Different
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Different free porn video
To start things off, let's get one thing clear. I've always been a cross
dresser, at least since I was around ten. You know the age where you
recognise the difference between men and women's clothes and understand
the somewhat forbidden nature of wearing something not made for your sex.
Ever since then, and ever since I learned what transgender meant, I've
had trouble identifying as trans. I've always said that to be transgender
I would have to be completely unhappy in my male body, and certain that a
female body was exactly what I wanted. The trouble was that I was
comfortable as a man, I didn't prefer being a man, but I didn't hate it.
Now in my mid-20s, I've started seeing myself as genderfluid. I had come
out to a close friend, telling her all my struggles, how I felt, and when
she presented the word 'genderfluid' I pretty much latched onto it. I'd
love to be a girl, but I don't always mind being a boy. I like bits of
both, but if I was given the choice, I'd be a girl.
I often fantasise about various things happening to me, a magical
overnight change into a woman, or something like waking up one day and
being the only person on earth, leaving me free to wear and do whatever I
wanted.
All this has led to me being quite severely depressed, especially in my
teens. More recently I've suffered from low moods, low confidence.
Thoughts of suicide have always been there, not constant, but they would
crop up whenever I was at my lowest. These times are when I most want to
be a girl, believing that becoming one will be the cure-all for my life.
This thing has always held me back in my life. I've always felt that if I
became a girl all my confidence issues would vanish into thin air. If I
became a girl I would want to go out into the world, find work, do all
the things I wanted to do. I'd have a life that was the complete opposite
of my life as a boy.
That's what I believed would happen. But it never did. Whenever I'd go to
bed wearing something feminine, whether it was just a pair of panties or
maybe all of my padding, I'd dream of an alien spaceship scanning my
room, seeing me and believing I'm an anomaly that they need to fix. Or
one night I'll go to bed wearing my tucking panties, hip pads, butt pads
and breast forms and wake up the next morning and they've all been
magically blended into my body.
And yet I still say I'm not transgender. I'm not sure why I won't say it,
mostly it's because I'm not sure despite all the evidence. Despite saying
my life would be so much better if I was a girl.
I'm also scared what it means when I do say it. I feel like a bunch of
stuff is supposed to happen, like I'll be put on a road I'm not sure I
want to go down. This feeling of once you label yourself trans, you can't
really go back from it.
Now I'm coasting along in life, but I feel like this will always hold me
back. Every day it's on my mind, unresolved, and as long as it's
unresolved I know I'll never be truly happy. This doesn't mean I'm never
happy, I'm currently enjoying the best years of my life so far. I've
finished university, I've opened up so much after growing up as a shy,
practically mute and unemotional boy. I'm in a good place.
I still cross dress, not that it does that much for me. The clothes feel
nice but the thrill fades quickly, I don't get any satisfaction from
seeing myself dressed up. Only the occasional glimpse in the mirror where
I'll see a part of my body and think, wow, that looks like a girl. Even
wearing just a bra and having a bracelet on, when I look down and see my
bra strap, then down my arm and see a cute bracelet, it sends a tingle
down my spine thinking that's what a real girl would see as well.
It's those small surges of excitement that keep me cross dressing, those
little moments where I'm suddenly struck by how feminine something makes
me feel.
Still I won't say I'm transgender.
Truth is, I probably am transgender. I don't know if I'll ever admit it.
I'm not sure I even know what it really means.
These are the best years of my life, that's true, but now I've finished
university and I'm supposed to be getting on in my life, but I can't. I'm
avoiding putting all my energy into finding a job even though my student
loan is running out and I need to pay rent. The pressure keeps building,
but my job search continues to be slow and picky process, applying for
only a few promising things and naively believing I'll be selected.
I'm incredibly lazy, that's true, but at the same time I feel like each
day I'm willing myself to die, so I don't have to carry on with this
gender struggle.
These are my best years, but in a way they are as bad as some of my worst
years. This has happened before, before I decided to go to university. I
was under pressure to find a job and instead I grew more and more
depressed.
Maybe all this is why what happened happened. Maybe the powers that be
could sense that I was getting close to the edge and they decided to give
me a break, to bring me back from the brink.
I had gone to bed the night before wearing all of my padding. A sports
bra holding my fake breasts against my chest, hip pads stuck to my sides,
spanx that covered my bum and stomach, padded panties over the top of
those. I even had this fancy gaff with its own pair of vaginal lips,
which created a camel toe effect if I wore tight leggings. It was another
thing that provided a tiny sense of femininity. I wore a pair of black
tights on top of everything, loving how they felt when I was underneath
the covers.
I wouldn't always do this since as soon as I was in bed I wanted to
sleep, and the breasts would get in the way, the multiple layers around
my crotch would get too tight. It wasn't usually worth it and the only
enjoyment I got was putting in on and wearing it while I fell asleep. A
solid thirty minutes of fun. Normally I'd wake up the next morning,
regretting wearing all those tight clothes to bed. I'd have marks around
my waist and legs where everything had dug into my skin overnight. I'd
momentarily feel like a woman, but within a minute or so I'd want to get
everything off and just put on some boxer shorts and loose jeans.
