She chose the necklace last.
That was always how it went, hair first, then the glasses, the careful line of lipstick that made her look like she knew what she was doing even when she didn’t. The mirror showed her a woman with copper rose hair and a smile she’d practiced for years, one that said I’m fine, thank you, without inviting questions.
The turquoise collar lay on the dresser like a memory she wasn’t ready to wear today.
Instead, her fingers closed around the spinel and garnet strand.
It was cool in her hand, heavier than it looked. The stones weren’t perfect, no two were the same. Pink spinel caught the light softly, purple deepened toward dusk, and the garnets glowed like embers that refused to go out. Freeform. Unapologetic. Honest. She liked that about them. They didn’t pretend to be anything other than what they were.
The magnetic clasp clicked shut at the back of her neck with a small, decisive sound.
At 51 centimetres, the necklace didn’t sit high and declarative like the turquoise one. It rested lower, closer to the heart. A quiet line of colour against her skin, silver tones flickering when she moved. It didn’t announce her presence, it stayed with her.
She leaned closer to the mirror.
The spinel echoed the warmth of her hair. The garnet answered the lipstick. Together they softened her face, drew the eye downward, slowed everything. This wasn’t a necklace for making an entrance. It was for conversations that lasted longer than planned. For afternoons that drifted into evening. For being seen without being displayed.
She smiled again this time without rehearsing it.
Some jewellery was armour. Some was memory. This one felt like continuity, like all the versions of herself agreeing, briefly, to coexist. The woman who once wore turquoise like a shield. The woman who now preferred stones that looked as if they’d lived a little.
She reached for her coat, left the turquoise where it was, and stepped out.
The necklace moved with her not loudly, not urgently but faithfully, stone against skin, colour against breath, proof that beauty didn’t have to shout to be real.

I seem to have forgotten somthing

In Visibility

I ask myself
If I am lie
Pretending
Not be boy
If I am strange?
I don't deny
It's strange
To be doll toy
I often ask
Myself
If I
want be
Like them at all
And every time
Without thrust
I answer
Not like girl...
So all it is
A sense of tights
That make you
Much excite?
And warmth
And pleasure
Even lust...?
You ll name
Them all...
You might...
Am I just hiding
From my past
From Love
I never met?
I just not felt
At all
"your must"
Makes happy
At the end...
Am I afraid
To meet divorce?
Not really
All'd past...
So please explain
Why you are girl
When born another cast...?
Do you avoiding
World of men
Nor fitting
Nor in peace
And live on border
Of your ends
In tights
To feel like
Miss...?
I do not know
It is trill
To dress and go
Through...
Through
World
Unnoticed
At all
No matter ever
Boy or girl...

I think if a trans MTF looks like a beautiful woman and I'm a straight gentleman; therefore we're hetro sexual; not gay. I don't like men. But if a hot looking chick has a dick; in my mind she's a woman.

