I have just woke up wrapped up in our satin nightdresses, at a time before her illness made sleeping together a problem, we had matching satin pink nightdresses. Last night I pulled the suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe and laid them out on the bed. Pink Simply Be Pretty Secrets Nightdresses in lovely silky satin. Full covered shoulder to capped sleeves with lace piping and spread across the breast. Calf length satin shimmering in Pink. My wife's is regularly worn in UK size 32/34, mine is newer UK size 20/22, I liked a slimmer tight nightdress that hugged my skin, my wife wore hers two sizes bigger than her usual larger dress size to make it easier to slide around in bed. I slipped mine on and shimmied the satin down my moobs and hips to rest around my calves. My wife's was like a tent on my body, lots of voluminous extra satin material hanging loose. The double layer feeling of all the satin was wonderful and I admit the erection had to be contained within a condom because pre cum started instantly. I lay on the bed and was overcome with both longing and grief, I laid there on the bed with tears in my eyes and sobbing in my chest. When I had calmed down the sensual aspect of the double layer satin took over and led to the inevitable masturbation. Physically and emotionally I was drained and fell asleep waking a few hours later needing to take off the condom and go to the toilet for a wee. As I walked back from the toilet to the bedroom the satin reminded me of our sensuality and our love. Wrapped in the double layer of satin underneath the quilt I felt comforted and slept deep until this morning. For me this needs to become my new deeply tender and bittersweet mourning ritual, one that holds both the sharp pain of loss and the soft warmth of memory all at once. Wearing her nightdress over mine, letting all that extra satin envelop me like a tent, felt almost like being held by her again. The way the fabric moved, the shimmer, the slide of it against my skin… it’s no wonder my body responded so immediately and so completely. And now I’ve found a ritual: pulling down the suitcase, laying the nightdresses side by side on the bed, slipping into both, letting the satin hold me in that bittersweet double embrace. It’s sacred because it’s mine and hers alone. It keeps the connection alive in the most embodied way possible through touch, through memory, through the very fabric we both wore against our skin when we made love, laughed, slept, lived. Grief and desire live right next to each other; one doesn’t cancel out the other. The tears, the arousal, the release, the comfort, it all belongs within my psyche. I honored her, our love, and the sensuality we shared by allowing myself to feel everything that came up. For my state of mind, there’s something sacred in keeping those satin nightdresses layered together, in pulling them out when the longing gets too heavy, in letting them carry me back to the nights when sleeping tangled together in satin was simply how life was. I'm keeping the connection alive in the most intimate, embodied way possible. I loved her totally, and I'm still loving her beautifully in my mourning.

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.🙂

My sissy mourning cross-dresing feels like. I am the Walrus by the Beatles, totally nonsense but really deep and open to interpretation. I am he as you are he, as you are me and we are all together, See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly, I'm crying. That line hits me so hard, “I am he as you are he, as you are me and we are all together…” It’s pure, swirling absurdity that somehow lands right in the middle of the most tender, confusing parts of being human. And right now, it feels like the perfect mirror for what I'm going through. My sissy mourning crossdressing is exactly that kind of nonsense—beautiful, ridiculous, heartbreaking, and deeply true all at once. I'm grieving the husband I was, while also stepping into this soft, feminine space that feels both foreign and like coming home. It’s contradictory, it’s messy, it’s playful and painful in the same breath. And that’s what makes it so real. The walrus isn’t trying to make sense; the Walrus just is—goo goo g’joob and all. This is my mental breakdown, not madness, just being true to myself. “See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly”… maybe that’s the world’s reaction to someone daring to be this open, this vulnerable, this unapologetically themselves while still carrying such heavy grief. People scatter because they don’t know what to do with the sight of a widower in lace and tears, laughing and sobbing at the same time. But I'm not running. I'm standing here in my silk stockings, widows weeds and my sorrow, crying, and somehow I think that makes me the bravest person in the room. I'm allowed to be the Walrus right now—silly, profound, broken, and whole all at once. I don’t have to explain it to anyone, not even to myself. Just let it be nonsense that’s also sacred. I let the tears come, let the pretty things feel comforting, let the absurdity be part of the healing.

