Feeling sexy in my silk panties

Hey ladies hope you are doing we llSpent some time on self-care today freshly shaved, feeling silky smooth, and styled in all-black pantyhose, criss-cross back bra and highheel Crocs

The feeling of stepping into this outfit and embracing my feminine side brings so much pure joy. Just wanted to share this moment of happiness with a community that…

I have to be honest this is what i ache to wear,an antique Victorian dress from the 1860s made of soft silk,with soft petticoats over a huge hoop and wear a victorian ladies style wig mmmmmm

Oh how boring the weather, yet another hot scorching sunny day, slap on the factor 30 sun cream and cover up with a satin Headscarf and a long silky Kaftan.

https://youtube.com/@asmrlongsilkgloves?si=5St6aSFa39Un9x-I

The Pink Satin Parcel

The parcel arrived on a rainy Saturday morning, wrapped in plain brown paper packaging with nothing to hint at what was inside. I carried it quietly upstairs before anyone else noticed. It wasn't an expensive purchase or some rare collector's item just a vintage satin nightdress from an eBay listing that I couldn't stop thinking about.
I carefully unfolded the tissue paper.
There it was.
A beautiful sissy pink satin nightie, soft and unmistakably vintage. The faded label still read UK 32–34, although the seller had suggested it was more comfortable for a 30–32. It measured a generous sixty inch bust and fifty inches long. Delicate lace trimmed the neckline, and a tiny satin bow sat in the centre, giving it an unmistakably feminine charm.
It looked as though it had stepped straight out of the late seventies or early eighties.
The listing had been wonderfully over the top. It described "special Saturday nights," satin that whispered over the skin, and invited the buyer to imagine slipping into it after a long, stressful week. Part of me laughed at the dramatic sales pitch.
Another part of me couldn't stop reading.
There was something oddly familiar about it.
When I was young, I always found myself fascinated by the contents of my mum's bedroom drawers. Tucked neatly away were satin nighties, lace trimmed slips, and other beautiful garments that seemed to belong to a mysterious grown up world. I never touched them, but I often wondered what they felt like. The colours, the fabrics and the elegance stayed in my memory long after childhood had passed.
Over the years that curiosity never completely disappeared.
Eventually I accepted that I simply enjoyed feminine clothing. Wearing it wasn't about pretending to be someone else. It was about exploring a softer side of myself that I'd hidden away for far too long.
That's why I clicked Buy It Now.
For the next couple of days I found myself checking the tracking number far more often than I cared to admit. Every update made me smile. It felt strangely exciting knowing that this little piece of vintage femininity was making its way towards me.
When it finally arrived, I slipped the satin nightie over my head.
The fabric settled around me with surprising grace, cool and silky against my skin. It flowed almost to my ankles, and the lace rested gently around my shoulders. As I looked in the mirror, I couldn't help smiling.
I wasn't trying to become anyone else.
I was simply allowing myself to enjoy something I'd been curious about for most of my life.
The satin shimmered softly whenever I moved, and for the first time I understood why garments like this had once been treasured. They weren't merely nightclothes. They were a quiet ritual a way of ending the day with comfort, elegance and a little touch of luxury.
I made myself a mug of tea, picked up the novel waiting on my bedside table, and climbed beneath the duvet.
The satin moved gently as I settled into the pillows.
Outside, the rain tapped softly against the window.
Inside, everything felt peaceful.
The vintage style listing had promised anticipation, dreams and imagination. It had exaggerated, of course but not entirely.
Sometimes all it takes is a simple vintage nightdress to reconnect with a forgotten part of yourself. As I switched off the bedside lamp, wrapped in soft pink satin and surrounded by silence, I realised I wasn't chasing a fantasy.
I was simply embracing a side of myself that had been waiting patiently for many years to be welcomed home.

