Taping vs. tucking

Taping is often done on top of tucking.

It makes everything stay in place much better, gives you a continuous feeling that reminds you who you are, and grants you the bonus of being paying an effort.
It will let you wear literally everything, any garment you might want and you would have that "flat look" you treasure and long for.
And you will be able to pee like a woman, you will look at you pubis and it will just be... empty. It gives you such a feeling! It's priceless.

But, come on! We all know everything has its price, and good things comes at a cost.

You can do a decent, sexy, effective tucking in seconds. I can, at least. You might want to purchase a thong one size smaller (I can actually do without), but that's it.

Not with taping!
It will take, at least, minutes, not seconds. And that's just to do a fair one. A decent one would also mean you found the right tape for you and figured out some tricks. Doing a good one would take your time, and sure you shaved perfectly, and you master the technique and all the tricks.



I think I'll write a note of this very detailled link, just in case I'd need to review it ;-)

Thrill

At the airport, waiting for someone I was asked to go pick up, I had to pay a visit to the toilet.

I reached for the nearest one, in the new wing where I was waiting for this man to arrive, and entered one of the aseptic cubicles modern toiliet are built from.

Once there I kind of had a flash, and I left the door ajar, and did sit, head down looking at my feet, knees touching, peeing with my "little one" still tucked in, better said: trapped in, with the scotch tape holding my male attributes hidden, filling me with shivers and trying to imagine what might happen if somebody had come in...

Regret.

I'd love to go.

I'd want it... so much.



If I'd go, I sure wouldn't behave.
I would sure be a bad girl.
Oh, sure I would.

Temptations

This morning, I had been strongly tempted by the idea of going to the office with my wife's low-waist jeans.
I did let her go to office and went to our room, open her wardrobe and picked that pair of low-waist trousers that does wear so wonderfully on my ass, and looks great when I stay all day long tucked in.

I gave up, of course. I couldn't think of a real good excuse to the eventual questions from my new colleague C. She sure would have noticed it, fabric is the one you wouldn't expect for male trousers, and sure the design of neither the waist (no buttons, super-small pouches, no back pouches, no way to fit a belt in it) nor the leg (so 70's, so Holly Hobbie...) would have gone unnoticed. Even if worn with a jumper over them.

I think I should find a way to do it, though.
And wear it with high heels, too.

If I only had a hourglass figure...

Switch it on

Tucking it is kind of switching something on inside of me.
I am at the mall, I hide from people in the loo and tuck it in, and I get out of the toilet, I exit as if I were different. I am different. I feel different. I walk slightly different.
Each step, when I tuck it in, sends me something less than a shiver, it's as if someone were caressing my intimate place, and my body react posing with a different posture, shorter steps, legs closer one to each other.

And I just can't stop it, and I'd accept being laid right then right there if somebody would be smart enough to note that and to ask.
Well, now you people at the Mall, or anywhere else out there, DO know ;)


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Pandora's jar is flowing....

She kind of set me on a libido path. And - well, yes - I did let her do it.
The special link we share made it easy for her, I could oppose little resistance, since she was entering in me at night, or during the day, through gates that were left unconsciously open.
At time I wasn't even aware of them being there. Of her coming. Some other times, I could barely recognise her "signature", but yet did little - when nothing - to stop her.

And now that she's in, restraining is quite harder. As could have been easily predicted, one would add.

I reached back to my little blue address book, I did revert to "fate" to help me when I had to choose whether I would stop by "that gay spa I know" or not when in town, I texted people I know they were just waiting for a message from me to open the door of their house so that I then would open those of my greedy body.


I met a man of my age for lunch, and - well mannered girls do not kiss at their first appointment - it might have looked as if I did restrain, but I actually did rub my knee on his leg behind the table all of lunch time. And teased him with some messages on this subject afterwards. A teasing he must have appreciate, if we have already scheduled a meeting at "his place", for lunch, later this week.

I opened back my MSN connection and I immediately got an appointment from a sicilian stud, not much tall of a man, but one with a lovely, large, rock solid, long lasting, hard cock. And we scheduled an early morning session.

The jar is ajar...

Feeling frenzy

I'm in the state of mind when I'm more vulnerable to desires.
Lust.
I'm ready to give away my body. I'm willing to do it, indeed.

I learned how to tell when it is about to come: it starts by taking more care into shaving my buttocks, my intimate body parts, goes on by choosing more carefully what kind of underwear to put on, by looking at my body reflected by mirrors more and more often... posing... caressing.

