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.

I am sixty-four and the grief of the past two months has carved me hollow. Every morning I wake with the same violent start as though my heart has forgotten, for one merciful second, that she is gone. Then memory rushes back like cold water poured into cracked lungs. I cough on it. I always cough on it. Tonight I no longer pretend this is costume. The black satin mourning gown weighs thirty pounds if it weighs an ounce. The sleeves are so enormous they make my arms look like broken wings. The skirt is a black tide that drags behind me, heavy enough to drown small regrets. When I move, the silk screams sharp, wet slaps against itself, the sound of something being torn apart over and over. I have wrapped my head in a midnight black satin headscarf so vast it feels like I am being buried from the crown downward. The fabric is cool against my scalp, almost tender, the way her palm once was when she smoothed my hair before sleep. I pull it brutally tight underneath my chin. I want the tightness of the choke to hurt a little. I need to feel something that isn’t absence. Then the veil. Three sheer layers of black voile chiffon. The first kisses my eyelashes like soot. The second presses against my lips until I taste funeral flowers. The third falls to my waist and beyond, turning the room into a world seen through smoke and tears. Through it everything is dying again, softly, perpetually. My hands tremble as I button the twenty-four jet buttons of the double layer bodice rising from my belly to neck of the mourning gown. Each click of the button is a small gunshot in the quiet house. When I am finished my fingers inside my satin gloves are tired, elegant, useless. I cannot even touch my own face without feeling like I am trespassing on someone else’s sorrow. I descend the staircase one deliberate step at a time. The hem catches, drags, catches again. Silk on oak. Silk on oak. A dirge with no mercy. Halfway down I have to grip the banister because the weeping comes without warning, great, ugly sobs that make my whole body heave against the buttons of the bodice. I let them come. Let them tear through me. There is no one left to be ashamed in front of. In the drawing room I do not sit in her chair. I kneel. The skirt pools around me like spilled blood. I press my gloved palms flat against the carpet where her feet once rested. I lower my forehead until the veil puddles on the floor between my hands. I breathe in the ghost of her perfume, the ghost of her skin, the ghost of the mornings when I still woke as someone she recognised. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to the empty room. The words taste like rust. “I’m sorry I waited so long to become her. I’m sorry you never saw me like this. I’m sorry I’m still here breathing when you’re not.” The veil sticks to the wet tracks on my cheeks. I do not lift it. Let it cling. Let it choke. Let it witness. Outside, the night presses against the windows like a second, colder widow. A car passes. Headlights rake the room in white knives, illuminating me for one merciless second, an old crossdresser in extravagant widow’s weeds, kneeling, shaking, face hidden behind layers of black illusion, crying like something newly orphaned. I do not rise. I stay there until my knees scream, until the sobs turn to the small, broken hiccups of someone who has cried until there is almost nothing left to give. Only then do I speak again, so quietly the words barely disturb the veil. “You would have loved her,” I tell the dark. “You would have loved me.” And for the first time since the funeral two months ago, the silence does not feel like punishment. It feels like the last gentle touch of someone who finally understands.

I sit motionless in the dim parlor, the heavy velvet drapes drawn against the January gloom outside. The only light comes from the tall candelabra behind me, its flames trembling as though they, too, are in mourning. My reflection stares back from the tall gilt mirror across the room a stranger wearing my face, yet not quite mine anymore. The black satin gown clings to me like spilled ink, cool and liquid against my skin. Each subtle shift of my body sends faint gleams racing along the fabric, silver whispers in an ocean of midnight. The high collar bites gently at my throat, edged with fragile black lace that looks as though it might crumble if I breathed too deeply. The sleeves are puffed at the shoulders, then narrow cruelly down my arms until the cuffs grip my wrists like velvet manacles. I feel both imprisoned and exalted. The chiffon voile veil floats over my head, so fine it seems spun from smoke. It softens the edges of the world, turns the candlelight into a gentle, diffused halo. Through its haze I can see the portrait painter’s easel, the careful arrangement of shadows he is trying to capture. He keeps glancing at me as though he fears I might vanish if he looks away too long. My lips are painted the colour of old blood left to dry blackened plum, almost truly black in this light. The lipstick feels thick, ceremonial. Each time I press them together I taste the faint metallic bite of the pigment. My eyes are rimmed with kohl so dark it seems to drink the light; the sharp wings of liner make my gaze look both wounded and dangerous, like something beautiful that has learned how to bite. In my hands I cradle the bouquet. Once they were perfect crimson roses, the kind lovers press between the pages of forbidden books. Now they are dying in slow, exquisite agony. The stems bend wearily, heavy with the weight of their own decay. Petals loosen one by one, drifting down like drops of blood onto the polished floorboards. I can hear them fall soft, deliberate sounds, the quiet punctuation of something ending. I do not cry. There are no tears left for what I have become, for the man I buried beneath satin and shadow. This is not grief in the ordinary sense. This is something older, more deliberate a ritual of exquisite surrender. I chose every detail of this costume, every inch of mourning silk, every wilting bloom. I dressed myself for my own funeral, painted my own face for the wake, arranged my own flowers. And now I stand here, perfectly composed, while the painter tries to trap eternity in oil and canvas. Sometimes I think I can hear the roses whispering as they die. They do not beg for water. They do not ask to be saved. They only sigh, petal by petal, accepting their beautiful collapse. And I understand them perfectly. The veil stirs slightly as I exhale. A single crimson petal catches on the sheer fabric, trembling there like a ruby tear that refuses to fall. I do not brush it away. Let it stay. Let it be seen. Let the portrait show exactly what I have chosen to become: A widow of my former self, dressed in the most exquisite grief, holding death’s bouquet with steady, loving hands, smiling just a little behind lips the colour of finality.

