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

In bed with a big urge today. Morning everybody

Abit of sports outfit haul amd skort haul for a a drink and a meal with anyone who is intrested

Hooray! The Big Red Box Of Rules is back!!!

A number of years ago, I walked into a small back street Charity Shop on the edge of town. I wasn’t really looking for anything specific just browsing, killing time, letting my eyes wander over the racks the way I always did when I felt that familiar restless itch under my skin. Then I saw it. Hanging slightly askew on a padded hanger near the back wall, half-hidden behind a row of sensible navy blazers, was a floor-length satin bridal gown. Ivory, not stark white. The bodice was structured but not boned, the skirt a gentle A-line that flared softly rather than ballooning into tulle insanity. A modest neckline. Delicate lace overlay on the shoulders and upper chest. And pinned to the hanger was the tag: Size 32 Worn once £49. My heart gave a hard, guilty thud. I’m a UK 18" collar with a 50" chest in men’s shirts. But dresses… dresses measure differently. Especially wedding dresses. Especially ones made to accommodate curves most people would call “plus size.” I glanced around. The shop was quiet. An older woman with silver hair was sorting bric-a-brac at the counter; a younger volunteer early twenties, purple streaks in her hair was steaming something in the corner. I lifted the gown off the rail. The satin felt cool and liquid against my palms. Heavy in the right way. I carried it toward the changing cubicle like I was smuggling contraband. “Would you like to try it on, love?” the silver-haired woman called out. Her voice was kind, matter-of-fact. No trace of surprise or judgement. I froze for half a second. “Yes please,” I managed. My voice sounded smaller than usual. She smiled. “Curtain’s already drawn back there. Take your time. Shout if you need a hand with the zip.” The cubicle was narrow, just a full-length mirror screwed to the wall, a single hook, and a thin beige curtain that didn’t quite reach the floor. I hung the dress on the hook and stripped quickly out of my jeans, hoodie, socks, boxers, down to bare skin that already felt too warm, too alive. My **** was already half-hard just from touching the fabric, from the sheer improbability of this moment. I reached into the pocket of my discarded jeans on the floor and found the condom I always carried now just in case. Fingers trembling, I tore the packet, rolled the latex down over my throbbing length, making sure the reservoir tip was positioned correctly. The relief of containment was immediate. No stains. No evidence. Just secret, pulsing heat trapped safely inside. I stepped into the gown. The skirt whispered up my calves, over my thighs. I pulled it past my hips slowly, carefully and the satin glided over the soft roundness of my belly without catching. I tugged the bodice up over my chest. The cups were generously cut, there was room. Actual room. I reached behind and found the long invisible zip. It slid up smoothly, no resistance, no straining. When I let my arms drop, the dress settled around me like it had been waiting. I looked in the mirror. The reflection showed someone soft and full and blushing furiously beneath ivory satin. The modest neckline framed the gentle swell of my chest and the faint shadow of cleavage created by the way the bodice pushed everything together. My hips looked wide and womanly beneath the smooth fall of fabric. My belly made a soft, proud curve against the front of the skirt. I turned sideways. The line from back to front was lush, generous, unapologetic. It fit. It actually fit. A small, involuntary whimper escaped me. I heard footsteps outside the curtain. “Everything alright in there?” It was the younger volunteer this time. I swallowed. “Yes. Um… could you, could you maybe check the zip? Just to make sure it’s all the way up?” The curtain parted a few inches. She peeked in, eyes widening for only a heartbeat before her face softened into a genuine smile. She stepped inside careful, professional and fastened the tiny hook-and-eye at the top of the zip I hadn’t been able to reach. Her fingers were gentle. “There. Perfect. It’s like it was made for you.” I couldn’t speak. My **** was fully hard now, straining painfully against the satin lining. A bead of pre-cum had already escaped and I could feel the slippery warmth of it against the inside of the dress. I smoothed the front of the skirt with both hands. The satin gleamed under the fluorescent light. I looked sill looked like a bloke in a dress. A big, soft, blushing, overweight very happy bride. When I finally stepped out, both women were waiting. “I’ll take it,” I said. Whilst the younger woman unhooked and unzipped me, the silver-haired woman rang it up. “£49. Cash or card, love?” I handed over my card. I left the Charity Shop with the dress folded carefully in a large carrier bag, the memory of satin against every inch of my skin still electric. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was hiding. I felt like I was finally beginning to find myself.

