I wish you all a pleasant evening. 🫶🙏😊 For me, The day should start in two hours 😅,and I should get out of these legging 🤣🤣🤣

Morning girls x from a real horrid start to the day in notts x not even bothered venturing out of the door xx

Good morning. 💋The leather look came about spontaneously, at the request of some men who wanted to be dominated. They insisted on wearing this look, but when I put it together, they all vanished. 😅Probably because I have virtually no experience with domination, and I don't particularly enjoy being in that role. But the look remains, and I'll expand on it over time. For now, I'm showing it off because I think it's my red dress, which I personally really like, but it's probably already become too familiar.😅😊

Looking for a dance partner! 💞

Probably the only decent way to show my stockings and garter belt

Hrt is actually showing some progress in the chest department so much so i have to start wearing bras to cover the girlies

https://youtu.be/ht7FQX3zpqQ?si=HaXxRV-v8wNHiR2v It may be an oldy, but I haven't been able to get this particular earworm out of my head this evening. Anybody with a heart votes love. 💕💖💕

Verse 1 I walk the streets with borrowed light, A picture framed for someone’s sight. Smiles on faces, perfect and small— A thousand windows, none of them mine at all. Pre-Chorus We act the parts that others write, Hide the edges, hide the fight. Under neon, under glass, Something honest waits to pass. Chorus For all the world to see For all the world to be For all the world to love But for me Verse 2 They take our names and bill them bright, Sell us stories dressed up for night. I learn to nod, I learn to play, Forget the map that shows my way. Pre-Chorus But in a quiet corner of the day, A softer truth might find a way. A hand, a word, a light not planned— Small rebellions by an open hand. Chorus For all the world to see For all the world to be For all the world to love But for me Bridge (spoken, intimate) Not for the applause, not for the frame, Not for the headline or someone’s name. I want a place where I can stay— Tender, untidy, simply made. Verse 3 So leave a note on a porch tonight, Share your coat with someone in the cold. These little truths are how we start Turning quiet pieces into heart. Chorus (layered, aching) For all the world to see For all the world to be For all the world to love But for me Outro (fade, single whispered line) For the world to be… But for me. No

You've probably seen an old video about how masterful makeup application can transform your appearance beyond recognition. Frankly, I admire such mastery. It's a level I strive to reach. However, when I try it myself, it doesn't always turn out quite right. Makeup artists make it look easy and simple in videos, but in practice... it's all just not quite right.😆 Yes, I know, practice makes perfect. But you don't get the chance to practice often. My point is, if I post a photo of myself with poorly applied makeup, please don't judge me harshly. In the meantime, enjoy the video; it's worth the time to be amazed and admired.

Yesterday I went for my nephew’s birthday party. As usual I wore g-string under my regular jeans. The party was for the family so all my close relatives were there. At some point the discussion started about wearing the string and hot it is not conformable etc. I was silence, just smiling and nodding, but each and every time aunt, uncle or whoever glanced at me or We got an eye contact I heard the voice in my head THEY KNOW, YOU CAN NOT HIDE, THEY ALL KOW. SHAME. SHAME. As you might have guested it…….. turned me on (not aunts nor uncles for those curious!). The obvious morale of this story is that what a relief that, with all the masks and pretends, it’s good to know that our brain does not limit you… Picture is unrelated, posted just to bring more attention to the story😊