pound town in my sailor moon costume? 🤸🏻‍♀️

So, watching the darts and seeing all the guys in fancy dress. Wondering if I’d get away with wearing this as a “costume” to the darts?
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/rAbZFvDf5EU

Forgive the long post, but I was doing some journalling this evening as I reflected on a few things. In a moment of clarity I managed to come up with some really interesting self-realisations, particularly about why I dress. And I wanted to share them somewhere!

I began to realise the other place I adopt some of the same habits and mental approach to crossdressing is when I've done tabletop role playing like D&D: I get really involved in 'immersing' myself in a character at the table, and get really deep into their mannerisms and subtle nuances of their backstory.

I think me being Bethany is very much the same. I know I have no intention of even transitioning. However, she is a role or a character I just love to put on and play sometimes; suddenly I'm making backstory, writing lore, adding costume. I'm not necessarily trying to become her, I just want to play the role authentically.

I think as a way of framing myself, I find that so helpful to register. Hopefully it resonates with others too.

How long have you all been crossdressing? I have been a CD so long here is my first costume lol

check out miss shaunas bee costume lol https://imgflip.com/gif/aaq2t4

Hey sweets,
I wanted to open up and share something real with you—something raw, honest, and close to the bone. If any of this resonates with you, if you’ve ever felt the same hunger, the same questions, the same ache—I’d love to hear from you. You're not alone. Leave a comment, share your truth.

With all my heart (and a few kisses),

I’ve hated my dick for as long as I can remember—not just for how it looks or what it symbolizes, but for how it keeps me tethered to a version of myself that never felt real. It’s not that I want to erase my body—I just want it to feel like mine. I want softness. Curves. A place to be entered, to be held, to be loved in a way that matches how I feel inside. I want to be her. And in many ways, I already am.

I haven’t transitioned. Maybe I never will. But I live in the space between genders like it’s home. Most people have no idea. They see what I let them see. But under my clothes, I’m wrapped in the truth of who I am—lace panties, a matching bra, delicate straps across my chest, sometimes a garter if I need to feel extra pretty that day. It’s not just for arousal. It’s for survival.

And always, always, I wear my prosthetic. My fake *****. My secret salvation.

It’s made of silicone—soft, skinlike, shaped just right. The slit is subtle but perfect. There's a hole you can enter, if you know how to treat me. When I slip it on and feel my **** tucked away, my heart slows. My body goes quiet. I look down and see smoothness, femininity, me. Not a fantasy—reality. My reality.

I wear it all the time. Not just for sex, not just when I’m alone. It’s part of my daily ritual, part of how I make peace with a body that’s caught between what it is and what I wish it could be. It keeps me close to her—the woman I am when no one’s looking, and sometimes even when they are.

Most lovers don’t know how to handle that part of me. They want either a woman or a man, and I’m both and neither. But some—some—see me. They touch me with reverence. They kiss my neck like it’s sacred. They press against the silicone, kiss me through it, call me beautiful. And when they slide inside that prosthetic slit, I feel... loved. Not just fucked. Chosen.

Other times, they want what I hide. They pull down my panties and take me as I am. My ass becomes my *****. They call my **** a girl ****, and I let them, because in those moments it belongs to the version of me who still needs to be worshipped, still deserves to be adored. There's no shame in it. I’m done apologizing for the way I live in my body.