And it can go as far as finding myself logged in on irc cruising channels, where it is mostly the complicate lives of my chat-mates that makes meeting unlikely, surely not my willingness to feel hands caressing my body, exploring my intimate parts, taking control of my body, disposing of it.

I'm kind of a Pandora vase, and I'm a jar... ajar.

I feel it inside.

It's hours now.
I did it this morning, about 10 am, and I did use some tape, because I want to try peeing like that.
At beginning, my "little friend" kind of didn't want to do it, so it stayed half-way hard and sitting had been a nasty feeling for about half a hour.

He finally surrendered, and I could then sit leg crossed, even with left ankle touching my right calf, the most feminine of the positions. I wish I was wearing high heels shoes!

And when walking I distinctly perceive the difference. Not to mention how my slip looks better worn like this.

I think I could get addicted to this feeling. As it has been for having a clean butt, clean scrotum's skin...


UPDATE:
I just went to the loo and had my "intimate time". I have to admit it: I DID enjoy it.

Shopping

Sight-shopping, at least.

There were so many options, so many little treasures to discover.
Yet I definitely would only pick some when enclosed in my avatar.
This one, for example, would do great on Eva D., or rather: it sure it's something of the kind she might already have in her digital wardrobe.

The one here on the left, too, and this one with spiked heel, would make her day with all its tickling tickling toe while walking.

But in Real Life is a much harder choice to make.
Yes, the Paola model, here on the left definitely triggers my submissive part, which is so much Eva, in fact.
But this one here is oh! so feminine. And this one too!
Not to mention THIS one!

How in the world is a girl ever going to choose one?

Let's enumerate what and which details do trigger my fantasies:

• I am not afraid at all of higher heels
• I don't like boots much, unless ankles is kept tight, or it wouldn't look feminine to my eyes
• I don't like platforms
• I'm a bit scared off by sandals, because I kind of am afraid I might find them too... slippery
• I'm not obsessed at all by pointed shoes and would often feel fascinated by "old standards"
• Although I think I'd rather put on closed shoes, open one do often surprise me.
• I am very classical when at choosing colours, and "less is more".
• I'm a bit kinky, but sort of a classical one :)

Oh! How I love them all (almost, of course)!

To tuck or not to tuck

I think I'll explore the possibility of tucking one's own penis... I'm growing more and more curious about the subject...

Does this mean something, or am I just "being frenzy" :)










p.s. Incidentally: I'll meet her tomorrow night. And the night after, and the evening + night after, and the night after again...

p.p.s. I did it. I googled around about it and I found a crossdesser page that explained it all. Maybe even too much: I could achieve a really satisfying effect with less steps, using a paper tape. I particularly like the fact that I could pee as a woman and that, when wearing some nice pants or thongs I could not wear easily, I now get "that perfect look"... :D

Underwear mining

I do.
I really enjoy wearing my underwear. Choosing it is a totally different matter, instead.
The mere fact that I can't simply pick a bunch of pants, tangas, coulotte, garter, suspenders, bodysuit, baby doll... and head towards the changing room to try them all, one at a time, it really makes everything more complicated.

I have to leverage my imagination, try and foresee what would suit my shapes better. Thin strings, or large ones? More or less tissue? To cover or to unveil?

In the sales season, you can happen to find large boxes with many pants in it, and you only need to go and find yourself the one you like most.
Or you think you'll like most, in my case.

I tend not to go for too much fancy garments. I like the simple line of some brasilian tanga, when they are soft and do wear my butt fine.

I'm sometimes split between choosing "my style" or to explore new ways. And I sometimes wonder: would them be more feminine, in look? Would they still suit me? Or wouldn't it just clearly show how unfamiliar my body is with such garments? Although half of my soul looks at them as theirs?

She once said she would want to buy me a lace baby doll.
I still wonder how I would really look like in it.

Butt plug meditation

I wouldn't have said that, beforehand, but having tried it yesterday evening, I can now say that a a 7" by 3" butt plug really fits lovely into my butt, during the meditation exercises, sat on the ground, next to the fireplace, at night, alone in the house.

At the beginning it sure was hard, it made focusing really hard, mind had a really hard time moving from the inner meat pulsing around the plug, and was desperately whining "more! more!", and it is no surprise that now that I recollect those moment I write of "hard-ness" so much. Any movement enhanced such feeling, and I was rumbling like the lake when the wind sweeps it hard and waves hit the old stone houses on its shores.
But then, slowly, while conscious feelings were tamed by just  letting them flow away as the river does, watching them to flow as the ferryman does, then I could focus on my breath flowing as well, at regular pace, in and out of my nostrils, and thoughts gently started to fade away.
Physical feeling of the plug inside me stayed, instead, and I could perceive it inside me, yet it was not anymore just inside me, but rather it was me to contain it.

