John private messaged me saying that he may be able to help me with my ongoing training, trying not to get too excited with all the failed offers that come up.
I replied saying what did you have in mind, he said we'll I'm going to be honest, my wife is not interested in anything sex related anymore and my co ck is what you are looking for except I'm hairy at the moment, I said well how are you going to get around that, he said they don't see each other nude anymore either so he should be ok, he went on to say his wife worked Tuesdays to Thursday 12 lunch till 8pm... Well I don't usually ask but I said when he was smooth to send a picture... I thaught that would be the last of it but actually a few days later I got a 7" smooth Full Head Showing co ck pic, I could tell he had a bit of a belly but that co ck was very nice...
I tried not to say too much except that I was interested, he went on to say he would use his wife's Tights... I was glad he remembered... We went through all the usual Cleanliness Discretion and Deceases bit ...
I organised to pop round from work on the Tuesday and headed for Hucknall near Nottingham.. I arrived at his address at about 2:30.. He was much bigger than I expected, tall and slightly overweight but not too bad, we had a good chat about everything again..
I asked him what he wanted exactly, He said he just wanted to offer his co ck for me to train with, I was happy with his proposal and said yes...He went off to change...
A few minutes later he came back in his Robe and clearly wearing Tights, he stood next to me, so I opened his robe to take a look, his co ck was still behind the nylon and not through the small hole so I said to him to pull his co ck and Sacks through for me, which he did.
His co ck about 5" Soft and medium size sacks, squeezed through the small hole in the tights, I adjusted his sacks a little so it was more comfortable.. He liked that straight away.
I asked him where he wanted to sit or lie, he said he had thaught about that and because he was nervous he said he would rather not watch and he asked if I minded him closing his eyes. No of course not that very understandable, I said my preferred spot was on the edge of the arm chair with you holding your legs spread with your knees although you may be there some time depending how long you last, he said ok will will try that.
I was trying to hide my excitement at this point, he got down on the Arm Chair right on the edge, grabbed each knee sat back and spread his legs, he closed his eyes leaving me with his co ck for my entire selfish enjoyment, I could not believe how lucky I was..
I got down on the floor and raised his shaft with my right hand and slid the head into my mouth, wetting it fully, then wetting the shaft fully, he was hard already, I started by placing my lips just behind his co ck head and sucking up and down only about 2" maximum but fairly quick, at the same time playing with his hole with my tongue, as I like to make sure to fully enjoy the pre cum that dribbles out..
His co ck was solid and now a wonderful 7" Ish, I was so so excited.. I continue sliding my head up and down his shaft, every now and then taking all of it in then going back to a couple of inches again, I occasionally sucked on his smooth balls, one at a time, then back to my feeding stick... After 10 minutes I switched to using my hand to wa nk his co ck, but always keeping it in my mouth as I'm not wasting one drop of my feed, I was amazed how long he lasted, about another 10 minutes, when eventually I noticed he had the odd shallow moan, and the odd throb coming from his shaft... I switched back to short sucks behind his co ck head, hard and fast, I could tell he was getting close, he sat up suddenly when my mouth was filled fully with his beautiful cum, I swallowed it down, full again, I swallowed again OMG full again, I swallowed a third time, Incredible... I got every last drop, and eventually he started to droop again...
I was a little over excited and straight away asked wether he wanted me to stay for more or to go...
He looked shocked, you want to have more, Yes please I said, he seemed shocked and said yes of course, we waited about an hour before I managed to get him hard again, eventually getting my second helping...
Sadly I had no time for anymore as I needed to fetch my wife....
I was already looking forward to tomorrows visit..

If you can help please please get in touch...
All you need is a Smooth Co ck and Balls, Full Head Showing and willing to wear Tights...
Oh and I MUST be aloud to Swallow.....

i think this slip is a little small

I want to tell you sisters how to determine your appearance contrast
1) Take a selfie and convert it to black and white using an editor.
2) Take a lightness scale and apply it to your photo, as shown in the figure.
3) Next, determine the darkest and lightest areas in your photo using the lightness scale.
4) Next, using the scale numbers, subtract the number of the lightest area from the number of the darkest area.
5) Then compare the results:
If the result is 1-3, you have low appearance contrast.
If the result is 4-6, you have average appearance contrast.
If the result is 7-9, you have high appearance contrast.

How can knowing your appearance contrast help you?

