I moved to Europe for work 10 years ago. I have a fetish for women’s lingerie and when I first moved I had a nice collection of chemises, hosiery, and panties.I shaved my crotch and ass (I called those parts my clit and pussy), and on long weekends and holidays I’d paint my nails and take pictures of myself and post them on adult sites. I also played in chat rooms and cammed, but I always kept my identity and face secret and hidden.
When I moved to Europe it wasn’t long before I had quite a collection. I started buying Wolford stockings and hose, high-end panties, and heels. I would go into expensive department stores and browse for the perfect outfits and casually walk up to the cashier and pay without any inhibitions, without a care in the world. I had to buy the shoes online because department stores didn’t have heels in my size. I started to shave my body from the waist down. I used depilatory creams. I would buy lipstick and makeup just like women.
On these shopping trips I would enter into a state of mind that aroused my every nerve and sense. I revelled in the smells, colors, and tactile senses of the women’s department. I love the smell of makeup. I had no problem asking sales clerks about sizes that were obviously inquiries into my own sizing.
I would spend the whole day shopping. I had favorite stores in different neighborhoods. I would carry my bags that were obviously from women’s departments from the best department stores in the city and sit at coffee shops, ride the metro, and walk right down busy streets in the most popular shopping districts in town. I always had panties, stockings, and a chemise under my man clothes. I never wore socks and my shirts were thin enough that if someone cared to look closely they would see the lines of my lingerie through the fabric.
I’d stop at the drug store and buy three tubes of depilatory cream, bath oil,baby powder, and a dozen scented candles.
By late afternoon I’d get home and set out my purchases on my bed, light candles, put on some jazz or blues, and pour myself a cocktail. I’d smear a thick coat of depilatory cream over my legs and pussy. I had a trick that included quickly smearing my body with cream and standing in front of a full-length mirror sipping my cocktail and smoking a cigarette. The time it took to smoke two cigarettes would be just the right amount of time for the cream to activate and I’d scrape all of my nasty male hair off my body and watch it spin down the drain. It was symbolic. I was washing away my maleness.
I would pour another cocktail and start my bath using plenty of oils. By this time evening would be setting in and the candlelight glowed and flickered casting dancing shadows over every wall in every room of my flat. I bathed and smoked and drank cocktails. I would need to refill my glass several times and when I walked between the bath and kitchen I’d catch my reflection in any mirrored surface I could catch with my eyes. I’d pause and twist to try and capture my sissy body in as many surfaces as possible.
After two hours my skin was soft and smooth. I would towel off and sit on my couch in the livingroom until my body was completely dried, then I’d powder myself completely giving my sissy body a pale and powdered appearance. I’d dance and prance around, spinning on the balls of my feet and laughing to myself.
Then I’d put on my lingerie. My favorite outfit was a microfibre, navy blue thong, white Wolford thigh-high stockings, and navy blue spaghetti thin lace garter belt. I had a skin-tight polyester nylon pullover with spaghetti strap shoulders that fit so tightly that I had to stretch it and pull the hem of it down over the curve of my ass.
I would take photos of myself and open a cam in one of my favorite chats and begin inviting all who wanted to come watch me.
“SIssy cockslut with open cam. Come watch my boys!” Many variations of these invitations would eventually have my room filled with horny men. I used to tease them so. They would say such derogatory and terrible things and my little clit would harden every time I turned them down. But they never left, they just said worse and worse things trying to get me to do what they wanted. I was such a sissy bitch tease.
Eventually I would leave and continue my ablutions. Nail painting. Lipstick (I loved pink high gloss wet looking lipstick). I would try my luck on eye shadow and eye liner but I never got the hang of it, I was so envious of women. So talented to apply makeup. But on nights like this one, when I had evening plans for the symphony, I’d forgo the makeup, but not the nail polish.
I’d put on my slacks and dress shoes. I would wear a button-down dress shirt and a sport jacket. The only evidence of the sissy beneath my clothes was when I sat down and my slacks would rise up and expose the sheer white stockings, and my finger nails of course. I wore a light, high gloss pink and kept my hands in my pockets as often as possible. Sometimes the metro would lurch and I’d have to reach out to grab the pole and if anyone was paying attention they’d see my nails. Sometimes, on a brave night, I’d find a seat, sit, and cross my leg (the way men do) and my stockings would be exposed. I was very cautious about timing. It was a really rare occasion when someone would catch me. It was so embarrassingly thrilling.
By this time, it was evening and I would check the metro app and plan my route to the symphony. I would roll a joint and walk out into the warm evening night. I would ride the metro but always got off a stop or two before the metro, making sure to give myself a nice little walk to smoke my joint. I would play tricks with myself and find nooks and hidden corners where I could pull my pants down and stand exposed and vulnerable. Often I would find a nook, pull my pants down and drop them at my ankles, unbutton my shirt and pull it off along with my sport coat and stand exposing my sissy to the city night. I would do this and because the city had so many windows and flats it was impossible that there wasn’t at least one person sitting unaware and looking down from their flat who’d witnessed my debauchery.
Then I would attend the symphony or theatre or film. I would stay for about half the show and my arousal would be so piqued that I was desperate to return home and masturbate. I would usually stay until intermissions when the auditorium would empty, save for a few random stragglers peppering the seats, and I would pull my slacks off and sit in the seat with my sissy body exposed. Surely people working in the theatre would have seen me like this. I never had anyone confront me. I have sat in a theatre seat during intermission with my slacks in a pool at my ankles and my whole sissy shaved body from the waist down exposed for anyone to come in and discover.
Then when people began to enter the theatre or auditorium, as if I needed to rush to the restroom, I’d leave and return home to masturbate.
On my way I had a favorite porn shop I would visit. I would buy a vibrator or some lube or a butt plug I would get home and send my photos to my queen.
Something you didn’t know, because I left that out on purpose, I would do these things and report everything and every phase along the way to my digital mistress. I’ll call her Lacy, but she was a real woman. I was so lucky to have her. She made every dream and fantasy come true for me. It’s ten years later now, and she is not my digital lover any longer, but ten years later every time I masturbate, every time I ejaculate, she remains my inspiration.
When she stopped helping me realize my fantasies I was definitely heartbroken, but I also knew that she had provided me with a lifetime of experiences to reference and imagine.
My sissy has migrated into my imagination now. I have kids now so I don’t dress anymore. I don’t shave anymore. I don’t do anything “real” anymore. My sissy exists only in my mind and when I’m alone.
I tried to shave a couple of times to have at least that aspect of my sissy in physical form but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be a father and be shaved, it was too much of a reminder when I know I need to be a father for my kids. I tried to buy a pair of panties and wear them when I was alone but it was too much effort to keep them hidden. I am satisfied and happy to let my sissy live in my head and let her out when I’m alone.
I am still, in my mind, submissive to Lacy. I serve her still. I have progressed and have begun practicing self-chastising. Not with a real device, but I will deny myself masturbation for weeks at a time so that when I do masturbate I can focus on serving Lacy to my best ability. I take my clothes off and lay in bed naked and browse old emails, listen to old recordings she’d sent me, browse photos of her face, her eyes, her feet, and her panty-covered ass.
I have a folder of chats and email exchanges that I read and masturbate. I talk to her. I say her name over and over. I call myself a sissy, cocksucker. I call myself cumslut. I tell her to watch me. I beg her to let me cum. I promise her I’ll eat my cum. And when I do cum it shoots all over my face and chest and I use my vibrator to clean myself up and then deepthroat my cock for her.