Christmas is cumming! Here is a traditional Christmas story! lol : It happened last Christmas Eve. Snow whispered against my window, blanketing the world in a serene hush as I drifted off under layers of warmth. The soft glow of the Christmas lights outside painted gentle colors on my walls, blending with the lace and satin of the red lingerie I had on. A sudden thud on the roof jolted me awake. My heart raced as I strained to hear more, the sound of bells jingling faintly and what could only be the sneeze of an animal carried through the stillness. I sat up, clutching my blankets closer. Moments later, a creak echoed from downstairs, like footsteps crossing the living room floor. Still groggy but alert, I reached for my phone, ready to call for help if needed. Peering cautiously into the hallway, I heard a deep, hearty laugh resonate through the house. “Ho, ho, ho!” The voice was unmistakable, rich and warm, and yet impossible. Santa? No, it had to be some burglar pulling a strange stunt. My skepticism flared as I crept down the stairs, each step measured and quiet. When I reached the living room, I froze. The space was bathed in a soft, unearthly glow, and standing before the tree was a man who looked every bit the part of Santa Claus—velvet red suit, snowy white beard, and a twinkle in his eye that seemed almost magical. He was munching on the cookies I’d left out as a joke, milk in hand. "What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled indignant. The man turned around to look at me. "Watch your language, Chrissy," he scolded me gently. "You're already on my naughty list." "How did you know my name?" "Ho, ho, ho! I know everything about you, including when you're sleeping and when you are awake. I'm Santa!" "Santa isn't real!" "So you don't believe your eyes?" "You're just some thug dressed up as Santa." "Ho, ho, ho! Look up at the roof and tell me how a thug got a magical sleigh and a team of magical, flying reindeer. Ho, ho, ho!" I didn't have to look, the noise I heard on my roof earlier lined up perfectly with that of reindeer. "But...but...you're not real." I stuttered. "Chrissy, I'm as real as you want me to be. And you have been naughty. Ho, ho, ho!" "If that's true," I challenged. "Why are you in my home?" "Ho! Ho! Ho! Because I love naughty boys, I give them a big gift! Ho! Ho! Ho!" With that he unbuckled his black broad buckled belt and unzipped his red pants. Out jumped his huge, wrinkled, snow-white penis, uncut of course with lots of foreskin, and it was hard and long. There was pre-cum already dripping from it. Santa winked at me then said, "cum get your gift, Chrissy. Ho! Ho! Ho!" Being the naughty ladyboy femboy slut I am, I complied and fell to my knees in front of Santa. I grabbed his rock-hard cock and squeezed it while placing my lips around it. It was so salty, vinegary, wet and sticky. His manjuices were already leaking into my mouth as I sucked on him. slurp slurp slurp I stroked his dick as I sucked, then started fucking him with my mouth...going up and down, up and down on his penis...my tongue would lick the tip and shaft at times. Santa's dick started to swell and throb...but he pushed my head away. "Ho, ho, ho! He said, "I finish in naughty boy's ass." (Continued in next post) #sissy #femboy #transgender #gurl #sissyboy #tgirl #CD #crossdresser #crossdressing #transgirl #transwoman #adultcontent #nsfw

Here is one of my awsome photos. (I made several) Using my own body, from when I was in Germany over 10 years ago. I did have a wig on and small breast inserts. At that point in my life I weighed 137pounds. I now am about 158lbs but starting to diet again. Couple of changes now, is my hair is now mid-back length and my breasts are now real Bs. But I think I am a bit chunky. Acording to my current diet plan I can reach 138lbs again by next April. Please give me comments? Dawn 🥰

miss_janet reported and blocked. professional dom cis woman as featured on onlyfans and other sites. some articles where she states how she gets money off people

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What's the difference between a manly lesbian and a really short guy who works in the meat department? One is pretty butch, but the other is a little butcher! 😂

CD in balley art: La fille mal gardee Covent Garden. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=BT9naCq0fdE&pp=0gcJCR4Bo7VqN5tD

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🌑 t.me/DisciplineMommy 🌑 Send me a private message begging for entry into my training attendance Only then will you begin your path to becoming the best, most devoted submissive sissy girl under my heart’s discipline and serious service to prove the reality of the slut

Let's do some make up for you girls. The night starts right now...