A number of years ago, I walked into a small back street Charity Shop on the edge of town. I wasn’t really looking for anything specific just browsing, killing time, letting my eyes wander over the racks the way I always did when I felt that familiar restless itch under my skin. Then I saw it. Hanging slightly askew on a padded hanger near the back wall, half-hidden behind a row of sensible navy blazers, was a floor-length satin bridal gown. Ivory, not stark white. The bodice was structured but not boned, the skirt a gentle A-line that flared softly rather than ballooning into tulle insanity. A modest neckline. Delicate lace overlay on the shoulders and upper chest. And pinned to the hanger was the tag: Size 32 Worn once £49. My heart gave a hard, guilty thud. I’m a UK 18" collar with a 50" chest in men’s shirts. But dresses… dresses measure differently. Especially wedding dresses. Especially ones made to accommodate curves most people would call “plus size.” I glanced around. The shop was quiet. An older woman with silver hair was sorting bric-a-brac at the counter; a younger volunteer early twenties, purple streaks in her hair was steaming something in the corner. I lifted the gown off the rail. The satin felt cool and liquid against my palms. Heavy in the right way. I carried it toward the changing cubicle like I was smuggling contraband. “Would you like to try it on, love?” the silver-haired woman called out. Her voice was kind, matter-of-fact. No trace of surprise or judgement. I froze for half a second. “Yes please,” I managed. My voice sounded smaller than usual. She smiled. “Curtain’s already drawn back there. Take your time. Shout if you need a hand with the zip.” The cubicle was narrow, just a full-length mirror screwed to the wall, a single hook, and a thin beige curtain that didn’t quite reach the floor. I hung the dress on the hook and stripped quickly out of my jeans, hoodie, socks, boxers, down to bare skin that already felt too warm, too alive. My **** was already half-hard just from touching the fabric, from the sheer improbability of this moment. I reached into the pocket of my discarded jeans on the floor and found the condom I always carried now just in case. Fingers trembling, I tore the packet, rolled the latex down over my throbbing length, making sure the reservoir tip was positioned correctly. The relief of containment was immediate. No stains. No evidence. Just secret, pulsing heat trapped safely inside. I stepped into the gown. The skirt whispered up my calves, over my thighs. I pulled it past my hips slowly, carefully and the satin glided over the soft roundness of my belly without catching. I tugged the bodice up over my chest. The cups were generously cut, there was room. Actual room. I reached behind and found the long invisible zip. It slid up smoothly, no resistance, no straining. When I let my arms drop, the dress settled around me like it had been waiting. I looked in the mirror. The reflection showed someone soft and full and blushing furiously beneath ivory satin. The modest neckline framed the gentle swell of my chest and the faint shadow of cleavage created by the way the bodice pushed everything together. My hips looked wide and womanly beneath the smooth fall of fabric. My belly made a soft, proud curve against the front of the skirt. I turned sideways. The line from back to front was lush, generous, unapologetic. It fit. It actually fit. A small, involuntary whimper escaped me. I heard footsteps outside the curtain. “Everything alright in there?” It was the younger volunteer this time. I swallowed. “Yes. Um… could you, could you maybe check the zip? Just to make sure it’s all the way up?” The curtain parted a few inches. She peeked in, eyes widening for only a heartbeat before her face softened into a genuine smile. She stepped inside careful, professional and fastened the tiny hook-and-eye at the top of the zip I hadn’t been able to reach. Her fingers were gentle. “There. Perfect. It’s like it was made for you.” I couldn’t speak. My **** was fully hard now, straining painfully against the satin lining. A bead of pre-cum had already escaped and I could feel the slippery warmth of it against the inside of the dress. I smoothed the front of the skirt with both hands. The satin gleamed under the fluorescent light. I looked sill looked like a bloke in a dress. A big, soft, blushing, overweight very happy bride. When I finally stepped out, both women were waiting. “I’ll take it,” I said. Whilst the younger woman unhooked and unzipped me, the silver-haired woman rang it up. “£49. Cash or card, love?” I handed over my card. I left the Charity Shop with the dress folded carefully in a large carrier bag, the memory of satin against every inch of my skin still electric. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was hiding. I felt like I was finally beginning to find myself.

