Admit it. There have been days where you have looked back to see where your silky little fetishes began. “Stealing” your mother’s panties and/or pantyhose (shame on you) and getting high off of the shame that comes with inappropriately wearing garments of the opposite sex.
Yet, didn’t it all start innocently enough just happening to try on that bra or slip into those pantyhose just to see what it was like? Or even as a joke? Who are we kidding, you don’t just start a fetish. They develop as we experiment as little youngsters and notice our little cocks get off when we keep doing them. Oooh, dressing in my mom’s lingerie turns me on and I don’t know why the fuck that is, but I like it!
Surely, back then, you never even heard of the word fetish or knew that this would turn into a lifelong compulsion. For me, personally during my teenage years, I thought I could “turn off” my crossdressing since I could see it being an inconvenience when dating girls as I went off to college. I did, in fact, turn it off for about six weeks only to return to crossdressing with an extreme vigor. This happen to coincide with receiving a Victoria’s Secret catalog and my first credit card then buying exactly what Stephanie Seymour was modeling on page 20.
I had never really thought of myself as “stuck” being crossdresser Sheery having never worried about it (or in denial all that time). Now, at this point in the game, I never want it to go away. My heart races and cock rages everytime I see something new and sexy for the lingerie closet or pantyhose drawer. And don’t get me started when I see another lovely super-convincing crossdresser. I just may leave women behind when all is said and done, not my beloved pantyhose and lingerie fetishes and definitely not crossdressing.
Of course there are days where I enjoy being (gasp) strictly the male me. This typically means I have no interest whatsoever in entering my female side, usually brushing her off like some pushy hooker. Not even the sight of hot sexy stiletto heels on sale could divert attention from my testosterone phase at that moment.
Don’t get me wrong, though. It doesn’t mean that I feel confession-worthy guilt for all of my past fetish sins and desires, yet the thought of quitting my crossdressing and throwing out the “prized collection” does happen to cross my mind on occasion. Not so much as dwelling in a decision but rather pondering the good old “what if” scenario. You know, what would my life be like more “normal” and not so secretly fetishy. Oh, the vanilla life…
The strange thing is that when quitting crossdressing does come across my mind, not that it happens often, it is followed shortly after by an incredible urge to rip my undoubtedly masculine clothes off and throw on pantyhose with a swipe of lipstick. Not to mention, longing for another crossdresser to take me from behind… soft at first, then hard.
I guess it comes back to that whole taboo thing. We want what we shall not dare to do. Love it or hate it, it must be accepted unconditionally as you. Therefore, I’ve learned to embrace taboos as being so incredibly sexy. Why on earth would we not want to break them and let them come in your mouth?