Greetings to you, my dear sisters. And to you, Admirers. I wanted to tell you a little about myself. I started crossdressing relatively recently, about five years ago. I'd been wanting to do it for a while, of course, but I only got around to trying it recently. What did it give me? Well, it motivated me to lose weight, from 130 kg to 78, although my body is still not perfect; my body fat percentage is excessive, in my opinion, and such a significant weight loss couldn't help but negatively impact both my face and body. I also began to better understand women and how they think. When you look at yourself in a dress in the mirror and realize it doesn't suit your figure or the color... Oh yes, now the thoughts of women in the same situation are much clearer.🙂 I've discovered things men don't think about, like how to determine my body type to match it with clothes, my face type to match a wig, my skin tone and undertone to choose the right makeup colors, my overall complexion, and its level of contrast, which helps me choose clothing colors. I'm really interested in exploring all of this. Of course, I'm not perfect at everything. I'm not very good at makeup; for example, I'm still working on my body despite having suffered numerous injuries. Losing weight isn't always a good thing; it exposes problems I never even suspected. 🤔Sometimes my looks look a bit slutty, my wardrobe isn't very large, and I can't find shoes in the right size. I also have to hide my hobbies, like hiding my face in photos, because I get more negativity and threats from the world than positive ones.🤐 But at the same time, there's a sense of harmony and inner peace when I have the rare opportunity to transform myself, even if only temporarily.☺️ My English isn't very good, I use an online translator, and the text may be a bit awkward, so please excuse me. Kisses to you all, sisters, wherever you are.😚😙😚💝

I dream of safely leaving the house dressed up, especially if a stranger finds out about me and it excited them. I dressed as snow white one Halloween "for a laugh" and went to a party where a couple of men I knew " jokingly" groped my butt and legs and I fell down a rabbit hole and I never got out, Iwonder if they were as aware of my growing lump in my panties as I was of there's in rheir jeans, Iand still love to be groped 😅😻

Do you lovely creatures listen to any songs in particular when you are dressing up, I do, helps you get in the mood? I would love to hear what. I must say I like "Black velvet" it's so sultry, and I love wearing black velvet too 😹😻

I was dressing up for work today, but my belt started misbehaving!

Stay away from this profile. As good as it looks, it's fake. Especially when someone starts off by saying, 'hello dear'. A known dialog use by fakes and scammers. And especially when their first reply want you to download dodgy chat software to communicate.

Not a bad day at all, went to look at a possible place to myself, tiny cottage by a noted Arts & Crafts figure, first female achitect in Britain (Countess Lovelace, granddaughter-in-law of Lord Byron), out in the country and a charitable rent, fingers, eyes, toes crossed!

