A lot of you would steal my girlfriend. 🥹 She likes sissy boys and crossdressers.

I would suck so many of you off while you were dressed up and I'd clean your mess up. 🥹

I'm ashamed to be on here and have crushes on men that crossdress while I have a girlfriend. You're all so hot though and I just can't resist myself.

Well I had another good day buying lady things-got two new dresses but failed to get shoes-high heels. So I will have to have a mooch in a real shoe shop. Let me know if you like my new dress

Here’s a question. No right of wrong answer, just my warped mind….

If you went on a date as a boy with yourself dressed as a girl and you got lucky, would you rather…..

Feeling great dressed

Stop hiding, its me... #crossdress #red #valentinesday

CD Stories Group Now has FREE Naughty Chat xxx
https://www.crossdressing.co.uk/groups/CD.Stories

My newest additions, dress, wig and shoes

I got a tutu!:

http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

#sissy #sissyboy #sissies #sissyboys #sissygirl #sissygirls #femboy #femboys #femman #gurl #crossdresser #crossdressers #crossdressing #tgirl #shemale #shemalechrissy #sissychrissyinsandiego #chrissyinsd #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale

OMG I found our song girls!

https://youtu.be/8T1xAy59yjo?si=qRta2-w6_5qbvLUL

#crossdresser #trans #good #girl #sexy

A few weeks old this pic, I would love to go out clubbing dressed like this though. It would feel so naughty

I woke up to the low groan of the radiator and the peculiar hush that February brings to old apartments. My bedroom smelled faintly of cold wax and the sweet chemical ghost of fabric conditioner. The first thing I did, as always, was reach for the bundle on the chair. The rainbow satin headscarf came first. I tied it carefully, pulling the shimmering folds forward so the colours caught the weak morning light from the half closed blinds red bleeding into orange, yellow fracturing into green, then the deeper bruise of indigo and violet. It framed my face like a Renaissance halo gone wrong, the slippery material cool against my temples. Next the nightie. It slithered over my skin, heavy and liquid, clinging where it wanted and floating where it didn't. The hem barely brushed mid-thigh; the bodice stretched taut across my chest and stomach, every breath making the satin ripple in waves of prismatic colour. I liked how it forced me to move slower, more deliberately, as though the garment itself demanded ceremony. The housecoat went over that long, sweeping, sleeves wide enough to swallow my hands if I wasn't careful. More rainbow, more shine, the kind of decadent excess that felt almost violent in the grey half light of my living room. I left it open. No point pretending modesty at this hour. Then the opera gloves. Elbow length at minimum, but these reached nearly to the shoulder, twenty inches of glossy rainbow tubing that made my arms look elongated, artificial, expensive. I flexed my fingers inside them; the satin resisted, then gave, whispering with every small movement. My hands didn't feel like mine anymore. Finally the tights. Sheer enough to show skin tone beneath, yet dense with that unmistakable satin sheen. I rolled them up each leg slowly, smoothing out every phantom wrinkle, watching the colours shift and recombine as thigh met hip. Once they were on, the world narrowed to the sound of my own stockings sliding against each other with every step. I padded into the living room like that. On the longest wall where most people would hang a generic landscape or a framed concert poster hung the canvas. Massive. Unapologetic. An abstract oil painting that someone, maybe me, in a past life I no longer recognize had decided deserved to dominate the room. The brushstrokes were furious, almost angry: thick impasto ridges of crimson and turquoise crashing into one another, black shadows knifing through like storm damage. Yet somewhere in the chaos a figure refused to dissolve completely. A woman. Big. Beautiful. Unafraid. Her body was suggested rather than spelled out great soft curves implied by the way the paint bulged and receded, rolls and swells given form by violent highlights of rainbow satin. A headscarf bled off the top edge of the canvas. Opera gloves climbed impossibly high. The nightie and housecoat fused into one cascading shape, liquid and armored at once. Her legs were suggested only by vertical streaks of glossy color that could have been tights, could have been spilled paint, could have been blood for all the painting cared to clarify. Grimdark realism bleeding into abstraction; beauty that felt dangerous. I stood in front of her for a long time, dressed almost exactly as she was. Sometimes I wonder if I bought the painting because it looked like me, or if I started dressing this way because the painting demanded a witness. Either way, the ritual is the same. I become the afterimage. The room becomes a gallery with only one visitor. The satin warms slowly to body heat until it feels like a second, more honest skin. Outside, the city is gunmetal and salt-streaked concrete. Inside, everything shimmers. Violent colour against violent shadow. No apologies. I turn slightly so the light catches the gloves, the headscarf, the long liquid lines of my thighs. The painting stares back. We regard each other the way old lovers do knowing too much, saying nothing. Then I go make coffee. Still wearing every piece. Still matching the wall. Still not quite sure which one of us is the copy.

