I’ve been dared to leave this photo of myself with no wig or makeup here for half an hour - I didn’t make it this morning so this is my 2nd try
It starts off as an “innocent curiosity”, trying on a pair of panties, or stockings or pantyhose.
It doesn’t stop there.
The curiosity extends to high heels and bras and cost eats and skirts.
You start to take more risks and go out, at first under your men’s clothing, then partially dressed at night, and maybe even fully dressed in women’s clothes in broad daylight.
Eventually you realise it is no longer an “innocent curiosity”.
You tell yourself it is a “harmless fetish”.
You eventually find yourself in hotel rooms or professional dungeons going through role plays, like this one.
You tell yourself it’s all you need to satisfy your “harmless fetish”, and that you still prefer women and are otherwise a “normal” man.
But deep down it lacks the authenticity you crave.
One day you find yourself in a hotel room, or down a back lane humiliatingly dressed in the women’s clothing to which you are, by now, hopelessly addicted as another man pumps his manly juices into you.
Suddenly, puff - you’re a faggot; an emasculated sissy.
You can no longer deny it.
At this point you realise that denial is pointless and the only way you can ever end the torment - the fear of exposure and unbearable humiliation and the fear of your inevitable destiny, is to accept and resign yourself to it.
Once you have reached rock-bottom, it can’t get any worse.
You will know that, at least will provide some stability to your, now, permanent existence in as a weak and malleable sissy, in women’s clothing, at the sexual and domestic whim of a psychological, physical and sexual superior.
There is an enormous comfort and relief to be ground in surrender and ultimate defeat.