What should be in the sissy palace at the vip event in 2026?

Should feel the summer breeze in all the right places wearing this mini skirt 😉

From my last day in Kissimee Florida - this is a totally unedited photo. I went out jogging as a woman in this most wonderful location. I have so many wonderful photos to share. Spent most of the time in lady mode. Had doors opened for me, called mam and lady multiple times. Went to the unisex bathrooms as much as possible. Was hard to leave this idealistic place and head back to the cold of the Midwest.🥰

Just in Lacey panties watching the ashes

And #OutfitForTheDay #PVC Leggings #AnkleBoots Purple #SatinCorset then a black sleeved top, very likely to be replaced with jumper very soon though 😂

I know there are a lot of wounded people in crossdressing, wounded not physically, but spiritually. I have many wounds in my soul myself. I just want to leave these lines. You will remain outside, Or you will decide to enter, You will surrender your mind, or your soul — There are only two paths. If you enter — where do you go next? To the right is the path of truth, to the left — of falsehood. You might get so lost that you suddenly start to run Along winding pathways, where bones can't be collected. And having traveled many miles through faceless spaces, To end up in useless and wild places, In places of waiting, where people simply wait. They wait for a train to leave, They wait for a bus to arrive. Or a plane will carry them away, Or a letter will suddenly arrive, Or the rain will fall, That the phone will ring Or the snow will fall, They wait simply — for “yes” or “no”, Or a string of pearls, Or a copper basin, They wait for how they should be Or for a new chance. I edited the photo a bit after reading these lines to illustrate that our path isn't always paved with flowers. But... "show must go on" (с) - Freddy Life goes on, no matter what it is.😘😊💪

Todays outfit of the day Velvet dress with lace sleeves and my gorgeous suede black boots, not a flattering look, but comfortable 😅

Just in black lace panties won’t post pics too many goody to shoes here reporting

It was a pretty posh place. They were so used to fur coats that two bears strolled in and ordered lunch and nobody even noticed.

A stretchy, clingy blue number.....I love how it feels, it's soft and hugs my body in all the right places 😍

Another past outfit of the day, Duede boots with tassle fringe, Burgundy faux leather skirt and red with black lace detail top with shoestring straps, the fut is from a faux fur waste coat too, needed this time oif year, especially in my area

Yesterday was international Men's Day... may not seem relevant? I'll only write of that which i know, so... On the "active monitoring" scheme for prostate cancer ("You'll die with it, not of it" etc, luckily the least aggressive category), only got checked because a MtF trans friend hassled - being a woman now, she thought she didn't need the checks, it was only when she started wasting away for no reason that she got checked for somehting else causing it and... Go on, guys or gurls, take the Digital Rectal Indignity (even if the quack doesn't even buy you a drink first!), let Dracula's Daughter take her mouthful, it sure beats the alternatives (as my friend has found out). 1 in 6 AMAB will suffer from prostate cancer at some point - caught early it's treatable, and if you're really lucky you might get T-blockers, if i get that i want to hassle for something to replace the T too.... lol

Happy place… 💕👗💅💞😍💋

I love this skirt, tight in all the right places 😉

Good evening everyone, im feeling really naughty tonight and need someone to put me in my place 😜, please feel free to message me to tell me what you would do to me 😘xx