My fingers tremble, just a faint quiver, as I reach for the foil packet on the nightstand. It’s almost weightless, a promise in silver. I tear it open with deliberate care (the small rip loud in the stillness), and the condom unfurls like liquid mercury. Cool and impossibly thin, it glides down over my already aching ****, sheathing me in a trembling second skin. Safe. Secure. A fragile barrier between me and the avalanche of satin to come. A bead of pre-cum kisses the latex tip; I smile. Patience, little sissy. You’ll have your reward.
The first layer is a whisper-pink satin chemise, so fine it feels wet. I let it slither over my head, down my chest, until the hem brushes mid-thigh. Instantly it warms, clings, releases, and clings again with every breath. My palms chase the fabric, front and back, greedy for the slick heat blooming beneath my touch.
Next, the Black nightgown (double-layered, heavy, devotional). I step into it and draw it upward. The inner lining kisses the chemise, and they sigh together: shhh, shhh, my private lullaby. It falls to my ankles in a perfect liquid column. When I move, both layers ripple, cool against cool, warmer where my body heat pools.
The robe is deep rose, quilted satin outside, and champagne gloss within. Arms slide into sleeves, and the lining floods over my skin like chilled cream poured slow. I cinch the sash, and the world contracts: four surfaces of satin now stroking one another with every heartbeat (chemise on nightgown, nightgown on robe lining, lining on skin). I walk barefoot across the room, and the fabrics answer in overlapping waves: the chemise clings, the nightgown glides, and the robe slithers and sweeps. A private orchestra of frictionless lust.
In the mirror I’m only blush and ivory shimmer, face flushed above an ocean of gloss. I lift my arms; sleeves fall back like slow-motion waterfalls. When they drop, the collapse is a soft, wet thud against my body that I feel in my teeth.
I sink onto the midnight-blue satin duvet and let the robe bloom beneath me. On my back, layers flatten and spread, cool against my shoulder blades, my thighs, and the arches of my feet. I arch (just slightly) and the slide is obscene: satin on satin on satin, endless, merciless.
Knees drawn up, fabric pools thick and warm between my thighs like molten candy. My palms smooth down the front (quilted diamonds, slick columns, clinging chemise, skin), and every layer moves with me, against me, inside me.
Now the first of my headscarves, ballet-slipper pink, three feet of pure satin. Folded triangle wide, draped, pulled beneath my chin, crossed, and knotted tight. It cups my jaw and seals my throat. A second knot sits just under my lower lip like a soft gag. The world muffles instantly.
Second scarf, ivory and heavier. Over the first, tied again triangle wide. Four thicknesses now cradle my head, press my cheeks, and frame my face in a gleaming oval.
Third, a deep rose bandeau wound low, looped twice, and knotted at my nape. My chin is forced gently down; swallowing makes every layer glide against my throat in one slow, liquid swallow of its own.
Then the veils.
Pink chiffon, so sheer it’s barely there, yet it turns every texture beneath into a caress. Ivory voile next, pinned high, floating like breath. Last, pale mint over my face alone, tucked beneath the lowest knot. The room becomes watercolor. Breathing through it is filthy intimacy: the fabric flutters against my lips, tasting faintly of dye and my own heat.
A final white satin ribbon, narrow and merciless. Three coils around my neck over every knot, until only a thick, glossy band remains, pulsing with my heartbeat.
From crown to toe, only satin and chiffon speak. When I turn my head, the scarves whisper, and the veils drift like perfume. Pressure under my chin is constant, loving, and absolute.
One sleeved hand slips beneath the pooled folds at my thighs (satin, satin, satin then the cool, taut drum of latex). The contrast is blinding. I stroke once, slowly. My breath flutters the veil against my lips.
Knees higher. The other hand presses the stacked knots beneath my chin (gentle ownership). I begin: lazy circles that turn greedy. The condom translates every ridge of fabric into bright, liquid fire. Veils drift across my chest with each ragged inhale. Heat blooms, trapped, multiplied, sacred.
Faster. Hips rock. The robe lining slithers against the duvet in one long, wet slide. Scarves tighten as my head sinks deeper into the pillow; the ribbon collar throbs.
Release crashes silent and total. I bite down on nothing but chiffon, a muffled whimper swallowed by layers. Pleasure pours into the latex sheath in thick, obedient pulses, trapped and perfect, echoing through every fold until my whole body is one long satin tremor.
After, I lie glowing. The condom keeps me immaculate (another reverent layer). My chest rises and falls beneath quilted satin and drifting voile; tiny aftershocks ripple like quiet tides.

