Showing The World My Panties

So why this blog? Three reasons, I guess. First and foremost, to humiliate myself even further. To have the turn-on of knowing that anyone, anywhere, anytime can know all my most shameful secrets. To show the entire world my panties.

Second, because I haven't found much else like it on the web. There are tons of crossdressers on the internet these days who say things like "I love being a girl" and who claim their motivations to wear wigs and skirts are non-sexual. Maybe it's true, I don't know. But when I slide my breast forms into my pink Victoria's Secret Second Skin Satin bra, I'm not "loving being a girl." I'm concentrating on not getting an erection until I pull up my matching panties. And I'm trying to decide whether to masturbate on my bed or downstairs in front of my computer.

Third, to get your feedback. This blog is all about the unvarnished truth of being a sissy transvestite. I really hope those who visit will add to the project by leaving brutally honest comments.

Being a Transvestite is Forever

I wish that feeling of disgust and revulsion would last. If it did, maybe I could lead a normal life. Maybe I could have sex with women instead of jerking off in their lingerie. But the sissy desires always come back. Being a transvestite is forever.

Often, by the time I get home from the mall, I already want to change into clean panties. The frilliest, laciest ones I own. Then I'll put on that negligee, or my new pumps, or the skirt I tried on at The Gap. I'll look at myself in the mirror and think about the smirking saleswoman who asked if I needed help, or the teenage girls who burst out laughing the instant they saw me. I couldn't be more pathetic. I couldn't be more of a sissy. And then, because I am what I am, I lie on my bed, lifting up my legs up so that I can see my high heels in the mirror. I'm such a faggot transvestite, I tell my reflection out loud. I arch my ass up until I can see the bottom of my panties under my skirt. I'm such a sissyboy, I say, shoving a pillow under my small, now hard-again cock. Lust and self-loathing swirl in me as I start to rub my pantied-clad dick into the pillow. Fucking it up and down, back and forth. Faster and faster. Curling my toes in my pointy high heels. Feeling my bra straps dig in my shoulders. Mouth open, gasping, crying out softly. Until I'm cumming in my panties again. Cumming the only way I can. A masturbating transvestite. A sissyboy faggot.

This is the only way I'll ever be.

Another Kind of Humiliation

Driving down the road in my car, wearing high heels and pantyhose, satin pink panties and matching bra. Pink woman's shirt. Tight women's boot-cut jeans. Warm, sticky spoo dribbling down one leg, a cumstain widening slowly on my groin. Full of regret. Vowing never to do that again. Hoping and praying no one I know saw me. This is another truth about transvestites like me.

Before I cum, dressed in woman's clothes at the mall, the shame of it all turns me on. Gives me the courage I need to embarrass myself that way. But the split-second after I spurt into my panties all that turn-on is gone, vanished. Instantly I become this pathetic pervert who just beat off in women's clothes. I want nothing more than to go home and take off these things, hide them away, forget what I did.

The humiliation I feel then is very different from the humiliation I feel when I first enter the mall. It's painful and shameful and completely devoid of any eroticism. Right then, I see myself as others do. As a pervert and a freak. A sissy and a fag. Right then, I know who I really am.

A Sissy's Shame

I am a 28-year old, attractive, fit, heterosexual male. Unfortunately for me, I am also a sissy transvestite. I wish I wasn't. I wish I didn't shave my legs every morning. I wish I didn't wear panties every day. I wish I didn't come home from work and masturbate in a dress and high heels.

But I do. I am.

It gets worse. Just being a pathetic crossdresser isn't enough for me. Sometimes wearing a tight, leather skirt and fuck-me pumps doesn't make me hard. Sometimes I need to face the humiliation of being what I can't deny I am: a perverted sissy transvestite. So on go a pair of women's jeans or black pants. On goes a pink shirt with 3/4 sleeves and a pair of high-heeled boots. Or women's loafers with a three inch stacked heel. Or saddle shoes. And then it's off to the mall. No wig. No makeup. No hiding. Just a sissyboy trying on stilettos at Steve Madden. Buying a bra at Victoria's Secret. Taking a dress into the changing room at Hot Topic.

The stares. The whispering behind my back. The pointing and giggling. Look at that faggot. Oh my god, he's wearing high heels. There's a guy in there trying on skirts. The burning shame. The total humiliation. Can't look up, can't make eye contact. I'm too embarrassed. I don't believe what I'm wearing. I can't believe what I am. I hand the pretty, young cashier my money. She smiles and neatly folds the negligee, places it gently in the bag. What must she think of me? What does she say to her co-workers the minute I'm gone? Why can't I be a real man like her boyfriend? Why are my panties getting wet?

Then it's back to the car. Quickly, hurriedly. I have to get out of here. I got what I came for. My god, I'm a sissy. My heels echo loudly in the parking garage. I'm so utterly ashamed. But I'm so hard now, too. So hard I can barely put my key in the car door. Barely start the engine and pull out before... before I'm rubbing my tiny little dick through my pants and my panties. Telling myself to wait but knowing I won't, knowing I can't. And then suddenly it's too late. I'm cumming in my panties. Cumming and cumming like the humiliated transvestite I am.