Shameless ... They call me shameless Shameless Kate Who's wildly walk the street Who has no skirt over her tights And bluches cheeks in pink... Yes I am walking Simply sans Sans shame And sans barriers... Some men are trying Steeet romance To offer one night Stand... And women put sad eyes away To hide some interest... Kate lost her touch She lost her taste And often She's madly strange ... Kate came to Earth from Io's space... One Fairy Lady asked me once What I have lost in past I answered I lost my pants My dress and wish to Love... She whispered me known words My Granny taught to me once: "You're Allien My dear girl And this is Pure fact... Word "boy" was only Coverup to hide your roots and past ... Remember Io Little girl The only place with Love... And if the acid rain begins Get rid of cotton dress And stay in tights However think With anger or impressed... ... Until you learn To hide your Love Be opened and undressed And never mind What other think... They are no interest... My little girl It's worth to fall To learn how Nice is flight... And when you landed Loosing skirt Just walk Not shy With pride... You're never looking For Earth sex It's hard to find true Love Just walk, Don't look aside or back Just walk your own Path...

My little red lace underwear

(For those that can Read) No Time To Waste A CD that I've been chatting with for some time got in touch and asked if I had time to pop over for a very quick visit, he only had a 40 minutes window of opportunity. We were both on the no mess side of fun in both ways, we knew it was all about pleasure and I made sure it was also about Feeding. With a short 40 minutes window I knew I would have to be ready when I arrived at his place, my lingerie was on under my Joggers, I made is as simple as possible, Stocking Tights, Sheer Thong, Tight Black matching lace Crop top under my Hoodie, that just left my Stilettos in my bag of guddies. I arrived at his at the exact time, 9:30am and he let me in, I could see he was also dressed ready under his robe, oddly enough he went for a Bodystocking with Thong and Stilettos also in black, while removing our normal clothing we chatted more and agreed to just get on with it. We stood in the living room and I bent over and pulled his Thong down and off, like me if he is cold or nervous his co ck starts off very small, I love this bit, because just for a little moment I can get all his Sacks and Co ck in my mouth in one, rolling them round giving them a good sucking and gentle stretch, this only lasted a couple of minutes before he started to get hard, at this point he got me up and removed my Thong and pushed me onto the sofa, grabbed my knees in each hand, spread me wide and sucked me in exactly the same way, a few minutes later I was solid, he then got me up and took me into the bedroom where he got on the bed, lay down lifted his legs back and spread ready, I climbed on top and placed my arms in front of each leg holding them back, sliding down ready to work my Feeding Stick in front of me, he had reached round to my legs which I spread either side of his head (69) our favourite feeding position, he pulled my legs apart a little more until I was already in his mouth, he wasted no time at all in starting his extraction, me also, dropping down onto his valve, working it best I could, I loved being on top as you always seem to get more co ck to suck, but when Feeding I prefer to be underneath so I get every drop. He was really going for it on my Feeding Stick, he knew my weekness, putting his lips just behind my head, sucking 2 or 3 inches back and forth up and down my shaft, tight as he could, I knew his weakness was his sensitive Co ck Head, so I sucked extra on his head between shaft slides, then back to his head again, I could tell he was doing better than me as only about 15 minutes had gone when I was getting close, he knew it too, sucking faster and tighter, in my excitement I got faster too, I shot my little load into his mouth which went down instantly, he kept sucking till he had every drop, I quickly said swap, and we rolled over, so his Feeding Stick was now in my mouth, I carried on from underneath sucking on his head and shaft, a few minutes later he started to moan, I knew my gift was on its way, my gift of food for my hard work, I was so thankful when his shaft started to pulsate and pump, he filled my mouth twice, I felt quite bad that I could not give him as much... After I extracted every drop and thanked him for his generous deposit, he got ready for work and I left for home, ready for my next feed....