what a natural curvy girl haha. that ass is so big its got its own gravity field that its bending even the counter top in the background. shockingly poor photoshooped lol

Anyone want to dress together tomorrow night Birmingham area

Picking up some makeup bits from Boots later. Hopefully try a full face tomorrow. Prepare for Pennywise lol

I sit motionless in the dim parlor, the heavy velvet drapes drawn against the January gloom outside. The only light comes from the tall candelabra behind me, its flames trembling as though they, too, are in mourning. My reflection stares back from the tall gilt mirror across the room a stranger wearing my face, yet not quite mine anymore. The black satin gown clings to me like spilled ink, cool and liquid against my skin. Each subtle shift of my body sends faint gleams racing along the fabric, silver whispers in an ocean of midnight. The high collar bites gently at my throat, edged with fragile black lace that looks as though it might crumble if I breathed too deeply. The sleeves are puffed at the shoulders, then narrow cruelly down my arms until the cuffs grip my wrists like velvet manacles. I feel both imprisoned and exalted. The chiffon voile veil floats over my head, so fine it seems spun from smoke. It softens the edges of the world, turns the candlelight into a gentle, diffused halo. Through its haze I can see the portrait painter’s easel, the careful arrangement of shadows he is trying to capture. He keeps glancing at me as though he fears I might vanish if he looks away too long. My lips are painted the colour of old blood left to dry blackened plum, almost truly black in this light. The lipstick feels thick, ceremonial. Each time I press them together I taste the faint metallic bite of the pigment. My eyes are rimmed with kohl so dark it seems to drink the light; the sharp wings of liner make my gaze look both wounded and dangerous, like something beautiful that has learned how to bite. In my hands I cradle the bouquet. Once they were perfect crimson roses, the kind lovers press between the pages of forbidden books. Now they are dying in slow, exquisite agony. The stems bend wearily, heavy with the weight of their own decay. Petals loosen one by one, drifting down like drops of blood onto the polished floorboards. I can hear them fall soft, deliberate sounds, the quiet punctuation of something ending. I do not cry. There are no tears left for what I have become, for the man I buried beneath satin and shadow. This is not grief in the ordinary sense. This is something older, more deliberate a ritual of exquisite surrender. I chose every detail of this costume, every inch of mourning silk, every wilting bloom. I dressed myself for my own funeral, painted my own face for the wake, arranged my own flowers. And now I stand here, perfectly composed, while the painter tries to trap eternity in oil and canvas. Sometimes I think I can hear the roses whispering as they die. They do not beg for water. They do not ask to be saved. They only sigh, petal by petal, accepting their beautiful collapse. And I understand them perfectly. The veil stirs slightly as I exhale. A single crimson petal catches on the sheer fabric, trembling there like a ruby tear that refuses to fall. I do not brush it away. Let it stay. Let it be seen. Let the portrait show exactly what I have chosen to become: A widow of my former self, dressed in the most exquisite grief, holding death’s bouquet with steady, loving hands, smiling just a little behind lips the colour of finality.