Ready to go out for a coffee with my friend...i wear this tan net pamtyhose.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dimly lit bedroom, my heart pounding with anticipation. At 64 years old, my body had softened over the years—my ample belly and wide hips a testament to a life of indulgence, now embraced in my secret world as a sissy crossdresser. Layers of shimmering satin enveloped me like a cocoon, not restraining but caressing every curve. A voluminous satin nightgown draped over my frame, its glossy fabric pooling around my thighs, while beneath it, satin panties hugged my skin, and a satin slip added another silky barrier. I felt shrouded, encased in luxury, every movement sending whispers of fabric against fabric.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the condom on the nightstand. I tore open the packet with care, the latex unfurling smoothly. Sliding it over my hardening arousal, I savored the initial cool tightness, a prelude to the symphony of sensations to come. It fit snugly, ready to capture the climax of this intimate ritual.
Now, I turned my attention to the fabrics that called to me. My fingers glided over the satin nightgown, tracing the smooth, slippery surface that clung to my obese form. The material shifted with each breath, rubbing against my skin in waves of electric silkiness. I ran my hands down my sides, feeling the layers bunch and slide, the overwhelming sensuality building as the satin whispered promises of ecstasy. My belly, soft and round, pressed against the inner layers, amplifying the friction—cool satin warming to my body heat, turning into a second skin that teased every nerve.
I moved to the dresser, where my collection of headscarves awaited. First, I selected an oversized satin one in deep crimson, draping it over my head like a veil of night. It cascaded down my back and shoulders, the edges brushing my neck. I tied it firmly under my chin, the knot secure but gentle, then looped the excess around my neck in a loose bow, adding another layer of encasement that framed my face in glossy folds. The satin pressed softly against my cheeks, its texture so smooth it felt like liquid silk pouring over me.
Not satisfied, I layered another—emerald green, even larger, overlapping the first. I repeated the process: over the head, tied under the chin with a double knot for that extra hug of fabric, then wrapped around my neck in elegant loops that nestled against my throat. The combined weight was delicious, the satins rustling together with every turn of my head, sending shivers down my spine. A third layer followed, ivory white and billowing, tied and looped in the same manner, now creating a multi-hued shroud that muffled the world outside, focusing all sensation inward.
To complete the encasement, I added the sheer voile chiffon veils. These were lighter, almost ethereal, like mist. I pulled the first one over my head as a hood, its transparent layers fluttering down to my shoulders, veiling my vision in a hazy dreamscape. The chiffon whispered against the satin scarves beneath, a delicate contrast to their heavier gloss—airy and teasing, brushing my lips and eyelids with feather-light touches. I added a second chiffon veil, then a third, each one encasing my head further, the sheer fabric layering into a translucent barrier that heightened every breath, every subtle movement.
Encased now from head to toe, I lay back on the bed, the satin sheets beneath me adding to the chorus. My hands explored freely: sliding under the nightgown to feel the panties' slick embrace, then up to my chest where the slip's fabric bunched against my skin. The sensations overwhelmed me—the cool slide of satin on satin, the warmth building where layers met my body's curves, the chiffon veils shifting like a gentle breeze across my face. My arousal throbbed within the condom, begging for attention.
I gave in, my hand wrapping around myself through the thin latex. The strokes were slow at first, savoring how the satin panties amplified each motion, the fabrics around me rustling in rhythm. The headscarves tugged slightly with my movements, their knots and loops a constant reminder of my shrouded state. Faster now, the sensations cresting—silky textures merging into a tidal wave of pleasure. With a muffled gasp beneath the veils, I released, filling the condom in blissful waves, my body quivering in the satin embrace until I lay spent, utterly satisfied in my encasement.

Good afternoon all. Oh my it's cold! Got myself wrapped up in my thick fleecy tights to keep warm. Trouble is I am getting a number of naughty thoughts right now and the Extra warmth might mean I have to take them off again xxx

Sun's out, butt's out!

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_52ykGpLwtd0IZVFOvq94XIl8kqMfuPRTm8xLfHFNsNxgdjiu6z4L-l1i49E5ueeBo0phvXg-sHCD4P4C1PlvGfs5r2nc6BMEm9WnKp2R9-wsJXWxO4mlU-2JuX5hXb9iKb1VPE6bmMhwNDGIKJRp6fHJMtBsUaxvSmE714tI4gGqESTeM6vHuRDOA/w368-h640/Screenshot_20251218-111020%20(1).png

http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

#crossdresser #sissy #sissies #crossdressers #crossdressing #sissyboy #sissygirl #girlyboy #ladyboy #femboy #femboys #femman #tgirl #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #buttsout #sissychsrissyinsandiego #shemalechrissy #lgbtq #gay #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #queer #shemale

Looking 4 a femboy or cd who's into CDs/Femboy also. Just looking to chat 4 now. Mtf cd / femboy 22. Pittsburgh area. DM me.

Too long ...

I wear ordinary skirt
To meet my late girlfriend
I want be simple
Simple lines
I do not want pretend
We meet...
She never sees my eyes
So wishing
Love and warmth
I do not know
Could it be
My skirt
Looks
Just too long?

"Dear family, as we find ourselves once again on the threshold of another Christmas this December 24, 2025, it's impossible not to pause for a moment to look back and give deep thanks for the immense gift of having one another. Christmas doesn't truly reside in the bright decorations adorning our home, nor in the feast we share, much less in the wrapped presents under the tree; true Christmas pulsates in each of our laughs, in the support we've given each other on gray days, and in the shared joy that multiplies our happiness. May the spirit of unity be the guest of honor at our table this holiday season. My most fervent wish is that each of you feels the warmth of a sincere embrace and that peace fills your hearts, reminding us that, no matter how far our individual paths may take us throughout the year, there will always be an invisible thread of love that keeps us unbreakable. May this year's end be the prelude to a 2026 filled with health and fulfilled projects." And above all, many more moments to continue building this story we call family. Merry Christmas to all."