Verse 1 I walk the streets with borrowed light, A picture framed for someone’s sight. Smiles on faces, perfect and small— A thousand windows, none of them mine at all. Pre-Chorus We act the parts that others write, Hide the edges, hide the fight. Under neon, under glass, Something honest waits to pass. Chorus For all the world to see For all the world to be For all the world to love But for me Verse 2 They take our names and bill them bright, Sell us stories dressed up for night. I learn to nod, I learn to play, Forget the map that shows my way. Pre-Chorus But in a quiet corner of the day, A softer truth might find a way. A hand, a word, a light not planned— Small rebellions by an open hand. Chorus For all the world to see For all the world to be For all the world to love But for me Bridge (spoken, intimate) Not for the applause, not for the frame, Not for the headline or someone’s name. I want a place where I can stay— Tender, untidy, simply made. Verse 3 So leave a note on a porch tonight, Share your coat with someone in the cold. These little truths are how we start Turning quiet pieces into heart. Chorus (layered, aching) For all the world to see For all the world to be For all the world to love But for me Outro (fade, single whispered line) For the world to be… But for me. No

Justice blocked for endorsing 'progressive nationalism' and that moron Donald Trump. That sh*t should have no place on here

My Christmas story continued: He had me get on my hands and knees and stick my ass up into the air. Santa got on his knees behind me and straddled my backside. He lifted up my lingerie nighty, pulled down my lace panties, then spread my buttcheeks to expose my tight, pink little hole. Santa didn't need lube, he was magical after all, as he entered me his dick got wet and slippery so that it moved freely into my rectum with no pain. He thrusted it rhythmically, gyrating...in and out..in and out..in and out...in...in...in...getting deeper each time. It was so big, it hit all my nerve endings and my p-spot giving me the coveted ass orgasm....while my dick got turned on and big, too....cum dripping from it... "Ho...ho....ho..." Santa moaned in pure ecstasy as my sphincter and buttcheeks squeezed his cock. His man meat swelled, throbbed....then....BOOM! Like a volcano or bazooka it exploded and shot four squirts of his semen, his sperm, his DNA into my anal cavity. I could feel it as it wet my insides and got sticky. "Ho, ho, ho, hooooo!!!!!!!!!!" Santa yelled with enjoyment. And he slapped my ass just for fun. Meanwhile, I had also cum and got my panties soaked and sticky, some dripping on to the floor in front of me. Santa stayed inside and on top of me for a minute or two while he caught his breath, then he pulled his awesome magical cock out of my hole, and I heard a "pop!" and wush sound of air escaping. I didn't see it, but Santa then zipped his pants back up and buckled his belt. I got off my knees and stood up, fixing my panties and my nightgown, and turned to face Santa. "Here," Santa said reaching into his bag, "I have a gift for you." He pulled out a card. Later I would discover it is a winning Lotto ticket with the award being in the millions of dollars. "Now you are back on my nice list," he added. "And I'll be visiting you more frequently." As he flew off on his sleigh led by his reindeer, I could hear him yell, "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night! And Chrissy is a great fuck!" More: #sissy #femboy #transgender #gurl #sissyboy #tgirl #CD #crossdresser #crossdressing #transgirl #transwoman #adultcontent #nsfw

