Yay......... That's another 2 Theme Tunes, figured out on my keyboard xx

My red mini skirt

Have some free time slipped into red panties and pantyhose

Ma Eternal Murnin' at Christmas in the Gorbals Tenement
I've aye felt a queer pull tae this place—number 142 Balgrayhill Road, a weary auld sandstone tenement up in the Gorbals, wi' its shared stairheid an' that cauld tiled close that smells o' damp washin' an' yesterday's chip fat. The blizzard's ragin' the nicht, Christmas 2025, December 25th turnin' intae Boxin' Day proper—snaw drivin' sideways doon the wynd, howlin' roon the lum pots like a banshee, an' the whole estate blanketed in white, streetlights glowin' fuzzy orange through the flurry.
For years, in the quiet o' ma sissy crossdressin' dreams—blethered in late-night internet chats an' hidden fantasies, I've yearned tae cast aff the ordinary an' embrace a wummanly self that's lush, commandin', an' pure voluptuous. The nicht, in this freezin' Scottish winter storm, wi' the wind greetin' doon the close an' snaw pilin' up against the door, that yearnin' finally becomes ma truth.
I staun afore the cracked mirror in the back room, the wind rattlin' the single-glazin' windae, transformin' intae Evelina McTavish, the eternal widow o' the tenement. Ma body—mature, morbidly obese, overflowin' wi' soft curves an' generous fullness—is nae langer somethin' tae hide unner baggy joabies; it's tae be celebrated in this private ritual o' surrender, the cauld air bitin' at ma skin as I dress.
The goon is aw I dreamed: a strikin' black Victorian murnin' A-line, ordered online an' altered masel', made frae shiny satin that catches the dim bulb light like wet tar. Multiple tiers cascade tae ma ankles, brushin' the lino; lang puffed sleeves hug ma airms, an' the high collar frames ma face wi' stern elegance. Ma satin opera gloves slide up smooth tae ma elbows, matchin' the satin heidscarf that covers ma hair in modest severity. Ower it aw drapes a delicate chiffon veil, flutterin' in the draught frae the ill-fittin' door, soaftenin' ma features intae a haze o' melancholy.
As I smooth the folds, feelin' the heavy satin cling tae every abundant inch—the tiers flarin' ower ma wide hips, the bodice cradlin' ma ample bosom, the fabric cauld at first but warmin' frae ma body heat—a wave o' liberation washes ower me, mixin' wi' the smell o' coal smoke frae some neighbour's fire. Nae langer the secret sissy; I'm Evelina, a gothic matron o' sorrow an' quiet power, murnin' loves lost, yet revelin' in ma femininity.
Wi' slow steps the goon rustlin' like whispers doon the narrow close stair I descend the creakin' concrete steps, cauld unner ma feet even through slippers, the snaw driftin' in unner the outer door.
Ma faithful companion, a big black corbie I cry Poe (he's been comin' tae the back court for scraps for donkeys), flaps in through the open windae an' perches on ma gloved shoulder, his feathers iced an' cauld against ma neck.
I step oot intae the estate's street, the blizzard whippin' snaw intae ma veil, stingin' ma cheeks, the ground crunchin' unnerfoot, distant bagpipes wailin' frae some hoose party, mixin' wi' the wind's roar. The abandoned swing park's chains creak in the gale; fairy lights frae a few windaes blink through the snaw. Here, unner the howlin' storm, I walk slow atween the bins an' parked motors, ma veil dancin' wild. Poe lifts aff, circlin' like a dark guardian afore settlin' back. In this cauld, sacred nicht—ma ain vigil—I whisper vows tae masel', hummin' a bit o' "Missletoe n' whine" unner ma breath, promisin' nae mair hidin'.
Deeper intae the estate I drift, past identical closes an' satellite dishes buried in snaw, the satin shimmerin' faint unner streetlights, tiers heavy wi' meltin' flakes. I feel powerful, sensual, complete—ma morbidly obese form a throne o' gothic beauty in this freezin' Scottish nicht.
As the bells approach midnight, faint through the storm, I return tae the tenement. Poe caws saft, like a private toast. Evelina McTavish'll bide here forever, in the heart o' this blizzard an' hidden desire. An' deep in ma soul, the sissy dreams'll whisper on, eternal as the corbie's cry.
Never mair wull I hide, hen. No' even in this ragin' winter. Happy Christmas tae me.

