While I'm experiencing a brain freeze trying to put together the next chapter on "Stiff Dicks Hiding In Panties", the thought occurred to me that some authors write about a boi caught in panties where things go wrong and are forced into becoming a sissy.
While there may be instances where some tender sensitive young man is caught experimenting with the glorious realization that comes with the soft cradling of his privates in pretty panties and is taken advantage of by a real man, there are more gentle souls like me out there who come to terms with who they are.
Neither coercion, blackmail, nor threats of violence are necessary to those like us. Rather than be forced to our knees and having a cock shoved down our throats, me and those like me only required a gentle nudge.
You can no more make someone a sissy than you can turn lead into gold. I submit to you dear readers that sissies are born, not made.
We're naturally drawn to those feminine things like panties, lingerie, make-up.... you get the point. It is an innate desire to look pretty, to be attractive for both women and perhaps subconsciously, real men.
Take my case for example. I was lost, virtually at sea, filled with confusion about the longings and desires that filled my brain and gave me stiffy. It was my nature to be pleasing to those I cared about. That nature also extended to strangers. I simply wanted to please those in my orbit.
All my life I was a people watcher. I admired women, the way they walked, the way they attracted the attentions of men who found them desirable. I envied men, those I felt were real men. Robust, hearty, handsome, well-built with an air of confidence such as I could never muster a real man could turn my insides into jelly with a smile or merely just nod that I existed.
It didn't matter where I was; at the office, in a restaurant, and especially the beach. I studied those men, the way they filled the front of their trousers and my favorite, tight bathing suits. Strong sturdy legs, broad chests, well defined rippling abs, strong arms, and oh-so tight asses. I say tight asses with much respect.
I was so unlike those men. Timid from birth, my body was mis-matched for my gender. Small in stature, my narrow shoulders were in stark contrast with my wide hips, plump well-rounded buttocks supported by slender, shapely legs. My facial features were particularly androgynous; delicate even. Sky blue eyes, dimples on my rosy cheeks when I smiled with full luscious lips and a splash of freckles across my high cheek bones gave me a sort of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm look.
Unlike those real men whose bodies showed strength, their high level of testosterone was evident by their body hair. I was and remain, for all intent and purpose, hairless with the notable exceptions of my arching eyebrows, long eye lashes, and soft luxurious strawberry blonde hair on my head.
I knew from an early age that I was very different from those who were masculine and had an easy way around others like them and women. My explorations on the internet gave me an understanding that I was not the ideal male most women desired to be with.
Society's norms, pressure from my peers, and my mom's nagging me to give her grandchildren pushed me into the arms of a woman who loved me and understood me better than I did at that time.
After many failed attempts to satisfy her sexually or make a baby with her, my lovely wife began to spend more time out with her lady friends. That left me home alone to putter around the house doing chores like preparing meals and cleaning up afterwards, doing our laundry and folding the dried clothing.
I found myself looking longingly at my wife's panties, her hose, half-slips wondering how it would feel to slip into those pretty garments. I could never conjure up the nerve to do such a thing. But there seemed to be a magnetic force in her lingerie drawer that I would fight many battles with before everything changed.
Now this is where I am in conflict with those authors who say things go wrong. With me, all it took was gentle nudging, some soft seduction, and a man who understood me. It happened like this.
One evening after returning home from the office, I saw that we had company. There, on the couch sat a handsome man like those I described above. My wife sat across from him. They each had a glass of white wine and I felt that my entrance interrupted a private conversation in which they were engaged.
My wife, Cindy rose and stuttered, "johnnie, you're home a little early." After a quick kiss on my cheek, she led me over to Ralph. "Ralph, this is my dear sweet husband johnnie. johnnie, this is Ralph a friend from work."
Ralph stood and towered over me. He took my offered hand in his and pulled me to him in a bro-hug. "johnnie, my boy. Cindy has told me much about you. It's my pleasure to finally meet you."
My head was against his big chest. I felt his thigh on my dick, accidently and probably unnoticed by Ralph but I felt myself begin to stir down there, you know.
Ralph seemed in no hurry to break the bro-hug while telling me how happy he was to meet me.
Truthfully? I was in no hurry to leave his warm embrace either. It just felt nice. Different but nice.
Now at this point you might be thinking that he and my wife, um, you know. But that's not what happened. Cindy kissed me once I was free of my new friend's arms and told me she was headed out to be with her BFFs.
The door closed behind her, and just as I was thinking that this was going to be awkward, Ralph suggested he and I go out for dinner and a drink.
Glad to be out of my home where anything could have happened, Ralph was the gentleman. He let me choose the restaurant as he opened the car door for me. "I knew you'd have good taste, johnnie," he smiled sliding in behind the steering wheel. "Ruth Cris has excellent streaks." He grabbed my knee as he said that but only briefly before using the stick shift to put his classic 356 SC Porsche in reverse and backed out of our driveway.
Stopping at the corner stop sign, Ralph turned on his radio. "I hope you like classical music, johnnie."
Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto came on. "Oh, Ralph, Rachmaninoff is one of my favorites. I'm particularly fond of this piece, his Second Piano...."
"Concerto," we said together at the same time. "It's mine too. Makes me a little horny if you don't mind my saying," Ralph grinned at me while blushing.
"I don't mind, Ralph," I smiled patting his thigh nonchalantly.
"How was dinner with Ralph?" My wife asked me much later that night.
"It was wonderful. I really like him."
"I thought you would, johnnie. After he dropped you off, he texted me that he really had a great time and asked me if I minded if he took you out again tomorrow night?"
"You mean like a date?" I asked a bit too excited. "I hardly know him."
"I know. I introduced him to you, remember? Anyway, he really thinks you're great and wants to hang out with you again. But hey, if you'd rather not, I'll tell him you're not interested."
"No, wait. I'm interested. I mean okay, yes, I'll hang with him tomorrow night."
I thought I was being clever. Ralph asking to see me again made my insides flutter. Guys like that never seemed to feel comfortable around me. And he was so nice and we shared a love of music and good food. "Tell him he should choose the restaurant this time."
The next day I puttered around the house doing this and that trying to keep busy so my excitement of the upcoming night doesn't get the best of me.
"I'll be home late, johnnie," my wife said heading out.
"Um, you're going out with your girlfriends dressed like that?" Her skirt was way short. Her blouse a little too transparent. Her heels a tad too high."
"You're sweet to notice, honey," she said and kissed me on my cheek and left.
I was rummaging through my clothes wondering what to wear. "I should have asked Cindy to ask Ralph where we were going so I could dress for the occasion," I thought as I selected my outfit.
"Fuck it," I said frustrated not being able to decide what to wear. "Oh yeah, you're something alright. He'll be here in 20 minutes and you are acting like a nervous school girl," I said aloud.