Bimbo princess
Good morning y'all

I know it’s a bit “pot calling kettle” but there are some bloody weirdos on here just now

Bit of fun with a bung and tail.

I never thought a simple late-night scroll on Temu would change how I saw myself in the mirror.

My hands were shaking a little when I clicked "Buy Now" on that dress. The listing was a chaotic poem of keywords: Black Satin Fairy Vintage Sweet Dress Mesh Long Lace... Hollow Out Puff Sleeve Floral... Off Shoulder Fairy Princess Long Satin Mesh Gothic Lady Ruffle. It was everything at once — sweet, dark, romantic, dramatic — and somehow it felt like it had been waiting for me.

I'm sixty-four. Short. Heavy. The kind of body the world politely looks past. For most of my life I kept the part of me that loved beautiful, flowing things locked away in a mental attic. But the older I get, the less patience I have for hiding.

The package arrived on a grey Tuesday afternoon. I signed for it quickly, heart thumping like a teenager sneaking something forbidden. I carried the brown box upstairs like it contained state secrets, locked the bedroom door, and tore into it.

Inside lay folds of deep black satin that caught the lamplight like liquid night. Delicate mesh panels shimmered with tiny floral embroidery. The puff sleeves were ridiculously romantic — exaggerated, dreamy, almost cartoonishly glamorous. Lace spilled from every edge. The off-shoulder neckline promised to bare collarbones I usually keep hidden under sensible jumpers.

I stripped down, stood in front of the full-length mirror in just my underwear, and stepped into the dress.

The satin whispered against my legs as I pulled it up. It was surprisingly forgiving — stretchy in the right places, structured in others. I wriggled my arms through those massive puff sleeves; they ballooned around my upper arms like dark fairy wings. I tugged the bodice into place, smoothed the ruffled layers over my stomach, and finally reached back to zip it (with some creative contortions and a coat hanger as backup).

Then I looked up.

And I stopped breathing for a second.

The woman — no, the creature — staring back wasn't sixty-four. She wasn't short and soft and ordinary. She was a midnight fairy queen who had wandered out of some gothic storybook and decided to be indulgent today. The black satin hugged and draped in ways that turned every curve into intention. The hollow-out lace panels teased just enough skin to feel dangerous. Those enormous puff sleeves framed me like I belonged on a velvet throne instead of a suburban bedroom carpet.

I turned sideways. The long skirt flared dramatically, the mesh overlay catching light like spiderwebs covered in frost. I twirled — actually twirled — and watched the layers float outward in perfect slow motion, the ruffles whispering secrets to each other.

For once, the mirror wasn't my enemy. It was showing me something true.

I hadn't planned to go anywhere. But suddenly I needed to feel this outside these four walls.

I threw on a long black coat (practicality dies hard), slipped my feet into the only pair of low heels I own that almost match, draped a soft scarf over my wig to hide the fact I hadn't styled it yet, and stepped out into the January dusk.

The cold air hit my bare shoulders like a slap and a caress at the same time. I walked to the end of the street and back — only fifteen minutes — but every step felt like gliding. The satin moved against my thighs. The sleeves swayed. A neighbour's security light caught me as I passed; for a heartbeat I was illuminated, black lace and floral shadows glowing against the night.

No one stopped me. No one shouted. A dog walker nodded politely like I was simply another eccentric on an evening stroll.

When I got home, I locked the door, dropped the coat on the floor, and stood in front of the mirror again — this time under brighter light, no scarf, no hiding.

Here’s the thing about that dress: it doesn’t care that I’m sixty-four, or that I carry extra weight, or that my hands are rough from decades of practical work. It simply drapes itself over me and says, You are allowed to be this glamorous. You are allowed to be this much.

I smiled at my reflection — a real smile, not the careful half-one I usually wear.

Then I whispered to the woman in the mirror, the one who finally looked like she belonged in a fairy tale:

"Thank you for coming out to play, love. We’re keeping the dress."

