I've BLOCKED 9 BDSM Touts this week so far already xx Tout membership is rife on here. Everyone needs to go through there Friends list and Block all of them... They are very easy to spot .... Let's not let the site get any Worse than it already is xx

What Am I to You? What’s on your mind? What is the time? What is the light? What is the sound? What is the colour blue? What am I to you? What am I to you? What am I to you? Am I a voice, or just the noise? Am I the truth, or just a choice? Echoed questions, fading through— Tell me—what am I to you? Tell me what I am to you.

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.

I went through a purge recently but the urge to dress is too strong! Wearing these today and it feels amazing. Hope you’re all having a great day 😘

When I do x dress 👗 I actually forget who I am & to be honest I find it quite rewarding 😘 I love 🥰 the comforting feel & satisfaction & the warm sexual energy flowing through me ❤️

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.

Neighbor saw me in lingerie. I didnt realize that he could see me through my bedroom window. When i noticed him noticing me, he quickly looked away. I keep thinking what I shouldve done differently. Hmm

Unfortunately, one heel broke through 🤬🤬🤬🤬

I love how see through this dress is

Can't believe it's been a couple of months already since my last post. But things have been progressing, slowly but surely, which is anticipated. I can check on this later for sure but the biggest breakthrough, for me anyway, was that I finally broke sub-80kg body weight and losing weight has been consistent, now hovering around the 78kg area. Soft target is 72kg, which finally feels like it's within striking distance! 😤 Have found that I REALLY respond to the goth look and aesthetic. Loved this ensemble and thank my friend profusely for helping me make it look good (least I think so anyway. Haha). Would love to hear your guys' feedback. ❤️

Good evening my lovelies. I don't know about you, but advent always lights my flame effect candles. Whether it's the talk of stockings, thinking about stuffing, or all that cream! Ah well, one day at a time through the calendar. Betta watch my waistline though I'm sure somone is going to give me the joke about them doing that 😁 xxx

Whenever I see women shopping together going through dresses or else a woman with a man dress shopping I'm happy for the woman and jealous. I wish there was more or I knew where to look for other crossdressers, sissys , and or women looking for a friend to do girl shit with lol

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.😘😊💪

Dreams My morning dream To be still Kate To wear dress And pretty make Get up Not waking My girlfriend Have coffee Vogue, slim cigarette Put orange lipstick Light cream dress And walk Through park with interest Look on young girls Say No to man And feel so happy Under rain Return And change And feel no shame That I am girl A whole day...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9FzVhw8_bY&list=RDB9FzVhw8_bY&start_radio=1 A new week begins. A song to get me through it. It helps me when I feel like the whole world is marching against me. I just whistle the tune. And all is well. 😚

Love is Lost Verse 1 Love is lost, when the time has been spent. Love is lost, like the sun as it sets in the west. Verse 2 Love is lost, when we let it go out of our hearts. Love is lost, when we let it all fall apart. Chorus Love is lost, fading slow; In the silence, shadows grow. Yet through the ashes, something starts— a tiny spark remains inside the dark. #twinklelittlestar

Well I got through the day, but the night ripped my stockings! Oh well, tomorrow I shop again for mor fiore 😄😍💋💋

When I was choosing a makeup primer, I was puzzled by the color; it turns out every primer is different. So what should I choose? Who should I ask? Who should I find out from? White is the most popular color, and if you choose one with a radiant effect, it's great for aging skin, helping to conceal wrinkles. But if you have bags under your eyes, a yellow primer will come in handy. Pink and peach colors are suitable for those with a dull complexion. A green primer is ideal for those with rosacea (protruding blood vessels through the skin), redness, or very fair skin. But if you have pigmentation or yellowness, a purple primer is best. It's especially useful when shooting with a flash. Such knowledge can sometimes be difficult to keep in mind; manufacturers have now started releasing universal primers for trial, where all colors blend together when applied. I prefer generalists, although generalism isn't always better than more specialized knowledge. I hope you found it interesting.

