I recently had an epiphany about my whole crossdressing life up until now. Primarily, I’m no longer a little teenie-bopper sneaking around with my stash of girly goodies waiting eagerly for a chance to slip into some pantyhose in my room with the door locked. Those days are LONG past. Yet, given how long it was ago, I can still remember my dress sessions rather vividly, as if it were my first time driving.
I’m not afraid to admit it to myself that crossdressing is deeply rooted part of my personality. I love it, have an inredible passion in it and, well, I just happen to like throwing on a pair of pantyhose and getting off on it… for the last few decades. Is there really any harm in it? Ok, so maybe getting a snag in the nylons but that’s another story.
I find it of interest in my self-assessment, however, that crossdressing is obviously ingrained in my own sexuality. Before you go all Captain Obvious here, think about it. Man throws on pantyhose, some lingerie and maybe a wig and a little makeup. Then dot some perfume on for good measure before stepping into those heels. Typical crossdresser duties and was actually what I did just an hour ago.
Yet that’s where the silky things end and crossdresser me takes the stage. All five senses are heightened (yes, I can taste the “fruit” from my lipstick), arousal is taking it’s shape and I NEED, right then and there, to be missy me. No longer am I the weird dude with the feminine tendencies but rather a transformed me with feminine desires and feelings. And those desires now have to be met.