Do you like my strappy heels?

New white strapless bra

The more straps on the suspender belt, the merrier!

Love sparkly gold strappy platform high heeled sandals! And shiny suntan coloured tights!

Just some thoughts from myself.

im getting deeper into crossdressing lately. mostly due to encouragements i got on this site, so thank you everyone for making me feel like im not alone, and what im doing is not really all that wrong.

my next step will be doing makeup. but i guess it would take time to master it. i will probably try then to maybe go out at night something, at least to take a walk around another neighborhood.

when i started crossdressing it was for pure arousal (i guess it starts like that for most of us). dont get me wrong, there is still plenty of arousal to go around when i dress up. but lately, i found that what im enjoying the most is the comfort of woman clothes, and confidence i gain from wearing it. but most of all, i caught myself enjoying the "little things" while i dress up.

even though it's a chore to shave my legs, i really love doing it. i love the scent of body lotion when i apply it, and how soft and shiny my skin feels and looks. even though that doing my toenails takes forever and my back hurts, i really love doing it. i love that i naturally started to tiptoe around the house when i switch between my shoes. i love how i cant decide what to wear even though i have dozens of dresses. i love how i naturally cross my legs when i sit down. i fell in love in the feeling of my long hair waving and sliding across my bare back. i love the feeling when i comb my hair while looking myself in the mirror. i love playing around with a lock of my hair to keep my hands busy and adjusting it constantly over my ear. i love the feeling of wearing tights to bed to take a nap. i like how sad it makes me to see my tights get a run in them. i love to use my finger to adjust the strap on my heels. right now, im wearing some super soft opaque tights, casual bodycon dress, some casual white lingerie, some really nice heels and it is the best, most comfortable feeling to just sit like that in my chair, writing this.

my point is, dressing up makes me feel good. but little things along the way makes me feel really great.

cant wait to cross my legs in front the mirror, to tackle challenge of make up, and top it off with some nice jewelry.

i know, really long one. but i really wanted to say this. what "little things" do you enjoy the most?

These Photos are based on a something that happened at a wedding we were attending at a Country Hotel.
My Wife and i were Guests at a Close friends wedding about 6 years ago.
as the reception progressed and after the Speeches Etc, We decided to Go back To our room and Change into something more comfortable for the evening celebrations.
As we walked from the Lift we heard some Giggling coming from the stair well, We looked to see what was happening and to our surprise and the couple involved there was One of My Wife's friends bent over with Her dress up over Her back being F*****d by one of the male guests !!!.
Fast Forward a Few Months and The lady In question asked my wife to take some Clothes to the Charity Shop Where She Volunteers.
In The Bag Was The very Dress She had been wearing !.
My Wife asked If I wanted the Dress, Daft Question really.
So This is My recreation of what was worn by this Lovely lady on That Day.
The dress is the original, She was wearing stockings and Suspenders, and White Ankle strap heels which I have used from my own collection.
I have dressed like this a few times Before and It Always makes My Wife Very Horny!.
I Hope You Like what you See

Gym wear…… hoping for spring and more strappy dresses! X

trying on my old Faithful satin mini, and testing the New V Suspender straps

I'm professional dominant ******** Ava,I'm available for online domination session and In-person domination session.message me on Zangi chat 1056970798 if you are interested or email me a message.My session service include orgasm denial, body worship,face sitting,bondage, restraint,anal, collar ,lead, leash, role play, pegging, sissification,Leather,rubber,body worship,Ball Busting,*****/ass worship, impact play with whip, femdom,bondage,feet,ass worship,crop, paddle, and flash og, Foot fetish,spanking, strap on play, Needle Play,verbal talking dirty,ball gag, mask,blindfold, sensory,sensual,chastity,feet worship,toilet humiliation,heels,nylons and more.

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.

Local charity shop had a sale!…..go figure. Five dresses for just under 20 pounds all strapy short dresses. Question is which one to try first!!

Outfit for the day is Faux Leather Midi Dress, Crimson stockings, Block suede Knee high boots with block heels, fur lined hooded cloak to keep the chill off the shoestring strapped shoulders

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

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

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

My new black strap heels , just recieved them today.

Hey sweets,
I wanted to open up and share something real with you—something raw, honest, and close to the bone. If any of this resonates with you, if you’ve ever felt the same hunger, the same questions, the same ache—I’d love to hear from you. You're not alone. Leave a comment, share your truth.

With all my heart (and a few kisses),

I’ve hated my dick for as long as I can remember—not just for how it looks or what it symbolizes, but for how it keeps me tethered to a version of myself that never felt real. It’s not that I want to erase my body—I just want it to feel like mine. I want softness. Curves. A place to be entered, to be held, to be loved in a way that matches how I feel inside. I want to be her. And in many ways, I already am.

