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 #lgbtqMy 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
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