I was sixteen, maybe seventeen, on that raw December afternoon in the mid-1970s, standing at the back of a small cemetery in southern Manchester. The light was thin and melancholy, the sort that turns everything slightly blue and makes shadows linger too long over the leaning stones. I barely knew the man we were burying, some Uncle twice removed, so the ache in the air never reached me. Grief felt like something that belonged to other people, grown-ups who understood loss. For me, the day was something else entirely, an accidental invitation into a world I hadn’t known I was hungry for.
They were everywhere, those women. Mature, composed, dressed in layers of black that seemed to absorb the weak winter sun and give back only a muted gleam. Silk dresses that clung and released with every breath, satin blouses catching stray glints of light, chiffon and voile drifting like smoke whenever the wind found them. Rayon, acetate, fabrics I didn’t even have names for then, but I felt them all the same, the way they moved, the soft sounds they made against one another. They stood in quiet clusters around the grave, gloved hands clasped, heads bowed beneath hats and veils. To them I must have looked like just another awkward boy in a borrowed tie, but inside I was burning with a fascination I couldn’t name and didn’t dare examine too closely.
And then there was her.
She stood slightly apart, as though even in mourning she needed space. An enormous black satin scarf, far too large, almost theatrical—draped over her shoulders and spilled down her back like spilled ink. Over her face, a sheer chiffon veil, so fine it trembled with every breath. I could smell her from where I stood, carried on the cold air, the sharp bite of Elnette hairspray holding her hair in perfect waves, and beneath it the heavy, amber warmth of Youth Dew. It was the scent of adulthood itself, complicated, slightly dangerous, utterly out of reach.
I watched her the entire time. I told myself it was curiosity, nothing more. But even then, in the thick of it, some quieter part of me knew better. There was something about the way these women carried their sorrow, elegant, controlled, yet undeniably physical that stirred a longing I didn’t understand. It wasn’t just desire, though that was certainly part of it. It was deeper: a wish to be close to whatever it was they possessed experience, certainty, the weight of years lived fully. I felt small beside them, unformed, all sharp edges and unspoken questions. They seemed to know secrets I hadn’t even learned to ask about.
Later, at the wake, coats and scarves were abandoned in a side room as the women moved on to tea and murmured condolences. I lingered near the pile, heart thudding so hard I was sure someone would notice. No one did. My fingers closed around two pieces: the oversized satin mourning scarf, still holding the warmth of her body, and the delicate chiffon veil. Both carried that same intoxicating blend of Elnette, Youth Dew, and something earthier, the faint salt of skin after hours in the cold. I slipped them inside my coat and left before the guilt could catch up with me.
That night, and for many nights through that long winter, I'd ascend up the narrow stairs to my attic bedroom. I’d lock the door, my one small claim to privacy in my parent’s house, draw the curtains and unfold the satin across my pillow. Sometimes I’d press the veil to my face and breathe slowly, letting the scent settle over me like fog.
In those quiet hours I began to understand what I’d really taken that day. It wasn’t just fabric. It was a fragment of a life I could only observe from the outside, a life of composure and ritual, of perfumes chosen deliberately and clothes worn with intention. Holding those scarves, I could pretend, for a moment, that some of that poise might rub off on me. That the confusion and restlessness I carried everywhere might quiet, just a little.
I never felt truly ashamed of stealing them. In my mind they were abandoned, after all, no longer needed once the performance of grief was over. But more than that, they had become mine in a way they could never have been hers again, totems of a feeling I was only beginning to name. Desire, yes. But also envy. And something closer to reverence.
Years later I can still close my eyes and smell it: hairspray, perfume, the faint trace of a woman’s skin on black satin. It takes me straight back to that cemetery, to the boy I was, watching, wanting, trying to understand what it meant to grow into someone capable of wearing mourning like it was made for them.
I’m not sure I ever fully did. But those scarves kept me company while I tried.

Something warm for the day maybe find somone later to share body warmth with.

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.

After my MTF Transition, I’m dating as a girl now. Do I have to tell guys I wasn’t born one? Yes or hell no? Like and drop your answer here https://youtube.com/shorts/cxgVdgL0sxw?si=eQ8IjWxrZnLCRZix #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #sissy #dating #nylon #heel

Getting ready for my next trip to Florida. Putting on a special dress in Lavander. My favorite color. AI flower background. Hope for warmth and beautiful flowers as i head down South

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

Felt Cute #crossdress #crossdreser #crossdressing #crossdressed #mtf #sexycrossdresser #trans #femdreams #transvestite #crossdressermodel

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 **** 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 **** 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

Crossdresser Dating Rules #1 on my Youtube: https://youtube.com/shorts/KFuhlOHl_rY?si=-FuMeVMtZe7d4aEc #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers

I wanna smth

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

Felt Cute Felt Cute #crossdress #crossdreser #crossdressing #crossdressed #mtf #sexycrossdresser #trans #femdreams #transvestite #crossdressermodel

Get to see me in the full without all the bitching of why we as models do this for a living.
Everyone spends more on beer then what it costs for a month on my onlyfans.

