This post will have no illustrations, for obvious reasons.
I've recently been thinking back to when I was 11...
I'd already been playing dress-up for some time, but lately with increasing frequency and secrecy.
As a smaller child (6? 7?), I had learned I was a perfect fit for my grandmother's shoes. I would walk back and forth, to the harmless amusement of my grandparents, while they tried to watch the Johnny Carson show. I was also fascinated by TV shows - mostly comedies and cop dramas - where male characters disguised themselves as women for various convoluted plot reasons. At 5, I had a coloring book where a boy and girl found a trunk full of clothes in an attic and played dress up. I remember asking my grandmother if the boy ever played dress up in the girl clothes, and vice versa. I don't remember her answer, but I seem to think it was non-committal.
But now that I was on the cusp of adolescence, this kind of play had to be done in secret. Not the least of which because there was suddenly an increasingly sexual aspect to playing dress up, which definitely hadn't been there before.
Suddenly... as a pubescent being, the allure of my young aunt's lingerie became, for the first time, irresistable. Fascinated and excited, I would sneak one article at a time from either the dresser drawer or the clothes hamper into the bathroom to examine and try on. One day a pair of colorful silky nylon panties, another day a white front hook padded A cup bra, another day a pair of suntan Leggs Sheer Energy pantyhose. My experiments were gradually getting bolder and increasing in frequency.
One day when no one was home, I decided I could not resist the opportunity to stay in her room and try it all on together, for the first time ever. I stripped naked of what must have been either my school or soccer uniform, and with trembling hands opened the treasure-filled lingerie drawer. I pulled out the softest, silkiest pair of panties I could find, and wiggled into them. I found a well padded lace bra, eased the straps over my shoulders, hooked the sexy confection behind my back, and rounded out the cups by stuffing pantyhose in them. I bunched up another pair of silky hose, pointed my feet into the toes, then rolled then up my slender, still-hairless legs one at a time and then up over the panties. I adjusted a satiny nylon half slip around my waist, discovering for the first time the sensual feeling of the slip gliding over the smooth, sheer layers of the pantyhose and panties beneath. Finally I slid my hosed feet into a pair of black high heel pumps. The shoes had been a tight fit on their own, but now with the pantyhose encasing my feet, they slid in perfectly... effortlessly... and sensuously.
Wow. I was really overcome with excitement at this point. I click-clicked in my heels over to the mirror, and was greeted by a girl my age dressed from head to toe in sexy lingerie. I must have posed in front of that mirror endlessly. The girl in the mirror was there for as long as I wanted to look at her, posing and pouting from every conceivable angle, an actress displaying the full range of human emotions. I wanted to be her forever.
But my grandparents came home suddenly and unexpectedly. Too fast for me to change back. I hid behind the bed, an 11 year old boy still dressed in full lingerie, while they looked for me. My heart was pounding as they stood at the door to the room, then moved on. They went outside to see if I was in the yard, and I had my chance to change back. I tore everything off in a panicked blur and pretended I had been hiding in a closet to play a joke.
It was a near miss, but it didn't stop me from further adventures. I was eventually trying on garter belts, leotards, bathing suits, dresses, skirts, even pantyliners, and more.
During those early years, I used to imagine that surely I'd grow out of this insane madness by the time I was grown up...18 years old... 21 years old. Those ages seemed so fully grown at the time.. adult... mature.
But by the time I actually reached those ages, I certainly hadn't stopped. At 21, I even fantasized for a little while about what would have happened if my current 21 year old self could have traveled back in time to meet my younger self. Would I have shocked her? embarrassed her? counseled her? encouraged her? played dress up with her?
As a young teenager, dressed in lingerie, I was probably the most tempting piece of tranny jailbait ever. Would it have altered my sexual orientation to have had an encounter with a male bodied person at that age?
Now when I look back from my current perspective, all I wonder is what it would have been like if she'd been allowed to take hormone therapy.
She probably would have remained at 5'4".
Her feet would never would have outgrown those size 9 shoes.
She would have had smaller, more slender hands and fingers.