Christmas is cumming! Here is a traditional Christmas story! lol : It happened last Christmas Eve. Snow whispered against my window, blanketing the world in a serene hush as I drifted off under layers of warmth. The soft glow of the Christmas lights outside painted gentle colors on my walls, blending with the lace and satin of the red lingerie I had on. A sudden thud on the roof jolted me awake. My heart raced as I strained to hear more, the sound of bells jingling faintly and what could only be the sneeze of an animal carried through the stillness. I sat up, clutching my blankets closer. Moments later, a creak echoed from downstairs, like footsteps crossing the living room floor. Still groggy but alert, I reached for my phone, ready to call for help if needed. Peering cautiously into the hallway, I heard a deep, hearty laugh resonate through the house. “Ho, ho, ho!” The voice was unmistakable, rich and warm, and yet impossible. Santa? No, it had to be some burglar pulling a strange stunt. My skepticism flared as I crept down the stairs, each step measured and quiet. When I reached the living room, I froze. The space was bathed in a soft, unearthly glow, and standing before the tree was a man who looked every bit the part of Santa Claus—velvet red suit, snowy white beard, and a twinkle in his eye that seemed almost magical. He was munching on the cookies I’d left out as a joke, milk in hand. "What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled indignant. The man turned around to look at me. "Watch your language, Chrissy," he scolded me gently. "You're already on my naughty list." "How did you know my name?" "Ho, ho, ho! I know everything about you, including when you're sleeping and when you are awake. I'm Santa!" "Santa isn't real!" "So you don't believe your eyes?" "You're just some thug dressed up as Santa." "Ho, ho, ho! Look up at the roof and tell me how a thug got a magical sleigh and a team of magical, flying reindeer. Ho, ho, ho!" I didn't have to look, the noise I heard on my roof earlier lined up perfectly with that of reindeer. "But...but...you're not real." I stuttered. "Chrissy, I'm as real as you want me to be. And you have been naughty. Ho, ho, ho!" "If that's true," I challenged. "Why are you in my home?" "Ho! Ho! Ho! Because I love naughty boys, I give them a big gift! Ho! Ho! Ho!" With that he unbuckled his black broad buckled belt and unzipped his red pants. Out jumped his huge, wrinkled, snow-white penis, uncut of course with lots of foreskin, and it was hard and long. There was pre-cum already dripping from it. Santa winked at me then said, "cum get your gift, Chrissy. Ho! Ho! Ho!" Being the naughty ladyboy femboy slut I am, I complied and fell to my knees in front of Santa. I grabbed his rock-hard cock and squeezed it while placing my lips around it. It was so salty, vinegary, wet and sticky. His manjuices were already leaking into my mouth as I sucked on him. slurp slurp slurp I stroked his dick as I sucked, then started fucking him with my mouth...going up and down, up and down on his penis...my tongue would lick the tip and shaft at times. Santa's dick started to swell and throb...but he pushed my head away. "Ho, ho, ho! He said, "I finish in naughty boy's ass." (Continued in next post) #sissy #femboy #transgender #gurl #sissyboy #tgirl #CD #crossdresser #crossdressing #transgirl #transwoman #adultcontent #nsfw

I’m still so happy I found this place. It has been the springboard for me to dive into countless adventures and the enabler of some of the dearest friendships I have ever made. I don’t say this very often but thank you all for being you xx

Red skirt, red platform peep toe heels, tan hold ups with red lace top.

Lacey knickers - check That little wet look dress - check. A new plug tail - check. Oh no, no food for Cat this week 😿😹

Not a bad day at all, went to look at a possible place to myself, tiny cottage by a noted Arts & Crafts figure, first female achitect in Britain (Countess Lovelace, granddaughter-in-law of Lord Byron), out in the country and a charitable rent, fingers, eyes, toes crossed!

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 pussy. 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 cock 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 pussy. They call my cock a girl cock, 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

This site is such a peaceful place to be. A place filled with acceptance, love, and support. This is my home now!

