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To The Actual Woman, If You Stumbled Across This

I typically like to write when I get in the mood. That meaning it’s usually morning time and I just crawled out of bed, still in my slightly wrinkled satiny camisole and pantyhose, and put on a silky robe and then some coffee on the burner. The jolt of coffee then kicks in what I would call my crossdressing buzz. In other words, I feel a little horny so I might as well write.

That said, my perspective then becomes not one of deep insight and philosophical analysis of why we are who we are but rather a reflection what I personally feel at the moment, crossdressed. So there you have it, a man draped in satin, lace and nylon writing in sexual overtones which, when you realy think about it, boils down to a man writing about sex. It may be geared for the average crossdresser or male pantyhose enthusiast but women may find it as just guy chat down at the bar, albeit, a bit kinkier. “Um, no thanks,” I can hear as you click away to Zappos. I understand.

Not that I’m looking to pander to women or, all of a sudden, cater to the audience of women or even a date for that matter. That’s not the point. Then again, I don’t want women to leave here thinking us crossdressers (really, this one in particular) are a bunch of pervy weirdos either. OK, so we might be (this one in particular), however, there is a side of me, and maybe others, that has a lot more in common with our mimicked counterparts than what is likely perceived.

I’ll try to explain it further. Call it a sort of enlightenment from a man happily in pantyhose and drinking coffee (and a bit turned on). Please note one thing and that is that crossdressers are very fluid in their beliefs, interests, sexual preference or even choice of garments. So I don’t speak for all, per say, just your truly.

The Feminine Side

I firmly believe that all males have a feminine side to them. Some acknowledge it naturally without knowing, while others may not even try at all. I particularly know it is a major part of who I am and act it out, if you will, accordingly. In my case, that female side of me is primarily sexual, so I want to feel like a woman, be desired like a woman and express my femininity as a woman which, in turn, fills a need to validate the female side of myself.

Now, I neither claim to be a woman or even being similar to one, nor do I wish to become a woman now or in the future (but who knows what the future brings). I prefer instead to enjoy the sensations of femininity whether it be by slipping into sexy lingerie or simply just shaving my legs. I have that need to step into a role as a sexually attractive woman, then validate it by being desired by other men, women or other crossdressers.

The cherry on top for me, and ultimate validation, is to be ravaged and cummed on as a woman. Yes, I know the gender parts don’t equate by I do have a “hole” too.

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Sexy in Leather, Not Plastic

I have a confession to make… I never really liked heels or women’s shoes for that matter. That is, up until now. Of course, I’ve had a few pairs for a while but they never really did anything for me unless you count the falls and near ankle breaks while prancing around in them. The deal breaker, though, was that they never turned me on wearing them.

Then again, I always thought that the sexiest shoes were the ones that either were clear, five inch heels, or were like a spandex boot going up your thigh. You know, the kind you see on strippers in strip clubs or even on porn-ish models in those jpegs you’re jerking off to online.

In other words, those are cheap pieces of plastic that make you more or less feel the same way. OK, so I like feeling cheap. Just not in what I’m wearing on my pantyhose covered feet.

So recently, I splurged on some high-heeled Dune clogs as you see above. Somehow, they really caught my eye reminding me of Oktoberfest and gorgeous women in their lederhosen and wooden shoes. Don’t ask for an explanation of this, but I just had to have them. Now I’m wearing them as I type with the utmost joy hampered by one near ankle break as I tried to stand up moments ago.

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Seven Things I Hate as a Crossdresser

Unfortunately, I’m in one of those negative moods today. Enough so to make me hate everything… well almost. Slipping into some Wolford tights, however, just isn’t the same, seemingly lacking in joy of digging into my femme side to ease the bad vibes. I don’t think new heels could even cure my case of get the hell away from me today.

So, in honor of negative bullshit, I feel it is my duty to call out on the seven things I really hate as a crossdresser, not in any particular order. They all pretty much suck, er, I mean can go suck.