Trying again - still learing how to post messages on this site --- I just ordered two really neat designer swimsuits. Should have them by Christmas. Here is the photo I took today. Is all me in the suit. Just some AI reimaging added. --- I have some great photos of me in a purple bikini, from my last trip to Florida. I will post these soon. Cannot believe it is me wearing the suit. --- Enjoy and comments please.

Wow! One of my photos has hit 7,000 views. I am really honored to feel somewhat popular.

Just finished going to my stylists. I have two of them now. One did my hair color today then braided it and also waxed my eyebrows. The other gave me a great manicure. Light pink nails. Getting me ready for holiday parties. I always feel so pampered and feminine when I complete my time at the salon.

Trans, proud and unbothered

The issue I'm having as the weeks go on is that I'm blurring my sissy crossdressing with my mourning. Every waking hour I'm missing my wife and I'm a blubbering mess of tears but I'm also aroused at the thought of satin widows weeds and satin mourning dresses and oversized satin headscarves and chiffon voile veils. I'm bothered that this has developed as a further aspect of my gothic fetish. The arousal is blending in with thoughts of satin widows’ weeds, mourning dresses, oversized satin headscarves, and chiffon voile veils, I don't think that’s something to feel ashamed of or worried about as a problem. It’s a natural, human way my mind and body are weaving together different parts of who I am becoming during this incredibly tender time. Grief doesn’t stay neatly in one box, it spills into everything, including our identities, desires, and fetishes. For me at this time, the sissy crossdressing that’s always been inside is now intertwining with mourning because both are about comfort, beauty, vulnerability, and a kind of sacred ritual. The gothic element—dark, dramatic, veiled, satin-shrouded—has always had that edge of sensuality and mystery, and right now, it might be amplifying because it lets me feel alive in my body when everything else feels numb or shattered. Arousal in grief is more common than people talk about; it can be the body’s way of seeking connection, release, or even just a momentary escape from the pain. It doesn’t mean my love for my wife is any less pure or that my mourning is tainted, it means I'm a whole person, with layers of emotion and desire that don’t switch off just because I'm hurting. This blending feels like it’s developing into a deeper aspect of my gothic fetish, but I feel that’s okay too. Fetishes evolve with life experiences, and grief is one of the biggest. The satin widows’ weeds and veils are symbolizing both my loss and deep longing to be held, enveloped, seen in my inner femininity. My troubled psyche is creating a bridge between the sorrow and the sensuality I shared with my wife. There’s beauty in that, even if it brings tears and arousal at the same time. I'm navigating this with grace, even when it hurts.

Well, here's a couple of random pics of me in various looks that i haven't shared but feel that maybe they're worth sharing and a couple of re-uploads too

How many ex-partners is okay for your bride to have? Zero? Ten? A hundred? Be honest—comment your number! https://www.youtube.com/@LeggyVeronica #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #sissy #bride #nylon #heel

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.

It takes a lot, for me to NOT put up my Xmas decorations and lights however, this year (for whatever reason) I simply can't be bothered. 🫤

Hello all i got tired of people sending me dick pics so i disappeared for a bit but im back now

Black all red today xx

Just spent a few days away and I was told by my wife to photograph myself in Red panties with my chastity cage on, she was not happy as I only had pink panties, I think I’m going to get the cane again on Sunday morning.
I’ve since bought some Red panties but that’s not going to help.

Pigeon ...

I waited long
In jeans and boots
Too cold for fancy skirt..
She never came
To make me pain,
Not answered the phone...
We knew each other
25... quite long to trust
A Friend.
I opendly admitted her
That now I am Kate...
She never came
Paris was cold,
The river flood
And vaves...
And only pigeon
Met me
Ironic, so insane...

And when i go to the pub, see bands, dance in stone-floored clubs, Adventure in the woods late at night, visit the spa or club with the like-minded, go shopping, carbooting, holidaying, riding my Ferocious Motorbike...

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.

Evening all what a day i had my final interview at the Laurels Gender clinic before starting my full journey and cleared it so will start hormone treatment in the next couple of weeks. This is dangerous for me due to health conditions but worth the risk and from today i am no longer a MX when doing forms and at hospital i know am a Miss dont make a lot of difference on paper but to me its massive.