She never would have developed facial and chest hair at age 13. Hair that, years later, would require hundreds of hours of painful and expensive laser and electrolysis to remove.
If someone, anyone, back then had known and accepted what was going on...
I'll bet she could have been beautiful.
What do you remember from when you were 11?
11 months ago
Posts
17 comments:
I remember things not unlike yours. I would try on my mother's and my sister's hose and shoes, especially. I was turned on by any display of cross-dressing in TV or movies. (In fact, I can almost definitely tie my burgeoning CD life to a particular Mighty Mouse cartoon--"Svengali's Cat"--probably seen when I was eight or nine. You can find a link to the relevant portion on my blog--entransed.blogspot.com.)
Hi Pam,
Good to have you back. I think a following, like a girlfriend, is something you find when you are not looking for it.
Thanks for the opportunity for me to share some of my favorite childhood memories. Like you, I trace my primordial TG development back to around the age of 10 or 11. I remember pretending that the garters and stockings on my hockey equipment were, well, garters and stockings; that my chest pads were a bra; skates high heels, etc. I remember yearning for a pair of heels that would fit my feet, and then miraculously finding a pair by the side of the road -- black, nonetheless, and in excellent condition. I remember squeezing them into my overfilled backpack and then racing home to discover that the fit me perfectly. Some people stumble their first time, just like they hack when the first smoke a cigarette, but in both cases, it was natural from the go.
I remember sneaking into closets and assembling makeshift outfits that resembled fetishwear as much as possible. I remember early X-Men comics and the S/M undertones of Chris Claremont stories. I remember drawing and writing my own stories on an Apple IIC in the basement, and printing them off for future pleasure.
I remember buying stories at the age of 16 from the local perve store. The first one I bought, my longtime favorite: Male Lesbians of Club Lesbos by Pretty Sissy Dani... and she is still with us today!
Flash forward a year or two: I discovered marijuana, and soon learned to combine my two greatest interests... methodologically so. I would tape the hypnotic passages from MLCL and play them to myself while stoned, putting myself into a state of self-imposed hypnosis. I would plan my makeup and outfits carefully in advance, and act out the script of each and every one of the four short stories (not all at once, of course… although I wished that I could). I remember staring at myself in the mirror, wearing a cheap red blouse, velvet choker (my makeshift collar), drugstore pantyhose, and whatever else I could piece together to resemble the clothing in the stories. I remember staring at myself in the mirror, speaking my trigger phrase (“Pretty Sissy Dani”) and actually feeling the shift in my psyche, in my posture. I have never been able to replicate this feeling, despite years of trying.
My own memories were much the same. I remember how i was convinced that i was the only one like me in the whole world. I couldn't imagine that there were others like me. Although i often dreamed of becoming a girl (usually by magic or by miricle-i actually believed the God was ok with this) i couldn't imagine that it was possible for a boy to become a girl.
I hid from eveyone, knowing that discovery could be dangerous. I never got caught. I always considered it my little secret.
For me it was my aunt's clothing. She had more femme tastes in clothing and bought the most beautiful bras. I remember them to this day...Warner and Vanity Fair and Bali. And to this day i buy and wear the same kind fo bras. Ahh...what she taught me, even though she never knew she was teaching me.
There is a universality in your experience, I think. For me it was all just an incredible accident. I was 11 as well, had just taken a bath (yep a bath) and was putting my pjs in the hamper in the closet (small NY apt back in the day) when I accidently brushed up against my mother's blue satin and taffeta cocktail dress.
I might as well have electrocuted myself. It was instantaneous. I could smell the perfume on the dress and for reasons that have eluded me all these years I simply had to try on the dress. When I did I was in heaven.
Never harder in my entire life. I twirled and danced about then found the bed and rolled around until I had a massive orgasm. I might as well have become a junkie at that point. Every chance i had I wore that dress - and came like a race horse each time.
