Self Portrait

It has been a while, but I took this photo back when I was just beginning to perform complete transformations.

About A Story I Wrote

Woman Partner

Working On Making Partner

About six years ago, I wrote a story called "Woman Partner," and posted it on Fictionmania.  The story met with somewhat mixed reviews, although I think mostly positive.  Some readers felt that some of the subject areas that I touched upon were a little too hard core.  My view has always been that it is fiction.  It's a story.  And it is intended to be erotic and sexually explicit.  Read it for what it is.  In any event, I figure most people reading my blog may not have read it - certainly may not have connected it to me.  I'm working on another story that I plan to publish soon, and thought it might be useful to reconnect people to my work in advance of that.  The new story is called, "My Fall To Grace." More about that later.


"Woman Partner" is a story about a young married lawyer who is driven to become a partner at his law firm.  Through a series of coincidences, he ends up getting involved in something he never imagined.  And the twists and turns the story takes are, in my opinion, interesting, to say the least.  I've given a link in the title of this post to Chapter One.  From there, you can go to my story list and find the other chapters.  I hope some folks give it a go.

About My Last Post

Ever since my last post, when I described what happened when my mother and sister caught me all dressed up in my mother's lingerie, I have been tormented by that memory.  It was never really gone, but it was so long ago, and so much has happened since then, that I really haven't dwelled on it.  But since writing about it on my blog, the painfulness - the humiliation I remembered feeling as my mother bent me over her lap - me wearing her panties, girdle, stockings, bra stuffed full and high heels, wearing red lipstick, as my older sister watched, I really wished I were dead - has been eating at me.  And making me hard.  God!  It was awful.  And yet, it was amazing.  And even though they put it in the past, for weeks I remember not being able to look in their eyes.  Because when I did, I could tell they were looking at me in a whole new way.  I'd never be just a little boy again.  I was the sissy boy who liked wearing women's underwear.  I can't remember when the moment came that things seemed normal again.  But whenever it was, it was probably about that time that I went back to sneaking into her panty drawer - only now I was so much more careful.  And I never got caught again.  By my mother.

Caught For The First Time

I'll never forget the first time I was caught wearing lingerie.  My mom and sister had gone to the store.  My dad was off somewhere for the weekend.  It was a Saturday, and they left me watching cartoons.  I guess they figured they could leave me alone by then.  I believe that I was around nine years old.  Anyway, as soon as I was confident that my mom and sister were gone, heart racing, I went to my mother's bathroom to see what was in her hamper.  I hit jackpot.  Every item of lingerie that I craved was in there.  I've posted this photo before, but this is the best example I have of what I was wearing that Saturday morning.

Anyway, I was in heaven.  I was all alone in our house, wearing my mother's lingerie.  I even snuck into her closet and found a pair of high heels to wear.  I knew my dad was gone for the weekend, so I wasn't concerned about him.  And I expected my mom and sister to be gone shopping for hours.  I practiced walking in her heels, constantly checking out my sexy form in her mirror.  I was having so much fun.  I decided to take things a step further too.  I went into her makeup drawer and found some red lipstick and put it on.  This was, by far, one of the best "dress up" sessions I'd ever had.  Little did I know how bad of a memory it was about to become.  You see, the thing about hiding your dirty little secret is, that sooner or later, you'll make a mistake.  And I did that day.  I lost track of time.  I sat down to watch some television.  I'll never, ever forget the feeling of panic that I felt when I heard the lock on the door to our den click, and realized someone was coming inside, and there was nothing I could do about it.  Normally, when I dressed up in my mom's lingerie, I stayed out of view of the front part of the house.  Then, I figured, if I heard anyone come in, I could quickly change and avoid detection.  I'd never cut it that close before, but at least I'd been prepared.  But not that day.


As I was sitting on our den couch, wearing my mother's lingerie, my mother and older sister burst in the door carrying their packages from their shopping trip.  I was speechless.  I stood up to run and hide, but it was obviously too late.  My sister was standing just behind my mother, a look of confusion on her face.  Looking back on it, I can understand why.  She was looking at her little brother dressed up in her mother's underwear, including her DDD bra stuffed full.  My mother's reaction was indecipherable to me - at least at first.  But it didn't take long to find out that she was not taking it well - finding her son dressed up like a sissy girl.


She slammed the door and began yelling at me like I'd never been yelled at.  That would have been enough to stop me from ever doing this again.  (Of course, that is completely wrong as it actually didn't stop me.  What I was doing was something I couldn't not do, as I eventually have learned.)  She ran at me and began beating me with her hand, completely out of control.  I was balled up in self defense.  She yelled at my sister to go get her a belt from my dad's closet.  I think my sister was scared to death as well.  She was only about fourteen.  And so she brought my mother the belt.  My mom folded it over and began beating me beyond any whipping I'd ever received, the whole time I'm still wearing her lingerie.  So this is happening in our den, in front of my sister, with me crying and pleading for mercy.  I was telling her I was sorry and that I'd never do it again.  And she didn't stop.  She just screamed that she was going to make sure I'd never do anything so perverted again.


