Need some loyal and honest ***** who could **** me so hard right now so horny and lonely
Need some loyal and honest slave who could fuck me so hard right now so horny and lonely 😞
Rechercher
Découvrez de nouvelles personnes, créer de nouvelles connexions et faire de nouveaux amis
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4 Commentaires 0 Parts 2KB Vue
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Awww... sad...
Sorry Mirrtessgift1, not your target mug!
So what are you actually looking for
13 minutes ago
oh, i mainly come on here to chat, share tips, try to give back what some of the other girls have given me on my journey, not really looking for dating as i'm in a lively social scene in the real world! What about you, what brought you here?
9 minutes ago
I'm looking for a good submissive ***** to control by me if you are interested
7 minutes ago
oh! no, not interested, thanks, i have plenty of that kind of attention in person with real people, not faceless scammers online
6 minutes ago
my daughter-out-law does the findom thing for a living, i know how it works (for those who are good at it)
5 minutes ago
So are you not interested
4 minutes ago
not at all, i think the only people on here who wil be are sad, lonely, closeted hairy-pantie-wearers - none of which apply!
Awww... sad... Sorry Mirrtessgift1, not your target mug! So what are you actually looking for 13 minutes ago oh, i mainly come on here to chat, share tips, try to give back what some of the other girls have given me on my journey, not really looking for dating as i'm in a lively social scene in the real world! What about you, what brought you here? 9 minutes ago I'm looking for a good submissive ***** to control by me if you are interested 7 minutes ago oh! no, not interested, thanks, i have plenty of that kind of attention in person with real people, not faceless scammers online 😁 6 minutes ago my daughter-out-law does the findom thing for a living, i know how it works (for those who are good at it) 5 minutes ago So are you not interested 4 minutes ago not at all, i think the only people on here who wil be are sad, lonely, closeted hairy-pantie-wearers - none of which apply!3 Commentaires 0 Parts 4KB Vue5
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I had just finished fastening the last hidden hook at the back of my turquoise gown when the knock came. Five soft raps. Familiar. Unhurried. For a moment my heart stuttered, the old reflex, the ancient fear and my hands flew to the veil as if I could suddenly disappear beneath it. No one ever came unannounced anymore. At sixty four, surprises usually meant doctors or delivery drivers. Then I recognised the rhythm. Only one person still knocked like that. “Don’t answer,” I whispered to myself. But I already knew I would. I moved toward the door, satin whispering around my legs, chiffon brushing my cheeks. Each step felt like a small confession. When I opened it, there she stood, Margaret. “Well,” she said gently, taking a long appraisal at me from headscarf to hem, “you’ve finally gone back to turquoise.” The relief hit me so hard I had to grip the doorframe. She didn’t gasp. Didn’t stare. Didn’t ask. She stepped inside as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. Margaret and I had known each other forty years. We met in a crossdressing support group that didn’t dare use honest language, two frightened middle aged men pretending we were only “curious.” We had survived marriages, divorces, children, funerals, health scares, church shame, private wardrobes, public disguises. She was the only one who knew about her, the other side of me and about my wife, about the promise I made to bury this part of myself with her. Then she laughed a low, delighted laugh I hadn’t heard in years. “Well,” she said, stepping back to take me in properly, “someone’s been practising.” “And someone,” I replied, eyes dropping pointedly to her coat, “is hiding something under there.” She raised one eyebrow, theatrical as ever, and swept inside without another word. In the sitting room she removed her coat slowly, with ceremony. Underneath, she bloomed. Lavender satin skirt, soft as spilled dusk. A pearl-grey blouse with tiny buttons marching down its front. Her shoulders were draped in a pale mourning shawl, but beneath it shimmered a corset modest, yes, but unmistakably intentional. Her hair still stubbornly silver and short was crowned with a small violet fascinator tilted at a hopeful angle. We stared at each other. Then, at exactly the same moment, we burst into laughter. “Oh my God,” she said, clutching the back of a chair. “Look at us.” “Two antique