But the most powerful moments are the quiet ones—alone, silk between my thighs, hips swaying as I move through the world with my little secret pressed tight against me. The prosthetic warms to my skin. I forget it’s there, and yet I’m constantly aware of it. It doesn’t just hide what I hate. It shows me who I am. Every soft curve, every subtle line—it’s mine.

I’ve had men fall in love with me through it. Not just because of how I look, but how I let them in. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. When I let a man undress me slowly, kiss down my stomach, slip his fingers over that smooth slit... he doesn’t just touch silicone. He touches me. He touches the part of me that’s always been waiting to be seen.

And when he enters me there, when he moves inside me through that perfect opening, I close my eyes and feel a kind of peace I’ve never known. A feeling that says, This is what it means to be wanted. This is what it means to be a woman. This is what it means to be loved in the body you’ve built for yourself, on your terms.

It’s not a costume. It’s not pretend. It’s truth, wrapped in silicone and lingerie and longing. And it’s beautiful. More: 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

How are you doing today my loves. I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. this last month was a absolute disaster I had to take a little mental health break. Here's some pictures of my slutty exhibitionist costume for Halloween

Ms shauna's halloween costumes.

some costumes I'd like to dare to wear this Halloween... I love showing off... shimmying around in very high heels with sexy, super feminine makeup... I love it!!!👰🏼‍♀️

OK here's another survey. Remember, this is just for fun. What would be your favoured Halloween costume?

Just got maybe my new Halloween costume definitely have it for house work

I’d love to dress for someone. Anyone up for a meet? Nothing serious. Just something easy where I can wear my costume for you? I’m in south Oxfordshire and happy to travel a bit if needed.

I’d love to dress up for someone if anybody is up for a meet. I’m in Oxfordshire but happy to travel. I’ve not done it before but can’t stop thinking about doing it, so I’m hoping someone on here will be up for it. I’d wear my pink cheerleader costume and heels. DM if interested xxx

I asked AI to suggest some Halloween costumes for me this year. What do you think?

Across Femsea in Aqualung ...

For me CD is like wearing aqualung... If you want to see and feel the world of exotic creatures or even life of sharks you wear it and try to be unnoticed... To dissolve is an art of convincing others that their suspicion or doubt is wrong...Fashion allows a lot of distructors... Nice legs and short dress saves from defects of the face to be noticed straight... They might remain unnoticed if your eyes are strong enough to respond to a wondering looks of others with calm smile.
For me it is a travel in unknow waters
Whether it helps or not I do not know.It does not cure conflict of different connections between my male and female neurons in my mosaic brain...But it yes allow them to live some time in the peace of femenine role... Some needs more radical TV approach, I remain on my shore but sweem in the femsea.
And yes it opens you some doors. At least to good tailoring as only since I start buying F-jeans with M-zip I feel happy as this aqualung happen to be much better made than anything before to enjoy your body. There is plenty CD recepies that many men professions would happily use if there would be not a bullying opinion of abnormality in the average society Strings in prostate disfunctions , tights in cold winter, walking practicies,

Why do I want sweam in my skirt Aqualang...? I have not found a good answer.
As difficult as why you go solo in montains? Why you go solo across a femsea...
Few understanding mermmaids would remain neutral, the rest perhaps sharkly atack me as a suffragette...

Yes I am a suffragé... It is not about voting or right to wear tights in public Rather just attempt to be. I am not doing more than wear parts of costume. That once was mens...If my behaivior is blue or pink for society I truly could not help it.
Even without I was a white bird not a normal for them...so nothing new.
Yes we are different Different brain, too complex for monosex to understand emotions. I just suffrage that my emotions are legitimate...
Do I protest against femworld? I am afraid so. No sarcasm.If ask myself do I want to be like them Often my inner voice says "No I could not" No, it is not what I travel for in aqualung accross those dangerous waters...

Do I want to return to rough menocean...? I could always but I have never felt right there, My waves were different and I surfed in tights not without.Was I expelled ? Yes from both Menocean and Femsea... Into the depth of monsters and glitter.

All I wanted was a dress design
All I got was just a gay may sign
All was left were just my only tights
All ahead are the lonely nights...
I dont care
Not in May Day Cry...
Yes I dare
I dont know why...
I will wear yes
my heels and skirt
I just dare
I dont care
What
I do sweam in
Tights
In my aqualung
I do dream
In nights...
Just to give
My love...

New costume. Looking for video ideas so hit me up x

Crossdressing isn’t a costume. it’s a piece of your soul you’re brave enough to show the world.

