. Thoughts? Kisses! - Chrissy

#sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

I enjoy looking like a woman. I am too old and too set in my ways to fully #transition, so while I do dress #feminine in private and under my boy clothes, I don't do it in public and I haven't learned how to use makeup and wigs yet. So for now I live my life as a #woman in fantasy, online, using face filters from Snap chat. But t be clear: that is my real body, I am that smooth (I shave weekly), and I do this not to fool people I always show my true self, especially to potential dates. That is why the first two pics show me as my fantasy, as a #gurl, and the other two show me naturally. Thoughts? Kisses! - Chrissy

#sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #gurl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

Masculine gentleman seeks feminine ladyboy

Patti just can’t stop wearing short dresses, don’t get me started on how much I love wearing heels, Patti thinks heels make us sissy girls feel more feminine. I hope everybody is having a beautiful blessed day, I love all of you

Good morning girls just taken my wife to work now i can be my Feminine self

Sat here all dressed and feeling very feminine!

I was told I am Pansexuual shapeshifter and that Cait is a manifeston of my feminine side that survived everything.

I do have girl hips though.

I think that no matter how beautiful I try to make myself, I'm always ignored, I'll burn all the feminine things and become a man again, it seems I have more success that way

Here are my photos from my two last salon visits. It was fun to be one of the girls, getting my pedicure and manicure done. I only had a touch of make up on - lip gloss - but was in entire fem. The neat thing was getting a very creative Christmas design on my toes and starting acrylic nails. I always walk out of the salon with my feminine feelings aroused. Yes fun and fulfilling.

Santa & Mrs. Claus: Threeway at the North Pole Continued: I was too nervous to answer but nodded. "Good," he exclaimed, "now its my turn. Ho, ho, ho!" With that, Santa took his clothes off, exposing his huge, rock hard, wrinkly magical dick that I knew so well, knew so intimately. He walked over to the bed, grabbed my head from the back of it, and forced us to kiss, his tongue exploring my throat. His free hand felt down my chest and tummy, down to my naked crotch where he pulled on my ****. "I see you're ready," he commented.

I could see out of the corner of my eye Mrs. Claus feeling herself up and down, moaning. She fingered her own *****...
Santa then bent down and put my penis into his mouth. He sucked me off...slurping....licking my shaft., squeezing the head with his lips, shaking it with his hand...I was already so aroused that it didn't take me long to cum and fill his mouth up. Santa swallowed it all...smiling, moaning, saying "yum!" and, of course, "ho, ho, ho!" "Get on your hands and knees," the jolly old elf, Santa, demanded. I did, my bare-naked ass now exposed upward at him like a dog in heat presenting herself to a mate. Santa mounted me and like last Christmas, slamming his huge, magical dick into my tight, little boypussy hole doggy-style, making me his. Mrs. Claus came up to the side of the bed and then crawled under me to where she could put her mouth around my ****. So as Santa Claus fucked my ass Mrs. Claus was sucking my dick. When Santa climaxed, seeding me with his semen, I came too, almost choking Mrs. Claus with my boyjuice, who was able to swallow all of it.

Santa layed on the bed next to me, his fat, hairy arms around my skinny, smooth ladyboy body, Mrs. Claus layed on the other side next to me, her wrinkly but feminine arms also around me. "I wish you would touch me like that Santa, as you touch Chrissy," Mrs. Claus said, making me uncomfortable.
"Ho, ho, ho!" Answered Santa. "It's okay, We have Chrissy now." What did that mean? That I was to continue satisfying both of them? "Not for very long," I added. "Just until I am able to get home."
"That will be at least a year," Mrs. Claus commented.
I sat up more in shock. "A year? Why?"
"No one leaves Santa's Village but Santa and that is only on Christmas Eve." said Mrs. Claus.
"And since this Christmas Eve is over, you'll have to wait until next year," Santa added.
"I can't wait until next year! I got a life to get back to. People will miss me!"
"I'm sorry, Chrissy, but we just don't have any way of getting you home otherwise."
"You can't just take me anytime? Have an elf fly the sleigh?"
"If people saw Santa's sleigh flying around on any other night than Christmas Eve that would be a scandal."
"But a whole year!"
"You're not a prisoner. You can walk away anytime. But this is the North Pole. You won't get very far." said Mrs. Claus. "And I couldn't bear to see my baby boy get hurt again." She kissed me on the forehead, while groping my ****, as she said this.
"But you have it good here. Free food and board...a warm bed...hot cocoa...and Mrs. Claus and I to sexually satisfy you, ho, ho, ho!" Santa said. "All you have to do for a year is relax and enjoy great sex. Ho, ho, ho!"
"And the elves can have a break, Santa," Mrs. Claus said.
"Well, we'll see about that. Chrissy is hot and all, but I do like my little elves," said Santa, "ho, ho, ho!"
"But not me..." Mrs. Claus said sadly.
"Oh, honey, I do love you," Santa said. "But yes, I need something else sexually. Heck, half the reason I took the job I do on Christmas Eve was to be able to **** so many different people. Like Chrissy! Ho, ho, ho!"
Santa grabbed my face again and kissed me, saying, "don't worry. You'll like it here. Ho, ho, ho!"
Mrs. Claus grabbed my dick again and got close to me too, whispering, "I guarantee it."
And that was my experience with Santa and Mrs. Claus. Ho, ho, ho!

We probably all played with Gemini as I have said before, and I usually don't but understand why people do, none of my business, but it's my day off, and after my talk of taking Cat more serious and my.lack skills to do her justice, mainly because of Make up and my wardrobe being more sex doll than sex bomb.

I really really want my face made up properly so I don't look like a toddler who stole her mam's make up bag.

I am dying to show my face here, but I look like a drowned goth clown.
It's not an ego thing, it's just, well I feel safe to grow here and know some feel the same.
Anyway, I gave Gemini one of the last photos of me I posted here, told her to paint the rest of my face like it imagined it would look after viewings photos for me and it nailed it.

It really does look like me, if I was dressed and made properly, the bottom of my face will look feminine too once I learn make up.
Gives me a guide of how I want my make up to look too, perhaps I can copy it.
Hope I didn't bore you and your Saturday is sweet 🙏🏻

I think some of my confusion as Cat is becoming clearer.

It's very nice to dress as a sex doll and that's fine for fun, but I want to look like most of you too, I envy your feminine elegence.
I don't have alot and I in terms of crossdressing I am extremely amateur.

I would love to fully bring the lady out in Cat for once.

Tbh, I like cosplaying as a sissy, but really I am not one, I am just not submissive in nature.
I want to feel like a lady for a change instead of an object., for me.

Are you Submissive ?
Are you Musculine Girl ?
Are you Feminine Boy ?
Are you willing to belong to for a fee?...

No, be my girlfriend for free ...