1. Hair, That Which is Not on Thy Head

Have you ever shaved all of your body hair? It is a fucking tedious process that takes a minimum of two hours. And don’t get me started if the Remington isn’t fully charged. Afterwards, though, is a bliss of silky smooth delight, sliding around on your sheets and your pantyhose not having to hold back the wild forage overgrowing your crotch.

Then a week later, back to hairy and hours trimming. Maybe this time, I’ll remember to charge the damn shaver.

We’re not even talking about the beard either. Not even Estee Lauder can hide that 5 o’ clock shadow when you doll yourself up. Oddly enough, some other Eurovision winning singers can pull it off with class. Just don’t let this become a trend though.

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Crossdressers are Gay, Just Maybe

One thing I’ve always been curious about throughout my days of femme delight is whether crossdressing has the tendency to lead into homosexual relations, be it with a man or another crossdresser. Keep in mind, I neither care about putting a label on ourselves nor am I trying to prove true the ancient myth that crossdressers are gay.

It just so happens that, from personal experience, the crossdresser evolves into conforming more and more into, not only dressing the woman´s part, but acting out the part as well. It may be take form as going out in public in full dress or just meeting up with other CDs to have a meal.

Yet, since crossdressing is primarily a medium for sexual stimulation, this would also undergo an evolution over time to keep the stimulation at its peak. Much like the way, for example, a married couple might experiment with sex toys to keep their sex life new and interesting. Side note: this does work for crossdressers as well.

So, over time, the usual slipping on pantyhose, silky lingerie and maybe some heels and makeup would lose its appeal to repetitiveness and, ultimately, boredom. You could have a different silky outfit for every day of the year but wanking the poor little cock so many times, pretty much in the same fashion each time, might get you thinking, “Well, why don’t I wank someone else’s instead?” to make things a little more interesting.

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I Seem to Only Like Cosplay For The Tights

I have no idea why, but I somehow never got into cosplay. You know, dressing up to the tee as your favorite superhero (but really superheroine) then meeting up with other nutjobs who do the same thing. THEN you act out role-play fights and the other shit they do in the cartoons and comics. There’s even a “crossplay” for those crossdressing as superheroes. Either way, it actually sounds good for shits and giggles.

Why, I’d happen to be the perfect candidate too. I spent at least eight hours a day during my whole youth watching nothing but cartoons. Those powerful, sexy men figures chasing evil villains in black around, sometimes getting captured or kidnapped. Then getting tightly bound in their skin-tight spandexy costumes and tights struggling to break free, unfortunately doing so. Essentially, they’re the precursor to bondage pornos yet just innocent enough to put on the tube for kids.

I’ll even go as far as to blame those cartoons for me tinkering around with a pantyhose fetish by first stealing my sister’s ballet dance tights, throwing some red knee-high socks (also hers) over them pretending they were boots and finally “cosplaying” like I was Wonder Woman. Of course, I’d also pretend that I was being kidnapped by tying up my legs with shoelaces, an ode to a later bondage fetish.

So today, I happen to stumble upon a few random images of a cute Wonder Woman clad in the red, blue and gold bustier-leotard thingy and shiny tights. It’s something about the combination of those thick Danskin tights, with a brilliant streak of light gleaming off of them, along with something tight and costumy/leotardy that spells instant hard-on thinking about those memories of my sister’s tights. Minus the sister of course.

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My Rant For The Day, Men Really Creep Me Out

In case you haven’t heard by now, I just love to play dress up. Just like my older sister probably made me do when I was half her size. I bet I could even win at that right now if we were to have a contest for the queen of the family. Unfortunately, only the sexy, sultry crossdresser (yours truly) has the real fun at this in my family.

So to try and be as sexy femme as possible, I exercise to stay fit and trim, shave everywhere possible and try to adopt feminine mannerisms that I can turn on like a switch, going from rugged male to sweet little Sheery. Then, of course, I top it all off by squeezing into that tight fitting lingerie and/or sexy club dress, high-end pantyhose (e.g. Wolford tights), wig, makeup and my newish stiletto heels.

Of course we don’t just want to have that transformed beauty in front of the mirror all to ourselves now do we? That’s why we grab the camera and snap a few shots, maybe a naughty one or two, and share with our good crossdresser/TV friends across the social networks. Nothing is more seemingly cherished than when you get those “hot ass” and “love your pantyhose” comments that you feel reassured in your feminine role, specifically when they come from other girlies like ourselves.

Then we get those same comments from the other side. Those that are either too lazy to dress up, don’t want to or just look at us crossdressing sisters like pieces of meat with a loose back door. Plus you get the feeling somehow that you know they are currently wanking to death behind that creepy avatar smile of theirs waiting for your reply.

Men, I’m talking about you.

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L’eggs, Tragically Not a Pantyhose Anymore

While I no longer wear L’eggs, due to my preference for other brands, it does hold a special corner of my soul in its nostalgic pantyhose fetish value. I can remember fondly the very first pair of pantyhose I ever bought, with my hard earned allowance, buying that Sheer Energy egg in an off black color. Then slipping into them without the slightest worry that my mom would notice a pair missing from her drawer.

Nowadays, I’m too much of a nylon snob to find my legs covered in, what I would say, glorified toilet paper. OK, maybe a little harsh but I hope to God to not ever be caught dead in these again. Yet, like an old flame from back when (booted to the curb), I wanted to see what my old love long forgotten is up to these days. You know, check out the L’eggs website and see what’s new.

Then I noticed somewhat quite peculiar as I went through nearly all the pages in it.

“Pantyhose” does not appear a single time in the whole damn thing. Not once!

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An Open Letter to Wolford, Please Bring Back the Fatal Neon

I have a small request on behalf of all those with a fine taste in pantyhose, including those with a severe pantyhose fetish, some who just love their legs to shine brightly and others with a general aversion to looking at seams on their pantyhose. Yes, I would fall under all three by the way.

Please, oh dear God please, will you bring back the Fatal Neon yet once again?

Anybody who was familiar with your brand surely remembers the brilliant campaign you did with Helmut Newton way back in the 80’s that still draws raves even to this very day. Why, I can even remember long ago finding an image of the Fatal Neon packaging with that lovely blonde clad in nothing but your namesake pantyhose, butt clinging ever so nicely nicely to it and a camera draped over her shoulder.

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Does Anybody Know Where to Get These?

It looks like we already have a winner for pantyhose of the year! In my opinion that is.

With my morning coffee in hand and browsing the pantyhose pages (errr, news), I came across an absolutely gorgeous pair of pink shiny legs at Art of Gloss. That shine is easily recognizable as my coveted Wolford Neon 40 tights (of course there is the label) but the color is something I have never ever seen available: a stunning fuscia.

Of course, I had a look at the availability at the Wolford online store and even did a thorough search on eBay. Nothing.

Later,I tried an exhaustive search on Google. Nada.

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The Spandex, Leotard and Tights Revival

Back in the 80’s, I remember my foray into crossdressing developing with the age of the workout video craze. When my parents would take me to a video rental store, I would sneak off to that area of aerobic videos, studying those boxes of VHS tapes on display. Looking at those beautiful, well toned women in stretched poses and in their brightly colored spandex leotards (plus a hint of their matching bright tights showing) made me aspire to be sexy like one of them. I basically viewed them as Superwomen in tights.

To my luck, my older sister would rent one of these videos on occasion. Then I would take my turn to watch it, as if it were a steamy porno, when she and everyone else was away. Unfortunately, my sis never opted for the same stylish workout gear, using a boring t-shirt and shorts without even the tights instead. Thus, she severely impaired my willingness to steal them from her. Nevertheless, while lacking the proper wear, I still could never resist the lure of the spandex era.

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