I shouldnt be left alone #crossdressing #feelinghot

Honey Birdette Raspberry Chemise, Bettie Page Red Tempest Basque,
Feeling Fabulous!

Feeling good and naughty

Feeling feminine in this

Here's a possible post:

Just got out of character and feeling like a QUEEN 👸🏽. Who's ready to help me get back into my most dominant self? Looking for a submissive sweetheart to spoil #MistressMode #CrossDressing #SissyLife"

What is it about lingerie that makes me feel so sluty ? and I really love the feeling too.

Good evening everyone manic Monday survived hope you all did too and are well. am now comfortable in my boots and mini skirt feeling chilled and comfortable

Feeling Cheeky

Hi, I'm new here. In fact I am new to crossdressing. I'm looking for genuine trans / crossdress people to chat to and discuss the whole thing. I did wear women's underwear when I was a young Naval rating, but was terrified of getting caught. Then I got married and had kids. Recently I found myself on my own and feeling inclined to become more femme. I am not attracted to men, but I have always wanted to be a woman.

Feeling very naughty right now. Anyone want to chat.

Anyone else feeling lustful

Morning all. How's everyone feeling today.

Hi everyone , beginning of another week , hoping to dress as much as possible , it can be frustrating when you cant be the person you want to be , I often wonder why people crossdress , what is their personal goal through wearing the opposite sexes clothes , I know mine being honest is mostly sexual , I get such a great contented feeling from being dressed and being feminine , I also being honest after the explosion do feel a little guilt / shame but thankfully it doesnt last to long and I cant wait to slip into stockings once more as soon as possible , have a great day everyone xxxx

Feeling very naughty right now. Anyone fancy a chat.

Omg feeling so girlie!

I love my eyes in this feeling pretty today and feminine. Some new skirts got delivered today, roll on summer

It was the best feeling in the world! Sitting down in my favourite dress while i feel the layers gently rub against my legs while gently feeling the enormous full skirt!

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dimly lit bedroom, my heart pounding with anticipation. At 64 years old, my body had softened over the years—my ample belly and wide hips a testament to a life of indulgence, now embraced in my secret world as a sissy crossdresser. Layers of shimmering satin enveloped me like a cocoon, not restraining but caressing every curve. A voluminous satin nightgown draped over my frame, its glossy fabric pooling around my thighs, while beneath it, satin panties hugged my skin, and a satin slip added another silky barrier. I felt shrouded, encased in luxury, every movement sending whispers of fabric against fabric.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the condom on the nightstand. I tore open the packet with care, the latex unfurling smoothly. Sliding it over my hardening arousal, I savored the initial cool tightness, a prelude to the symphony of sensations to come. It fit snugly, ready to capture the climax of this intimate ritual.
Now, I turned my attention to the fabrics that called to me. My fingers glided over the satin nightgown, tracing the smooth, slippery surface that clung to my obese form. The material shifted with each breath, rubbing against my skin in waves of electric silkiness. I ran my hands down my sides, feeling the layers bunch and slide, the overwhelming sensuality building as the satin whispered promises of ecstasy. My belly, soft and round, pressed against the inner layers, amplifying the friction—cool satin warming to my body heat, turning into a second skin that teased every nerve.
I moved to the dresser, where my collection of headscarves awaited. First, I selected an oversized satin one in deep crimson, draping it over my head like a veil of night. It cascaded down my back and shoulders, the edges brushing my neck. I tied it firmly under my chin, the knot secure but gentle, then looped the excess around my neck in a loose bow, adding another layer of encasement that framed my face in glossy folds. The satin pressed softly against my cheeks, its texture so smooth it felt like liquid silk pouring over me.
Not satisfied, I layered another—emerald green, even larger, overlapping the first. I repeated the process: over the head, tied under the chin with a double knot for that extra hug of fabric, then wrapped around my neck in elegant loops that nestled against my throat. The combined weight was delicious, the satins rustling together with every turn of my head, sending shivers down my spine. A third layer followed, ivory white and billowing, tied and looped in the same manner, now creating a multi-hued shroud that muffled the world outside, focusing all sensation inward.
To complete the encasement, I added the sheer voile chiffon veils. These were lighter, almost ethereal, like mist. I pulled the first one over my head as a hood, its transparent layers fluttering down to my shoulders, veiling my vision in a hazy dreamscape. The chiffon whispered against the satin scarves beneath, a delicate contrast to their heavier gloss—airy and teasing, brushing my lips and eyelids with feather-light touches. I added a second chiffon veil, then a third, each one encasing my head further, the sheer fabric layering into a translucent barrier that heightened every breath, every subtle movement.
Encased now from head to toe, I lay back on the bed, the satin sheets beneath me adding to the chorus. My hands explored freely: sliding under the nightgown to feel the panties' slick embrace, then up to my chest where the slip's fabric bunched against my skin. The sensations overwhelmed me—the cool slide of satin on satin, the warmth building where layers met my body's curves, the chiffon veils shifting like a gentle breeze across my face. My arousal throbbed within the condom, begging for attention.
I gave in, my hand wrapping around myself through the thin latex. The strokes were slow at first, savoring how the satin panties amplified each motion, the fabrics around me rustling in rhythm. The headscarves tugged slightly with my movements, their knots and loops a constant reminder of my shrouded state. Faster now, the sensations cresting—silky textures merging into a tidal wave of pleasure. With a muffled gasp beneath the veils, I released, filling the condom in blissful waves, my body quivering in the satin embrace until I lay spent, utterly satisfied in my encasement.