Standing at my door peering through spy hole coz I can hear my neighbours arguing 😂

Oh dear, how sad, never mind, NewSissy26 appears to have blocked me after i remonstrated with him for breaking the rules and flashing his hairy little cocktail sausage in a public pic - well, saves me the effort of blocking him! Sad little man replied to my criticism, but of course having been blocked i can't see it to be upset by it - quelle dommage, someone lend me The World's Smallest Violin to express my grief through music...

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

Just gone through 100ish friend requests. If I've just accepted you, sorry it took so long.😚 If I've declined you, it's nothing personal - just not my thing 💋 If I've blocked you (doms, mistresses, mommys, sissifiers) you won't be able to see this but fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

I am not a fan of AI but a friend ran a photo through hers and I love the results just the way I see Cat when i give her the time.

Hopefully be well enough to try on my latest orders. Been an interesting week. Knees still sore after fainting on the grass by the pavement and I must have landed awkwardly as my neck is tender too. Ah well just need to get through my 12 hour night shift today.

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

Behind the Mask It’s 4am, the city sleeps Shadows hide the secrets we keep Faces blur beneath the glass Truth is waiting behind the mask Behind the mask Every smile, every disguise A thousand stories in my eyes Behind the mask The world pretends, but I can see A brighter light guiding me to the end Voices drift through crowded streets Lonely hearts in the dark still meet But love begins where lies grow thin Truth is waiting behind the mask Behind the mask, we are one, No more hiding, no more run Behind the mask, the truth will shine The world can be better, yours and mine

#Sexy #halloween #tiptow #through #tulips

Oh dear oh dear, SissyChrisEllis appears to have blocked me, how sad, never mind - means i wont have to wade through its pics of its hairy anus and scrotum, not exactly my loss, is it? I wonder whether it's because i reminded it of the rules in the Big Red Box?

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

My story on how cross dressing helped me discover my true identity. It all started when I was maybe 13 or 14 years old. I would see my mom or sister throwing out clothes they didn't wear anymore. Like anyone in that situation, I snuck out what I wanted and hid them in the bottom of my closet. Then when I'd go over to my sisters and catch her throwing out clothes and such, I'd sneak around getting what I wanted. I would be at my sisters and somehow manage to take 15 pairs of panties and a few bras I wanted. Later on, I started questioning my own gender identity. There were often times I'd try to hide or suppress who I really was inside out of fear. That fear was mainly driven by what society may think. I'm glad cross dressing has helped me come to realize later on, that I'm a trans woman. It's been the cross dressing community over the years via MeWe which has shown mea lot of love and support. So I'm glad to have gotten my start in this path through cross dressing!

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 (continued) By Chrissy 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. Today, those lines are blurring. The rise of androgynous and gender-neutral fashion challenges the old binaries. More people are rejecting the idea that clothes must conform to “male” or “female.” Icons like Harry Styles, Elliot Page, and Indya Moore are showing that fashion can be fluid, expressive, and liberating. Yet, as someone living with a transgender identity, I still feel the weight of those norms. When I wear a bra or slip on a dress, I’m not just “playing dress-up.” I’m aligning myself with my truth. I’m saying to the world—even if they can’t see it yet—that I know who I am. The Future: Beyond Gendered Fabric We are in the midst of a slow but powerful revolution. The #FreeTheNipple movement, the rise of unisex clothing lines, and the increased visibility of trans and nonbinary voices all point to one truth: gender expression cannot—and should not—be policed by fabric. But the work isn’t done. We still live in a world where a child in a skirt is bullied, where a trans woman is judged by her ability to “pass,” and where freedom of clothing is still a privilege, not a right. So yes, I dream of a world where clothes mean only what we want them to mean—where they’re tools of expression, not oppression. But until then, I will continue to express my identity, my truth, my womanhood—even if it’s still beneath the surface, hidden under layers. Because to wear what makes you feel like you is an act of quiet rebellion. And sometimes, rebellion begins in a closet. What are your thoughts? Love, Chrissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #CD #gurl #sissy #sissyboy #trans #tgirl #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #ladyboy #femboy #shemale

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 can't stop. Ordered 4 more dresses. Going more gothic too. I have so many clothes, many still never worn! Some too naughty for this site. I'll try and wear and get some pictures but I'm going through a bit of a 'fat phase' at the moment which doesn't help my self esteem. Typically I'm an 'all or nothing' person so no gradual approach for me, so the next phase is all in for diet and fitness again. Just need that spark to kick it off. Open to ideas. Keep them simple and effective as it has to grab me or ADHD attention span will kill it. Here's a random picture from Comicon of someone playing Mad Moxxi from Borderlands. Best game evahhh! I would love to dress like her one day.