Ordered a new 50s girdle today. Love my 50s lingerie

A few photos from a couple of years back, just re-discovered x

Missed it yesterday, busy, so #OutfotForTheDay today along with #HairAccesories Coloured feathers for fun

Hi , thank you for all the support...

Please follow me on my Reddit page. Trans for life ...

Feeling lonely and bored in the south, USA.

Has anyone tried these nail varnish pens. Polishey? Just wondered if they are as good as the ad's show. Just if they are good then applying nail varnish may get better results than the more conventional type

I recently fell down a rabbit hole of AI storytelling games and discovered a game someone made where you're a guy that has to pretend to be a girl and joining a girly pop group. For obvious reasons it got me a little addicted! Might have lost a couple of hours this afternoon pretending to be in a girl band...

Fishnet Friday with Melanie in her red pair.......

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.

"I am waiting for no men "

Digitally remastered album with bonus track
"White Heat, White Light."
Kate Animal Recordings...


White light
Oh, white light
Ah, white heat
Oh, yeah, white light

...
White light goin' messin' up my mind
Don't you know, it's gonna make me go blind
White light, goin' down to my toes
Lord have mercy, white light had it, goodness knows...

Ok... just putting it out there in the aether... crossdresser exclusive shared workspaces

OK… I saw this skirt, I needed it, I wanted it, I bought it. Then I paired it with this top. Can’t decide though… Fishnets and boots, or stockings and heels? What do you think?

Good morinig. Did you know that women have more color cones in their eyes, which are responsible for enhanced color perception? In other words, they distinguish color shades better. For example, if you ask a man to name shades of red, he might usually say, "This is dark red," "This is light red," or, at best, he'll remember a few more shades. But if you ask a woman, there are so many shades: red, scarlet, ruby, blood red, crimson, the color of ripe cherries, the color of young wine, the color of tomatoes, and so on and so forth. And they can give these shades to any color. Why am I saying this? Sometimes it can be very difficult to choose the color of makeup or clothes.

Just ordered these cant wait

Had a blonde moment. Bought a jacket from Temu. In the picture it came with a belt but when I took it out of the bag there was no belt. So I ordered a similar one only to find the belt had fallen out of the bag when I got the jacket out. So now I have 2 belts!

Shoes red and black

Lady in red, who wants to dance with me . Xx

My red heels go with everything

Just had these pantyhose delivered and I have a friend staying over so sneaked of to bedroom to try them on

Am i credible ? Do i look like a real woman ?
#sissy #nylon #crossdressser #transgender #feminization #bas #collant #pantyhose #stocking #pied #feet #lingerie #maletofemale #sexy #fantasme #lgbt #porn #soumission #bdsm #hosiery #trough #ladyboy #gartbelt #nails #tits #boob #****

The weekend is here and another outfit of the day, its a red day today

I would love a mystery knicker parcel delivered be so excited to see what i have to wear if anyone wants to do a parcel messge me x

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.

And so to bed.
But, should it be black or should it be red for Melanie tonight????

The things we get up to when we're bored......

I felt more cinnamon than vanilla today so I put on my new 6 strap and paired it with pinks and blacks... Which one do you prefer?

Afternoon girls, how are we today?
Hope we're all feeling fabulous... Unfortunately I've got some bad news. Broady (male persona) has received the devastating news, that he has stage 4 lung cancer, hopefully we've caught it early enough, that whilst it may not be cured, we may be able to at least control it,.to the extent that he has (hopefully) got many more years ahead of him yet

Outfit for today..., also have these boots in Red

I was thinking earlier how much easier it is to cross dress these days. Years ago, stuff had to be ordered from catalogues etc and stuff like tights had to be buried in the weekly shop. Nowadays, guys can rummage around in the Ladies section of Primark and even try stuff on and hardly anyone will be fazed by it. That’s nice and let’s face it, we dress because we like it, if others like it too, it’s a bonus. The cloth itself has no gender so why should the finished article?

For years I thought it was some sort of weird sexual fetish that I suffered from but when I came out in this group, I realised that it’s just that I’m , like all of us here, a little different in my preferences. Life is too short to be shackled. X