High contrast
Rule: Brightness and strong color changes.
How to choose clothes: Combine polar colors and wear pure, saturated shades. Clothing Danger: Dull, pastel, and gray clothes will make you look tired.
Makeup: Boldly highlight your face. Use bold eyeliner, dark smoky eyes, or a rich, femme fatale lipstick.
Prints and Size: Large, bold geometric patterns, contrasting stripes, or large checkered patterns.

Medium Contrast
Rule: Moderation and smooth transitions.
How to Choose Clothes: Choose medium-depth colors and combine similar shades.
Clothing Danger: Radical black and white or acidic colors will drown out your face.
Makeup: Maintain balance. Soft shading, calm berry lips, and natural, muted tones are suitable.
Prints and Size: Medium-sized prints, soft watercolor washes, or low-contrast checkered patterns.

Low Contrast
Rule: Softness and delicacy.
How to choose clothes: Choose pastel, dusty, or sophisticated light colors.
Clothing hazard: Colors that are too dark or too bright will wash out your face.
Makeup: Use translucent textures. The best choices are subtle nudes, watercolor techniques, and lip glosses.
Prints and sizes: Small, subtle patterns, thin stripes, subtle polka dots, or monochrome textures.

Hey I'm looking for someone to explore my sexuallity and my sexual fantasy's of being a slutty sissy femboy, I to tell me I'm a good girl, I would prefer a Man but I don't mind if it's a Women I just want someone to make me feel weak and small and explore my sexual desires

I tried on a pair of my fem jeans today and WOW I am now a size smaller!thanks wegovy

Probably my smallest thong that i have. Strappy micro thong. The heart lace design is pretty sexy!

Most of my clothing I buy secondhand, predominantly from charity shops.
So I was quite surprised to find two of the exact same skirt, in different charity shops, same manufacturer, same design, but different colour scheme.....

One is black/brown and the other black/grey.

The material is soft, but they are proper pencil skirts, small dainty steps when walking

When i first started taking cross dressing seriously, as in not just for sexual gratification, i didnt even have a femme name, so i decided on a name that would sound good with my surname, so i chose Megan, Megan Roe (yes I'm on Farcebook), then i bought a variety of wigs, different colours, styles etc, picked the ones that suited me best, threw the rest, i then went and bought casual clothes, my makeup is ever growing, and I'm not too bad at it, and i still set myself goals however big and small for each month,

Question out there want a new pair of heels looking at Oxford heels does anybody own a pair and sizing ? Are they small or larger on size fit x thank you

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

It begins there, always.

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

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

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

But that is only the surface of it.

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

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

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

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

And then I looked in the mirror.

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

Now, it is ritual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for a little while, that is enough.

This is my smallest skimpiest thong that I have. My C string thong. I love the feeling like I'm wearing nothing at all.

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

I railed my dildo last night ! Oh my have a sore bottom but nice sore as it was my small one x
#pleatedskirt #stockings #suspenders #highheels #heellocks

Why do I love Co ck......

This is a good question and I guess it's personal to me ...
Co ck that has the head fully showing to me look amazing, small medium or large just look incredible and if Smooth Shaven and in Stockings or Holdups then I'm Week and I must have them in my mouth.
The way the skin behind the head moves with your lips, the feel of the rough edge of the Head.
The taste of a clean **** is amazing.
The way it shows you it enjoys what you started by getting hard, what a turn on
The best thing of all is how after all this fun sucking and playing it rewards you again with the most amazing Pre Cum then followed by a juicy mouth full of Cum for me to Swallow and enjoy...
Damn I love them so much ....

If you are local to Derby or Nottingham then get in touch, get those Co ck Photos and
Send them my way
------------------------------------------------------------
Further Slutty Reading

As someone that on the odd occasion meets other CDs, I think it is important to know how I feel about you if we meet up.
Well it's very important to understand before we meet a few things.
I'm meeting you for my own pleasure entirely,
I'm not interested in you looking like a Female entirely... Let me explain
Before we got to the meeting point we would have chatted extensively about it, and swapped Pics as you do.
So now we know I'm only interested in your Co ck, but only Smooth Co ck and in Lingerie.
Unfortunately I DON'T do beards, not on my Co ck.
So now we know, You need to be Smooth, in Lingerie and have a **** I WILL use.
That means I will be Sucking that Co ck Dry and Swallowing the Content, No Ifs, No Buts...
Now the next thing is what you may want me to do or of course do to me.
The 2 rules I have will have been discussed with you before now anyway so...
My Co ck 'WILL' be Emptied and 'WILL' be Swallowed by You, No Ifs, No Buts...
I get asked, but I wanted you to **** my Ass, that's fine but the rule above still applies so remember that...
I get asked, But I wanted to **** your Ass, well again that's fine but you WILL Cum in my mouth and Feed me, No Ifs, No Buts.
You are a Toy for my pleasure.... That's it
You may become a friend and we may meet very regular, but everything above ALWAYS stays the same....Never Ever any Mess or Waste...
Now you know..


