Feeling sexy
Feeling sexy 😘😘
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Patti has a foot fetish. Who else has this feeling about feet ?Patti has a foot fetish. Who else has this feeling about feet ?0 Comments 0 Shares 2K Views4
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Feeling a little retro, back to the 50's anyone?Feeling a little retro, back to the 50's anyone?7 Comments 0 Shares 2K Views
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In my skirt and petticoat feeling very naughty on a Sunday afternoon lol x
#skirt #petticoat #stockings #suspenders #highheelsIn my skirt and petticoat feeling very naughty on a Sunday afternoon lol x 🤭 #skirt #petticoat #stockings #suspenders #highheels2 Comments 0 Shares 2K Views6
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Patti is feeling so much better about herself, thanks to everyone who said kind words to Patti, it was a big pick me up, I should have known that heels would make me feel girly. Again thank you girls Patti loves all of youPatti is feeling so much better about herself, thanks to everyone who said kind words to Patti, it was a big pick me up, I should have known that heels would make me feel girly. Again thank you girls Patti loves all of you5 Comments 0 Shares 3K Views
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I feeling horny today x in my latex skirt and petticoat
#latexskirt #petticoat #stockings #suspenders #highheelsI feeling horny today x in my latex skirt and petticoat #latexskirt #petticoat #stockings #suspenders #highheels0 Comments 0 Shares 5K Views5
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Hello all you beautiful girls, Patti is not feeling very confident in her girly clothes, I need to know what you’ll really think of her? You can’t hurt my feelings, I just need to know an opinion, when I’m dressed I feel pretty and sometimes I feel really sexy but I want to look pretty and sexy, I hope everybody is having a wonderful day or nightHello all you beautiful girls, Patti is not feeling very confident in her girly clothes, I need to know what you’ll really think of her? You can’t hurt my feelings, I just need to know an opinion, when I’m dressed I feel pretty and sometimes I feel really sexy but I want to look pretty and sexy, I hope everybody is having a wonderful day or night10 Comments 0 Shares 4K Views
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Love that feeling at night when my feet slide into some sexy holdups or tights! Instant sexy arrousal lol x who else is dressing tonight xxLove that feeling at night when my feet slide into some sexy holdups or tights! Instant sexy arrousal lol x who else is dressing tonight xx1 Comments 0 Shares 4K Views
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Been gardening for a few hours, just had a shower, had a good friend stuck to the shower wall, It was worth getting dirty for,. Happy Bank Holiday feeling for sure.
Been gardening for a few hours, just had a shower, had a good friend stuck to the shower wall, It was worth getting dirty for,. Happy Bank Holiday feeling for sure.0 Comments 0 Shares 3K Views
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I am sixty-five years old, and there are mornings when my bones creak like old floorboards, when the mirror offers me a face that has known too many winters. But there is also satin.
It begins there, always.
Not with the clothes people expect, not dresses or heels or anything loud, but with the quiet, shimmering certainty of a headscarf unfolded across my lap. Oversized. Generous. A full square of light, as if someone had captured a piece of dawn and stitched its edges.
I keep them in a pine ottoman chest at the foot of my bed. When I lift the lid, the faint scent of pine wood and time rises, mingling with the cool, whispering smoothness of fabric. They are stacked carefully: florals, paisleys, deep jewel tones, pale creams, even one the colour of storm clouds just before rain. Some are silk satin, impossibly soft, almost liquid. Others are polyester blends still glossy, still kind to the touch, but sturdier, as if meant for endurance.
I tell myself it began for practical reasons. Hair protection, I say. Friction reduction. At my age, what hair remains deserves gentleness. And it’s true the satin glides where cotton drags, it soothes where wool irritates. At night, when I wrap my head, I sleep more peacefully, my scalp free from the tug and dryness that used to wake me.
But that is only the surface of it.
The truth is, when I lift one of those oversized scarves sometimes a full 130 centimeters across it feels like lifting a veil between lives.