Love my new costume

Why do i lone swimming costumes so much. Would love to go swimming in one
Or to the beach

Loving my new costume

Which costume is more fun?

#dress #minidress #pinkdress #costume #nurse #gloves #stockings

Ballet anyone. I love to dance. Hope everyone is doing great - this is my photo for the day! I once was in a ballet studio Tutu race. Leotard, dance skirt and colored tights was what I wore - did not win the costume award but I did finish 6th in the race.

Please check out my YouTube channel and follow me. I want to create more content so please give me any ideas. I will also do live sessions where I show my costumes or outfits. Check me out: https://m.youtube.com/channel/UCiiNCFK_iz3bS9sxCqU8K8g

Hi everyone. As you can tell from my photos and videos, I love to dress up as a cheerleader. Would anyone be interested in forming a cheer squad? We could all buy the same costume, something like the one in the image, and hopefully the same knickers to go with it. If anyone is interested, let me know in the comments, or DM me. I’ll then start a thread in the general forum.
To be clear I can’t dance at all . It’s more about having a laugh and fun buy uploading images and videos of us all in our matching costumes. More details to follow if this gets going x

Last night something amazing happened, well it felt amazing to me.
I had a long conversation on here with a beautiful young lady I won't say who.
We talked about clothes, costumes and events. No sex no rude or kinky pics, just nice conversation. I didn't feel like a male, I didn't feel female, I didn't even feel like a crossdresser. I just felt human.

That's all we all want. No titles, no labels. Just to feel good and feel human.

So if she sees this post I just want to say thank you. You probably didn't realise the impact you were having and that makes it all the more important. You're an amazing person x

When I was young and Christmas approached I always looked forward to the Xmas specials on TV in the hope that I would see someone dressed in a fairy costume. Pink tights and glossy leotard, a floaty fairy skirt and pink satin slippers. It would almost make me cry to see someone in panto dressed like that for I just wanted to be the same. I never wanted to be the bride, I just wanted to be the fairy on top of the Christmas tree

maybe halloween costume ? : )

Halloween is fast approaching. I'm sure everyone has a go-to costume for the season. It might be cliche, but i love my maid costume.

I love Halloween, buying sexy costumes

My sexy mini mouse costume :)

Ok im logging in quick just wanted to say Happyhalloween everyone, im not going to dress up tonite with a fem disguise but with my male outfit costume, as it is also time for myself., i pleased the lady in me the whole last week..... of course i enjoy it as much as i go as a girl....
in this quick post i was not going to let you down without a just for fun bendover, this one is a bit difficult, i was challenged to wear this dress thanks to Danielle, i must say this cosplsying dress is a levrl 1 diffult, first it is white, second im still trying to loose weight to fit in it again, and third it is very short and tight, very hard for a gg to look right so imagine a man!!?? give me some credit and text your cheering words not just smileys, i bearly can breath it it, but i feel so sexy, i wanted to wear it tonite and say im dressed as the biggest whore in town. cause theres no other word i can describe me when i see my reflexion, ... so now your turn speak up your mind and text it, print this image if you want and hang it in your bsthroom, paste it in your school notebook, assign it as your wallpaper in your pc, or do what ever you want, im not minding just one thing... just stay safe, have fun and avoid negative thoughts.
cheers
V

Hello Everyone, dresserrs, fans, hated **********, etc.
So, my day has been great and very busy thinking and reading, i had tons of responses on my posts and on my pm chat, (which i dont respond the chat, ibut only i do respond on each comment on my posts so everybody can read what is in your mind, respectfully. and have some fun.
So i got this idea, Since every body love my ass including myself and everyone told me to not stop posting , thos is my next thing....l will make a 2024 Veronicas bendover Calendar, now pls on MY POST COMMENTS OF EACH BENDOVER PICTURE on comments suggest which month should be for each, go to my profile and comment as much as you like but tell me which is the month of your favorites picture, i still need to shoot few more bend over pictures to post, in order to get the 12 months,
february, october and december will get a special costume, you can decide over the rest. you csn suggest as well.
Stay safe, enjoy life, love everyone and keep dressing and heeling around .
Veronica

my halloween costume of todays fetish ball, i loved it, i felt great, i looked great, gg gave that look, i look better than many gg for sure. do you like it? comment instead of inserting a smiley. i ll like to know what comes to your mind.

i will show my victorian Lady undies if i get at least 30 comments telling me how bad or how well or what should i improve on my look. this costume includes peticoat and everything you may imagine under such huge gown, i must say is much more sexy than any miniskirt of today.

Cat women costumes fitted me ready for Halloween miaow!!