Hey sweets, I wanted to open up and share something real with you—something raw, honest, and close to the bone. If any of this resonates with you, if you’ve ever felt the same hunger, the same questions, the same ache—I’d love to hear from you. You're not alone. Leave a comment, share your truth. With all my heart (and a few kisses), I’ve hated my dick for as long as I can remember—not just for how it looks or what it symbolizes, but for how it keeps me tethered to a version of myself that never felt real. It’s not that I want to erase my body—I just want it to feel like mine. I want softness. Curves. A place to be entered, to be held, to be loved in a way that matches how I feel inside. I want to be her. And in many ways, I already am. I haven’t transitioned. Maybe I never will. But I live in the space between genders like it’s home. Most people have no idea. They see what I let them see. But under my clothes, I’m wrapped in the truth of who I am—lace panties, a matching bra, delicate straps across my chest, sometimes a garter if I need to feel extra pretty that day. It’s not just for arousal. It’s for survival. And always, always, I wear my prosthetic. My fake pussy. My secret salvation. It’s made of silicone—soft, skinlike, shaped just right. The slit is subtle but perfect. There's a hole you can enter, if you know how to treat me. When I slip it on and feel my cock tucked away, my heart slows. My body goes quiet. I look down and see smoothness, femininity, me. Not a fantasy—reality. My reality. I wear it all the time. Not just for sex, not just when I’m alone. It’s part of my daily ritual, part of how I make peace with a body that’s caught between what it is and what I wish it could be. It keeps me close to her—the woman I am when no one’s looking, and sometimes even when they are. Most lovers don’t know how to handle that part of me. They want either a woman or a man, and I’m both and neither. But some—some—see me. They touch me with reverence. They kiss my neck like it’s sacred. They press against the silicone, kiss me through it, call me beautiful. And when they slide inside that prosthetic slit, I feel... loved. Not just fucked. Chosen. Other times, they want what I hide. They pull down my panties and take me as I am. My ass becomes my pussy. They call my cock a girl cock, and I let them, because in those moments it belongs to the version of me who still needs to be worshipped, still deserves to be adored. There's no shame in it. I’m done apologizing for the way I live in my body. But the most powerful moments are the quiet ones—alone, silk between my thighs, hips swaying as I move through the world with my little secret pressed tight against me. The prosthetic warms to my skin. I forget it’s there, and yet I’m constantly aware of it. It doesn’t just hide what I hate. It shows me who I am. Every soft curve, every subtle line—it’s mine. I’ve had men fall in love with me through it. Not just because of how I look, but how I let them in. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. When I let a man undress me slowly, kiss down my stomach, slip his fingers over that smooth slit... he doesn’t just touch silicone. He touches me. He touches the part of me that’s always been waiting to be seen. And when he enters me there, when he moves inside me through that perfect opening, I close my eyes and feel a kind of peace I’ve never known. A feeling that says, This is what it means to be wanted. This is what it means to be a woman. This is what it means to be loved in the body you’ve built for yourself, on your terms. It’s not a costume. It’s not pretend. It’s truth, wrapped in silicone and lingerie and longing. And it’s beautiful. More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/ #crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent

Behind the Mask It’s 4am, the city sleeps Shadows hide the secrets we keep Faces blur beneath the glass Truth is waiting behind the mask Behind the mask Every smile, every disguise A thousand stories in my eyes Behind the mask The world pretends, but I can see A brighter light guiding me to the end Voices drift through crowded streets Lonely hearts in the dark still meet But love begins where lies grow thin Truth is waiting behind the mask Behind the mask, we are one, No more hiding, no more run Behind the mask, the truth will shine The world can be better, yours and mine

I'm thinking of starting an OnlyFans page. Would anyone join? https://www.youtube.com/shorts/-ev7-YAIUdE

Ello everyone 🙂 Some positive news..... .... I'm starting work again (back collecting the tyres) on Thursday morning 😁😃 xx

Party Shadow

Is not halloween 💦 #sissy #nylon #crossdressser #transgender #feminization #bas #collant #pantyhose #stocking #pied #feet #lingerie #maletofemale #sexy #fantasme #lgbt #porn #soumission #bdsm #hosiery #trough #ladyboy #gartbelt #nails💅 #tits #boob #cock

Sweet or naughty? Yeah, with this pic it sounds a lil' dirty—but honestly, I couldn’t care less! Forgive me, boys, I’m completely booked—hopping straight from one party to the next! Just yesterday I was lighting up the Bahamas, and now we’re deep into Halloween celebrations day after day! When the future’s all foggy, you’ve got to master living in the moment—and that’s exactly what I’m doing!

good afternoon all just got my new black long Opera gloves today and i love wearing them so much 💗 😍 ♥️ ❤️