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.

i finally decided my new years resolution. Though I hate wasting time on this site and not getting on with the real reason we come here, I'll not only continue to report and block the scamming dom cis women that appear, but tell anyone who gives them positive messages and emoji's a telling off for being thick as shite. anyone encourages these scammers who will empty your bank account and blackmail you without a ounce of humanity you really deserve it but before that happens I'd like to say to you all to go fuc k yourself and block me so i don't have to read your shite comments any more. If you want to look at p0rn go on a p0rn site as this isn't the site for you. As a guide, its quite simple, cis women accounts posting pictures and especially ones going on about b d s m your sissy ass have absolutely nothing to do with this site other than to try and rip you off. My other resolutions are to block the AI FaceApp addicts, as if I can post real pictures then the rest of you can too. If you don't want to show your face then crop it out. And while its bad enough dealing with the scammers, anyone who may be a real cd that's posting hairy arses and little ugly d1ck pics are just disgusting and not for this site! READ THE FU CKING RULES. Expect to get verbal for being ignorant, selfish and not caring. Not only do we have to deal with the scammers, we have you too. There's plenty of other sites where you can show your bits off on so go there and don't bother this site, or at very least do it in DM's with participating people. So for all the people this applies to have a Happy New Go Fu ck Yourself New Year! Don't bother commenting if I upset you as i don't give a flying fu cking. Have a nice day :0)

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.

Big discussion going on in the CD Stories Group chat if you want to join everyone xx

Evening ladies looks like the storm has arrived bit wintry out

OK, i can be a bit of a bitch, but aren't we all getting sick of 'em?

Nighttime ponderings….almost a week back glad festive period finally over. Over opinionated family members trans phobic. Fighting our corner. So hard with what happened in Scotland. Every cart has its rotten apples but we aren’t all bad x Keep been brave x

I met a really wonderful man last night We met at one of my favorite places in San Diego’s Hillcrest neighborhood—Baja Betty’s. It’s a spot I go to often and one of the few places where I feel completely safe being my true self as a trans woman, where I can relax, let my hair down, and just be me.

We started talking and somehow time just disappeared. The conversation flowed so easily, and we kept discovering how much we had in common. He’s older than me—I’m 47 and he’s 76—and honestly, it feels kind of perfect. I don’t have “daddy issues,” but I am very drawn to older men. I love the calm confidence, the grounded, paternal energy, and the way they make me feel cared for and protected.

What makes it even more special is how beautifully complementary we are. In public, he’s very masculine—confident, composed, and steady. In private, he’s a crossdresser, which he shared with openness and trust. That balance, that shared understanding of gender expression and vulnerability, made me feel seen in a way that’s rare.

I’m trying not to get ahead of myself—we did just meet—but there was definitely a spark A sense of comfort, attraction, and mutual understanding that felt natural and exciting. We just fit. I’m really hoping this sweet beginning turns into something meaningful.

http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/

#sissy #sissyboy #sissies #sissyboys #sissygirl #sissygirls #femboy #femboys #femman #gurl #crossdresser #crossdressers #crossdressing #tgirl #shemale #shemalechrissy #sissychrissyinsandiego #chrissyinsd #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #transgender #lgbt #queer #gay #dancing #twerking #pantyboy #meninpanties #dress #menindresses #gaydate #gayboyfriend #loveislove

My dildos i bought, cant wait to train myself up to take the biggest there

Nice to be home early and relax for a bit in my favourite dress mmmm

Cold snowy day now me time long skirt today as is a bit chilly

To everyone on the planet, I'm sorry, I'm rubbish at staying in touch there's two really good reasons for that, 1 I get really busy and by time I start winning down its like 2 in the morning, 2 the main one I just get fed up of social media

I've never been a big fan of pink, but I can tell you that I'm even starting to like it.

Let me know what do you think?

Still getting friend requests from Blank Spaces... Can only assume they're just spamming them to all, for if they'd a reason to choose me it'd be after reading (or at least glancing at) my profile, with the very first bit being....