I was not always honest about who I was. For decades, I wore what was expected, spoke in the tones expected, moved through the world like a man following a script written long before I was born. There is a heaviness to that kind of living. It settles into your shoulders, your spine, your breath.
The first time I wrapped a satin headscarf around my head, I did it clumsily. I had watched videos, read guides. Fold into a triangle, they said. Bring the corners forward, tie at the nape or under the chin. Smooth the edges. Adjust.
I remember the colour deep burgundy, with a faint floral pattern that caught the light. When I tied it, the fabric slipped against itself with a soft hush, like a secret being kept.
And then I looked in the mirror.
I did not see a caricature. I did not see something absurd or theatrical. I saw softness. I saw a version of myself that had been waiting, patiently, beneath years of denial. The scarf framed my face, softened the lines, held me together in a way nothing else ever had.
Now, it is ritual.
In the mornings, I choose carefully. If I am staying in, I might select something large and enveloping a square so wide it can drape over my shoulders, falling like a shawl. Sometimes I wrap it turban style, tucking the ends neatly, letting the fabric build a quiet crown around my head. Other times, I let it hang loose, a triangle tied under my chin, like something out of an old photograph.
When I go out rarely, but more often than I used to, I choose patterns that feel like companions rather than disguises. A muted paisley. A soft, vintage floral. Nothing too bold, but never apologetic.
People look, of course. Some with curiosity, some with confusion. A few with kindness. I have learned to endure the rest. At sixty five, you realize that most people are too occupied with their own reflections to truly see yours.
At home, the scarves become more than adornment. They are utility, yes sleep caps, shoulder wraps, even something to tie around a bag handle for a touch of colour. But they are also comfort. When I feel the weight of years pressing too hard, I wrap one around my shoulders and sit by the window.
The satin catches the light differently at every hour. Morning makes it glow. Afternoon sharpens its sheen. Evening turns it into something softer, almost like memory.
Sometimes I run the fabric between my fingers, back and forth, feeling its smooth resistance, the way it refuses to snag or cling. It reminds me that gentleness can be strong. That something soft can endure.
I have more than I need. I know that. A drawer full, a chest full, a small collection that borders on obsession. There are handmade ones, with careful stitching at the edges. Reversible ones, satin on both sides, offering two moods in one piece. Silk feel ones that mimic luxury so well it hardly matters that they are not the real thing.
Each has a story, or at least a feeling attached to it. This one for sleepless nights. That one for quiet afternoons. Another for the rare courage of stepping outside as I am.
I do not pretend that a headscarf changes everything. The world is still the world. My body is still heavy, my steps still slow, my past still filled with compromises I cannot undo.
But when I tie that satin around my head, something aligns.
The fabric smooths not just my hair, but something deeper something that has always been frayed. It holds me, gently but firmly, in a shape that feels right.