All my best pictures and Stories in one (FREE) Private Group <a href="https://www.flickr.com/groups/14871084@N25/">www.flickr.com/groups/14871084@N25/</a>

Real life......(small violins are optional!)

Applogies to friends i never have time for, i live in a small house and never can dip in and out like i use to with age verification. (bit harder to hide a laptop!)

Real life....

Dont have lots of money so never can buy the lovely clothes and lingerie i want. Charity shops and bins for me!

Real life....

Love to try make up but never have propere Nicky time.

Real life......

Spend the first 10 mins on this site reporting people showing there cocktail sticks. Fine if youve flirty and chatty in DM's but you wouldnt just show it in "Real life" you'd get arrested.

Real life.....

I love to dress it makes me happy and if people want to come along for the ride then that makes me happy too

Love to those that need it x

Gym wear next!!

((Feel Free to Share if you like 🩷))
No Ai or Fake Pictures, What you see is me and mine. Nothing more or less.

Why do I love Co ck......
This is a good question and I guess it's personal to me ...
Co ck that has the head fully showing to me look amazing, small medium or large just look incredible and if Smooth Shaven and in Stockings or Holdups then I'm Week and I must have them in my mouth.
The way the skin behind the head moves with your lips, the feel of the rough edge of the Head.
The taste of a clean **** is amazing.
The way it shows you it enjoys what you started by getting hard, what a turn on
The best thing of all is how after all this fun sucking and playing it rewards you again with the most amazing Pre Cum then followed by a juicy mouth full of Cum for me to Swallow and enjoy...
Damn I love them so much ....

If you are local to Derby or Nottingham then get in touch, get those Co ck Photos and
Send them my way
------------------------------------------------------------
Further Slutty Reading

As someone that on the odd occasion meets other CDs, I think it is important to know how I feel about you if we meet up.
Well it's very important to understand before we meet a few things.
I'm meeting you for my own pleasure entirely,
I'm not interested in you looking like a Female entirely... Let me explain
Before we got to the meeting point we would have chatted extensively about it, and swapped Pics as you do.
So now we know I'm only interested in your Co ck, but only Smooth Co ck and in Lingerie.
Unfortunately I DON'T do beards, not on my Co ck.
So now we know, You need to be Smooth, in Lingerie and have a **** I WILL use.
That means I will be Sucking that Co ck Dry and Swallowing the Content, No Ifs, No Buts...
Now the next thing is what you may want me to do or of course do to me.
The 2 rules I have will have been discussed with you before now anyway so...
My Co ck 'WILL' be Emptied and 'WILL' be Swallowed by You, No Ifs, No Buts...
I get asked, but I wanted you to **** my Ass, that's fine but the rule above still applies so remember that...
I get asked, But I wanted to **** your Ass, well again that's fine but you WILL Cum in my mouth and Feed me, No Ifs, No Buts.
You are a Toy for my pleasure.... That's it
You may become a friend and we may meet very regular, but everything above ALWAYS stays the same....Never Ever any Mess or Waste...
Now you know..


All my best pictures and Stories in one (FREE) Private Group <a href="https://www.flickr.com/groups/14871084@N25/">www.flickr.com/groups/14871084@N25/</a>

I change my profile pic and some jackass sends me a pic of his embarrassingly small baby smurf dick after saying hi.. wtf man.. if i wanted a vienna sausage I'd buy some at the fucking store.. probably smells like six year old ranch dressing and moldy fritos that sat next to a dollar store tin of sardines and shit.. well, at least he said hi first.. that's more than what most creepers do.. that's something I guess.. 🤷🏼‍♀️

A silver cut

I ve made
This silver shade
I ve made
This lesbi cut...
Am I attractive more?
You wish retreate
Not f...k?
Im lost
My breasts are small
That s good for lesbi girl
My voice is not to high
But not so manly wild
But body....
Is too soft
Too feminine
Too gentle
What could
I do with soul
My Girly soul
Trembles...
I ve made my lashes
Small
I shadowed pink my
Eyes.
My lips are waiting kiss
Of girl...
Girl in disgise...