This was when I started to tremble and shiver as if there were a 10 sq ft earthquake, just where I was sat.

Pleasant. Indeed.

Love and sex. Sex with love.

"I make love with you, only sex with all the others".
An unrequested answer to an unexpressed question, following a 45' hot yet sweet sex session at "his place", just caught me by surprise.

I like him. Is far more a decent lover than the average ones you find on the web, in spas or at clubs. And also a far more decent person than the one you find around. Not to mention his thick dick. If he only would take more care of his muscles and of his attire... I think it would be hard to stay away from his bed, or to get in the queue to get into it.

This post title was meant to be "the appetizers is served", 'cause I meant M to be it, for the big night with the swiss guys.
Instead it had been a great time, and a great pleasure. M is the kind of man who focus on giving pleasure or better, we have that kind of relation where he feels he gets enough pleasure from my body, from the way I make sex to him, from the way I kiss him, I suck him, I caress him, I lie at his command, in his arms, or craving to reach his body.
He undressed me slowly and gently, and did kindly ask me if I wanted to have him in me, something I actually was eagerly waiting for.
I like - I would say: I love - how he have me laid on the bed, by a gentle push of my shoulder I lie as a child would do, my eyes on him, he turns me around and gets his hands on my hips and lift me enough so to slid his lovely, straight, pointed, thick cock into that small little, lusty, greedy opening of mine... and despite M looking physically weak, his touch is secure and his hold is firm when he gets inside me.
Most of the rest of the intercourse is acted by that greedy little slut that lies beneath my butt; it squeezes it, rock it and one would say it almost... fuck herself by her own. M loves it. And I love it because he let her do it while he simply lie down, on me, with all of his body, his legs interwined with mine, and his arms hold me strong by the shoulder, keeping me still in a strong, heavy, warm hug that circles me top and bottom, in and out and make me numb with pleasure while the little slut makes his cum, before she starts to make my body tremble in an overwhelming climax.




I suppose that's why I had chosen him, as the appetizers, amongst other possible "local" lovers... ;)

Greedy...

I feel greedy today.
And I think I'll have my lust satisfied, before morning comes...

I'm wearing a sexy, sissy, black satin low waist panty that fits wonderfully on my firm butt under my nicest "no-hiding-it" trousers, and a lycra, black, no sleeves vest that just ends before the panty, under my shirt: a sexy mix that says it all, only concealed by a long, black leather coat that gives me a Matrix look.

I'm at it!

New Year's tradition, recently discovered

I have only very recently been told why girls are gifted a hot red pants for New Year's night; it has to do with superstition, or tradition if you like it.
It is, in fact, meant as a way to attract good opportunities and adventures and even happiness, by wearing them at New Year's night; and that's why they are often given to the poor gal at Xmas, thus making her flush and turn a same shade of red.

I'm not that much shy, though...


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Reviews.

After a quick review of all of my photo and video archive - yes dear, I'm talking the red hot, classified, x-rated, sissy material, of course - I have to admit that:
- I got aroused, and for a a few minutes I thought of calling M. and asking him to let me go to his place and fuck me hard.
- I really can be such little horny slut, that I wonder what or where my actual sexual limit really is.

- I need to get laid. For real.

Sizes, for all that matters...

Bust: about 95 mm, that makes 37.4 inches.
Waist: about 82 mm, that makes 32.3 inches.
Hip: about 95 mm, that - again - give 37.4 inches.

Now, since female garments' sizes are as per this table (Sizes at Victoria's), that claims that I should either be 26.5 inches at the waist if I were 37 at the hip (hence wearing a 6-S size), or be 42 at the hip if I were 31,5 at the waist (hence wearing a 14-L size).

All of this said, what I learn at expenses of my lusts, desires, will and fantasies is that either my wais isn't small enough given my hip size, or that my hip aren't wide enough - let alone my tits, of course - to match my waist.


Given my genetics... I suspect it's the latter to be true.

What a pity. Today I had just received a very generous offer from "her" to lay on me while I was butts up on her bed, so that she had the opportunity to lap my body, feel the meat beneath the lace, one hole at a time, until we had both climaxed... and made the room warmer, as usual.

What a pity.


(on a side note: I just wonder how comes that I regularly wear g-strings size 2 or 3, but sure never  L or XL size... Could it be that at VS are too much "conservatives"?)