And for a little while, that is enough.I am sixty-five years old, and there are mornings when my bones creak like old floorboards, when the mirror offers me a face that has known too many winters. But there is also satin. It begins there, always. Not with the clothes people expect, not dresses or heels or anything loud, but with the quiet, shimmering certainty of a headscarf unfolded across my lap. Oversized. Generous. A full square of light, as if someone had captured a piece of dawn and stitched its edges. I keep them in a pine ottoman chest at the foot of my bed. When I lift the lid, the faint scent of pine wood and time rises, mingling with the cool, whispering smoothness of fabric. They are stacked carefully: florals, paisleys, deep jewel tones, pale creams, even one the colour of storm clouds just before rain. Some are silk satin, impossibly soft, almost liquid. Others are polyester blends still glossy, still kind to the touch, but sturdier, as if meant for endurance. I tell myself it began for practical reasons. Hair protection, I say. Friction reduction. At my age, what hair remains deserves gentleness. And it’s true the satin glides where cotton drags, it soothes where wool irritates. At night, when I wrap my head, I sleep more peacefully, my scalp free from the tug and dryness that used to wake me. But that is only the surface of it. The truth is, when I lift one of those oversized scarves sometimes a full 130 centimeters across it feels like lifting a veil between lives. I was not always honest about who I was. For decades, I wore what was expected, spoke in the tones expected, moved through the world like a man following a script written long before I was born. There is a heaviness to that kind of living. It settles into your shoulders, your spine, your breath. The first time I wrapped a satin headscarf around my head, I did it clumsily. I had watched videos, read guides. Fold into a triangle, they said. Bring the corners forward, tie at the nape or under the chin. Smooth the edges. Adjust. I remember the colour deep burgundy, with a faint floral pattern that caught the light. When I tied it, the fabric slipped against itself with a soft hush, like a secret being kept. And then I looked in the mirror. I did not see a caricature. I did not see something absurd or theatrical. I saw softness. I saw a version of myself that had been waiting, patiently, beneath years of denial. The scarf framed my face, softened the lines, held me together in a way nothing else ever had. Now, it is ritual. In the mornings, I choose carefully. If I am staying in, I might select something large and enveloping a square so wide it can drape over my shoulders, falling like a shawl. Sometimes I wrap it turban style, tucking the ends neatly, letting the fabric build a quiet crown around my head. Other times, I let it hang loose, a triangle tied under my chin, like something out of an old photograph. When I go out rarely, but more often than I used to, I choose patterns that feel like companions rather than disguises. A muted paisley. A soft, vintage floral. Nothing too bold, but never apologetic. People look, of course. Some with curiosity, some with confusion. A few with kindness. I have learned to endure the rest. At sixty five, you realize that most people are too occupied with their own reflections to truly see yours. At home, the scarves become more than adornment. They are utility, yes sleep caps, shoulder wraps, even something to tie around a bag handle for a touch of colour. But they are also comfort. When I feel the weight of years pressing too hard, I wrap one around my shoulders and sit by the window. The satin catches the light differently at every hour. Morning makes it glow. Afternoon sharpens its sheen. Evening turns it into something softer, almost like memory. Sometimes I run the fabric between my fingers, back and forth, feeling its smooth resistance, the way it refuses to snag or cling. It reminds me that gentleness can be strong. That something soft can endure. I have more than I need. I know that. A drawer full, a chest full, a small collection that borders on obsession. There are handmade ones, with careful stitching at the edges. Reversible ones, satin on both sides, offering two moods in one piece. Silk feel ones that mimic luxury so well it hardly matters that they are not the real thing. Each has a story, or at least a feeling attached to it. This one for sleepless nights. That one for quiet afternoons. Another for the rare courage of stepping outside as I am. I do not pretend that a headscarf changes everything. The world is still the world. My body is still heavy, my steps still slow, my past still filled with compromises I cannot undo. But when I tie that satin around my head, something aligns. The fabric smooths not just my hair, but something deeper something that has always been frayed. It holds me, gently but firmly, in a shape that feels right. And for a little while, that is enough.
1 Comments 0 Shares 3K Views
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My New Pantyhose
Color - BUFF YELLOW
Denier - 35 DENIER
Feeling the Softness and Smoothness of this Pantyhose
Do I Look Hot or HornyMy New Pantyhose Color - BUFF YELLOW Denier - 35 DENIER Feeling the Softness and Smoothness of this Pantyhose Do I Look Hot or Horny0 Comments 0 Shares 1K Views1
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A little dress up in my outfit feeling naughty x
#skirt #petticoat #stockings #suspenders #highheelsA little dress up in my outfit feeling naughty x #skirt #petticoat #stockings #suspenders #highheels0 Comments 0 Shares 4K Views
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Been off for a while, not feeling so. Today, Im off out walking, fresh air, shorts, commando, then coming back for some dressing up. In the mnood today, little clitty is in the mood also
Been off for a while, not feeling so. Today, Im off out walking, fresh air, shorts, commando, then coming back for some dressing up. In the mnood today, little clitty is in the mood also2 Comments 0 Shares 4K Views
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"To be honest, I’ve hit a breaking point and finally quit my job. I’m feeling pretty rough right now, but I found these lyrics that perfectly capture why I had to get out. It’s dark, it’s raw, and it’s exactly how I’ve been feeling lately:"
One gulp of coffee, then I sprint to the station,
Dive into the Tube, yawn’s a constant sensation.