My lips are waiting
For your kiss
I know trembling taste
I wish to meet you
Magic Miss
Who will seduce my lace...
Who knows where
Touch me right
Bring pleasure
Lust and fire
Who cuddles simply
Girl to Girl
And grows my admire...
I want forget
My hide as boy
I wish you understand
I wish orgasm
Orgasm of girl
And not for one night stand...
I want you open me
My dress will fall for you in night...
My Darling lead me to confess
With you in Paradise ...

Bought another pair of shoes from Op Shop! A little on the small size but works well with my dress. Heels are pretty good also $6 not a bad purchase

A small set from yesterday.
Not chasing perfection here. Just sharing where I’m at right now.
Confidence looks different depending on the day.

#crossdresser
#genderexpression
#femmeenergy
#softconfidence
#selfexpression
#quietmoments
#personal
#lgbtq

Hairy legs and heels 3 sizes too small……xx

I remember my first date with a man. It happened many years ago in May 2011.We arranged the meet through the website for crossdressers/transvestites and their admirers where we both had profiles.He lived in Slough (UK) where he lived alone after his divorce.I was both extremely nervous and excited at the thought that I would be with a man in the very intimate way. I hardly could sleep at night thinking all the time what to wear,what sort of makeup to put on. I know that men love stockings and heels so I took my best pair of ff stockings and heels with me. I also packed my best pencil dress. He picked me at the station in Slough and we went to his place.I felt I was shaking inside with excitement. He took me to his bedroom where I changed my clothes whilst he excused himself.I put on some red lipstick and mascara and my bob black wig. He came back completely naked. My heart started beating like crazy when he approached me and he touched my small clit through the fabric of my lace panties. Gosh, I thought to myself "yess its going to happen".He helped me to pulled down my panties and I started walking around dressed only in a black bullet bra,black stocking with matching supender belt and 6 inches heels. I heard him gasping and I noticed that his **** started to glister.He approached me and grabbed me from behind and started kissing my neck and I turned around and he forced his tongue into my mouth and I didn't resist it. It was so exciting being kissed by a man.He was a good kisser.Also he started rubbing his penis against mine whilst we were kissing.Strangely I was thinking about his wife he had divorced recently so I thought to myself " was the same way he kissed his wife as he's kissing me now".And after that we went to bed together....

Gray coat was not very warm, too small, but nice for spring to go....

Im a big city girl living in a small town, good morning ladies

No Ai or Fake Pictures, What you see is me and mine. Nothing more or less.
Why do I love Co ck......
This is a good question and I guess it's personal to me ...
Co ck that has the head fully showing to me look amazing, small medium or large just look incredible and if Smooth Shaven and in Stockings or Holdups then I'm Week and I must have them in my mouth.
The way the skin behind the head moves with your lips, the feel of the rough edge of the Head.
The taste of a clean **** is amazing.
The way it shows you it enjoys what you started by getting hard, what a turn on
The best thing of all is how after all this fun sucking and playing it rewards you again with the most amazing Pre Cum then followed by a juicy mouth full of Cum for me to Swallow and enjoy...
Damn I love them so much ....

If you are local to Derby or Nottingham then get in touch, get those Co ck Photos and
Send them my way
------------------------------------------------------------
Further Slutty Reading

As someone that on the odd occasion meets other CDs, I think it is important to know how I feel about you if we meet up.
Well it's very important to understand before we meet a few things.
I'm meeting you for my own pleasure entirely,
I'm not interested in you looking like a Female entirely... Let me explain
Before we got to the meeting point we would have chatted extensively about it, and swapped Pics as you do.
So now we know I'm only interested in your Co ck, but only Smooth Co ck and in Lingerie.
Unfortunately I DON'T do beards, not on my Co ck.
So now we know, You need to be Smooth, in Lingerie and have a **** I WILL use.
That means I will be Sucking that Co ck Dry and Swallowing the Content, No Ifs, No Buts...
Now the next thing is what you may want me to do or of course do to me.
The 2 rules I have will have been discussed with you before now anyway so...
My Co ck 'WILL' be Emptied and 'WILL' be Swallowed by You, No Ifs, No Buts...
I get asked, but I wanted you to **** my Ass, that's fine but the rule above still applies so remember that...
I get asked, But I wanted to **** your Ass, well again that's fine but you WILL Cum in my mouth and Feed me, No Ifs, No Buts.
You are a Toy for my pleasure.... That's it
You may become a friend and we may meet very regular, but everything above ALWAYS stays the same....Never Ever any Mess or Waste...
Now you know..


All my best pictures and Stories in one (FREE) Private Group <a href="https://www.flickr.com/groups/14871084@N25/">www.flickr.com/groups/14871084@N25/</a>

No Ai or Fake Pictures, What you see it me and mine. Nothing more or less.