Departure to the Orange Ball

Good evening sweets! I'm off to work. But thought I'd leave you with a story. More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/ #crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent Chrissy on the Hillcrest Bus The bus hissed as it opened its doors on University Avenue, right in the heart of Hillcrest, San Diego’s famous gay neighborhood. I climbed aboard, heart racing a little faster than usual. On the outside I was in my “boy clothes” — plain pants, a simple shirt — but underneath I was my secret self: Chrissy Marie Tunnell. Pink floral panties hugged my smooth hips, a matching bra cupped my chest, and tiny flashes of trans-colored jewelry — a ring, a dangling earring — shimmered in the afternoon light. I wasn’t fully comfortable living openly as a girl yet, but I loved leaving little clues for anyone observant enough to notice. As I walked down the aisle, I felt eyes on me. One man’s gaze dropped to where the pink waistband of my panties peeked above my pants. Another tilted his head just enough to catch the faint outline of my bra straps beneath the thin cotton of my shirt. My jewelry glinted when the bus jolted, and I knew they’d seen the colors. Their eyes followed me hungrily as I slid into a seat halfway down. Even the bus driver, watching through the mirror, licked his lips and adjusted in his chair. “Hey…” one man finally said, his voice a mix of awe and lust. “You’re Chrissy… the trans model, aren’t you?” My cheeks burned, but I gave a shy smile. “Yes.” A low whistle came from the back. “Damn. You should take those clothes off.” I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “I can’t here…” Then the driver’s voice, gravelly but warm, floated down the aisle: “It’s okay. I won’t say anything.” His eyes met mine in the mirror, daring me. A shiver ran through me. My body trembled with a mix of nerves and arousal as I stood up slowly, the bus swaying beneath my feet. I grabbed the metal pole for balance, slipped off my shirt one button at a time, and slid my pants down my thighs. Gasps and murmurs spread as I revealed my pink bra and panties, smooth legs, and the bulge already straining with need. “Goddamn…” someone whispered. I posed for them, turning so they could see the curve of my ass, bending just enough to make my cheeks round and full under the thin fabric. I arched my back, running my hands down my torso, teasing myself for their eyes. The air hummed with catcalls and whistles, every sound feeding my arousal. I felt powerful. Desired. Exposed. The driver adjusted his mirror again, his eyes glued to me. My cock twitched inside my panties, leaking, the wet spot spreading. A chorus of moans and encouragement filled the bus as I spread my legs, cupped myself through the silky fabric, and let them watch my face flush and my chest rise and fall with each deep breath. I was their show, their Chrissy, their secret goddess on wheels. Chrissy’s Bus Show – The Climax The bus swayed along the road, but I barely noticed. Every set of eyes was on me — hungry, wide, devouring. I stood in the aisle in nothing but my pink floral bra and panties, my smooth skin glistening under the fluorescent lights, my cock straining the damp satin. “Do it, Chrissy,” someone whispered, voice husky with need. “Yes… show us,” another begged. The encouragement hit me like waves of heat. I hooked my thumbs under the band of my panties, tugged them tight against my bulge, and let out a trembling gasp. My cock pulsed, the wet spot spreading. The riders groaned, some openly rubbing themselves as they watched. I spread my legs wider, arched my back, and cupped myself through the silky fabric. The friction was maddening. My hips bucked, the panties darkening with each spurt of precum. “God, look at you,” the bus driver moaned from the mirror, his knuckles white on the wheel. The passengers cheered me on, clapping, catcalling, shouting my name. “Chrissy! Chrissy!” I slid one hand up my chest, over my flat stomach, to my bra — tugging at the cups, making my nipples stand hard under the lace. My other hand rubbed furiously over the soaked bulge, grinding, stroking, teasing myself to the edge. The entire bus rocked with my moans. My thighs quivered, my lips parted, sweat dripping down my temples. I was lost in it, lost in them, lost in the rush of being seen. Then it hit. “Ahhh—!” My body seized, cock jerking uncontrollably as I came hard in my panties. Hot, sticky release poured out, soaking the pink fabric, running down my thighs. Gasps and cheers filled the air, some passengers clapping, others moaning with me as if they’d climaxed, too. (continued in comments below): -Chrissy