NOTE: Blank profiles don't get befriended, however many friend requests they send!
FILL IN YOUR PROFILE and add a pic or two (no, not of that, nor of you holding a dead/dying fish!)

rubbing stockings is wonderful

Awwww! It was lovely to spend a bit more time with the dress! Its a bit stained due to my love for it! Mmmm

I have a serious question: why are you here? What are you looking for or want from this site? Me? I like showing off. I like networking, making friends, advertising my work and hobbies, and I am looking to date, though I'm in San Diego and I know this is mainly a European site. I know I may post some things that are very risqué and some people don't like that, but I please ask if you see something you don't like, just scroll past it. That's what I do. Obviously, anything that blatantly violates policy or shows something illegal or immoral should be reported, of course. But other than that, I just scroll past posts that I don't like or even disgust me. What about you? What do you want here?
-Chrissy

#sissy #sissyboy #sissies #sissyboys #sissygirl #sissygirls #femboy #femboys #femman #gurl #crossdresser #crossdressers #crossdressing #tgirl #shemale #shemalechrissy #sissychrissyinsandiego #chrissyinsd #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #transgender #lgbt #queer #gay #dancing #twerking #pantyboy #meninpanties

Ready for my date! He's going to make this ass red with spank marks!

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

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

I have a date tonight! The guy wants to tie me up and spank me! I have to shave my whole-body smooth again to be fem, take a good shower with lots of girly bodywash, put on my most girly lingerie and perfume along with a wig and maybe even some makeup? I'll share the details afterwards. I can't wait! I haven't been with a man in a couple of weeks! Kisses!

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

Yes, I have been using AI for some pics and videos to live out my fantasy as a woman online since I can only do it in private in real life. But I also share real, unaltered pics of me too. I hope these don't turn you off.

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

https://stripchat.com/Bianca_sexysissy/follow-me

I am live on Stripchat everyday, let's hook up there as well.

My dream:

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

I really wish a man would propose to me:

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

Still sick in bed. Now listening to the rain. Wish I had a man to take care of me.

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

Good evening, sweets

I want to take a moment to clarify something important about myself, honestly and openly. Deep down, I do wish that I could transition and live fully as a woman one day. That desire is real and has been with me for a long time. However, at this stage of my life, I also have to be realistic. Because of my age, potential medical and surgical risks, the complexities of hormone therapy, and the fact that so many people in my everyday life know me and relate to me as male, I don’t believe a full public transition is something I can truly pursue.

So for now—and likely for the foreseeable future—my feminine side expresses itself in more private ways. Crossdressing, embracing my sissy identity, and allowing myself to feel soft, feminine, and girlish happens in specific spaces and safe arenas, like this website. It’s not about shame; it’s about boundaries, safety, and navigating the world as it is, not as I wish it could be.

That said, I want to be very clear about one thing: I do love being perceived as feminine and being treated like a girl. Emotionally, relationally, and romantically, that’s where my heart lives. Because of that, I am not looking for a fellow sissy, crossdresser, or trans girl as a romantic partner or spouse. I respect them deeply, and I’m absolutely open to friendship and community with them—but romantically, I want to be the girl.

In a relationship, I want to be the feminine partner. In a marriage, I want to be the bride.

I am attracted exclusively to men—very masculine men. Broad shoulders, solid chest, bear-like body hair, a deep voice, confidence, and a take-charge presence all make my heart flutter. I’m drawn to strength, grounding energy, and masculinity that feels protective and assured. That dynamic matters to me, both emotionally and romantically.

Thank you for taking the time to hear me out and understand where I’m coming from. I believe clarity is a form of kindness—to myself and to others.

Kisses,
Chrissy

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

I'm also on Pornhub!: https://www.pornhub.com/model/sissy-chrissy-in-san-diego

#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

Hi all good day out as kitty in skgness with a,good friend and a bit femme shopping lol

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties

Another fantasy thanks to AI! With AI I can live my dreams vicariously online. This is just for fun. Not to fool anyone. So included with my fantasy pic is a real, unaltered pic of me too. Kisses!
-Chrissy

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 #sissygirl #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties