“All right”, I thought. “Today, I’m gonna go for it.” 30 mins in the shower shaving legs, arms. Another ten mins in the bathroom while I shave my face. Moisturize. Looking pretty good. Grab some clothes out of the closet. Tight t-shirt, ridiculously skinny jeans, pink suede heels (trust me, they look better than they sound). Wig, forms. Mirror.   Oh hey, my lip has inexplicably swelled up, and there’s a small scab on my nose that, all combined together, makes me feel really, hideously ugly. Feel fat and mishapen.     Well, I guess we’re done here. :/


I find that I get horribly depressed about my crossdressing habits every so often. Inevitably I wish that I hadn’t been cursed with such a strange desire/burden. “Why do I need to do this? How did I get this way? Why can’t I be the same as everyone else?” Some part of it is this in-built shame/guilt about it that I carry around, as if what I’m doing is wrong (nope), deviant (not really), or sinful (ATHEIST).Another part of it is really just how I imagine a lot of women feel about themselves: not up to scratch. I’m a good […]

Ah, the face of the Miserable Crossdresser.