I’ve had this fantasy where I’m catering/serving food snacks and drinks to a group of men at a superbowl party and tending to their needs.see I can care less about the game never cared for it .I would have so many different outfits to wear throughout the night while serving drinks.The playboy bunny outfit,the French maid,the geisha.I would see to it that they have a great party

Anyone fancy a chat? You know, share a story or two, flip through some fantasies, round of role play,... 🤔 💋💋💋

Oh Dear, "Lunna" has been trying to go through my posts and pasting a laugh, thanks for the devotion - i guess only having three posts of her own she wasn't expecting to run out of attention span (attention SPAM, hers may be) so quickly - some of us are real, not a 24-stone sweaty bloke in a Nigerian internet cafe? Probably would have been wise for her to choose profile pics that aren't all over escort sites worldwide, must be lots pretending to be "her"! I wonder how many of the others claim to be in Scotland?

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Oooh no I have purged again 🥲 but that means that I will go through the purchasing phase so that will be fun

Here's one part of my night in red with a friend. She really put me through the ringer. Definitely think my gait needs a lot of work. Haha Wanted to upload the whole set but seems the whole is too much. Gonna have to upload in bunches and parts.

maybe tomorrow have some pics to post if i survive my cd friends meet. feeling a bit keen if you know what i mean haha. likely will look I've been pulled through a hedge backwards by end of the night 🤣

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Hey everyone, just wanted to give you a quick update. I made it through, and the surgery was a complete success. Now, about six weeks later, it still feels kind of surreal to say that I actually have a vagina. There’s still swelling and some pain, but the hardest part is definitely behind me. Day by day it’s starting to feel more natural, even if recovery is still a challenge. And honestly, putting something inside down there still feels pretty strange, haha, but I’m just glad I’ve made it this far. Finally live my life as a Woman

See! This is how you do it! No crotch shot, no dick pic, no ass shot, no erect penis visible through a tight skirt. You can look good and be sexy without all that! In fact less is more!

Well that's a first for a very long time, scrolled through all the new posts and not had to block any. Maybe something is working after all.

one more for the day... Just something a bit different. Famous cross dressers through the ages. Francois De Choisy, Writer (1644 – 1724) French author Francois De Choisy was dressed as a girl by his mother until the age of 18. Her reasons might have been political: De Choisy’s playmate, Philippe I, was also encouraged to dress as a girl, possibly so that he would not be seen as posing a threat to his older brother, King Louis XIV. As an adult, De Choisy took up male dress for a while but soon went back to his preferred female clothing. Many young women of the day visited him for fashion advice, encouraged by their mothers. He enjoyed their company: so much, in fact, that one ended up pregnant by him. Although he later wrote a number of historical and religious works, De Choisy is most famous for his tell-all book The Transvestite Memoirs, published in 1737.

Just something a bit different. Famous cross dressers and trans people through the ages. Elagabus, Emperor (204 – 222 AD) Elagabus was made Emperor of Rome at the age of only 14, after successful political maneuvering by his maternal aunt. During his reign as Emperor, he preferred women’s dress. He had his whole body depilated, wore makeup, and referred to his chariot driver Hierocles as his husband. He even made an offer of money to any doctor who could perform surgery on him to make him biologically female. None of this exactly made him popular in the highly traditional Rome of the time. His popularity also wasn’t helped by the fact that Elagabus married a priestess who’d been sworn to virginity, and instituted controversial sun-worshiping religious practices. He was assassinated in 222, at the age of only 18.

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Trying to keep my sanity by looking through the pictures on my phone So sharing again. These are a gorgeous pair of shoes from my collection and i love wearing them. I have them in both Pink and Purple. The brand is Even&Odd and they were bought from Zalando.