Why do I love Co ck

This is a good question and I guess it's personal to me ...
Co ck that has the head fully showing to me look amazing, small medium or large just look incredible and if Smooth Shaven and in Stockings or Holdups then I'm Week and I must have them in my mouth.
The way the skin behind the head moves with your lips, the feel of the rough edge of the Head.
The taste of a clean **** is amazing.
The way it shows you it enjoys what you started by getting hard, what a turn on
The best thing of all is how after all this fun sucking and playing it rewards you again with the most amazing Pre Cum then followed by a juicy mouth full of Cum for me to Swallow and enjoy...
Damn I love them so much ....

If you are local to Derby or Nottingham then get in touch, get those Co ck Photos and
Send them my way
------------------------------------------------------------
Further Slutty Reading

As someone that on the odd occasion meets other CDs, I think it is important to know how I feel about you if we meet up.
Well it's very important to understand before we meet a few things.
I'm meeting you for my own pleasure entirely,
I'm not interested in you looking like a Female entirely... Let me explain
Before we got to the meeting point we would have chatted extensively about it, and swapped Pics as you do.
So now we know I'm only interested in your Co ck, but only Smooth Co ck and in Lingerie.
Unfortunately I DON'T do beards, not on my Co ck.
So now we know, You need to be Smooth, in Lingerie and have a **** I WILL use.
That means I will be Sucking that Co ck Dry and Swallowing the Content, No Ifs, No Buts...
Now the next thing is what you may want me to do or of course do to me.
The 2 rules I have will have been discussed with you before now anyway so...
My Co ck 'WILL' be Emptied and 'WILL' be Swallowed by You, No Ifs, No Buts...
I get asked, but I wanted you to **** my Ass, that's fine but the rule above still applies so remember that...
I get asked, But I wanted to **** your Ass, well again that's fine but you WILL Cum in my mouth and Feed me, No Ifs, No Buts.
You are a Toy for my pleasure.... That's it
You may become a friend and we may meet very regular, but everything above ALWAYS stays the same....Never Ever any Mess or Waste...
Now you know..


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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.

My fingers tremble, just a faint quiver, as I reach for the foil packet on the nightstand. It’s almost weightless, a promise in silver. I tear it open with deliberate care (the small rip loud in the stillness), and the condom unfurls like liquid mercury. Cool and impossibly thin, it glides down over my already aching ****, sheathing me in a trembling second skin. Safe. Secure. A fragile barrier between me and the avalanche of satin to come. A bead of pre-cum kisses the latex tip; I smile. Patience, little sissy. You’ll have your reward.
The first layer is a whisper-pink satin chemise, so fine it feels wet. I let it slither over my head, down my chest, until the hem brushes mid-thigh. Instantly it warms, clings, releases, and clings again with every breath. My palms chase the fabric, front and back, greedy for the slick heat blooming beneath my touch.
Next, the Black nightgown (double-layered, heavy, devotional). I step into it and draw it upward. The inner lining kisses the chemise, and they sigh together: shhh, shhh, my private lullaby. It falls to my ankles in a perfect liquid column. When I move, both layers ripple, cool against cool, warmer where my body heat pools.
The robe is deep rose, quilted satin outside, and champagne gloss within. Arms slide into sleeves, and the lining floods over my skin like chilled cream poured slow. I cinch the sash, and the world contracts: four surfaces of satin now stroking one another with every heartbeat (chemise on nightgown, nightgown on robe lining, lining on skin). I walk barefoot across the room, and the fabrics answer in overlapping waves: the chemise clings, the nightgown glides, and the robe slithers and sweeps. A private orchestra of frictionless lust.
In the mirror I’m only blush and ivory shimmer, face flushed above an ocean of gloss. I lift my arms; sleeves fall back like slow-motion waterfalls. When they drop, the collapse is a soft, wet thud against my body that I feel in my teeth.
I sink onto the midnight-blue satin duvet and let the robe bloom beneath me. On my back, layers flatten and spread, cool against my shoulder blades, my thighs, and the arches of my feet. I arch (just slightly) and the slide is obscene: satin on satin on satin, endless, merciless.
Knees drawn up, fabric pools thick and warm between my thighs like molten candy. My palms smooth down the front (quilted diamonds, slick columns, clinging chemise, skin), and every layer moves with me, against me, inside me.
Now the first of my headscarves, ballet-slipper pink, three feet of pure satin. Folded triangle wide, draped, pulled beneath my chin, crossed, and knotted tight. It cups my jaw and seals my throat. A second knot sits just under my lower lip like a soft gag. The world muffles instantly.
Second scarf, ivory and heavier. Over the first, tied again triangle wide. Four thicknesses now cradle my head, press my cheeks, and frame my face in a gleaming oval.
Third, a deep rose bandeau wound low, looped twice, and knotted at my nape. My chin is forced gently down; swallowing makes every layer glide against my throat in one slow, liquid swallow of its own.
Then the veils.
Pink chiffon, so sheer it’s barely there, yet it turns every texture beneath into a caress. Ivory voile next, pinned high, floating like breath. Last, pale mint over my face alone, tucked beneath the lowest knot. The room becomes watercolor. Breathing through it is filthy intimacy: the fabric flutters against my lips, tasting faintly of dye and my own heat.
A final white satin ribbon, narrow and merciless. Three coils around my neck over every knot, until only a thick, glossy band remains, pulsing with my heartbeat.
From crown to toe, only satin and chiffon speak. When I turn my head, the scarves whisper, and the veils drift like perfume. Pressure under my chin is constant, loving, and absolute.
One sleeved hand slips beneath the pooled folds at my thighs (satin, satin, satin then the cool, taut drum of latex). The contrast is blinding. I stroke once, slowly. My breath flutters the veil against my lips.
Knees higher. The other hand presses the stacked knots beneath my chin (gentle ownership). I begin: lazy circles that turn greedy. The condom translates every ridge of fabric into bright, liquid fire. Veils drift across my chest with each ragged inhale. Heat blooms, trapped, multiplied, sacred.
Faster. Hips rock. The robe lining slithers against the duvet in one long, wet slide. Scarves tighten as my head sinks deeper into the pillow; the ribbon collar throbs.
Release crashes silent and total. I bite down on nothing but chiffon, a muffled whimper swallowed by layers. Pleasure pours into the latex sheath in thick, obedient pulses, trapped and perfect, echoing through every fold until my whole body is one long satin tremor.
After, I lie glowing. The condom keeps me immaculate (another reverent layer). My chest rises and falls beneath quilted satin and drifting voile; tiny aftershocks ripple like quiet tides.