She beat me and beat me until she was exhausted.  Then she told me to go take off her lingerie, put it back where I found it, and then to go to my room.  I was happy to do that.  I never wanted to be seen again.  I stayed in my room all day.  Later, my mom came in to talk to me.  I couldn't look her in the eye, but she made me.  She wanted to know why I did it.  I couldn't explain it.  All I could say was, "Just because," which, of course, is no explanation.  In the end she made me promise to never do it again.  She also told me she wasn't going to tell my dad, as he would never understand.  I was eternally grateful to her for that.  Just facing her and my sister was torture.  My sister never said a word to me.  I think my mom must have told her not to.  And so, in time, we moved on.  But I couldn't resist the pull.  Eventually, I did it again.  But I was so much more careful.  This photo isn't exactly what it looked like, but it is close.  She beat me almost raw. 

The next time I was caught dressed en femme, it was my wife.  I'll tell that story some other time.

Miss Flo

Does Anyone Not Know What These Are?

Classic Sanitary Belt

Modess Contour Sanitary Belt

The "Hoosier" Sanitary Belt

I first discovered the "sanitary" belt when I was scrounging around in my mother's dirty clothes hamper for her panties, girdles and bras.  Now I don't want to make it sound like, from the moment I screwed up the courage (or whatever it was that made me go in search of my mother's undies) to invade my mother's privacy, that I was in there every day.  Nothing would be further from the truth.  I had to gauge my opportunities.  After all, I was only around eight years old.  It wasn't like my parents left me at home alone a lot.  And often, when they did, they left me there with my older sister, or a babysitter.  So, I had to be patient for my chances to become a girl.

I can't really remember how long I'd been taking my chances invading my mother's inner sanctum when I first discovered the "sanitary" belt.  I do remember my mother's was a Kotex brand.  I may not have mentioned it yet, but from the beginning, when I wore my mother's Lace Nouveau panties, I always - I mean always - sniffed them.  I don't know what made me do so.  I just did.  And so began my fascination with the splendid odors that emanate from a woman's pussy.  Most sissies know exactly what I'm talking about.  We just fucking get off on it.  So, I'm not telling other sissies anything new I don't suppose.  I'm just saying how it affected me.  I loved the scents that my mother left in the crotch of her panties.  Sometimes, I wonder if the desire to sniff her dirty underwear was more of a draw to me than wearing them.  Hmmm.  Tough call there.

In any event, on one of my carefully calculated trips into her bathroom, I found that her panties were stained red.  More like a deep brown.  I figured out that it was blood.  And I could smell that there was something else different.  This wasn't the odor of urine, or perhaps her own desire being translated to stains in her panties.  This was a rich, iron smell.  Well, duh!  But remember, I was only about eight.  I didn't know anything.  Except that all of this got me very excited.  The smell of her body soaking the crotch.  At the same time, I discovered the belt, and then the used pads.  Investigating further, I looked in the cabinet under her sink and that is when I found the fresh, clean pads.  Those thick, soft, absorbent pads.  I am so thankful that I wasn't born after the invention of the panty liner, or the self-adhesive pads.  Otherwise, I may have missed out entirely on the feeling I discovered, and enjoyed for years, when I hooked a Kotex into a sanitary pad strap and pulled it up onto my waist, and trapped my penis into my crotch by the most feminine thing I can think of.  Oh!  My!  God!  I can't begin to guestimate how many of those pads I soaked, not with my blood from my monthly period - something only real girls got to enjoy - but with my own sissy discharge.

To this day, part of my turn on is wearing a sanitary pad inside of the crotch of my panties - once a month just like clockwork.  And I've never gotten pregnant either!  Go figure.

Then, These

Open Bottom Girdle, Full Cup DDD Bra, Nylon Stockings

It wasn't long after I made my first foray into my mother's dirty laundry hamper to sneak a pair of her panties, that I discovered that there was so much more under her skirts than Lace Nouveau panties.  My mother also wore the above.  Now, granted, my mother was not a beautiful, black woman, as is Miss Veronica Vincent whose photo I'm using for illustrative purposes. (Her photo in this sexy ensemble was found at www.girdlebound.com).  No.  My mother was a beautiful white woman.  But, she was as full-figured as Miss Veronica, and had equally large breasts, that fascinated me to no end all of my life, and even to this day.  (I hope that no one reading my blog will judge me too harshly for that admission.  But my aim here is to be honest.  So, sometimes, I may come to a crossroad in a narrative where I must choose to admit the hard, cold truth, at the risk of revealing how debased I really am, or choose to tone the story down by leaving out a detail, or softening it with less than a complete recitation.  I've determined I will always choose truth.)