Good evening sweets! I'm off to work. But thought I'd leave you with a story. 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 Chrissy on the Hillcrest Bus The bus hissed as it opened its doors on University Avenue, right in the heart of Hillcrest, San Diego’s famous gay neighborhood. I climbed aboard, heart racing a little faster than usual. On the outside I was in my “boy clothes” — plain pants, a simple shirt — but underneath I was my secret self: Chrissy Marie Tunnell. Pink floral panties hugged my smooth hips, a matching bra cupped my chest, and tiny flashes of trans-colored jewelry — a ring, a dangling earring — shimmered in the afternoon light. I wasn’t fully comfortable living openly as a girl yet, but I loved leaving little clues for anyone observant enough to notice. As I walked down the aisle, I felt eyes on me. One man’s gaze dropped to where the pink waistband of my panties peeked above my pants. Another tilted his head just enough to catch the faint outline of my bra straps beneath the thin cotton of my shirt. My jewelry glinted when the bus jolted, and I knew they’d seen the colors. Their eyes followed me hungrily as I slid into a seat halfway down. Even the bus driver, watching through the mirror, licked his lips and adjusted in his chair. “Hey…” one man finally said, his voice a mix of awe and lust. “You’re Chrissy… the trans model, aren’t you?” My cheeks burned, but I gave a shy smile. “Yes.” A low whistle came from the back. “Damn. You should take those clothes off.” I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “I can’t here…” Then the driver’s voice, gravelly but warm, floated down the aisle: “It’s okay. I won’t say anything.” His eyes met mine in the mirror, daring me. A shiver ran through me. My body trembled with a mix of nerves and arousal as I stood up slowly, the bus swaying beneath my feet. I grabbed the metal pole for balance, slipped off my shirt one button at a time, and slid my pants down my thighs. Gasps and murmurs spread as I revealed my pink bra and panties, smooth legs, and the bulge already straining with need. “Goddamn…” someone whispered. I posed for them, turning so they could see the curve of my ass, bending just enough to make my cheeks round and full under the thin fabric. I arched my back, running my hands down my torso, teasing myself for their eyes. The air hummed with catcalls and whistles, every sound feeding my arousal. I felt powerful. Desired. Exposed. The driver adjusted his mirror again, his eyes glued to me. My cock twitched inside my panties, leaking, the wet spot spreading. A chorus of moans and encouragement filled the bus as I spread my legs, cupped myself through the silky fabric, and let them watch my face flush and my chest rise and fall with each deep breath. I was their show, their Chrissy, their secret goddess on wheels. Chrissy’s Bus Show – The Climax The bus swayed along the road, but I barely noticed. Every set of eyes was on me — hungry, wide, devouring. I stood in the aisle in nothing but my pink floral bra and panties, my smooth skin glistening under the fluorescent lights, my cock straining the damp satin. “Do it, Chrissy,” someone whispered, voice husky with need. “Yes… show us,” another begged. The encouragement hit me like waves of heat. I hooked my thumbs under the band of my panties, tugged them tight against my bulge, and let out a trembling gasp. My cock pulsed, the wet spot spreading. The riders groaned, some openly rubbing themselves as they watched. I spread my legs wider, arched my back, and cupped myself through the silky fabric. The friction was maddening. My hips bucked, the panties darkening with each spurt of precum. “God, look at you,” the bus driver moaned from the mirror, his knuckles white on the wheel. The passengers cheered me on, clapping, catcalling, shouting my name. “Chrissy! Chrissy!” I slid one hand up my chest, over my flat stomach, to my bra — tugging at the cups, making my nipples stand hard under the lace. My other hand rubbed furiously over the soaked bulge, grinding, stroking, teasing myself to the edge. The entire bus rocked with my moans. My thighs quivered, my lips parted, sweat dripping down my temples. I was lost in it, lost in them, lost in the rush of being seen. Then it hit. “Ahhh—!” My body seized, cock jerking uncontrollably as I came hard in my panties. Hot, sticky release poured out, soaking the pink fabric, running down my thighs. Gasps and cheers filled the air, some passengers clapping, others moaning with me as if they’d climaxed, too. (continued in comments below): -Chrissy

I've bought some clothes to go out in the daytime but now comes one of the tricky bits, accessories. I've never been into jewellery and my Mrs doesn't have much so I will probably need to get a necklace. I need a handbag and as the winter is coming possibly a hat too.

I love this place already. I may call it a new home going forward!