Another new dress. X

I'm corrupted by men who crossdress and I love it.

My Valentine Special Dress For Tomorrow Do you Like It....

Heres a nice and simple dress and honestly it kinda reminds me of like a salon worker dress but I still like it, nothing wrong with simple

Crossdressing stories

To the men who crossdress:

Would you fxck my girlfriend in the butt and make me watch?

She has told me she likes crossdressers and is attracted to them and that she likes anal. 🫠 I want to be her anal cuck for men who crossdress sooooo bad.

Not dressed in a while, wondering if a new wig and knickers will help. Shopping always helps right? I'm thinking long straight black hair and lace....

I so love dressing like this when i can!

Anyone new to crossdressing ?

Saying hi and checking in Begginer crossdresser looking for advice and friends from the uk

Follow me on instagram: crossdressdiva or join my telegram channel: https://t.me/thecrossdressdiva

Here's some pics off this cute lil blue dress I had.

Hello everyone, there's a site on Google for crossdressers and trans I forgot the name... title written in green colour... please anyone know about it please
Thank you

Somedays since becoming a Sissy Crossdressing Widower, this is often how I feel, the laughter carries me through.

Mmmmmm this was me before wearing and feeling my lovely huge bridesmaid dress!

https://youtu.be/Zos-Da_hhj4?si=1esar7dvwGTFbYvP This would be my dream! To dress up in a huge pink victorian dress and invite my victorian lady round for tea in her big victorian dress!

POMPÖÖS Couture Living in a Satin Wonderland of Sissy Satin Dresses, Sissy Satin Gowns, Sissy Satin Gloves and Big Mirrors. Oh My!

******* took me shopping today. Got 3 new silk night gowns, alot of cute pants and 4 new short skirt dresses. Starting to think she likes to see me swing under a skirt hehe.

Heres some pics of one of my all time favorite dresses and it has a turtleneck!

Come in for crossdresser class now

Cressdresser, who like to chat should text me. (405) 292-4699 I'm available for nice chat

Who else dresses up in western Colorado?

I love the thought of a man who crossdresses fxcking my girlfriend in her butt and making me his anal cuck. I love it and want it soooo bad. Would you fxck her in the butt and make me watch?

And yes, I have talked to her about it and she said she thinks it's hot.