Even after my mother caught on to the loss of her slips and panties and my father tried to "set me straight about all this nonsense" I was nothing short of addicted. Still am. Thanks for letting me share
For reasons I still can't fathom I call myself Sandra Silk
Sitting here in a pair of Vanity Fair snow white full cut briefs. I think this was the start of my wearing panties, although there are distant memories of wearing as early as four or five.
I know when I was around six I swallowed a nickel. Dr. told my mom to watch what passes. I was to use the potty chair, but balked, so put into diapers and I hated it.
We lived on a busy street. My grandmother asked my mom did it pass yet. I remember running outside to look at the cars and trucks going by, what passed, what passed?
Remember side zip jeans and side zip short shorts from the fifties? My mom thought short shorts were scandalous. I thought they were hot, hot, hot.
I was around 9 years old.
My 15 year old cousin had moved in with us. It was a sad story, her mother had died, her father remarried, the typical wicked step mother, car wreck, her father died and the step mother went into a nursing home.
Somehow in my 9 year old mind, I thought she (the cousin) was getting favorable treatment from my parents. I wanted to get the same kind of treatment.
For some reason I thought if I wore her clothes, my parents and grandparents would shower me with affection also.
I put on a pair of her yellow big panties (this was about 1958) and a pair of her side zip jeans. Nobody even noticed. (In retrospect I don't see how they could not have known, but they didn't say anything to me at the time.)
One time when my parents went on a trip and the cousin was in charge of us. She was downstairs reading a book. I got on a pair of her panties and crawled into her bed. (In our house it was scandalous to sleep in anything but pajamas or a nightgown.)
The cousin came upstairs and turned on the light in her bedroom and saw me in her bed. I feigned being asleep. She came over and ever so gently lifted up the covers and saw me in her panties. The covers came back down, she turned out the light and went and got into my bed.
After a while, I went into my bedroom in just her panties. She was in my bed reading a book. I told her I was scared and wanted someone to hold me. She looked at me and told me to go back to bed and hold myself.
The episode was never mentioned again.
She eventually went away to college.
Fast forward about 5 or 6 years. I had developed a bedwetting problem. Wet beds and wet sheets were a real bummer.
My father insisted I was just to d*** lazy to get out of the bed to go to the bathroom. Lots of tears, spankings and wet pajamas. My mother eventually bought me several pairs of 'stay dry' incontinent pants that I was to wear under my pajamas. I was both embarassed and excited about them at the same time.
My father had remodeled our basement and turned it into a bedroom. I was down there by myself, had a tv and radio and my school desk where I did my homework.
I had progressed to buying my own panties by this time.---this was before walmart and kmart. Went to Kresgee's or Woolworths to get them.
One night I was in bed in a just a pair of panties.
My mother came downstairs to kiss me goodnight. My pajamas were lying on my desk, along with some laundry she had told me to put away earlier in the day.
She told me to get out of bed and put away the laundry like she had told me to do. I told her no, could I do it in the morning, I was tired.
Mother insisted I do as she told me to do. Then she saw my pajamas and wanted to know why I didn't have them on and did I have on my 'protection' (That was our code word for the incontinent pants and diapers I wore to bed....we would NEVER call them by their real names, only by protection.)
Mother than told me to get out of bed right now. I refused. She reached down to pull my covers off of me and I blurted out, "Mom, I'm naked!"
She went over to my desk and picked up my pajama bottoms, gave them to me and told me put them on and put away the laundry.
I put the bottoms on over my panties while still under the covers and got out of bed and started to put away my laundry. She then insisted I wear protection to bed and I was always to wear protection and pajamas to bed. Nice people didn't sleep without pajamas.
She then swatted my butt. She must have been able to tell I had something on under my pajamas because she pulled out the waistband and asked me what I was wearing.
I started crying. I told her it wasn't fair, I hated wearing protection, I hated having to wear big white briefs (JC Penny double seats--wish I had some now..she bought them for me) that looked like diapers, I hated wearing diapers to bed and I liked how these underpants felt. I told her I had bought them thinking they were boy's bikini underpants.
She hugged me and said she understood how I felt. But until I outgrew the bedwetting it was so much easier on her to have me wear protection. It was too much trouble to have to laundry everyday--we didn't have a dryer- and to wipe my face and put on my protection and go to bed.
And she stood there. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I was too embarassed to pull of my pajama pants and have my mother see me in panties. I had only occasionally put on my protection in front of her, never in front of my father.
Finally I said the heck with it, sat on the bed and took of my pajama bottoms. I then walked over to my desk in my panties and turned my back, took off the panties and pulled on my protection.
This was very exciting to me and I didn't know why.
I started to get back into bed and my mother asked if I was forgetting something. I started to put on the pajama bottoms. No, my mother said, finish putting away the laundry.
I put away the laundry in my chest of drawers just wearing my protection. I was so embarassed and excited at the same time and didn't know why.
When I was done, my mother came over and kissed me and said, 'don't forget your pajamas." and went out the door and turned out the light.
Oh man, I knew I was in trouble. Not only was I a bedwetter, but my Mom had found out I wear panties. And she was probably going to tell my dad. I worried about that until I fell asleep. I think I cried myself to sleep that night. I wished I had on panties instead of protection.
The next day when I got home from school, I was in my basement room lying on my bed watching TV. My mom came downstairs with a bag from Sears.
She sat on my bed and said she loved me and was so proud of me for being a nice young man. She told me she was sorry that I struggled so much. She knew I was a good kid. Things will get better she said. Then, as she leaned over and hugged me, she said, "I understand boys need their privacy," and handed me the bag. "These are for you", she said.
Somehow I knew I had the upper hand. I just laid there and didn't return her hug or take the bag. She got up, left the bag on my bed, said supper will be ready when your father gets home and went upstairs. At the top of the stairs, she turned and said to me, "I am not going to mention this to your father."
After a while, I looked in the bag. There was a package of panties from Sear's. Three pair, blue, yellow and white.
I have a new sissy faggot blog that i update regularly...i hope you like it?!
http://karafetishdoll.blogspot.com/
kara x x x
hi pam
you go girl!
i'am fully dressed with a bra 38C
panties /pantyhose/ skirt / blouse
lipstick and lipliner
I'm more than a little fashionably late for the party, but I'm throwing this out there anyway just to put a little context into my miserable inadequacies.
I was very young for my class, and little to boot. Still, I was reasonably athletic, headstrong and smart as a whip. That had held me in good stead with the fellows. Certainly not the most popular, respected if not admired, I had always been a leader.
However, unbeknown to me that was changing as guys were gaining an appreciation of girls that for me was still very abstract. My older brother had given me notions that were really pure mystery although I simple-minded thought I understood. I hadn't yet solved "what a girl feels like" even though climbing a pole stopped working somewhere along the way. And hell, just to make it perfectly clear, I still hadn't even discovered my true first love--jerking off!
Over the summer from sixth to seventh grade two new girls moved into our neighborhood. School had started a few days before and I wouldn't be 12 for a week or so. We all bounced along on in the hot noisy bus, I was blissfully ignorant of the changes in my friends who were trying to make time with Sue and Diane.
A long ago forgotten question was asked by an unremembered individual. I matter-of-factly supplied the correct answer. Diane stared coldly and in the iciest voice I've ever heard said, "who the fuck asked you?"
That's it. Those five words changed my life. Or at least I let them. I began an aweful downward spiral toward insignificance that would last well into high school. There was no recompense in Diane being unequivocably established as an absolute bitch in the middle school social heirachy. The rumor became that her family had moved to a new city because her parents had caught her having sex with an older guy who was arrested for statutory rape. Who knows if it was true?
Maybe she just stole somebody's boyfriend. Maybe she'd french kiss on the first date, or maybe she'd suck dick. The "good" girls didn't like her--maybe because she was passed from boy to boy. I wouldn't know, but I wanted to. Sickest of all, her contempt made me take notice. She crushed my status and awakened desire. I DREAMED of "nice" girls too, but I secretly lusted for Diane until she moved away two years later.
Your story is just like mine and that of most other T-girls. Thanks for sharing.
Stevie
Post a Comment