Feeling hot
#slut

Feeling goth right now

Being a true sissy is combining one’s inner feelings with one’s outer appearance.

Being a true sissy is combining one’s inner feelings with one’s outer appearance.

Morning everyone. Not feeling too good at present Flu and aches and pains. But will survive.
Xx

how it feels to become sensualy smooth and slip on sexually gratifying nylons or stockings is a feeling that can be only described as amazing and begs the question for relaxing why do men have such totally boring clothes that are not sexy or sensual , burn the underpants and pull on the panties .

There's something about these leather pants that really intrigues me... that feeling of tightness against my legs is something wonderful.

I hope I'm not the only one who feels that. Let me know.

Being dressed like this is a wonderful feeling.

I somehow feel better when I wear something like this.

Am I the only one?

Just feeling frisky

Feeling Naughty Today 🫦

Feeling

feeling unloved' lonely and getting very depressed.

Feeling myself today...

Feeling very horny tonight x

There is a parrot in Australia called a Galah....they are a pink & grey coloured Cockatoo....I'm feeling a bit like a Galah in this outfit

Well, I had a busy day and I'm feeling pretty awesome tonight and i just wanted to say thank you to you guys for all of the kind words said to me to help me feel better you guys rock keep being totally badass and awesome out there my friends

Feeling schooley today. Happy new year everyone xxx

I was feeling blonde...

Anyone interested in seeing a live stream of me for free? Feeling horny and as we are cuming to the end of the year I want to treat people

feeling sexy right now

Feeling very naughty again

Went out at about 5pm and I spent nearly 2hrs doing makeup and getting dressed. All the girls were wonderful, I spent most of the night chatting to them about makeup, hair and how beautiful I looked which made me feel like one of the girls, had so many offers of having girly days out with them which made me feel like I was accepted by them. That was an amazing feeling, at one point I almost cried from happiness. All in all a wonderful magical night

3am had a wonderful night out, girls were so positive about my looks. #feeling beautiful

I know, for most off you dressing up is fetish, but for me its not only sex (TBO it is 90% but anyway not all). I like feeling femine, it makes me relax. I forget the stresses at work or in personal life. I become her" slutty bich, that lives on my sallary! Anyway my point is for me the most femine thing is sanitary pads! No other thing makes you more a women than sanitary pads. What do you feel about them? Do you use them? I do. Write in comments about your feellings on the sanitary pads??? love ya

Feeling the edibles starting to hit

Hi everyone, im feeling really slutty tonight, if you want me to be your naughty little slut then please message me and I will do my best to please you xx

It started with eye contact.
He was picking up his mail.
I was by my bedroom window, wearing very little, feeling confident enough not to move when I realized he was looking.
We locked eyes. He smiled like he’d been caught — and didn’t look away fast enough.
Later, we crossed paths on the backyard deck. Same tension. Less distance.
He leaned in just enough and said, “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
I smiled and replied, “Only if you keep staring.”
He laughed quietly, glancing over his shoulder. “I have a girlfriend. I really shouldn’t be out here talking to you like this.”
I raised an eyebrow and said, “Then you probably shouldn’t be standing so close either.”
He shook his head, smiling anyway. “You’re dangerous.”
I answered calmly, “No. I’m just honest.” I know he wants to make me his so bad

Slipped into this feeling good and naughty

Feeling so femine and happy right now

My first time out, my friend turned up helped me so I could do my own make up, feeling wonderful x

Feeling naughty !!

