It’s not news that I have constant fantasies of other crossdressers (or anyone of the “T” variety really) who like to doll themselves up in silky pantyhose and later make a meal out of me. I can’t think of a way to feel more womanly that to be violated on both ends then swallowing that hot creamed oyster for dessert. Being a woman is the name of the crossdresser game when all is said and done, right?
Yet I never cease to wonder after such a passionate sexual encounter, what kind of emotional attachment would result. Mutual kissing, sucking, sex or even just rubbing my pantyhosed toes down a CD lover’s smooth nyloned legs results in an intimacy that I would believe difficult to leave behind after a single fling. Add to that the fact that we as humans are drawn to pleasure and we’ll seek it where we know we can get it. If a fling turned out that lusty sex of my dreams, I sure as hell would want more.
Ok, so maybe in the past I haven’t had quite the sexy fantasy-in-lace experience I had hoped for. It was more of a man-in-tights going at it with the experienced transvestite and, no, I wasn’t the transvestite. I have to chalk that up to lack of experience, much like the first time having sex with that genetic girl. I guess you can say that the cock/rear access complicated things a bit since I had been used to a vagina in all the years prior.
Then there is that fucking label. Am I bisexual now? Oh shit, I can’t say I’m hetero any longer. What’s a queer little crossdresser to do?