My mother wore the above lingerie all of my life that I lived in her house and was able to sneak into her hamper.  And seemingly, even in the summer months, as I could always find it in the hamper.  I understand many natural girls don't do that so much anymore.  And I admit, that in the heat of the humid summer, when I'm already wearing a suit to work, I don't always wear a girdle or stockings or slip beneath my male disguise, as I do in the cooler months.  But not my mother.  Which meant I could usually count on finding her sexy lingerie to slip into whenever I found the time alone.

I'll never forget the first time I tried on everything together - the Lace Nouveau panties, the Playtex open bottom girdle, her Playtex Living Bra with the huge breast cups, and her nylon stockings.  I was fucking in heaven!  I stood in front of her full-length mirror in her bedroom and just stared at myself.  In no way did I see a boy.  I can vividly remember thinking how lucky girls were to get to wear such unbelievable clothing.  I wondered if my older sister (five years older) wore similar clothing.  Somehow, I did not think that she did.  I later confirmed that, to some extent she didn't.  I'll talk about her later.

I figured a way to stuff my mother's bra cups with other clothing from her hamper, usually panties and stockings.  Initially, when I first began my exploration into feminine clothing, I did not go into my mother's drawers.  I was too afraid that, if I moved anything, she'd realize someone had been in there.  Shoot!  I was careful enough just returning things to her hamper in as close to the position and order it was in when I removed it  Like I've said, no one needed to tell me that what I was doing was completely and utterly taboo.  A boy who dressed in girls' underwear was a sissy who deserved to be teased unmercifully.  And I couldn't risk that.  I already was teased by my friends because I was kind of pretty.  However, I had something going for me that made teasing me for being pretty difficult.  I was a tremendous athlete.  I was always the fastest kid in my class.  And I could catch a football and a baseball better than anyone.  Everyone wanted me on their team.  So, I may have been pretty, and an easy tease mark because of that, but on the athletic field I shut the bullies up.  In other words, I was a guy on the outside, and always have managed to maintain that public image.  A guy who secretly, whenever he could, dressed up in his mother's sexy underwear.

There was a long void in my life when, after I moved away from home, that I simply could not find a way to dress up as I had enjoyed during my youth.  I never was willing to take the risks associated with being caught.  And until the internet, and the advancement in internet shopping, it was just really, really hard to obtain such clothing.  I've been married twice, and neither of my wives wore such sexy underwear as my mom did.  So, my options were limited.  But, as I tell my story, you'll come to learn how I've reached the point in my life where I am virtually never not wearing at least panties.

These - Where It All Started

Vanity Fair Lace Nouveau Nylon Brief

These were my first.  They were all that my mother ever wore.  (I suspect she still does.)  Which meant, of course, that there was always a pair or two available in her dirty clothes hamper.  How old was I?  I can't say for certain.  My memory of sneaking - yes - sneaking - into her bathroom and removing a pair of these exciting panties is strong.  I'll never forget it.  But my precise age, I cannot recall.  I do recall where I lived though.  And from that, I can say that I was seven or eight years old.  That much I'm certain of.

I can vividly recall the moment.  I sorted through my mother's dirty clothing.  I wasn't just looking generally either.  I knew what I was after.  And when I found them, my heart was racing.  Pounding out of my chest with excitement and fear.  Excitement over touching these shiny, soft, slick, nylon panties.  Fear of getting caught.

The questions I've asked myself over and over and over as an adult, reflecting back upon those first times, revolve around the initial draw to feminine lingerie.  I was just a little boy.  And my mother was no wild woman.  She was beautiful.  And still is.  But it wasn't as though I was exposed to overt sexuality.  But something made me, a seven or eight year old boy, want - no - need - to feel, smell, wear, my mother's panties.   That's right.  I sniffed them.  I was captivated by the unmistakeable scent of woman.  And, I still am, which probably explains why, when it comes to pleasing women, I am so much more comfortable doing it with my mouth than with my clitty.

The other big question for me is, how did a seven or eight year old boy know that it was wrong?  How could an innocent child know that it was wrong to sneak into his mother's dirty clothes and remove her underwear?  I couldn't know.  But, make no mistake, I knew.  I knew that a boy who did such a thing was no boy.  He was something else.  And we all know what that something else is.  I didn't have the vocabulary then to put a name to it.  But I knew what I was.  I knew what kind of boy stole his mother's nylon undies, sniffed them, and then put them on and wore them.  Put on multiple pairs so that the layers of nylon could be rubbed against each other, creating that feeling on my little boy penis that I have never stopped being drawn to.  Even now, as I type this, I'm wearing a pair of Vanity Fair Lace Nouveau panties.  Only now, I'm lying in bed next to my wife, and I'm also wearing a bra filled with breast forms and a pink Miss Elaine nightgown.