I bent over backwards to get here on time,
So hello, hello… it’s the usual crime.
Well, hello to you all and your fucking tired faces!
A sip of some tea, smoke breaks with the herd,
You’re back here again, and it’s frankly absurd.
I don’t smile at strangers, I’ve nothing to say,
I’ve saved all my smiles for you lot today.
Yeah, hello to you all and your fucking tired faces!
When I’ve had quite enough and I’m ready to retch,
I’ll quit this shit job, every miserable stretch.
I’ll think of you all on a grey, rainy day,
How I tore out my hair just to come play the game,
Just to get here and see you...
Well, hello to you all and your fucking tired faces!
I’ll sing of new colleagues like a bird in the spring,
"I'm so glad to be here!" is the song I will sing.
You’re better than them, you’re a different race —
You’re lovely, you’re cool, you’re all over the place...
At least for right now — before you’re just fucking tired faces!"To be honest, I’ve hit a breaking point and finally quit my job. I’m feeling pretty rough right now, but I found these lyrics that perfectly capture why I had to get out. It’s dark, it’s raw, and it’s exactly how I’ve been feeling lately:" One gulp of coffee, then I sprint to the station, Dive into the Tube, yawn’s a constant sensation. I bent over backwards to get here on time, So hello, hello… it’s the usual crime. Well, hello to you all and your fucking tired faces! A sip of some tea, smoke breaks with the herd, You’re back here again, and it’s frankly absurd. I don’t smile at strangers, I’ve nothing to say, I’ve saved all my smiles for you lot today. Yeah, hello to you all and your fucking tired faces! When I’ve had quite enough and I’m ready to retch, I’ll quit this shit job, every miserable stretch. I’ll think of you all on a grey, rainy day, How I tore out my hair just to come play the game, Just to get here and see you... Well, hello to you all and your fucking tired faces! I’ll sing of new colleagues like a bird in the spring, "I'm so glad to be here!" is the song I will sing. You’re better than them, you’re a different race — You’re lovely, you’re cool, you’re all over the place... At least for right now — before you’re just fucking tired faces! 🤐18 Comments 0 Shares 5K Views
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Pantyhose makes our legs look so much more prettier but the way they feel when moving around and walking, if you have never experienced this feeling it is the most girly feeling ever, Mrs. Patti loves the feeling and the look, so if you agree with me send pictures of your beautiful legsPantyhose makes our legs look so much more prettier but the way they feel when moving around and walking, if you have never experienced this feeling it is the most girly feeling ever, Mrs. Patti loves the feeling and the look, so if you agree with me send pictures of your beautiful legs
11 Comments 0 Shares 3K Views
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Feeling really kinky this morning dressed up x x
#latexskirt #lacepetticoat #stockings #suspenders #highheelsFeeling really kinky this morning dressed up x❤️😊 x #latexskirt #lacepetticoat #stockings #suspenders #highheels4 Comments 0 Shares 5K Views7
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Nicky is feeling down went out today in this outfit with the gilet. Walked past a couple and got snickered at. Had my hair down no makeup but I like to think I’m quite feminine looking. Oh well back to the blue room where I’m safe. Big hugs to everyone who chooses to be brave your empowered xNicky is feeling down 🙁 went out today in this outfit with the gilet. Walked past a couple and got snickered at. Had my hair down no makeup but I like to think I’m quite feminine looking. Oh well back to the blue room where I’m safe. Big hugs to everyone who chooses to be brave your empowered x39 Comments 0 Shares 4K Views
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