Oh dear, how sad, never mind, pass me the world's smallest violin - Samantha73 seems to have blocked me and sent me a reply i can't even see - my guess is it's because i pointed out that being nasty to asylum seekers is pretty much the same as being nasty to trans or crossdressed people - know by the company "she" keeps, eh?
Saves me the effort having to block a nasty "person" quelle domage.

My First Experience as a Truck Stop Wh-re or Chrissy — A Night on the Road Continued... (Part II) (To see the beginning, Part I, visit my page and scroll down):
The bra came next.

I hesitated for half a second—long enough for the moment to stretch—then let it slide off. Cool air kissed my skin. His breath caught audibly. He didn’t touch me yet. He didn’t need to.

Click.
Click.

I could feel my body responding to the attention, to the knowledge that this version of me was being captured, saved, proof that Chrissy existed. That I wasn’t just a thought or a secret ritual in front of a mirror.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and I believed him.

When the last of the fabric was gone, I stood there fully exposed under the red glow, arms crossed loosely at first, then letting them fall to my sides. Vulnerability pulsed through me—electric, frightening, intoxicating. I felt open, claimed by the moment, by the lens, by his gaze.

He stepped closer then. Close enough that I could feel his heat without being touched. One hand lifted my chin, not roughly, just enough to make me meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he said. “Not the camera.”

I did.

The photos continued, slower now, more deliberate. Less about documenting and more about possession. When he finally set the phone down, my skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve had been tuned too high.

When he guided me back onto the bunk, the vinyl was cold at first, then quickly warmed beneath me. I lay there open to him, knees drawn up, posture unmistakable, my body arranged in a way that made refusal impossible—but refusal wasn’t what I felt.

What I felt was permission being taken.

The cab groaned softly as he leaned over me, blocking out the low red light, blocking out the rest of the world. His hands settled at my hips and stayed there—anchoring me, claiming the space where my choices narrowed into a single direction. He didn’t hurry. He waited. Long enough that the waiting itself became its own kind of pressure.

My breath went shallow. My body answered before my mind could intervene.

When he finally moved, the sensation was overwhelming—not sharp, not violent, but consuming. The kind of closeness that demands you make room for it, that insists you soften or break. I felt myself give way in small increments, each one deliberate, each one erasing a little more distance between who I pretend to be and what I was becoming in that moment. He plowed my asspussy over and over....in and out...in and out...in..in...getting deeper each time.