My story on how cross dressing helped me discover my true identity. It all started when I was maybe 13 or 14 years old. I would see my mom or sister throwing out clothes they didn't wear anymore. Like anyone in that situation, I snuck out what I wanted and hid them in the bottom of my closet. Then when I'd go over to my sisters and catch her throwing out clothes and such, I'd sneak around getting what I wanted. I would be at my sisters and somehow manage to take 15 pairs of panties and a few bras I wanted. Later on, I started questioning my own gender identity. There were often times I'd try to hide or suppress who I really was inside out of fear. That fear was mainly driven by what society may think. I'm glad cross dressing has helped me come to realize later on, that I'm a trans woman. It's been the cross dressing community over the years via MeWe which has shown mea lot of love and support. So I'm glad to have gotten my start in this path through cross dressing!

Good evening sweets! I'm off to work. But thought I'd leave you with a story. More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/ #crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent The Meeting That Got Out of Hand I showed up to the office dressed in my “Supervisor” uniform — black polo shirt tucked neatly into black pants, shiny work shoes. On the outside, I looked like any middle manager headed into a boring meeting. But under it all, I wore my little secret: a lacy pink bra and panties. Just knowing they were against my skin made me shiver with anticipation. The room looked like an office conference space, complete with a long table, chairs, and quarterly reports scattered around. Five others were waiting — three men in polos like mine, and two women in skirts and blouses. I sat down and kept tugging at my shirt, worried my bra straps might show. That’s when one of the women leaned over and smirked. “Chris… is that lace I see under your collar?” My stomach flipped. I froze, heat rushing to my face. Everyone’s eyes snapped to me. The strap had slipped just enough to peek out. One of the men chuckled, leaning forward. “No way… are you wearing a bra under that uniform?” My hands fumbled at my collar, trying to hide it. “I… maybe.” My voice cracked. The woman reached over and tugged my shirt down just enough to reveal the delicate strap, then the curve of lace against my chest. Gasps, then laughter, but not cruel — hungry. Aroused. “Stand up,” another man said. “Show us.” I hesitated only a second before rising to my feet. Heart pounding, I pulled my polo up, exposing the pink bra stretched across my chest. The room went silent, then filled with low groans of approval. “Fuck, Chrissy,” one of them whispered. “Turn around.” I obeyed, bending slightly. My waistband had slipped low enough that the lacy panties showed above my pants. Someone reached out, tugging them down just enough to expose the curve of my ass. The first touch made me gasp — a hand sliding over the silk, squeezing, then pulling my pants down around my thighs. Now I was standing in front of them in bra and panties, my cock already swelling against the lace. They closed in. A woman pressed her lips to mine, lipstick smearing as her tongue slid into my mouth. Hands roamed everywhere — groping my ass, tugging at my nipples through the bra, cupping my cock through the panties. “Get on the table,” the tall man ordered. I climbed onto the polished surface, lying back as they surrounded me. Someone yanked my panties aside, freeing my cock, already dripping. A hot mouth enveloped me, sucking hard, while another tongue flicked over my nipple, teeth grazing until I cried out. My legs were spread wide, panties shoved down, and I felt a slick finger pushing into my ass, stretching me open. I moaned around the cock one of the men slid between my lips, gagging as he held my head and thrust deep. It was a blur of sensation. One man fucking my throat, another pumping into my ass, their bodies grinding against me while the women took turns riding my face and jerking my cock. The table shook with every thrust, papers scattering like a storm. “Good little slut,” someone growled in my ear as they pounded into me from behind, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the office. My cock spurted across my stomach, hot and sticky, but they didn’t stop. They used me until I was soaked with cum inside and out, my bra twisted, panties torn, lipstick smeared across my face. When it was finally over, I lay sprawled on the table, trembling, dripping, utterly used. The others buttoned their shirts, straightened their skirts, laughing softly as though the meeting had gone exactly as planned. I wiped the mess from my lips, my chest still heaving. “So…” I whispered, voice raw, “should I type up the minutes?” The room erupted in laughter — and I knew I’d just passed my first real office initiation. -Chrissy

A poem hoping many of you will relate,tell me if you relate. Mirror to my soul,don’t flinch- Show her:the girl the glass denies. Lashes like dusk on velvet skin, Cheeks brushed with dawns first rose surprise. Beneath the lie of broad,hard lines she arches-swan neck,lilac throat, breasts soft as secrets,hips that shine in satin light no stranger wrote. The world sees stone;a few hearts know the mirrors truth:her feminine glow.