I haven’t transitioned. Maybe I never will. But I live in the space between genders like it’s home. Most people have no idea. They see what I let them see. But under my clothes, I’m wrapped in the truth of who I am—lace panties, a matching bra, delicate straps across my chest, sometimes a garter if I need to feel extra pretty that day. It’s not just for arousal. It’s for survival.

And always, always, I wear my prosthetic. My fake *****. My secret salvation.

It’s made of silicone—soft, skinlike, shaped just right. The slit is subtle but perfect. There's a hole you can enter, if you know how to treat me. When I slip it on and feel my **** tucked away, my heart slows. My body goes quiet. I look down and see smoothness, femininity, me. Not a fantasy—reality. My reality.

I wear it all the time. Not just for sex, not just when I’m alone. It’s part of my daily ritual, part of how I make peace with a body that’s caught between what it is and what I wish it could be. It keeps me close to her—the woman I am when no one’s looking, and sometimes even when they are.

Most lovers don’t know how to handle that part of me. They want either a woman or a man, and I’m both and neither. But some—some—see me. They touch me with reverence. They kiss my neck like it’s sacred. They press against the silicone, kiss me through it, call me beautiful. And when they slide inside that prosthetic slit, I feel... loved. Not just fucked. Chosen.

Other times, they want what I hide. They pull down my panties and take me as I am. My ass becomes my *****. They call my **** a girl ****, and I let them, because in those moments it belongs to the version of me who still needs to be worshipped, still deserves to be adored. There's no shame in it. I’m done apologizing for the way I live in my body.

But the most powerful moments are the quiet ones—alone, silk between my thighs, hips swaying as I move through the world with my little secret pressed tight against me. The prosthetic warms to my skin. I forget it’s there, and yet I’m constantly aware of it. It doesn’t just hide what I hate. It shows me who I am. Every soft curve, every subtle line—it’s mine.

I’ve had men fall in love with me through it. Not just because of how I look, but how I let them in. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. When I let a man undress me slowly, kiss down my stomach, slip his fingers over that smooth slit... he doesn’t just touch silicone. He touches me. He touches the part of me that’s always been waiting to be seen.

And when he enters me there, when he moves inside me through that perfect opening, I close my eyes and feel a kind of peace I’ve never known. A feeling that says, This is what it means to be wanted. This is what it means to be a woman. This is what it means to be loved in the body you’ve built for yourself, on your terms.

It’s not a costume. It’s not pretend. It’s truth, wrapped in silicone and lingerie and longing. And it’s beautiful. More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/
#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent

Good evening sweets! I'm off to work. But thought I'd leave you with a story. More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/
#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent

Chrissy on the Hillcrest Bus

The bus hissed as it opened its doors on University Avenue, right in the heart of Hillcrest, San Diego’s famous gay neighborhood. I climbed aboard, heart racing a little faster than usual. On the outside I was in my “boy clothes” — plain pants, a simple shirt — but underneath I was my secret self: Chrissy Marie Tunnell. Pink floral panties hugged my smooth hips, a matching bra cupped my chest, and tiny flashes of trans-colored jewelry — a ring, a dangling earring — shimmered in the afternoon light.

I wasn’t fully comfortable living openly as a girl yet, but I loved leaving little clues for anyone observant enough to notice.

As I walked down the aisle, I felt eyes on me. One man’s gaze dropped to where the pink waistband of my panties peeked above my pants. Another tilted his head just enough to catch the faint outline of my bra straps beneath the thin cotton of my shirt. My jewelry glinted when the bus jolted, and I knew they’d seen the colors.

Their eyes followed me hungrily as I slid into a seat halfway down. Even the bus driver, watching through the mirror, licked his lips and adjusted in his chair.

“Hey…” one man finally said, his voice a mix of awe and lust. “You’re Chrissy… the trans model, aren’t you?”

My cheeks burned, but I gave a shy smile. “Yes.”

A low whistle came from the back. “Damn. You should take those clothes off.”

I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “I can’t here…”

Then the driver’s voice, gravelly but warm, floated down the aisle: “It’s okay. I won’t say anything.” His eyes met mine in the mirror, daring me.

A shiver ran through me. My body trembled with a mix of nerves and arousal as I stood up slowly, the bus swaying beneath my feet. I grabbed the metal pole for balance, slipped off my shirt one button at a time, and slid my pants down my thighs. Gasps and murmurs spread as I revealed my pink bra and panties, smooth legs, and the bulge already straining with need.