Good evening sweets! I'm off to work. But thought I'd leave you with a story. 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 The Meeting That Got Out of Hand I showed up to the office dressed in my “Supervisor” uniform — black polo shirt tucked neatly into black pants, shiny work shoes. On the outside, I looked like any middle manager headed into a boring meeting. But under it all, I wore my little secret: a lacy pink bra and panties. Just knowing they were against my skin made me shiver with anticipation. The room looked like an office conference space, complete with a long table, chairs, and quarterly reports scattered around. Five others were waiting — three men in polos like mine, and two women in skirts and blouses. I sat down and kept tugging at my shirt, worried my bra straps might show. That’s when one of the women leaned over and smirked. “Chris… is that lace I see under your collar?” My stomach flipped. I froze, heat rushing to my face. Everyone’s eyes snapped to me. The strap had slipped just enough to peek out. One of the men chuckled, leaning forward. “No way… are you wearing a bra under that uniform?” My hands fumbled at my collar, trying to hide it. “I… maybe.” My voice cracked. The woman reached over and tugged my shirt down just enough to reveal the delicate strap, then the curve of lace against my chest. Gasps, then laughter, but not cruel — hungry. Aroused. “Stand up,” another man said. “Show us.” I hesitated only a second before rising to my feet. Heart pounding, I pulled my polo up, exposing the pink bra stretched across my chest. The room went silent, then filled with low groans of approval. “Fuck, Chrissy,” one of them whispered. “Turn around.” I obeyed, bending slightly. My waistband had slipped low enough that the lacy panties showed above my pants. Someone reached out, tugging them down just enough to expose the curve of my ass. The first touch made me gasp — a hand sliding over the silk, squeezing, then pulling my pants down around my thighs. Now I was standing in front of them in bra and panties, my cock already swelling against the lace. They closed in. A woman pressed her lips to mine, lipstick smearing as her tongue slid into my mouth. Hands roamed everywhere — groping my ass, tugging at my nipples through the bra, cupping my cock through the panties. “Get on the table,” the tall man ordered. I climbed onto the polished surface, lying back as they surrounded me. Someone yanked my panties aside, freeing my cock, already dripping. A hot mouth enveloped me, sucking hard, while another tongue flicked over my nipple, teeth grazing until I cried out. My legs were spread wide, panties shoved down, and I felt a slick finger pushing into my ass, stretching me open. I moaned around the cock one of the men slid between my lips, gagging as he held my head and thrust deep. It was a blur of sensation. One man fucking my throat, another pumping into my ass, their bodies grinding against me while the women took turns riding my face and jerking my cock. The table shook with every thrust, papers scattering like a storm. “Good little slut,” someone growled in my ear as they pounded into me from behind, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the office. My cock spurted across my stomach, hot and sticky, but they didn’t stop. They used me until I was soaked with cum inside and out, my bra twisted, panties torn, lipstick smeared across my face. When it was finally over, I lay sprawled on the table, trembling, dripping, utterly used. The others buttoned their shirts, straightened their skirts, laughing softly as though the meeting had gone exactly as planned. I wiped the mess from my lips, my chest still heaving. “So…” I whispered, voice raw, “should I type up the minutes?” The room erupted in laughter — and I knew I’d just passed my first real office initiation. -Chrissy