He watched my face closely, as if he needed to see exactly where I disappeared. Every sound I made seemed to encourage him, draw him deeper into his own control. I clutched the bedding, holding on to something solid as my thoughts scattered, replaced by a single, relentless awareness of being used with purpose.

“Relax,” he said quietly, almost kindly. “I’ve got you.”

And I surrendered.

Not just my body—my resistance. I let the tension drain out of me and allowed the sensation to take over completely. There was a point where I stopped tracking time, stopped measuring what I was giving and what I was losing. My body responded on its own terms, breaking open in waves that left me shaking, emptied of pretense.

I heard him make a sound above me—rough, unfiltered—and knew I’d been brought exactly where he wanted me. I knew he came, he ejaculated, he sprayed his man juice, his sperm, his DNA deep inside me. I could feel it, the warm, sticky liquid clinging to my insides.

Afterward, when he pulled me up toward him again, there was no gentleness in the request—just expectation. I recognized it instantly. My knees braced against the seat, my hands guided into place, my mouth following where my thoughts no longer led. I focused on the task, on being useful, on doing it right. There was comfort in that narrow focus. Safety, even. More to cum....

#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

Note: While this drive was real, the story is fictional. This is my fantasy. Will it become true one day? I hope so. And maybe I'll run into you at a truck stop? Kisses!
-Chrissy

My First Experience as a Truck Stop Wh-re or Chrissy — A Night on the Road

I’m not out. Not really.

Not to my family. Not to the world. Maybe not even fully to myself.

By daylight I pass as what people expect: a tall, thin man in his forties, dark hair, dark eyes, quiet, unremarkable. But underneath—always underneath—I carry Chrissy. Smooth skin hidden under denim. Lace and silk where no one is supposed to look. A secret pressed close to my body, warm and constant.

I don’t know yet if Chrissy is a role, a mask, or my truest self. I just know I’m not ready to live her openly.

The drive from San Diego to Prescott was long and lonely, the kind of drive where your thoughts stretch out across the desert like the road itself. I left late—too late, really—and by the time I pulled into the truck stop it was just after four in the morning. Christmas was only days away. The air was cold. The place was nearly silent.

Except for the trucks.

Rows and rows of them, idling and dark, their drivers asleep inside. A whole hidden world resting while the rest of America slept.

Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed. I bought coffee I didn’t really want and a hot dog I didn’t really taste. That’s when I felt it—that familiar sensation on the back of my neck. Being seen.

He was older. Weathered. The kind of man whose life is measured in miles and nights like this. His eyes lingered too long. Not crude—curious. Knowing.

When I stepped back outside, he followed—but not aggressively. He spoke softly, close enough that his voice stayed between us.

“Chrissy,” he said, like it was a question and an answer at the same time.

My heart kicked hard in my chest. Fear and thrill braided together.

We talked. Quietly. Honestly. About boundaries. About money. About what I was—and wasn’t—willing to do. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. When I followed him to his truck, it was because I chose to.

Inside, the cab was dim, warm, insulated from the world. I shed my outer layers slowly, deliberately, revealing what I’d hidden all night. His attention wasn’t violent—it was reverent. Hungry, yes, but controlled. I felt myself settle into Chrissy fully, like slipping into a familiar skin.

What happened between us stayed there, contained within the cab and the dark and the hum of the engine. Time stretched and blurred. I was present in my body in a way I rarely allow myself to be.

When it ended, I didn’t feel used.

I felt… seen.

He paid me without haggling. Then something unexpected happened: he didn’t boast, didn’t leer. He simply told a few others—men like him, tired men, lonely men—who understood discretion.

I made my own choices again. And again.

Not a dozen. Not chaos. Just a handful of quiet encounters, spaced out across the early hours of the morning. Each one brief. Each one negotiated. Each one leaving me with cash folded neatly into my purse and a strange, steady calm settling in my chest.

By sunrise, I was exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally. Chrissy had been fully awake all night. And she was tired.

Under the Dashboard Lights

The cab door closed behind me, sealing us into a private world of low light and humming machinery. The dashboard cast everything in a muted red glow, like we were suspended inside a heartbeat. I could feel it then—how small the space was, how large he felt in it, how nowhere I could go made everything sharper.

He reached for his phone almost casually.

“Stand right there,” he said.

I obeyed.