“Goddamn…” someone whispered.

I posed for them, turning so they could see the curve of my ass, bending just enough to make my cheeks round and full under the thin fabric. I arched my back, running my hands down my torso, teasing myself for their eyes. The air hummed with catcalls and whistles, every sound feeding my arousal.

I felt powerful. Desired. Exposed.

The driver adjusted his mirror again, his eyes glued to me. My **** twitched inside my panties, leaking, the wet spot spreading. A chorus of moans and encouragement filled the bus as I spread my legs, cupped myself through the silky fabric, and let them watch my face flush and my chest rise and fall with each deep breath.

I was their show, their Chrissy, their secret ******* on wheels.

Chrissy’s Bus Show – The Climax
The bus swayed along the road, but I barely noticed. Every set of eyes was on me — hungry, wide, devouring. I stood in the aisle in nothing but my pink floral bra and panties, my smooth skin glistening under the fluorescent lights, my **** straining the damp satin.

“Do it, Chrissy,” someone whispered, voice husky with need.

“Yes… show us,” another begged.

The encouragement hit me like waves of heat. I hooked my thumbs under the band of my panties, tugged them tight against my bulge, and let out a trembling gasp. My **** pulsed, the wet spot spreading. The riders groaned, some openly rubbing themselves as they watched.

I spread my legs wider, arched my back, and cupped myself through the silky fabric. The friction was maddening. My hips bucked, the panties darkening with each spurt of precum.

“God, look at you,” the bus driver moaned from the mirror, his knuckles white on the wheel.

The passengers cheered me on, clapping, catcalling, shouting my name. “Chrissy! Chrissy!”

I slid one hand up my chest, over my flat stomach, to my bra — tugging at the cups, making my nipples stand hard under the lace. My other hand rubbed furiously over the soaked bulge, grinding, stroking, teasing myself to the edge.

The entire bus rocked with my moans. My thighs quivered, my lips parted, sweat dripping down my temples. I was lost in it, lost in them, lost in the rush of being seen.

Then it hit.

“Ahhh—!” My body seized, **** jerking uncontrollably as I came hard in my panties. Hot, sticky release poured out, soaking the pink fabric, running down my thighs. Gasps and cheers filled the air, some passengers clapping, others moaning with me as if they’d climaxed, too. (continued in comments below):


-Chrissy

Sitting here alone wearing a satin thong and matching bra heels with ankle straps a black blouse with a short red Minnie skirt, I've just put on fake nails and makeup and wig, I feel so sexy, and I want someone to share the experience with, yeah would love to be submissive and be a discreet gurl for the right person xxx

Good evening sweets! I'm off to work. But thought I'd leave you with a story. More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent

The Meeting That Got Out of Hand
I showed up to the office dressed in my “Supervisor” uniform — black polo shirt tucked neatly into black pants, shiny work shoes. On the outside, I looked like any middle manager headed into a boring meeting. But under it all, I wore my little secret: a lacy pink bra and panties. Just knowing they were against my skin made me shiver with anticipation.

The room looked like an office conference space, complete with a long table, chairs, and quarterly reports scattered around. Five others were waiting — three men in polos like mine, and two women in skirts and blouses.

I sat down and kept tugging at my shirt, worried my bra straps might show. That’s when one of the women leaned over and smirked.

“Chris… is that lace I see under your collar?”

My stomach flipped. I froze, heat rushing to my face. Everyone’s eyes snapped to me. The strap had slipped just enough to peek out.

One of the men chuckled, leaning forward. “No way… are you wearing a bra under that uniform?”

My hands fumbled at my collar, trying to hide it. “I… maybe.” My voice cracked.

The woman reached over and tugged my shirt down just enough to reveal the delicate strap, then the curve of lace against my chest. Gasps, then laughter, but not cruel — hungry. Aroused.

“Stand up,” another man said. “Show us.”

I hesitated only a second before rising to my feet. Heart pounding, I pulled my polo up, exposing the pink bra stretched across my chest. The room went silent, then filled with low groans of approval.

“****, Chrissy,” one of them whispered. “Turn around.”

I obeyed, bending slightly. My waistband had slipped low enough that the lacy panties showed above my pants. Someone reached out, tugging them down just enough to expose the curve of my ass.

The first touch made me gasp — a hand sliding over the silk, squeezing, then pulling my pants down around my thighs. Now I was standing in front of them in bra and panties, my **** already swelling against the lace.

They closed in. A woman pressed her lips to mine, lipstick smearing as her tongue slid into my mouth. Hands roamed everywhere — groping my ass, tugging at my nipples through the bra, cupping my **** through the panties.

“Get on the table,” the tall man ordered.

I climbed onto the polished surface, lying back as they surrounded me. Someone yanked my panties aside, freeing my ****, already dripping. A hot mouth enveloped me, sucking hard, while another tongue flicked over my nipple, teeth grazing until I cried out.

My legs were spread wide, panties shoved down, and I felt a slick finger pushing into my ass, stretching me open. I moaned around the **** one of the men slid between my lips, gagging as he held my head and thrust deep.

It was a blur of sensation. One man fucking my throat, another pumping into my ass, their bodies grinding against me while the women took turns riding my face and jerking my ****. The table shook with every thrust, papers scattering like a storm.

“Good little slut,” someone growled in my ear as they pounded into me from behind, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the office. My **** spurted across my stomach, hot and sticky, but they didn’t stop. They used me until I was soaked with cum inside and out, my bra twisted, panties torn, lipstick smeared across my face.

When it was finally over, I lay sprawled on the table, trembling, dripping, utterly used. The others buttoned their shirts, straightened their skirts, laughing softly as though the meeting had gone exactly as planned.

I wiped the mess from my lips, my chest still heaving. “So…” I whispered, voice raw, “should I type up the minutes?”

The room erupted in laughter — and I knew I’d just passed my first real office initiation.

-Chrissy

Unraveling the Thread: How Clothing Has Been Used to Subjugate Women—and Why That’s Changing
By Chrissy

Why do women have to cover their chests while men can go shirtless in public? It’s a question that may seem simple—but carries profound implications about gender, power, and control. What we wear has never been neutral. Clothing is one of the most immediate ways society tells us who we are, or who we’re allowed to be. And when it comes to gender, clothing has been weaponized—especially against women—for centuries.

But this isn’t just about history. It’s about lived experience. It’s personal.

My Own Journey Through the Fabric of Gender

As someone still exploring my own gender identity, this topic isn’t abstract. I was always a little more feminine than masculine, even as a child. For years, I repressed it—hiding behind "boy clothes" and what society expected of me. But in time, especially through the support of loving partners and close relationships, I came to embrace not only my homosexuality but something even deeper: the truth of my transgender identity. I am a woman—a female self long trapped in a male body.

Though I firmly believe clothing shouldn't define gender—because gender identity is internal, not sartorial—clothing still does carry that symbolic weight in our world today. And so, until I find the strength to publicly transition, I express my femininity in the ways that are available to me now: I wear bras and female underwear every day in secret beneath my outwardly masculine clothing. In private, I allow myself to wear skirts, dresses, lingerie, and the soft, beautiful fabrics that make me feel aligned with my true self.

It’s not about performance. It’s about presence. It’s about reclaiming what was always mine.

The History of Clothing as a Tool of Gender Control

To understand how we got here, we must look back.

Clothing began as a means of protection. But from early civilization onward, it evolved into a tool of social stratification—and eventually, a means of gender control. Ancient societies created strict visual codes for women, emphasizing modesty, submission, and containment. While men wore tunics or armor suited for movement, battle, and public life, women were wrapped, tied, bound, and veiled.

The message was clear: men moved freely through the world. Women did not.

In medieval and early modern Europe, this dichotomy hardened. Men's clothing was practical. Women’s clothing was restrictive, ornate, and often uncomfortably symbolic. Corsets, crinolines, and hoop skirts made running, fighting, or even breathing difficult. These garments weren’t just fashion—they were cages.

If you were wearing a dress, you weren’t riding into battle. You weren’t speaking in court. You weren’t commanding an army or a kingdom. You were ornamental. You were controlled.

Modesty, the Female Chest, and the Double Standard

These patterns persist today—nowhere more clearly than in the sexualization of the female chest. The fact that a man can walk down the street shirtless without a second glance, while a woman can be arrested for doing the same, speaks volumes. This isn’t about modesty. It’s about power and shame.

The female chest has been hyper-sexualized while simultaneously shrouded in taboo. This serves to objectify women and punish them at the same time. Even breastfeeding in public is controversial in many places—seen not as natural or maternal, but as obscene.

This double standard is part of a larger system that says women must be desirable but modest, visible but not too loud, strong but not threatening. And clothing is the vehicle through which these contradictory demands are enforced.

Clothing as Power—and Resistance

Throughout history, clothing has helped define who was allowed to hold power. Male garments—uniforms, suits, boots—were made for authority. Female garments were not.

This is why women were long excluded from spaces of governance and decision-making. Until just a few decades ago, women couldn’t wear pants in courtrooms or on the floor of the U.S. Senate. Power had a dress code—and that dress code was male. To be continued in next post...

Love,
Chrissy
#crossdresser #crossdressing #CD #gurl #sissy #sissyboy #trans #tgirl #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #ladyboy #femboy #shemale

I'm trapped in a body a don't like no more.. Can't take no more anymore my time is up.. Hope your life's all go well time for God to hold me bye people

Do pink strappy heels go with black hold ups!! Probably not but still fun! Xx

Have you ever noticed when you mute the TV that the logo looks like a woman strapped to a bed in a spread eagle manner??

Hot Fun Playing, It's Fun Getting Tied up an Fucked. #sissyslutexposed #sissyexposed #exposure #exposed #trap #feminization #Sissy #Sissyslut #Exposedsissy #Exposedslut #Cockslut #Femboy #Nativesissy #Pantyboy #Cockwhore #ExposeMe

With the intense heat last week i didnt wear any lingerie as i normally do but as it had cooled down last night the lingerie and heels were back on and wow it felt so good and that feeling as you pull your stocking up and attach to straps was as good as ever and a nice way to relax with a gless of wine after work

This was what i got punished with last night, by my better half #Strapon

My better half thought this was cute the other night - Me struggling with a stocking strap! lol - Let’s be fair, there are worse problems to have!!

excitement at the pub last night, bunch of cops turned up and took one of the drinkers away in cuffs! One of the bunch i was with was shouting "Cuffs in the pub!!! Cuffs in the pub!!!" so i held up my little backpack and what's on one of the straps, still haven't found the keys...

A girly night in tonight with the Mrs, all dressed up, while she does my makeup,
Then takeaway, chic flick and a few drinks.Then I'm hoping the strapon comes out and I get bent over! x

Went for my evening walk, 2.5miles (didnt intend it to be that but was fed up of usual ways. Wore one of the new bras and the backstrap could do with coming in one notch. The advantage though is that the girls have a bit more freedom and bounce . So they were jiggling quite nicely. Plus being in my grey pencil skirt the ass wiggles more so jiggling all round. Plenty of looks from the drivers .

My First Bondage Experience. #sissyslutexposed #sissyexposed #exposure #exposed #trap #feminization #Sissy #Sissyslut #Exposedsissy #Exposedslut #Cockslut #Femboy #Nativesissy #Pantyboy #Cockwhore #ExposeMe

New strapless top

New Chastity Cage an Collar I Got. #sissyslutexposed #sissyexposed #exposure #exposed #trap #feminization #Sissy #Sissyslut #Exposedsissy #Exposedslut #Cockslut #Femboy #Nativesissy #Pantyboy #Cockwhore #ExposeMe

#girlyboy #sissycaption #genderfluid #m #xdress #sissylove #sissyhypno #f #sissification #gayboy #crossdressers #***** #sexy #femboys #bdsm #travesti #sissylife #trap #transwoman #dominatrix #sissyboi #sissyhumiliation #femboi #sissybimbo #transexual #love #bdsmcommunity #girl #girlslikeus #submissive

Thinking about getting Off This Site..... #sissyslutexposed #sissyexposed #exposure #exposed #trap #feminization #Sissy #Sissyslut #Exposedsissy #Exposedslut #Cockslut #Femboy #Nativesissy #Pantyboy #Cockwhore #ExposeMe

Hi ladies xxx

Temu find ! Pls share your Temu surprise finds below!! Anything that exceeded your expectations or is just really good for the money ;)

This is a metallic full length dress, but as with many Temu things, they are a tad tight. I love tight when it's right! So I ordered a 10 (usually 14) and if you ignore the arms straps (or cut them off) this makes a gorgeous metallic long tube skirt. I've been after one for so long that feels tight all the way to the ankle.. restricts the walk a little bit. And at 6' things are rarely floor length.

This is a bargain! Xxx

(Pics are todays office outfit x)

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Leather skirt and strappy heels look is how it is today

Been out shopping today as weather a bit foggy
Bought a new dress. pair shorts. Cropped trousers and a strapless bra

Feeling really horny trapped in work

#sissyslutexposed #sissyexposed #exposure #exposed #trap #feminization #Sissy #Sissyslut #Exposedsissy #Exposedslut #Cockslut #Femboy #Nativesissy #Pantyboy #Cockwhore #ExposeMe

Good morning ladies, guess what... It's the WEEKEND so breakout the lingerie, strap on your heels, open some wine and be the woman you truly are

New heels, Kurt Geiger nude and loads of straps. Easy to walk in too.