Unexpected dreams.

I didn't expect to have such dreams last night.
I think I remember it to be an innocent, very common, ordinary on some extent, typical dream, with mist, faces interwining, and faded voices.
Then, all of a sudden I found myself walking the streets of a German city - how did I know it was German? - and reach an alley where I knew - how did I know that? - there was a gay sauna, and in fact it's stuffed with lads and studs all around, most of their torso are exposed and I find myself stepping down a short stair with a door on the left of the end of the five, six steps I'm going across.

I enter the door, while I can feel the eyes of at least three-four "stallions" looking at me as if I were a mare, ripe for a... ride.
It's not very classy, that's the first impression I get. But it's sure got plenty of very horny men. Most of them are either naked, or scarcely dressed, most cocks are exposed and I get glances of pierced huge cocks and I'm torn between the struggle to lick and suck and get fucked by them and the disgust for the crudeness of the scenography.

One of them is partly dressed up in leather and slaps my exposed - when did I stripped away my dresses? - buttocks. He kind of pushes me inside a room, his intentions are very much clear, yet I will never get to know how the movie ends: alarm calls me to my morning duties...

Temptations

She definitely tempts me: her luscious body, her swifty brain, witty tongue, tasty and soft lips, and the sheer fact that she keep climaxing at my every touching her, or kissing her, or - she told me today - by smelling me, simply is my kind of thing. The "smelling thing" one was weird, I'd admit it, but it actually did seem quite natural then.

It hadn't been all that casual as it was last time; this time I moved the jigsaw puzzle of my life in any direction so that I could have twelve hours to be at her disposal, body and soul (and so that I could enjoy her body and soul, as well).

The evening faded into night easily, we had sex continuously, repeteadly, in many different ways, and always together, from 7 pm throu 4 am, and I think I'll list dinner time with the rest of the group in the house (all men, 1 gay couple, 1 ex-boyfriend) among the sex time. Definitely. Yet in a more subtly way.
We have had a bed wandering by the room like the grand piano in Novecento, because of her cowriding me, I did experience the sexiest massage ever (with the most abudant outcome), and there was an attempt at "exponential kisses amount" involved (which is: I'll give you ten kisses more each time you'll cum, and boys, we reached high numbers).

I would have wanted more than this and was ready and prepared for more. If only I had not to travel far away the very next morning...


Today, during a skype chat:
She: just to be sure I'll be ready for it: when will you come to visit me again?
I: I don't know yet, but I doubt any earlier than next year.

Oh, how I wish I could say: tonight...


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

A wish

I wish.
I wish I were raped by a truck driver, all of a sudden, while walking back to my car at night in a gas station.

I wished I could hear his steps behind me, and start sense the bitter taste of the unexpected, of uncertainty, the cold shivers of fear when they mix up - or maybe mess up? - with desire... and turns into lust.

I wish he just - as if it was happening by accident - only pretended to swiftly touch my shoulder and since he would sure not perceive any aggressive reply to such a physical intrusion into my private, physical space, he would then firmly grab my forearm and pull me towards him so to drag me to his truck, as if he was a bird of prey and I... his helpless prey.
And that he then, just, simply, dispose of me, of my body; of my very wishes.

This, I actually wished while walking back to my car at night, in a gas station on the highway today.

A gentle thought

M. called me yesterday evening. I was still at office, was getting ready to go, and kind of had forgot about his text message some weeks earlier.
He was worried about my silence, in fact it turned out he had never received my text message with the link to this blog.
I found him very caring, and felt some pity for him for not having let him meet me anymore.
I wish we could meet without sex involved, I wish that we could just go and drink a beer, but I know that's now what we would really want to do; sure that would be enough for him, anyway.

But I still appreciated his kind thought. Really.

Will this be the day?

I woke up this morning with enough desire to:
- decide I would wear a sexy black tanga that make my butt great;
- not to try to disguise that by wearing large trousers, but rather wear a tight-on-the-butt pair one.
- ride my motorbike instead of drive the car (so that moving with tight schedule would be easier)
- start planning excuses for not going home for lunch.
- write this post about whether (is it still that unsure, by now?) I will text the guys that arose my sexual desires again yesterday (check here)


UPDATE: It ended up THEY couldn't at lunch time, and everything faded away. Maybe for good?