My hands shook just slightly as I slipped off my jacket, then my shirt. I could feel his eyes tracking every inch of me, lingering, memorizing. When I was left in my bra and panties—the ones I’d chosen carefully before the trip, just in case—I felt a rush of heat flood my chest and face.

The phone came up.

A soft click.

Then another.

He moved slowly, circling me, telling me to turn, to arch my back, to lift my chin. Each instruction felt like a pull downward, stripping away the version of myself that hides. I wasn’t performing anymore. I was presenting myself. Offering. More to cum....

#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

Love the feeling of the straps digging into my chubby flesh its too small though~ my little strawberry poked out

Fabulous time away, 270 girls all fully dressed, no hairy bums, no bulges in too small knickers just genuine crossdressing girls enjoying being out in the real world

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...

New LBD and sandals. Something about nude in shoes that make everything feel a little bit classier... even a tad too small dress

Here is one of my awsome photos. (I made several) Using my own body, from when I was in Germany over 10 years ago. I did have a wig on and small breast inserts. At that point in my life I weighed 137pounds. I now am about 158lbs but starting to diet again. Couple of changes now, is my hair is now mid-back length and my breasts are now real Bs. But I think I am a bit chunky. Acording to my current diet plan I can reach 138lbs again by next April. Please give me comments? Dawn

I am going to do a whole wedding sequence soon. I am learning to use AI and use my own body to try on clothes and add different back grounds. The photo I am posting today is an AI background added to a Teal swimsuit I am modeling. I did tuck well and added a small lift on the top. I am a true B so I do have some real breast to work with. This one I think is almost art. I hope to actually wear a teal swimsuit to a future beach trip. (I have gone to the beach being a woman several times now) Appreciate comments please.

See through,small b00bs
#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 #****

A small part of your day with me. It can be enjoyable or painful. It all depends on whether you deserve pleasure or punishment.

Today’s little video clip.
A sexy little red number with suspenders and a small skirt.

How Female Hormones Affect a Sissy’s Body and Mind
For many sissies, taking feminizing hormones (HRT – Hormone Replacement Therapy) is more than just a fetish—it’s a deliberate step toward physical and mental feminization. Estrogen and anti-androgens don’t just alter appearance; they reshape desires, sensations, and even self-perception.

1. Key Hormones and Their Effects

Estrogen (Estradiol)

The primary female hormone, responsible for:
Softer, smoother skin – reduces pores and oiliness.
Fat redistribution – to hips, butt, and breasts (creating a feminine silhouette).
Slows body/facial hair growth – makes body hair finer and sparser.
Reduces muscle mass – leads to a softer, more delicate physique.
Emotional changes – increases sensitivity and mood fluctuations.

Anti-Androgens (Spironolactone, Cyproterone Acetate, etc.)

Block testosterone, enhancing estrogen’s effects:
Suppresses erections – random arousal becomes rare.
Shrinks testicles – they gradually reduce in size.
Lowers libido – but may shift desires toward submission.

Progesterone (Optional)

May enhance breast growth and affect mood (some report feeling more "dreamy").

2. How Hormones Change a Sissy’s Life

Physical Changes

Breast development – small buds form within months, growing into soft breasts.
Curvier hips & butt – fat deposits reshape the body.
Softer facial features – jawline and skin texture become more feminine.
Thinner body hair – though existing hair won’t disappear without laser/electrolysis.
Psychological Changes

Heightened emotions – more prone to crying, tenderness, and mood swings.
Shift in sexuality – desire becomes more receptive, focused on touch and submission.
Increased submissiveness – some report stronger urges to please and obey.
Sexual Changes

Weaker erections – or none at all without stimulation.
"Full-body" orgasms – less localized, more wave-like (similar to female orgasms).
Reduced semen – may dry up completely over time.
3. Risks and Considerations

⚠ Hormones are not toys! Potential risks (without medical supervision):

Blood clots, liver issues, depression.
Possible infertility (sometimes permanent).
Irreversible changes (breast growth won’t reverse after stopping).
For mild feminization – some try phytoestrogens (soy, red clover), but effects are weak.//t.me/DisciplineMommy

Small very small...yes,i'm a sissy
#sissy #nylon #crossdresser #transgender #feminization

Was thinking about typing out something so funny that it's legibility was questioned. Gin martinis taste better, but vodka ones just **** ya up mo' betta.
Don't forget my fellow faggot ass retards, police liaison is another way for the pigs to build a believable case against you and me.
Overthrow small government here at home because the Republicans just want peace. Nukkke the nuclear families and indoctrinate all races under age 30 like selfish wise men should.
GOD BLESS GAY AMERICA