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Unraveling the Thread: How Clothing Has Been Used to Subjugate Women—and Why That’s Changing By Chrissy Why do women have to cover their chests while men can go shirtless in public? It’s a question that may seem simple—but carries profound implications about gender, power, and control. What we wear has never been neutral. Clothing is one of the most immediate ways society tells us who we are, or who we’re allowed to be. And when it comes to gender, clothing has been weaponized—especially against women—for centuries. But this isn’t just about history. It’s about lived experience. It’s personal. My Own Journey Through the Fabric of Gender As someone still exploring my own gender identity, this topic isn’t abstract. I was always a little more feminine than masculine, even as a child. For years, I repressed it—hiding behind "boy clothes" and what society expected of me. But in time, especially through the support of loving partners and close relationships, I came to embrace not only my homosexuality but something even deeper: the truth of my transgender identity. I am a woman—a female self long trapped in a male body. Though I firmly believe clothing shouldn't define gender—because gender identity is internal, not sartorial—clothing still does carry that symbolic weight in our world today. And so, until I find the strength to publicly transition, I express my femininity in the ways that are available to me now: I wear bras and female underwear every day in secret beneath my outwardly masculine clothing. In private, I allow myself to wear skirts, dresses, lingerie, and the soft, beautiful fabrics that make me feel aligned with my true self. It’s not about performance. It’s about presence. It’s about reclaiming what was always mine. The History of Clothing as a Tool of Gender Control To understand how we got here, we must look back. Clothing began as a means of protection. But from early civilization onward, it evolved into a tool of social stratification—and eventually, a means of gender control. Ancient societies created strict visual codes for women, emphasizing modesty, submission, and containment. While men wore tunics or armor suited for movement, battle, and public life, women were wrapped, tied, bound, and veiled. The message was clear: men moved freely through the world. Women did not. In medieval and early modern Europe, this dichotomy hardened. Men's clothing was practical. Women’s clothing was restrictive, ornate, and often uncomfortably symbolic. Corsets, crinolines, and hoop skirts made running, fighting, or even breathing difficult. These garments weren’t just fashion—they were cages. If you were wearing a dress, you weren’t riding into battle. You weren’t speaking in court. You weren’t commanding an army or a kingdom. You were ornamental. You were controlled. Modesty, the Female Chest, and the Double Standard These patterns persist today—nowhere more clearly than in the sexualization of the female chest. The fact that a man can walk down the street shirtless without a second glance, while a woman can be arrested for doing the same, speaks volumes. This isn’t about modesty. It’s about power and shame. The female chest has been hyper-sexualized while simultaneously shrouded in taboo. This serves to objectify women and punish them at the same time. Even breastfeeding in public is controversial in many places—seen not as natural or maternal, but as obscene. This double standard is part of a larger system that says women must be desirable but modest, visible but not too loud, strong but not threatening. And clothing is the vehicle through which these contradictory demands are enforced. Clothing as Power—and Resistance Throughout history, clothing has helped define who was allowed to hold power. Male garments—uniforms, suits, boots—were made for authority. Female garments were not. This is why women were long excluded from spaces of governance and decision-making. Until just a few decades ago, women couldn’t wear pants in courtrooms or on the floor of the U.S. Senate. Power had a dress code—and that dress code was male. To be continued in next post... Love, Chrissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #CD #gurl #sissy #sissyboy #trans #tgirl #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #ladyboy #femboy #shemale