Many of us look to the medical profession for guidance. Sometimes we should think twice about that. Our own communities are stronger and more educated than theirs. Until they get their heads around non-binary gender issues we should tread with caution.
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I am going to share a little secret with you. I
just love to dress my nephews. Actually, anyone for that matter. I know it’s a
little shocking, but that’s just the kind of girl I am.
The first time I do so is usually for punishment of some sort. Perhaps a transgression,
either real or imagines, but I have the excuse. I usually do something like
tell them that to learn respect they must wear something of my daughters – perhaps
these lovely pink panties that I have conveniently to hand. An hour or so of
that will give them the chance to consider their misdemeanors properly.
I hand them some silk lacy panties from a draw of
her things which I’ve kept since she moved out to go to university. They take
them, looking nervous, and then always look at me with those big eyes of the
totally subservient. I’ve done this many times though. They will find no pity there. I know precisely
what I am doing.
They take them, usually a little unsure, and then one of two things happen. Either they take them and run upstairs and put them on or they drop their pants and slip out of their underwear and slide them on.
I will then generally tell them to pull up their
pants and that I will let them know when they can change back. Of course, I
have a terrible memory and promptly forget. Or so they think.
The next time I decide to do this I will usually
insist they wear tights as well. I have several pairs pink and white tights,
they look very girly. I do so love the way they look. I can usually tell that
my nephews are a little excited by the prospect.
The second time I rarely go very much further, preferring
the poor little scamps to get used to it. And they do. I have sent the little monsters to my
daughters room as a punishment before, only to surprise them after a few
minutes and find them trying on her skirts or a blouse.
By the third time it’s usually evident that they’re
not only excited by the prospect, but secretly craving it. That’s usually when
I insist on calling them by a nice feminine name. Gerald becomes Geraldine, or Jeanie.
Phillip becomes Phillipa or Pippa. I know they love that. The blush on their
cheek tells me so.
I do wonder what these little seedlings will grow to be. I do know that they will bring great pleasure to their friends, though. And in the end, isn’t that what it’s all about?
I’d love it if you’d join my Patreon, as I need to get just a few more members. And remember, for just $1 a month you get not only my diary, but also Clothes Maketh The Man, some wonderful hypnosis MP3’s and more a whole lot more. Join up today and help me build up my followers.
There are stories which we choose not to share, for one reason or another. Perhaps it is related to shame or embarrassment. Or maybe we just hold them so dear, that in sharing them they would become devalued.
A friend of mine recently acquired a rather unusual collection of note books which I feel sure you will be delighted to read. He was an elderly man, I will not give very many details, as I would not wish to identify him in any way.
Wrapped in brown paper, of the sort people used for parcels many years ago, these note books were dusty hand written relics. I can well imagine them being tossed out with the trash when someone moved house, or recycled along with old copies of magazines when clearing out a loft or basement.
My friend explained that they had been among some personal papers found in a house that was being sold. The contents of these papers were at first a mystery, then quite surprising – and ultimately quite shocking.
I am thrilled to release these notes in their original sordid and salacious form. They are available to all my Seahorse members – through my Patreon Pages. Be sure to sign up to my Patrion and enjoy these extraordinary documents.