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Entry Category: Default Category
Entry Mood:
(Cool)
Published On: 09/17/2009 04:12 PM
I did my laundry yesterday. Almost all of it. And I am confidant in saying no one saw any of my feminine underthings spinning in the drier. No blonde in heels came up to me and said, "So, does this little sissyfag like to wear panties?" I didn't stammer and attempt to deny anything, and I wasn't then browbeaten into following the woman into her car. I certainly wasn't taken to her isolated mansion, stripped, shaved, and fitted with a chastity lock. I wasn't then dressed in a maids uniform and used as a household servant by this independently wealthy women for a period of several years, wherein I was expected to sexually service her and her house guests at cocktail parties.
Entry Mood:
(Cool)Published On: 09/17/2009 04:12 PM
I did my laundry yesterday. Almost all of it. And I am confidant in saying no one saw any of my feminine underthings spinning in the drier. No blonde in heels came up to me and said, "So, does this little sissyfag like to wear panties?" I didn't stammer and attempt to deny anything, and I wasn't then browbeaten into following the woman into her car. I certainly wasn't taken to her isolated mansion, stripped, shaved, and fitted with a chastity lock. I wasn't then dressed in a maids uniform and used as a household servant by this independently wealthy women for a period of several years, wherein I was expected to sexually service her and her house guests at cocktail parties.
You know what else didn't happen while my panties tumbled in the drier? No one slipped a micky into my soda and I didn't pass out after drinking it. I didn't wake up several days and and many cosmetic surgeries later in a basement. I wasn't astonished at my depilated body, higher cheekbones and jutting c-cup breasts. Nor was I told by a woman with an elaborate dragon tattoo winding down her body that I was the newest star attraction at an exclusive hostess club in Japan that specialized in hostesses of european descent with a little something extra. Had this happened I'm sure I would have objected, and I'm sure the woman would have produced a whip and made her point, adding that the yakuza upstairs could do far worse to me if I didn't prove to be a cooperative and accommodating hostess.
These things never seem to happen to me when I do my laundry. It's unfair. It happens to all the other fictional sissies on the internet. Oh well.
One last thing that didn't happen. I didn't wash my whites.
Wendy
Entry Tags: laundry
Entry Category: Default Category
Entry Mood:
(Bruised)
Published On: 07/14/2009 02:04 PM
I love laundromats. I have since college. I love being in a place where I have nothing to do but sit, think, read, and wait for clothes to dry. Why by a washing machine when I can experience the bliss of bundling up my dirties, slipping across town, and engage in the sublime communal experience of public laundering? And there is the secret little thrill that someone might see the panties spinning in the dryer and know.
Entry Mood:
(Bruised)Published On: 07/14/2009 02:04 PM
I love laundromats. I have since college. I love being in a place where I have nothing to do but sit, think, read, and wait for clothes to dry. Why by a washing machine when I can experience the bliss of bundling up my dirties, slipping across town, and engage in the sublime communal experience of public laundering? And there is the secret little thrill that someone might see the panties spinning in the dryer and know.
Then came today. I had four loads going; one in the side loading machine and three in top loaders. The side loader finished a little before the others, and when I made my way over to the machine I found that a load that wasn't mine was spinning in it, and all my clothes were in a basket, some placed with great care, others jumbled up all higgledy-piggledy. The man loading the other side loader game me a furtive eying. What?
I can't trust my clothes now. No one has any right to just start touching another's clothes. I know where that man's hands have been. They've been touching his dirty laundry. Now they've touched my clean laundry, and that makes them less than clean. And less than clean is dirty. Don't ever touch my laundry again. Ever!
Laundry is intimate, particularly because it contains out intimates. Clothes are what we use to shield the world from our nakedness, and to shield our nakedness from the world. From tatters to a ballroom gown, our clothing is forever brushing up against our nudity. That bond is betrayed when someone we don't know touches that which touches our must vulnerable selves. It is intimate contact, second hand though it maybe, without the consent of the contactee. It is molestation. It is perversion. It is to be undressed with another's hands has opposed to their eyes.
Shame it wasn't one of the loads with my panties in. Sure, I would have had to wash them all over again, but at least that would have given him something to think about.
Entry Tags: laundry