I am sixty four, unemployed after caring for the last few years for my wife, and a widower of exactly three months. My wife died from a long ilness on the 12th of November 2025. The house is a 1970s terraced end of row in a quiet Midlands estate, two up, two down, pebble dash front, UPVC windows, the kind of place where neighbours know when you put the bins out. No children, long grown up and moved away, nor other family members, just me and the central heating that clicks on at six-thirty every morning whether I want it to or not.
We were married forty five years. I worked in the same warehouse until they made me redundant in 2020, she kept the books for a small solicitor until her diagnosis. After the funeral I sold her car, cancelled the window cleaner, and the weekly supermarket internet shopping and started drawing on my tiny pension. The days are long and the nights are longer.
Most evenings I sit in the front room with the curtains drawn and the television on mute. Tonight the house feels smaller than usual. The clock on the mantelpiece says 21:17. I stand up, switch off the lamp, and walk upstairs in the dark.
In the spare bedroom her sewing room that became my dressing room I open the tall IKEA wardrobe. The left side is still her dresses and coats. The right side is mine: the secret side. Rows of satin headscarves in every colour, polyester foulards bought on eBay, oversized satin hijabs in midnight black and charcoal, metres and metres of sheer chiffon voile in black, graphite, and the deepest ink. Some still smell faintly of the fabric softener she used.
I undress slowly. The mirror on the wardrobe door is cheap and slightly warped, but it is honest. Naked, sixty-four, soft belly, thin legs, the body of a man who has outlived his usefulness. I reach for the black satin corset first, cheap second hand eBay corset lingerie, lightly boned, size 3XL. I hook it closed until my waist and soft belly shrink and my breathing turns shallower. Then the high waisted black satin knickers, the sheer black stockings with the wide lace tops, the long line black satin slip that whispers against my skin like a promise.
Next the dress: a full skirted 1950s style mourning day dress made from heavy black polyester satin, high collar, long sleeves, hem that brushes my ankles. Over it I tie a wide black satin sash that cinches across my contained belly. The fabric is slippery, cool, obscene in its shine.
Now the head. This is the part that matters most.
I choose the largest satin hijab first, jet black, 140 cm square, heavy bridal satin that catches every stray bit of light. I fold it into a triangle, drape it over my head so the point hangs down my back, then bring the two ends under my chin and tie them in a tight knot at the nape of my neck. The satin lies glossy and taut across my forehead, smooth over my ears, covering every grey hair. It feels like being sealed.
Over the satin I pin a second layer: a sheer black chiffon voile scarf, almost transparent, 120 cm square. I drape it loosely so it falls across my face like a mourner’s veil from another century, but softer, more sensual. The chiffon drifts against my lips when I breathe. I can see through it, only just, but the world is softened, blurred, intimate. I add a third scarf, a smaller polyester foulard in charcoal, tied bandana style over the top to weight the chiffon down and keep it in place. The layers stack: satin underneath, chiffon floating, polyester binding. My face is gone. Only eyes, mouth, the suggestion of a nose remain.
I step back. The mirror shows a figure that is neither man nor woman, neither past nor present. A black satin widow from a fever dream. The train of the dress drags on the cheap carpet, the petticoat beneath it rustles. Every movement makes the satin sigh.
I walk downstairs like this, tiny steps because the corset and the long skirt will allow nothing else. The chiffon veil brushes my lashes. In the kitchen I pour a large whisky with gloved hands, black satin opera gloves that reach my elbows. I carry the glass into the living room, sit on the sofa, cross my legs at the ankle the way she used to. The layers of satin and chiffon settle around me like a second skin.
Outside, a car passes. Inside, the only sound is the soft hiss of fabric when I breathe.
Three months a widower. Forty five years a husband. Sixty four years a man who has always, secretly, wanted to disappear inside silk and satin and the soft prison of a veil.
I lift the edge of the chiffon just enough to sip the whisky. The taste is sharp against the sweetness of the fabric against my mouth. Then I let the veil fall again.
In this house, in this year 2026, no one is watching.
No one will ever know.
And for the first time since November, I feel almost at peace
perfectly veiled,
perfectly hidden,
perfectly hers.

Whats ypur least favorite part of dressing? Mine is the "clean up"

Another new dress and no its not orange, it is red, sorry for the poor lighting.

I ordered my new outfit. I hope you like it. Im much excited and i hope it will fit perfectly...

#crossdresser #cosplay

People will stare. Make it worth their while. #crossdressing #model #sissy #lgbtq

Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of the fear... #crossdressing #trans #lgbtq

Another view of my hypno dress!

A Man's Feminine Side Should Be CLASSY and FABULOUS #crossdressing #trans

We Have The Power To Create Our Own Reality; DREAM IT , THINK IT , SAY IT , DO IT ... #crossdressing

You know what I’m realising as I get older. And it can probably be applied to every generation… But if you were born in the 80s like me we will probably get a long. We probably lived very similar lives, music, school experiences and probably started crossdressing the same way. That’s not to say I won’t or don’t get on with older or younger people, it's just 80s is the sweet spot.

#crossdresser #Melbourne #Australia

Well here are my very first photos of me wearing my new dresses-I hope that you enjoy looking at them. The first dress has like boob cover on the left side but it fits so nicely. Let me know how I look

I fucking love wearing dresses….