But then, when I did it the first time, and then the other times when I repeated my pilfering, I wasn't a boy when I wore my mother's panties.  I was a little girl.  That was what I felt.  That was how I saw myself.  I put on the panties, and immediately, the face I saw in the mirror wasn't a little boy.  It was a pretty girl.  I can even remember my mother's friends, and store clerks where my mom would take me shopping with her, saying how I was so pretty that I should have been a girl.  Coincidence?  I don't think so.  But I wasn't a girl then.  And I'm not one now.  I know what I am.  And have always been.

My taste in panties has far surpassed my first exposure to my mother's Lace Nouveau, but those were my first, and remain one of my favorites.  I read in a lingerie store ad that they are making a big comeback because they are great for women to avoid showing panty lines.  But I digress.

What was wired into my DNA at birth that made a little boy who knew nothing about such things to be drawn to wear his mother's nylon panties, and to know that it was wrong to do so?  How wrong?  I'd carefully remember where within the hamper I removed each pair from.  I remembered, roughly, how they lay.  And when I returned them, I was careful to put them back right where I found them - as if anyone who tosses their dirty underwear into a hamper actually marks the spot and would know - just know - if someone had moved a pair.  Shoot!  I still know it is wrong.  Otherwise, my family would know.  My friends would know.  My work colleagues would know.  That I wear panties all - of - the - time.  Every day.  The reason I don't let anyone know is that I don't want them teasing me.  Calling me a sissy.  Just like when I was a little boy.

It wasn't much longer after I took that first step that I was caught for the first time.  And when I tell about that, you'll understand how well I was taught just how wrong it was for a boy to where girls' underwear.  And you'll also understand just how strong the draw was, and still is, for me.  Because I never stopped wanting to - needing to - wear panties - and much, much more.

I'm Afraid

I've been beating around the bush.  I started this blog because I want to share my deepest thoughts and feelings about who I am.  A sissy.  I know I am.  But, saying so isn't what this is really about for me.  I want to describe how I got here.  I want to let others know the stages I've been through to reach this moment.  The problem is, as I think about my life, and the things I've done - the things I've felt - the lies I've told - still tell - I realize that there is a lot of pain that I don't know if I can face.  But I'm going to get there.  I am.  I hope my reticence doesn't prevent others from checking in to follow where I go with my story.

See the pain in the sissy's face?  She is torn to accept herself. 

Mistress. Sissy. Understanding.

I was preparing my Mistress' dressing area when I caught her watching me.  Her lover would be arriving momentarily.  It was my duty to ensure that her bed chambers were ready for their lovemaking.  It had been months since I'd been allowed to enter her.  I was hopeful that tonight, I may be granted some limited opportunity to please her.

Am I Sure I Should Do This?

I have been wondering if I should really put myself out there?  So many sissies have done it.  I know.  Some because their wives or Mistresses make them.  Others because they feel the call.  But there is so much to reveal about how I ended up here.  I wonder if I can be that honest about it.  Some of it is painful too.  I think sometimes, that the pain is what helps me know that it is real.  Why would I?  Why would anyone?  Be one?  When there is so much at risk?  Being found out?  Subjected to ridicule?

This is how I see me

A Little More Background

Should I confess my age?  Maybe not.  I want to just tell it all!  You know?  But, then, why would anyone follow my blog?  Once you knew it all?  Mystery is the spice of life.  So, I think I'll leave that alone.  I'll say this though - I have had these feminine sensations coursing through my blood, psyche, sub-conscious, or whatever, for a long, long time.  And, like many others in my heels, I know that no one who knows me can know about the real me.  Isn't that the strangest part of it all?  Being a submissive?  Being a sissy?  We know that the sissy is the real us.  And yet, I venture to guess, that most of us have another self who virtually everyone we have daily contact with thinks is the real person.  I'm always happy when I read about someone who has a woman (or a man), who has accepted their sissy self, and permitted that sissy to live openly, at least within a tiny part of their daily world.  As days pass, I'll reveal more about my own sissy journey, as well as share images that just do that thing for me.  We know what I'm talking about.  Don't we?

For me, this is my favorite position.  Pleasing Her while She chats with Her boyfriend.

 

My First Post

Okay.  I've been trolling and enjoying so many wonderful sissy blogs for so long.  I finally decided to begin sharing my story.  But, first things first - I need to figure out how to post and to import inspiring photos.  When i do something, I always want to do it well.  And I'm ill-equipped for this level of technology.  I want my blog to be as visually interesting as some of the really good ones that I've enjoyed.  So, I'll be working on getting my formatting set up before I get down to sharing the details of my Sissy Musings.  So, be patient and then get ready.


Hugs,


Leeanne Montgomery

My First Image - From Profiles in Perversity