Imagine my surprise then, when I woke up the next morning. It's why I sit
here on my bed, trying to figure out what happened whilst at the same
time struggling to contain my joy.
The first thing I'd noticed was there was no aches, no soreness from the
overnight cross dressing. Normally I'd feel how fake everything was, I
could feel the different material of the hip pads compared to my actual
skin, or the surface of my actual bum moving beneath the padded panties.
Not today. Today everything felt natural, as if I wasn't wearing anything
at all.
It was the boobs I noticed first. My fake ones had fallen out overnight
and slid to either side of me in the bed. When I opened my eyes it was
the first thing I noticed, a silicon breast form with a piece of tape
over the front. I'd been idly squeezing it once when I was bored and
ended up tearing the outer film, so the tape was there to hold it in
place.
I grabbed it and went to stuff it back into my bra, but I couldn't. My
bra was already full up.
In my grogginess I thought maybe the other fake boob had moved over,
since I roll over a lot in my sleep, but then I realised both cups were
full.
Another thing I do in the morning after sleeping in all my padding is to
lift up the covers and stare down at my body. I knew every time I did it
how cheesy it was, but it was always part of the transformation fantasy,
like a big reveal of what went on during the night. Obviously, all I'd
ever see was my normal, slightly chubby male body, pale with lots of body
hair, and then a bunch of tight fitting black spanx and underwear.
This morning when I lifted the sheets I was sure I'd see the same. I was
sure that it was one of those times when you're half awake and not sure
what's real and what's still part of a dream.
But it was real.
Every now and then I'll be a girl in my dreams, and it'll be incredibly
real. You know when you feel you have some sort of control over your
dream, what you do, how you act. It was like one of those, a lucid dream
where I was a girl. I loved them but they were heart-breaking when I woke
up, and I'd be desperate to fall back to sleep and return to the same
dream.
I figured this was another one of those dreams, so I wanted to enjoy it.
I didn't do anything because I worried if I tried to exert too much
control the dream would collapse. I just stared down at my body whilst I
held up the cover. It was sleek and smooth, not my normal male body, not
by a long shot.
I had breasts for starters, not massive but not tiny. They were leaning
away from each other, being dragged to my sides by gravity. They jiggled
gently when I moved my body slightly, God they were so real.
I stared at my arms next, how slender they were. The fingernails were
long and neatly looked after, nothing like my normally bitten nails.
I moved my legs, rubbing them together. They were smooth, hairless. The
skin was flawless. I'd never felt any part of my body be that smooth
before.
And then I could feel my crotch. I couldn't feel my balls, I couldn't
feel anything familiar. I could only feel a wetness down there.
I must have stayed lying down in my bed for at least five minutes, too
scared to move, too scared to bring the dream to an end. Eventually I
decided I had to do something, and my arm was getting tired holding up
the sheet.
That feeling spurred me on, that even in this dream I could feel aching
muscles. I could feel so much. This couldn't be real. I knew when I'd
wake up that this would be an incredibly hard dream to come back from.
I sat up slowly, letting the sheet fall back down over my body.
My room was the same, exactly how I'd left it the night before. Even my
wardrobe was still open, the side that I'd dedicated to my growing
collection of girl's clothes and makeup, wigs, padding and all sorts. It
was all still there, unorganised, things lying around. Whenever I dressed
up I'd make a mess, looking through all my things and trying to cobble
together an outfit.
Nothing was different.
My phone was on the bookcase beside my bed. My computer on the desk at
the end of my bed. Everything was the same.
"I'm still in a dream," I thought.
I moved so that I had my back against the wall, bringing my legs up to my
chest and wrapping my arms around them. I loved the feeling, my skin was
silky smooth. My legs pressed my breasts into my chest, sending a shiver
of excitement down my spine. It was all so real. I could feel so much
more than I ever could in any dream I'd had before. I was happy to just
sit there, the sensations were enough for me. I was too scared to get out
of bed in case the dream would stop, but it hadn't so far.
Something else that caught my eye was the detail of my room. Everything
was exactly like its real-life counterpart. Everything was there. Dreams
are supposed to be vague, but this wasn't. Normally thinking about the
details of where I am in a dream is what brings me out of it, but that
wasn't happening. A lot of the time in a dream I can also feel myself
losing my grip on it, it's like a snowball effect that builds up until
you eventually wake up, whilst I desperately try to stay in the dream
world.
None of that was happening. I had woken up with a completely different
body, but in my normal room, with everything in its correct place.
Even my sketches that I'd stuck up on the walls, a hobby of mine that I'd
recently gotten into doing daily, were all there. Every drawing I could
remember. My mind wasn't making anything up for the purposes of the
dream, it wasn't filling in any blanks or improvising. Everything was
there. Everything was real. I could focus on each drawing, pretty much
all of them were of women, women that I imagined myself being. They were
women I wanted to be. Each drawing would help with my desperate urges to
be a woman.
I could focus on each one, remembering when I drew it. I could remember
drawing all of them. I could focus on my memories and yet my grip on the
dream wasn't slipping. I was still there, huddled up on my bed, sitting
in this completely different body.
I didn't know what to do next.
Maris
- 07.07.2022
- 23
- 0