chandeliers,” I said. “With arthritis.” She crossed the room and turned me gently by the shoulders toward the mirror. “Look properly,” she said. And I did. Two elderly figures in satin and chiffon and stubborn colour, layered with grief and courage and too many decades of silence. My turquoise against her lavender, mourning shades learning how to speak joy. “I never thought,” I said quietly, “that I’d be doing this at sixty four. With company.” “Better late than embalmed,” she replied. We helped each other settle in the armchairs, cushions adjusted, skirts arranged, veils tamed. She fixed my eyeliner with the same tenderness she’d used the last time we met. I fastened a hook she couldn’t quite reach at the back of her corset. Our hands lingered, not with desire, but with recognition. Tea became sherry. Sherry became stories. We spoke of first dresses bought in secret, of wigs hidden in lofts, of wives who never knew and wives who half knew and one who knew everything and loved anyway. We spoke of shame, of church halls, of changing rooms we never dared enter. At one point she stood and curtsied, wobbling dangerously. “Behold,” she announced, “the ghost of femininity past.” I applauded, carefully, so I didn’t spill my sherry. Later, when the light softened and the veil cast turquoise shadows across the wall, we grew quieter. “I was so lonely after Shirley died,” she said softly. “Not for another woman to replace her. For… this.” She gestured between us. “I know,” I said. And I did. Before she left, we stood by the door together, adjusting each other one last time, smoothing frills, straightening shawls, checking lipstick like two conspirators before a masquerade. “We should do this again,” she said. “Regularly,” I said at once. “Before courage changes its mind.” She smiled. “You know,” she said gently, “we don’t have to call it mourning forever.” I watched her walk away in lavender, support cane tapping, skirt swaying stubbornly against time. When I closed the door, the house no longer felt like a place of echoes. It felt like a dressing room. And for the first time in a very long life, I looked forward not to remembering, but to the next time I would become myself with someone who truly understood.I had just finished fastening the last hidden hook at the back of my turquoise gown when the knock came. Five soft raps. Familiar. Unhurried. For a moment my heart stuttered, the old reflex, the ancient fear and my hands flew to the veil as if I could suddenly disappear beneath it. No one ever came unannounced anymore. At sixty four, surprises usually meant doctors or delivery drivers. Then I recognised the rhythm. Only one person still knocked like that. “Don’t answer,” I whispered to myself. But I already knew I would. I moved toward the door, satin whispering around my legs, chiffon brushing my cheeks. Each step felt like a small confession. When I opened it, there she stood, Margaret. “Well,” she said gently, taking a long appraisal at me from headscarf to hem, “you’ve finally gone back to turquoise.” The relief hit me so hard I had to grip the doorframe. She didn’t gasp. Didn’t stare. Didn’t ask. She stepped inside as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. Margaret and I had known each other forty years. We met in a crossdressing support group that didn’t dare use honest language, two frightened middle aged men pretending we were only “curious.” We had survived marriages, divorces, children, funerals, health scares, church shame, private wardrobes, public disguises. She was the only one who knew about her, the other side of me and about my wife, about the promise I made to bury this part of myself with her. Then she laughed a low, delighted laugh I hadn’t heard in years. “Well,” she said, stepping back to take me in properly, “someone’s been practising.” “And someone,” I replied, eyes dropping pointedly to her coat, “is hiding something under there.” She raised one eyebrow, theatrical as ever, and swept inside without another word. In the sitting room she removed her coat slowly, with ceremony. Underneath, she bloomed. Lavender satin skirt, soft as spilled dusk. A pearl-grey blouse with tiny buttons marching down its front. Her shoulders were draped in a pale mourning shawl, but beneath it shimmered a corset modest, yes, but unmistakably intentional. Her hair still stubbornly silver and short was crowned with a small violet fascinator tilted at a hopeful angle. We stared at each other. Then, at exactly the same moment, we burst into laughter. “Oh my God,” she said, clutching the back of a chair. “Look at us.” “Two antique chandeliers,” I said. “With arthritis.” She crossed the room and turned me gently by the shoulders toward the mirror. “Look properly,” she said. And I did. Two elderly figures in satin and chiffon and stubborn colour, layered with grief and courage and too many decades of silence. My turquoise against her lavender, mourning shades learning how to speak joy. “I never thought,” I said quietly, “that I’d be doing this at sixty four. With company.” “Better late than embalmed,” she replied. We helped each other settle in the armchairs, cushions adjusted, skirts arranged, veils tamed. She fixed my eyeliner with the same tenderness she’d used the last time we met. I fastened a hook she couldn’t quite reach at the back of her corset. Our hands lingered, not with desire, but with recognition. Tea became sherry. Sherry became stories. We spoke of first dresses bought in secret, of wigs hidden in lofts, of wives who never knew and wives who half knew and one who knew everything and loved anyway. We spoke of shame, of church halls, of changing rooms we never dared enter. At one point she stood and curtsied, wobbling dangerously. “Behold,” she announced, “the ghost of femininity past.” I applauded, carefully, so I didn’t spill my sherry. Later, when the light softened and the veil cast turquoise shadows across the wall, we grew quieter. “I was so lonely after Shirley died,” she said softly. “Not for another woman to replace her. For… this.” She gestured between us. “I know,” I said. And I did. Before she left, we stood by the door together, adjusting each other one last time, smoothing frills, straightening shawls, checking lipstick like two conspirators before a masquerade. “We should do this again,” she said. “Regularly,” I said at once. “Before courage changes its mind.” She smiled. “You know,” she said gently, “we don’t have to call it mourning forever.” I watched her walk away in lavender, support cane tapping, skirt swaying stubbornly against time. When I closed the door, the house no longer felt like a place of echoes. It felt like a dressing room. And for the first time in a very long life, I looked forward not to remembering, but to the next time I would become myself with someone who truly understood.
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 4KB Vue4
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Soggy lonely day at work…..but did get to try one of my new dresses!…..well actually lots but that’s another story! Femme fatale Velvet underground x light not great but to dark at home too xSoggy lonely day at work…..but did get to try one of my new dresses!…..well actually lots but that’s another story! Femme fatale Velvet underground x light not great but to dark at home too x8 Commentaires 0 Parts 2KB Vue
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Note: While this drive was real, the story is fictional. This is my fantasy. Will it become true one day? I hope so. And maybe I'll run into you at a truck stop? Kisses!
-Chrissy
My First Experience as a Truck Stop Wh-re or Chrissy — A Night on the Road
I’m not out. Not really.
Not to my family. Not to the world. Maybe not even fully to myself.
By daylight I pass as what people expect: a tall, thin man in his forties, dark hair, dark eyes, quiet, unremarkable. But underneath—always underneath—I carry Chrissy. Smooth skin hidden under denim. Lace and silk where no one is supposed to look. A secret pressed close to my body, warm and constant.
I don’t know yet if Chrissy is a role, a mask, or my truest self. I just know I’m not ready to live her openly.
The drive from San Diego to Prescott was long and lonely, the kind of drive where your thoughts stretch out across the desert like the road itself. I left late—too late, really—and by the time I pulled into the truck stop it was just after four in the morning. Christmas was only days away. The air was cold. The place was nearly silent.
Except for the trucks.
Rows and rows of them, idling and dark, their drivers asleep inside. A whole hidden world resting while the rest of America slept.
Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed. I bought coffee I didn’t really want and a hot dog I didn’t really taste. That’s when I felt it—that familiar sensation on the back of my neck. Being seen.
He was older. Weathered. The kind of man whose life is measured in miles and nights like this. His eyes lingered too long. Not crude—curious. Knowing.
When I stepped back outside, he followed—but not aggressively. He spoke softly, close enough that his voice stayed between us.
“Chrissy,” he said, like it was a question and an answer at the same time.
My heart kicked hard in my chest. Fear and thrill braided together.
We talked. Quietly. Honestly. About boundaries. About money. About what I was—and wasn’t—willing to do. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. When I followed him to his truck, it was because I chose to.
Inside, the cab was dim, warm, insulated from the world. I shed my outer layers slowly, deliberately, revealing what I’d hidden all night. His attention wasn’t violent—it was reverent. Hungry, yes, but controlled. I felt myself settle into Chrissy fully, like slipping into a familiar skin.
What happened between us stayed there, contained within the cab and the dark and the hum of the engine. Time stretched and blurred. I was present in my body in a way I rarely allow myself to be.
When it ended, I didn’t feel used.
I felt… seen.
He paid me without haggling. Then something unexpected happened: he didn’t boast, didn’t leer. He simply told a few others—men like him, tired men, lonely men—who understood discretion.
I made my own choices again. And again.
Not a dozen. Not chaos. Just a handful of quiet encounters, spaced out across the early hours of the morning. Each one brief. Each one negotiated. Each one leaving me with cash folded neatly into my purse and a strange, steady calm settling in my chest.
By sunrise, I was exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally. Chrissy had been fully awake all night. And she was tired.
Under the Dashboard Lights
The cab door closed behind me, sealing us into a private world of low light and humming machinery. The dashboard cast everything in a muted red glow, like we were suspended inside a heartbeat. I could feel it then—how small the space was, how large he felt in it, how nowhere I could go made everything sharper.
He reached for his phone almost casually.
“Stand right there,” he said.
I obeyed.
My hands shook just slightly as I slipped off my jacket, then my shirt. I could feel his eyes tracking every inch of me, lingering, memorizing. When I was left in my bra and panties—the ones I’d chosen carefully before the trip, just in case—I felt a rush of heat flood my chest and face.
The phone came up.
A soft click.
Then another.
He moved slowly, circling me, telling me to turn, to arch my back, to lift my chin. Each instruction felt like a pull downward, stripping away the version of myself that hides. I wasn’t performing anymore. I was presenting myself. Offering. More to cum....
#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/Note: While this drive was real, the story is fictional. This is my fantasy. Will it become true one day? I hope so. And maybe I'll run into you at a truck stop? Kisses! -Chrissy My First Experience as a Truck Stop Wh-re or Chrissy — A Night on the Road I’m not out. Not really. Not to my family. Not to the world. Maybe not even fully to myself. By daylight I pass as what people expect: a tall, thin man in his forties, dark hair, dark eyes, quiet, unremarkable. But underneath—always underneath—I carry Chrissy. Smooth skin hidden under denim. Lace and silk where no one is supposed to look. A secret pressed close to my body, warm and constant. I don’t know yet if Chrissy is a role, a mask, or my truest self. I just know I’m not ready to live her openly. The drive from San Diego to Prescott was long and lonely, the kind of drive where your thoughts stretch out across the desert like the road itself. I left late—too late, really—and by the time I pulled into the truck stop it was just after four in the morning. Christmas was only days away. The air was cold. The place was nearly silent. Except for the trucks. Rows and rows of them, idling and dark, their drivers asleep inside. A whole hidden world resting while the rest of America slept. Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed. I bought coffee I didn’t really want and a hot dog I didn’t really taste. That’s when I felt it—that familiar sensation on the back of my neck. Being seen. He was older. Weathered. The kind of man whose life is measured in miles and nights like this. His eyes lingered too long. Not crude—curious. Knowing. When I stepped back outside, he followed—but not aggressively. He spoke softly, close enough that his voice stayed between us. “Chrissy,” he said, like it was a question and an answer at the same time. My heart kicked hard in my chest. Fear and thrill braided together. We talked. Quietly. Honestly. About boundaries. About money. About what I was—and wasn’t—willing to do. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. When I followed him to his truck, it was because I chose to. Inside, the cab was dim, warm, insulated from the world. I shed my outer layers slowly, deliberately, revealing what I’d hidden all night. His attention wasn’t violent—it was reverent. Hungry, yes, but controlled. I felt myself settle into Chrissy fully, like slipping into a familiar skin. What happened between us stayed there, contained within the cab and the dark and the hum of the engine. Time stretched and blurred. I was present in my body in a way I rarely allow myself to be. When it ended, I didn’t feel used. I felt… seen. He paid me without haggling. Then something unexpected happened: he didn’t boast, didn’t leer. He simply told a few others—men like him, tired men, lonely men—who understood discretion. I made my own choices again. And again. Not a dozen. Not chaos. Just a handful of quiet encounters, spaced out across the early hours of the morning. Each one brief. Each one negotiated. Each one leaving me with cash folded neatly into my purse and a strange, steady calm settling in my chest. By sunrise, I was exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally. Chrissy had been fully awake all night. And she was tired. Under the Dashboard Lights The cab door closed behind me, sealing us into a private world of low light and humming machinery. The dashboard cast everything in a muted red glow, like we were suspended inside a heartbeat. I could feel it then—how small the space was, how large he felt in it, how nowhere I could go made everything sharper. He reached for his phone almost casually. “Stand right there,” he said. I obeyed. My hands shook just slightly as I slipped off my jacket, then my shirt. I could feel his eyes tracking every inch of me, lingering, memorizing. When I was left in my bra and panties—the ones I’d chosen carefully before the trip, just in case—I felt a rush of heat flood my chest and face. The phone came up. A soft click. Then another. He moved slowly, circling me, telling me to turn, to arch my back, to lift my chin. Each instruction felt like a pull downward, stripping away the version of myself that hides. I wasn’t performing anymore. I was presenting myself. Offering. More to cum.... #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/0 Commentaires 0 Parts 9KB Vue
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I'm bored, lonely, and horny. Wish i was with a man right now.
#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/I'm bored, lonely, and horny. Wish i was with a man right now. #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/0 Commentaires 0 Parts 5KB Vue2
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Hopless Wait...
...One touch
One Kiss
One juxtapose..
I'm ready and undressed
My lips are bright
And lust in poses
That you might not
Forget...
Forget,
I am a lonely girl
Who looks for girl
In vein...
But men
Are far away
For Sole
And body
Says
...no way...
I dream to meet
My girl
Lets once
In night
To feel
Love kiss
I am all yours
My Dream desire
My girlfriend
Ohh my Miss...
I miss you terrebly
All day
I lost my trust
My peace...
I hope meet
Once
pretty Soul
Who answers to my kiss...Hopless Wait... ...One touch One Kiss One juxtapose.. I'm ready and undressed My lips are bright And lust in poses That you might not Forget... Forget, I am a lonely girl Who looks for girl In vein... But men Are far away For Sole And body Says ...no way... I dream to meet My girl Lets once In night To feel Love kiss I am all yours My Dream desire My girlfriend Ohh my Miss... I miss you terrebly All day I lost my trust My peace... I hope meet Once pretty Soul Who answers to my kiss...
4 Commentaires 0 Parts 4KB Vue19
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I am feeling lonely and in heat and going to bed alone again
When I wake up I hope my inbox is so full and filthy I sissygasm with my morning coffee.
Sorry, can't help it, I need d**k
I am feeling lonely and in heat and going to bed alone again When I wake up I hope my inbox is so full and filthy I sissygasm with my morning coffee. Sorry, can't help it, I need d**k 😹😻
0 Commentaires 1 Parts 4KB Vue2
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I got stood up tonight. I shaved my whole body smooth, got very fem, then my date failed to show and ghosted me. I'm lonely and sad right now. Cheer me up?
Kisses.
Chrissy
#crossdresser #crossdressing #sissy #sissyboy #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #tgirl #gurl #trans #transwoman #transgirl #transgender #nsfw #panty #panties #pantybulge #pantymodel #underwear #underwearmodel #underwearbulge #model #meninpantiesI got stood up tonight. I shaved my whole body smooth, got very fem, then my date failed to show and ghosted me. I'm lonely and sad right now. Cheer me up? Kisses. Chrissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #sissy #sissyboy #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #tgirl #gurl #trans #transwoman #transgirl #transgender #nsfw #panty #panties #pantybulge #pantymodel #underwear #underwearmodel #underwearbulge #model #meninpanties2 Commentaires 0 Parts 14KB Vue
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I was on an anonymous social and I noticed that a trans girl had made a post where she was looking for I think other trans girls or acquaintances in fact some imbecile starts insulting her heavily because of her orientation and without thinking about it I caught him attacked him and then reported him when I said I respect this community I was saying seriously but how happy would I be if others insulted him and he was ashamed to exist then they cry because they feel lonely and frustrated what a bad lot goes around
I was on an anonymous social and I noticed that a trans girl had made a post where she was looking for I think other trans girls or acquaintances in fact some imbecile starts insulting her heavily because of her orientation and without thinking about it I caught him attacked him and then reported him when I said I respect this community I was saying seriously but how happy would I be if others insulted him and he was ashamed to exist then they cry because they feel lonely and frustrated what a bad lot goes around2 Commentaires 0 Parts 4KB Vue -
I am trying again I would love to find some good friends acquaintances and a potential serious partner to talk to and share everything I am not part of the site community and I know that probably for saying this they will immediately start judgments but I hope my sincerity can still allow me to get to know someone I feel lonely and I would like to even just chat with someone serious it would help me a lot to be less down
I am trying again I would love to find some good friends acquaintances and a potential serious partner to talk to and share everything I am not part of the site community and I know that probably for saying this they will immediately start judgments but I hope my sincerity can still allow me to get to know someone I feel lonely and I would like to even just chat with someone serious it would help me a lot to be less down3 Commentaires 0 Parts 3KB Vue1
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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...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...
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Patti has a little free time but not much ( sad ) I need more girly time, I feel so lonely in this male body. I feel so much better when I’m dressed especially when I wear a short dress that shows off my legs and heels. I love being PattiPatti has a little free time but not much ( sad ) I need more girly time, I feel so lonely in this male body. I feel so much better when I’m dressed especially when I wear a short dress that shows off my legs and heels. I love being Patti1 Commentaires 0 Parts 11KB Vue
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Patti dressed up today to try and not feel depressed, sad , lonely, it’s not working ,besides my problems I hope all you beautiful girls are having a wonderful dayPatti dressed up today to try and not feel depressed, sad , lonely, it’s not working ,besides my problems I hope all you beautiful girls are having a wonderful day3 Commentaires 0 Parts 5KB Vue
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Looking for partner. #Lonely #Crossdresser #Meeting #Dating
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seems to me no one wants to join Over Me or date me on here and I don't know what is wrong with that and what is wrong with them because I come here trying to find someone to date me so if they find that so defensive I will quit and leave and not come back because I'm just trying to find someone that wants to be with me because I'm so lonely and it sucks being single all the time and not having no one around me too love me back and give me love back so I can give them a piece of my my heart with love in it to them to show them what kind of a person I can be to themseems to me no one wants to join Over Me or date me on here and I don't know what is wrong with that and what is wrong with them because I come here trying to find someone to date me so if they find that so defensive I will quit and leave and not come back because I'm just trying to find someone that wants to be with me because I'm so lonely and it sucks being single all the time and not having no one around me too love me back and give me love back so I can give them a piece of my my heart with love in it to them to show them what kind of a person I can be to them1 Commentaires 0 Parts 4KB Vue1
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Newly divorced. Helen is my alto ego. Some clothes but not many. I also need more lingerie. Plan to start using make up when I move to Hull.
Have bi feelings, but still need more confidence.
Like most girls, I have a rubber friend who keeps me company when I am lonely and in the moodNewly divorced. Helen is my alto ego. Some clothes but not many. I also need more lingerie. Plan to start using make up when I move to Hull. Have bi feelings, but still need more confidence. Like most girls, I have a rubber friend who keeps me company when I am lonely and in the mood7 Commentaires 0 Parts 6KB Vue
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