Back and froth.

Back in time.

 . . . and remember.  Yes.  I remember.

So long ago, many lifetimes away.  I'm a young man of the south.  But I'm so fair of face the other young men giggle behind my back.  They call me a southern belle when they think I can't hear.  But I do.  It's so hot now.  The hight of summer.  I take refuge in the large plantation house.  The heat can be bad for my health, and the sunlight even worse for my alabaster skin skin. I simply must find refuge from the heat.  I carry myself up to my room and fling the windows wide.  I'm greeted by a breeze, but even the zephyr burns like a beast's breath.  I can't stand it.

I unbutton my vest, then my shirt.  I kick my shoes to the corner and slide my stockings off of my feet.  Then I undo the buckle of my trousers.  I'm alone in the house.  Father is away on business, and mother and sister are in town at a society function.  The field hands cannot see me from where they labour.  I stand in the window, naked, feeling the air blanket me in an invasive heat.  But it feels wonderful.

In time I fall back onto my bed only to find that I am not it's only occupant.  A large box has been placed there bearing the mark of a tailor of some renown.  A dressmaker, to be precise.  It must be my sister's new summer dress.  With no one in the house, the delivery boy must have brought it to my room by mistake.  I can't resist having a peak.  Sister is always at the high of fashion.

I lift the lid of the box and am stunned.  It's lovely.  An elegant white summer dress, bedecked in ruffles and festooned with lace.  I cannot resist, and touch the fabric with a trembling hand.  It is cool to the touch, like the breeze I know will never come on a day such as this.  For a moment I am still.  A blush creeps across my face as this though enters my mind: I want to feel the coolness, all over my body.

In a moment I am standing before the long dressing mirror.  I tweak and tug and fluff the dress, adjust the matching opera gloves, perch the wide hat just so, elated as the oppressive heat is banished from my body as if by magic.  Seeing myself, I am struck by my beauty.  The other young men are right.  I am a southern belle, easily as comely as my sister.  I fill the dress well, and I soon find that I am clapping my hands joyously in spite of myself. I twirl before the mirror, admiring the vision that I have become.

I am dancing around the room, pirouetting on my delicate bare toes.  Then I am out, skipping through the halls, prancing in and out of rooms, crossing the hardwood floors like a dancer born.  The fabric rustles, and with each motion my skin is tickled and cooled.  With each twirl the petticoats brush my most intimate places and fan my backside.  I wish to dance like this forever. . .

"There you are, my pretty thing."

The realization that I have been seen leaves me frozen.  I can hear the heavy padding of large boots approaching from behind.  My body holds still, though I want to run away, leaving me trembling ever so slightly.

"A lovely dress my dear, but white?  Are you sure?"  There is a pause, then the deep voice booms in crude and mocking laughter. "Well, we're alone Margaret, so no one need know."

Margaret?  He thinks me my sister.  And the voice, now I know it.  Jasper.  One of the hands who tends the livestock.  But, my sister and he?

My thoughts are broken as his large, weathered arms wrap around my waist.  He pulls me to him, his broad chest pressing against my back, and something else pressing against my backside through many layers of petticoat.  I lose my footing and almost swoon.  But from fear, or . . . something else?  What is this new feeling invading me, betraying me?

I fall back into Jasper's arms and gasp as his lips find my neck.  His stubble scratches my delicate skin like sandpaper, but I wish to feel more.  With one hand around my waist he crushes me to his body, with the other he roughly paws my bodice.  I want to scream, but I coo.  Do I truly want this man to take me as he has apparently taken my sister?

"Enough of this now.  Games are games, my dear, but I wish to make sport."  His words assault me just as his hot breath sears my cheek.  I'm spun roughly around and held to Jasper's chest, and at that moment our wild eyes meet.

*snap*

Oh my, I must have drifted off there.  So tell me, did I uncover and interesting memories while under hypnosis?  Should I undergo regression again?

Wendy

Entry Tags: sissy, story, fiction, hypnosis, regression, southern belle, bawdy romance

Wendy

Entry Tags: music, saxophone, practice

Ok, I'll admit it.  I have been reading more.  But I've been a bit naughty.  I've been ready porn.  But it's really good porn.  I thought I might share it with you.  You might get turn on to something you like.

Es2c isn't a lesser known droid.  He's an author of erotic fictions.  Much of it has to do with the fetish of cuckoldry.  Got your horns ready boys?  I'm not much for cuckoldry on it's own, but when it's combined with forced feminization?  Oh . . . my . . . goodness . . . I ruin my panties every time.  The way the poor men in his stories can be outright sweet-talked into becoming sissy little cum guzzlers drives me wild.  Makes me think my girlfriend could talk me into it.  We'll see.

The first time I ever linked diapers and sexuality in a way that turned me on was in a lengthy story called The Clinic, the story of an almost Stepford-like town called Coucheville, where an ingenious woman has improved everyone's lives by hypnotically regressing the men into an infantile state and keeping them dependent on the wives, who quickly become their mommies.  Many of you know that I'm not all that into infantilism, but I would be totally into it if I could find a play partner like the women in this story.  The perfect mix of manipulation, hypnosis, age-play, and diapering gets me every time.  Put me in Dr. Whetmore's care, pweez!

The Bondage  Perils of Supergirl is a story that tries to give you everything you could want, and succeeds, with all the pitfalls that entails.  Supergirl (and a few other heroes and villains) face off against the sorceress Zorelle.  They loose, hard.  And Zorelle has some entertaining plans for her defeated foes.  This story goes on forever and has spawned a few derivative works, including illustrations.  We see infantilization, rubberization, transformation, bimbofication, lactation, and on and on.  It's tawdry, it's trashy, and I love it.

Well, those are some of my top tantalizing story picks.  I hope you take the time to read them, and I hope you enjoy.  Maybe I'll share some more some time.

Wendy

Entry Tags: sissy, story, fiction, porn, text, reading, diaper, favorites

Wendy

Entry Tags: supplemental, slice of life, hopes, sissy, girlfriend, shopping, dressing

It just occurred to me that I haven't read anything girly in a while.  Come to think of it, I haven't read anything girly in almost 2 years.  Maybe it's because I'm simply not interested in bodice-ripping romance novels.  But I'll tell you what I do like.  I like manga.  I used to love wrapping myself in a thick blanket after work and reading a shojo manga.  I was in love with Yubisaki Milk Tea, about a young man who cross-dresses and carries on friendships with many characters as both a man and a woman.  It helped me get in touch with my own need to cross-dress.  But after volume 6 came out over a year ago I haven't seen in anywhere.  I really shouldn't be griping.  In this age, there only reason you can't find a book is because you're not looking.  I just prefer picking up my manga at local stores rather than online.

I tried giving Princess Princess a shot, but it turns out I like the anime more than I like the manga.  The pacing was a bit too quick.  I suppose I wanted a bit more of a forced feminization angle as well.  But the characters resigned themselves to living in dresses pretty early on and didn't look back.

At this point I must concede that I am probably a bit too picky, but with the variety of manga now available, there is no reason anyone shouldn't be able to find one that's just right.

I'm not looking for straight romance, and I'm not looking for something cute, and I'm not looking for magic princesses from outer space who are also robots and on love with time traveling ghosts.  What I want is another good story about a cross-dresser, or a modern woman.  Something that speaks to me, as I am now.

Wendy

Entry Tags: reading, kvetching, manga, cross dressing, picky, sissy, shojo