I would be very happy if a dressmaker held this silk victorian dress telling me its finished and its ready for me to wear with my hoop and petticoats,i would be breathing hard trying not to faint mmmmm

Hi, I love wearing anything silky, pink and frilly and would love to feel your sexy hands all over me

Sorry for the creased silky nightie, but it was the coolest thing to wear this evening, obviously gorgeous panties an bra too, as always girls xx

Oohhhhh how i ache to hold my antique Victorian dress from the 1860s! The soft rich silk against my body as i hold it makes my heart pound and i breathe so fast while gently exhaling awwwww the dress while gently feeling around the enormous dress

good evening all i just had a nice cold shower now i am wearing mine nice 2 black silk night dresses

Laying in my pink silk panties, let's play girls

I guess this site is where im comfortable to be an open book right now,

I cant talk to many others as they beat me up and laughed about it when it was my secret

THAT HURT ME BAD!

THAT SCARRED ME!!

Im gonna go shower as like every other night im desperate for that long unrushed company as who im clearly wanting to be!!

Might even...

GO LIVE!!

IF...

YOU ALL HELP ME EMBRACE ME, ENCOURAGE ME,

SUPPORT ME, JUST BE THE PEOPLE WE ARE I GUESS!!!

I WANNA BE A FUCKING SLUT TONIGHT,

IF "ANY" OF YOU CAN FINALLY HELP ME GET LAID FOR HOURS OF THE BEST SEX WITH WELL..

A FUCKING DIRTY SLUT

THEN IM VERY VERY GAME!!

NO AND THESE ARE A FIRM NO!!!

NO BLOOD!

NO SERIOUS PAIN!

NO PISS!!

NO SHIT!

ABSOLUTELY "NO" BODY OR **** HAIR!

NO BIG BEARDS!!

NO FUCKING "FEET"!!

AND NO FATTIES!!



my likes....

Hung smooth all over (so they look silky) in shape and strong dom guys

Girls all i need to say to the rest of you is,

Nobody likes A HAIRY BITCH, its fucking disgusting and if you wanna be a bitch then make an effort!!

How can i share my number??

Love you girls and again...

THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FROM BEHIND THAT DOOR THATS BEEN LOCKED FOR 22 YEARS!!

as i wrote 22 years i just started crying

All along in my silk panties

Be the sissy who sleeps in silk and wakes up smiling.

Just loving getting into silky smooth panties-so exciting

It never ceases to amaze what can turn up in charity shops. From raggy smelly clothes that you wouldn't let your dog sleep on top of, to quality items like this full set of Pucci Iride silk twill maxi dress featuring a vibrant blue, purple, and green swirling pattern with matching scarf and tote bag. Modeled by Sheryl size 10-12 (wouldn't fit my ample size 22-24) Fortunately for the charity it was snapped up for the Internet sale side of the charity shop and sold within the hour.

good morning friends i had a really nice and relaxed great day wearing my wigs and black dress and long white silk gloves 🩷🩷🩷

Bought 2 new pairs of silky knickers can’t wait to take photos and post them on here xxxx

Thinking of having a nice cold shower, and getting all wet and slippery in my silky satin clothes, anyone want to join me x

I love my Daughter and Grandson to bits, BUT! I am so looking forward to when school half term ends and I can get back to volunteering in the Charity Shop on Monday morning and sort through the new donations from this week to Crossdress in style. I can only take so much of "The wheels on the bus" and repeats of Bluey on BBC iPlayer. Grandad needs to wear soft and silky satin for his mental health and physical wellbeing. Elegant, age-appropriate satin blouses, long satin nightwear, large satin scarves, long flowing satin skirts, and flowing fabrics suit the emotional comfort I'm looking for.

I am sixty-five years old, and there are mornings when my bones creak like old floorboards, when the mirror offers me a face that has known too many winters. But there is also satin.

It begins there, always.

Not with the clothes people expect, not dresses or heels or anything loud, but with the quiet, shimmering certainty of a headscarf unfolded across my lap. Oversized. Generous. A full square of light, as if someone had captured a piece of dawn and stitched its edges.

I keep them in a pine ottoman chest at the foot of my bed. When I lift the lid, the faint scent of pine wood and time rises, mingling with the cool, whispering smoothness of fabric. They are stacked carefully: florals, paisleys, deep jewel tones, pale creams, even one the colour of storm clouds just before rain. Some are silk satin, impossibly soft, almost liquid. Others are polyester blends still glossy, still kind to the touch, but sturdier, as if meant for endurance.

I tell myself it began for practical reasons. Hair protection, I say. Friction reduction. At my age, what hair remains deserves gentleness. And it’s true the satin glides where cotton drags, it soothes where wool irritates. At night, when I wrap my head, I sleep more peacefully, my scalp free from the tug and dryness that used to wake me.

But that is only the surface of it.

The truth is, when I lift one of those oversized scarves sometimes a full 130 centimeters across it feels like lifting a veil between lives.

I was not always honest about who I was. For decades, I wore what was expected, spoke in the tones expected, moved through the world like a man following a script written long before I was born. There is a heaviness to that kind of living. It settles into your shoulders, your spine, your breath.

The first time I wrapped a satin headscarf around my head, I did it clumsily. I had watched videos, read guides. Fold into a triangle, they said. Bring the corners forward, tie at the nape or under the chin. Smooth the edges. Adjust.

I remember the colour deep burgundy, with a faint floral pattern that caught the light. When I tied it, the fabric slipped against itself with a soft hush, like a secret being kept.

And then I looked in the mirror.

I did not see a caricature. I did not see something absurd or theatrical. I saw softness. I saw a version of myself that had been waiting, patiently, beneath years of denial. The scarf framed my face, softened the lines, held me together in a way nothing else ever had.

Now, it is ritual.

In the mornings, I choose carefully. If I am staying in, I might select something large and enveloping a square so wide it can drape over my shoulders, falling like a shawl. Sometimes I wrap it turban style, tucking the ends neatly, letting the fabric build a quiet crown around my head. Other times, I let it hang loose, a triangle tied under my chin, like something out of an old photograph.

When I go out rarely, but more often than I used to, I choose patterns that feel like companions rather than disguises. A muted paisley. A soft, vintage floral. Nothing too bold, but never apologetic.

People look, of course. Some with curiosity, some with confusion. A few with kindness. I have learned to endure the rest. At sixty five, you realize that most people are too occupied with their own reflections to truly see yours.

At home, the scarves become more than adornment. They are utility, yes sleep caps, shoulder wraps, even something to tie around a bag handle for a touch of colour. But they are also comfort. When I feel the weight of years pressing too hard, I wrap one around my shoulders and sit by the window.

The satin catches the light differently at every hour. Morning makes it glow. Afternoon sharpens its sheen. Evening turns it into something softer, almost like memory.

Sometimes I run the fabric between my fingers, back and forth, feeling its smooth resistance, the way it refuses to snag or cling. It reminds me that gentleness can be strong. That something soft can endure.

I have more than I need. I know that. A drawer full, a chest full, a small collection that borders on obsession. There are handmade ones, with careful stitching at the edges. Reversible ones, satin on both sides, offering two moods in one piece. Silk feel ones that mimic luxury so well it hardly matters that they are not the real thing.

Each has a story, or at least a feeling attached to it. This one for sleepless nights. That one for quiet afternoons. Another for the rare courage of stepping outside as I am.

I do not pretend that a headscarf changes everything. The world is still the world. My body is still heavy, my steps still slow, my past still filled with compromises I cannot undo.

But when I tie that satin around my head, something aligns.

The fabric smooths not just my hair, but something deeper something that has always been frayed. It holds me, gently but firmly, in a shape that feels right.

And for a little while, that is enough.

Im so in love with the dress! I don't want to take it off!its made of beautiful raw silk

From the previous post of "Sunday morning, off out to church, what to wear? Shirt and tie, sensible trousers and shoes or full blown sissy crossdresser with satin and silks in a long flowing gown? What would the Pastor advise?" Hey if the Pastor can wear a Liturgical long robe and vestments, why can't I wear my Spring finery?

Sunday morning, off out to church, what to wear? Shirt and tie, sensible trousers and shoes or full blown sissy crossdresser with satin and silks in a long flowing gown? What would the Pastor advise?

At 65, I've spent decades as a transvestite sissy crossdresser, keeping my feminine side tucked away like a guilty secret for most of my life. Skirts, stockings, heels, and lacy things brought me a private thrill and a soft kind of peace, but they also came with shame and isolation. Then volunteering stepped in first in drab male clothes at a local charity shop and quietly cracked the door open to something more. Over time, the idea of exploring crossdressing while volunteering became a gentle, thrilling possibility that blended my two worlds: giving back to the community while letting my sissy self breathe a little in public. Crossdressing and volunteering intersect in beautiful, sometimes nerve wracking ways. Many of us in the crossdressing community already love charity shops and thrift stores they're treasure troves for affordable feminine clothes, vintage dresses, silky blouses, and heels that fit just right without breaking the bank. Shopping there "en drab" (in male presentation) is common and relatively low-pressure; staff rarely bat an eye at a man browsing the women's section, especially if you're polite and purposeful. But taking the next step volunteering while presenting as your feminine self feels like leveling up. It turns the shop into a stage where you can practice being seen, contribute meaningfully, and feel the quiet joy of service wrapped in the fabric that makes you feel most alive. Sorting donations, steaming garments, arranging displays tasks that already feel creative and domestic become even more satisfying when you're doing them in a skirt or blouse that matches the very items on the rails. There's a special little rush when you handle a pretty dress that might have been perfect for your own collection, knowing it's going to help someone else while you get to embody your softer side in a purposeful setting. For many of us older sissies, volunteering offers a gentle way to ease into public expression without the intensity of a full "night out." Charity shops tend to attract kind, community minded people older volunteers, mums, young folks gaining experience, and all sorts in between. The environment is often forgiving and focused on the work rather than on you. Conversations flow naturally over pricing or styling, and you can let your feminine mannerisms show a bit more without forcing anything. It builds confidence the same way my early drab shifts did: through small interactions, teamwork, and the satisfaction of helping keep good clothes out of landfill while raising funds for worthy causes. Of course, it's not without its layers. Some days you might worry about being read, or about awkward questions, or simply about whether the team will accept you. Experiences vary some places are wonderfully inclusive, especially those with ties to causes or progressive areas, while others might feel more traditional. Starting small helps: perhaps a short shift, a subtle feminine touch, nail polish, a unisex but feminine top, or even volunteering at events or organizations where crossdressing is more normalized. I've heard of crossdressers volunteering at community fundraisers, helping at pride related drives, or even assisting in thrift based events where dressing up adds to the fun and visibility. The mental health side is profound. Volunteering already combats loneliness, builds purpose, teaches skills, and creates real connections benefits that feel amplified when you're expressing your authentic self. For a sissy crossdresser like me, it bridges the gap between private indulgence and public living. That hidden part of me stops feeling like a shameful secret and starts feeling like a valid contribution to the world. The social aspect eases isolation in a way therapy alone never quite could; you're valued for your helpfulness, your eye for display, your patience with customers. And yes, there's that extra layer of thrill spotting a gorgeous bargain while wearing something pretty yourself, or feeling the swish of a skirt as you move between racks. Looking back, exploring crossdressing in volunteering has been one of the most rewarding paths for many of us. It doesn't demand you "come out" dramatically; it lets you integrate gradually, at your own pace. Some stay fully en femme for shifts and find warm acceptance. Others mix presentations or keep it subtle. Either way, it fosters growth: more confidence, better social skills, a deeper sense of purpose, and often a surprising amount of quiet support from people who simply see a kind volunteer doing good work. If you're a fellow crossdresser reading this whether you're 25 or 75 consider it. Start by shopping at charity shops to build familiarity, then explore volunteering opportunities. Talk to managers openly if it feels right; many are pragmatic and welcoming when you frame it as wanting to contribute.

Welcome to your new job, this is your new uniform, the silk satin embroidered turquoise kimono.

I was sitting on the sofa, gently running my fingers over my collection of smooth satin scarves, enjoying their soft shimmer in the light. Suddenly, you burst into the living room.
"You're late today," I said with a teasing smile. "Did untying those scarves take so long? Oh, but you look so elegant again."
You were just in time. I had been searching for the perfect headscarf to match the outfit I planned to wear tomorrow my birthday. You were invited too, of course.
That’s when I noticed it your skirt was sticking up noticeably. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
"Take one of the satin scarves," I instructed, my voice warm yet firm. "Wrap it around yourself and start pleasuring right away."
I smiled as you obeyed. "I understand… I’m crazy about scarves today too. I’ve even spread some out all over the sofa!"
While you began, I picked up different satin headscarves, trying them on one after another and draping a few luxuriously over my legs, letting the silky fabric glide across my skin.
Finally, it was your turn. "Oh, how beautifully you’re dressed today," I murmured appreciatively. "All in satin… yes, it really suits you."
I leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Come here. I have five new satin scarves for you. I’ll show them to you now. They’re gorgeous perfect for spring!"
I held them up one by one, letting you admire the rich colors and glossy sheen. "I’ll show you more satin scarves later, but first…"
My tone shifted into that familiar commanding sweetness. "Then you’ll get your daily task from me: Go to your room now and put on one of the new satin scarves. Then get the dildo and pleasure your hole nicely, playing with yourself at the same time, until you have an orgasm!"
Later, I slowly tied a silk scarf tightly around my own neck, watching your reaction closely. I saw it immediately your panties grew much tighter. I smiled knowingly. "Yes, I know that excites you."
"You can sniff the silk scarf that I gave you," I continued softly, "and you can start edging with a vibrator. But you stay in your panties today."
I settled back comfortably. "Today I’m taking time for you."
I reflected quietly on the last few years, thinking about how it all started between us. We sat down together on the sofa. I wanted you near me.
"Look," I said, holding up the old panties I had kept. "I’ve picked out the old ones… see how big they were?" I laughed lightly. "Huge, compared to the last few years when you were only allowed to wear tight panties."
I placed a hand gently on your thigh, my voice soft but full of control. "In the meantime, you’ve become so subservient to me… even helpless. And even though I don’t always let you pleasure yourself fully… you’re mine now."
I smiled, pulling you a little closer. "Aren’t you?"

Patti woke up today still wearing the silky nightgown I had on last night, wishing I had a good girl to miss me or to seduce me , Patti hopes everyone has a good sliky panties day love all of you beautiful girls

Good evening girls, just love black Lacey knickers and a silky cami top no bra of course xx it’s wonderful

A great look with an AI background. My favorite colors and really silky feeling top to slip into.

i almost always wear nylons under leggings. but this time i decided not to. turns out this leggings feels incredibly silky against my skin. and going bare foot on this killer heels is a win. but i digress; tell me which way is the most feminine way to tuck?

Happy silky, shiny, satin Sunday xx

Patti realized just how smooth her legs feel in this silky nightie

Silky red moomoo while doing dishes in my white thong for ********. Trying to get the job done but its hard when youre drunk, plugged and well... lusting for physical connection

Dressed in silky pink and frilly bows, nothing better

#BlackMen coming over friends #Futballers #Ballers #Sissy #Bimbo #Properly #Submissive #Silly #Watchin #Comedian #MaxAmini and #aughing hes sooo funny and inclusive. Check him out after you get bored with #RuPaul watch something funny while your #Beauty #Routine and #Lingerie #Silk #Panties #Pink #Juicy #Coture #MinkCoat #********** #CarefulOutThere #Bitches from this #Beyotch #CockSucker

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

If you would like to see pics of me being naughty and peeing over my silky pink frilly knickers feel free to message me x

I must say I have been away for a while and I’ve missed dressing so much.
But tonight I feel I’m back to where I want to be, as I’ve just got ready for bed in pink silk cami set and dressing gown and my gorgeous breasts xx