I’ve recently touched on the subject of my ever-evolving bisexuality and, looking back, even my past foray into bi-curiousness nearly a decade ago. Oh my how I was the curious kid exploring sexuality in all its many strange facets. It’s hard for me to believe that there was a time in my life where I had the hard-core, church-abiding belief that sex with women was the only road that lied ahead. Of course, I had that little “likes to wear women’s underwear problem” at that young age which I had naively assumed would pass as an adult.
Um, yeah, I really envisioned back then, too, worrying about how many days I can go without shaving my legs these days.
But here I am in a comfortable camisole, pantyhose with panties over them, a satin robe, wig and a swipe of lipstick and quick spray of perfume. Oh, I forgot the glass of wine too. I like to “get in the mood,” even a little bit horny, so when I write here my thoughts come through clearly as my female alter ego. I enjoy feeling like a woman even if it doesn’t lead to sex or masturbation although, admittedly, I could use both at the moment.
My first thoughts in these free-spirited effeminate moments usually turn to fantasies involving other crossdressers. You know… like rubbing our nyloned legs together, smudging our lipstick together, lipstick staining our pantyhose or, ahem, other body parts. Then, of course, getting jackhammered in the back door until I’m unable to sit on anything for at least a day. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still attracted to genetic women, however, crossdressers take me to a whole other level of excitement.