Unraveling the Thread: How Clothing Has Been Used to Subjugate Women—and Why That’s Changing By Chrissy Why do women have to cover their chests while men can go shirtless in public? It’s a question that may seem simple—but carries profound implications about gender, power, and control. What we wear has never been neutral. Clothing is one of the most immediate ways society tells us who we are, or who we’re allowed to be. And when it comes to gender, clothing has been weaponized—especially against women—for centuries. But this isn’t just about history. It’s about lived experience. It’s personal. My Own Journey Through the Fabric of Gender As someone still exploring my own gender identity, this topic isn’t abstract. I was always a little more feminine than masculine, even as a child. For years, I repressed it—hiding behind "boy clothes" and what society expected of me. But in time, especially through the support of loving partners and close relationships, I came to embrace not only my homosexuality but something even deeper: the truth of my transgender identity. I am a woman—a female self long trapped in a male body. Though I firmly believe clothing shouldn't define gender—because gender identity is internal, not sartorial—clothing still does carry that symbolic weight in our world today. And so, until I find the strength to publicly transition, I express my femininity in the ways that are available to me now: I wear bras and female underwear every day in secret beneath my outwardly masculine clothing. In private, I allow myself to wear skirts, dresses, lingerie, and the soft, beautiful fabrics that make me feel aligned with my true self. It’s not about performance. It’s about presence. It’s about reclaiming what was always mine. The History of Clothing as a Tool of Gender Control To understand how we got here, we must look back. Clothing began as a means of protection. But from early civilization onward, it evolved into a tool of social stratification—and eventually, a means of gender control. Ancient societies created strict visual codes for women, emphasizing modesty, submission, and containment. While men wore tunics or armor suited for movement, battle, and public life, women were wrapped, tied, bound, and veiled. The message was clear: men moved freely through the world. Women did not. In medieval and early modern Europe, this dichotomy hardened. Men's clothing was practical. Women’s clothing was restrictive, ornate, and often uncomfortably symbolic. Corsets, crinolines, and hoop skirts made running, fighting, or even breathing difficult. These garments weren’t just fashion—they were cages. If you were wearing a dress, you weren’t riding into battle. You weren’t speaking in court. You weren’t commanding an army or a kingdom. You were ornamental. You were controlled. Modesty, the Female Chest, and the Double Standard These patterns persist today—nowhere more clearly than in the sexualization of the female chest. The fact that a man can walk down the street shirtless without a second glance, while a woman can be arrested for doing the same, speaks volumes. This isn’t about modesty. It’s about power and shame. The female chest has been hyper-sexualized while simultaneously shrouded in taboo. This serves to objectify women and punish them at the same time. Even breastfeeding in public is controversial in many places—seen not as natural or maternal, but as obscene. This double standard is part of a larger system that says women must be desirable but modest, visible but not too loud, strong but not threatening. And clothing is the vehicle through which these contradictory demands are enforced. Clothing as Power—and Resistance Throughout history, clothing has helped define who was allowed to hold power. Male garments—uniforms, suits, boots—were made for authority. Female garments were not. This is why women were long excluded from spaces of governance and decision-making. Until just a few decades ago, women couldn’t wear pants in courtrooms or on the floor of the U.S. Senate. Power had a dress code—and that dress code was male. To be continued in next post... Love, Chrissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #CD #gurl #sissy #sissyboy #trans #tgirl #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #ladyboy #femboy #shemale

I am wearing a bra, black panties and a black mini skirt today. My wife is out of it. It feels great. I really like the necklace.

Had a lot of fun today with some of my photos. The photos are all me - yes is my body, as I have been feminizing it over the last 10+ years - But I tried some AI to change what I am wearing and the background. I do dance regularly so I am actually attuned to ballet studios and to dancing on stage. But the AI is so fun to try out - gives me great ideas for outfits and places I would like to go to. Let me know - comments please. I love to share comments and chat, when I can. I will always respond to your comments.🥰

Chris 0987 reported for gratuitous nudity. This is not a porn site ffs, it's meant to be encouraging and supportive - isn't it? Plenty of other places for this crap

When will the idiots stop using this site a fetish site! There are other sites for that, more popular ones at that! This is a SOCIAL NETWORK FOR CROSSDRESSERS.. Not a pick up joint for admirers, not a place fake doms can scam people (how niave do you have to be to fall for that?), not a fetish site, this is a place for fellow crossdressers to come together and socialise with each other, swap hints and tips, share and admire each others makeup, hair and clothes. The rules are explicit, why do people ignore them! The clues in the name, its a Crossdressing Social Network!

It looks like manual DDOS attack on site creating accounts If succeded next time they will run bot Generals! Switch them off, please... This place is not for fishing

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Absolutely love sitting here dressed and feeling all girly lol! This is the only place I can say that and it feels so good!

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I have seen a lot of beautiful ladies on here. I have also had some great comments. Please know that I am so appreciative of finding a wonderful place to share myself with all of you.

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