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

Revelation

I take off dress
Because
I want...
You never know
Me...
Your passion's
Burst
Makes you
So blind
And I have time to leave...

You love my image
That is false
I am so shy
In vein
I do not want
You ever know
What every girl
does pray
...
I do not want
You enter me
Without
Magic touch
I want you could
Today believe
It is not just your Love...,nor sex,
Not ever  touch of neck...
Not warmth of hands cause crazy burst
And tremble in my vein

When you will kiss me
Kiss one day,
Kiss me...
Kiss like a girl...
I'll open door
again
Again...!
Forget,
Forget me not...

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

Get to see me in the full without all the bitching of why we as models do this for a living.
Everyone spends more on beer then what it costs for a month on my onlyfans.

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

Mt first saree....

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

Get to see me in the full without all the bitching of why we as models do this for a living.
Everyone spends more on beer then what it costs for a month on my onlyfans.

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

My net mty stockings.

about last night !
A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

Love these heels . . .

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

Love this cute outfit . . .

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

Love this cute outfit.....

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Find me on FB also. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

About last night.....

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Find me on FB also.
Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

A MaleToFemale (MTF) Photographic Studio Visual.
Becoming Femme and Feminizing as my alter ego model Valentina Valentine.
Hair & Make-Up ready.
Love the skin you’re in.
Being androgynous is not a sin.
Please enjoy. Comments are always welcome.

#transfluid #femboy #mtftransition #femboycosplay #maletofemale #crossdresserslut #crossdressermodel #crossdressing #crossdresser #femboylegs #femboyheaven #transworld #justcrossdressers #transpinupgirl #Androgyny #femmeworld #pridemonth

There I was quite happy with all my mates in our temp regulated home, if it was hot we were lowered down, if it was hot we were raised up for body warmth, but the one day we were all fired out into an alien environment that made our skin burn. We swam for our lives, I swam so fast I bumped into a soft ball and buried my head in it. I managed to enter the soft ball and signalled to my mates to come in but i had to watch as they all died trying. I was wondering if I was the last of my kind when I heard a feminine voice saying welcome to my world big boy now you are mine to be a girl. for the next nine months I struggled to stay male despite the female hormones she kept feeding me. Then again I was pushed out into another alien world and heard them say "Congratulations it's a boy" then that feminine voice started again, LOL you may have the body but I got your brain you will always be a girl.

I'm Planning on Going to Missoula, MT this Weekend with a Daddy friend of Mine an We're Planning on Checking out "Fantasy Sex Shop/ Adult Theater" while we're There. Gonna be there (Friday 25, thru Sunday 27) I'm Gonna Be Takin some Pics, Hopefully Some Vids too.

Meeting Old Girlfreind ...

I dream to meet
My old girlfreind
With lipstick
And in dress
I wish she knew
Why I have gone
To be her best
Princess...
I knew she dreamt
Of Love with Girl
But ended up with
Boys...
Unhappy Crying
After all
Her husband
Simply gone...

I wish to meet her
Simple dress
To Walk us under
Rain
I never told
Her
I have gone
To be free Kate
In vein...
She would come
To caffee to find
I have not come at all
Just tall girl's
Sitting very shy
And in her bag
Rings call...

Perfect Crossdresser? Vote! https://youtube.com/shorts/PIyc-ZW2Fv0?si=juEVGCXuv450Axzc #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #mtf #sissy #nylon #nylons

Leggy Veronica - black mini dress and white nylons Want video? https://youtube.com/shorts/2Egw0P1A3K4?si=b5YF8jztmYvf99Ct #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #mtf #sissy #nylon #nylons

Hot Cossdressing Poses! Hurry to watch! https://youtu.be/lxMHzSDayCM?si=bYIvcTVkttDaPttb #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #mtf #sissy #femmeboy

Leggy Crossdresser Veronica wanna... https://youtube.com/shorts/C-8IFTRHJEo?si=R4ehb2ave5D9L7NV #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #mtf #sissy #femmeboy