I was sixteen, maybe seventeen, on that raw December afternoon in the mid-1970s, standing at the back of a small cemetery in southern Manchester. The light was thin and melancholy, the sort that turns everything slightly blue and makes shadows linger too long over the leaning stones. I barely knew the man we were burying, some Uncle twice removed, so the ache in the air never reached me. Grief felt like something that belonged to other people, grown-ups who understood loss. For me, the day was something else entirely, an accidental invitation into a world I hadn’t known I was hungry for.
They were everywhere, those women. Mature, composed, dressed in layers of black that seemed to absorb the weak winter sun and give back only a muted gleam. Silk dresses that clung and released with every breath, satin blouses catching stray glints of light, chiffon and voile drifting like smoke whenever the wind found them. Rayon, acetate, fabrics I didn’t even have names for then, but I felt them all the same, the way they moved, the soft sounds they made against one another. They stood in quiet clusters around the grave, gloved hands clasped, heads bowed beneath hats and veils. To them I must have looked like just another awkward boy in a borrowed tie, but inside I was burning with a fascination I couldn’t name and didn’t dare examine too closely.
And then there was her.
She stood slightly apart, as though even in mourning she needed space. An enormous black satin scarf, far too large, almost theatrical—draped over her shoulders and spilled down her back like spilled ink. Over her face, a sheer chiffon veil, so fine it trembled with every breath. I could smell her from where I stood, carried on the cold air, the sharp bite of Elnette hairspray holding her hair in perfect waves, and beneath it the heavy, amber warmth of Youth Dew. It was the scent of adulthood itself, complicated, slightly dangerous, utterly out of reach.
I watched her the entire time. I told myself it was curiosity, nothing more. But even then, in the thick of it, some quieter part of me knew better. There was something about the way these women carried their sorrow, elegant, controlled, yet undeniably physical that stirred a longing I didn’t understand. It wasn’t just desire, though that was certainly part of it. It was deeper: a wish to be close to whatever it was they possessed experience, certainty, the weight of years lived fully. I felt small beside them, unformed, all sharp edges and unspoken questions. They seemed to know secrets I hadn’t even learned to ask about.
Later, at the wake, coats and scarves were abandoned in a side room as the women moved on to tea and murmured condolences. I lingered near the pile, heart thudding so hard I was sure someone would notice. No one did. My fingers closed around two pieces: the oversized satin mourning scarf, still holding the warmth of her body, and the delicate chiffon veil. Both carried that same intoxicating blend of Elnette, Youth Dew, and something earthier, the faint salt of skin after hours in the cold. I slipped them inside my coat and left before the guilt could catch up with me.
That night, and for many nights through that long winter, I'd ascend up the narrow stairs to my attic bedroom. I’d lock the door, my one small claim to privacy in my parent’s house, draw the curtains and unfold the satin across my pillow. Sometimes I’d press the veil to my face and breathe slowly, letting the scent settle over me like fog.
In those quiet hours I began to understand what I’d really taken that day. It wasn’t just fabric. It was a fragment of a life I could only observe from the outside, a life of composure and ritual, of perfumes chosen deliberately and clothes worn with intention. Holding those scarves, I could pretend, for a moment, that some of that poise might rub off on me. That the confusion and restlessness I carried everywhere might quiet, just a little.
I never felt truly ashamed of stealing them. In my mind they were abandoned, after all, no longer needed once the performance of grief was over. But more than that, they had become mine in a way they could never have been hers again, totems of a feeling I was only beginning to name. Desire, yes. But also envy. And something closer to reverence.
Years later I can still close my eyes and smell it: hairspray, perfume, the faint trace of a woman’s skin on black satin. It takes me straight back to that cemetery, to the boy I was, watching, wanting, trying to understand what it meant to grow into someone capable of wearing mourning like it was made for them.
I’m not sure I ever fully did. But those scarves kept me company while I tried.