Obsessive thoughts

I keep thinking at that.
I keep having pictures of their bed.
I keep viewing images of my body on his other body, and his other hand on my head.
I keep feeling his hands on my hip, me ass up, he plunging inside me deep hard, me moaning, my mouth full of his other body manly expression.
I feel my sex growing excitedly at that thought.
(I reply to one last message, texting nothing but "..." to his message "U have all the time you need, we'll come again at Christmas, but we'd love to see you before then")
I try to maintain control over my body, with little success.
I reply "... (i'm strained)" at his latest "come. We are horny thinking of u"

I'm in distress. Like never had been until now.

Calls

"es ist eine seite deiner personlichkeit sehr stark ausgepraegt"

that's German for "It is a very strongly rooted part of your personality".

And if you team it with "your very horny, we like you, would you come and visit us, we're in town until Thursday", you will have a picture of my strain this morning.



The two guys are very decent. I had a very good time with them. One is exclusively dominant, and he's a great lover and a powerful fucker with a very nice cock that really plunged into my ass delivering shivers of pleasure and left me with tremors once out of there.
His partner, they are lovers since 25 years, is exclusively submissive, instead. I find he's too much into that popper thing, but his dick in my mouth while G. pumped me from behind, on that large cast iron bed, while outside it was raining hard and we could hear that from the windows, lost in our threesome in that house lost in a wood near the lake... it was simply perfect and I really loved it all through.


He wrote me an sms this morning. He just asked me if I were available these days, and that they will be around until Thursday.
We texted for a little while, he understood my trouble and my torment.

I really, really don't know what to do.
My life is puzzled, he's right: EVA actually is a deeply rooted part of me, and I only have this life. And yet I blame and condemn acting in a certain way.

What should I do.
Will I end like the man above: dead covered in snow?

Terms

Slut. Whore. Pig. Tart. Minx. Saucy girl. Bitch.
There're many term to define somebody lustful, and keen to indulge in saucy sex.

Here is an excerpt of a conversation I just had with that very ex-girl friend I wrote about only a few weeks ago.

F: You really are a lil slut, anyway, you know? :)
M: Me??!?
M: Oh my goodness! look what I have got to hear? :D
M: and then:
M: at least you define me a "lil slut", typically you would call one a "pig", wouldn't you? :D
F: no, no. You're a slut.

Since then, I started browsing both the dictionary and the thesaurus, and I am delighted by all the variants I could find on the term.
I loved the "wanton woman" term, definition and origin, for example.
Similarly to other languages (Italian amongst them, of course), involved terms often refer to "cleanness",or "tidiness" as an antonym of anything related to sex, and to enjoying it.
There's also the chance to define somebody a "sex fiend", although you only have nymphomania to revert to when you want to considered it pathological; in fact the term is ambiguous in English, and it could also refer to a person highly gifted or skilled at it ;)
To some extent... I think I like this last definition, too!

Message(s) in a bottle

A couple of days ago I got this:
"hello dear, it's long since I don't hear from you. Is everything ok? How are you? M.".

A very lovely person. Caring, generous in his kind, and to some extent a very good lover.
I also did receive, a couple of weeks before, one other message, from a couple from Switzerland, that regularly visit a place around here, and that one had me as "their guest", with mutual satisfaction I would add.

These messages seems to me like a voice coming from far away; yes, I know I've been hiring a bitch to fuck my ass, I did even had a sexual intercourse with my most controversial ex-girlfriend, but I never did had sex with men anymore since that night, did not even had sex with my toys.

Now, will I call M.?

I really - really! - really don't know...



edit: I didn't. I did send him a link to this blog, but I'm not sure he ever paid me a visit here. Might be just because he doesn't feel comfortable with the english language, though.

Ghosts. Pleasant ones.

To have sex with one ex girl friend, particularly when she's the first one you ever kissed, and the one with whom you shared those first shivers that come when your inner sexual world explodes (I actually think it's imploding, right now...) it's a one-time experience that really can make your day. Or your night.

She had already expressed interest in having a second round with me, some times ago, but we had decided (she did it, and I agreed) to not let us slip into that.

So, when I arranged the meeting while travelling southbound for some business, I only had in mind to pay her a long time postponed visit; I really wanted to see how she was doing, to have dinner with her, and share some thoughts, which has always been great fun; she's one of those few people with a very wide open mind (but not so wide that the brain will fall apart).

But, after dinner, while just letting her hug me while standing on the balustrade of the seaside pier, we kissed, and I couldn't prevent my desires flow freely, feel her so-much-soft lips; our bodies know each other so good that it only took a few strokes for her to climax hanging on my arms, my leg within hers.
So, once home it had been just a matter of (little, very little) time before we were laying on the large queen bed, me eating her pussy and her climaxing again and again and making the whole zone a bit wet: that's always been "her way".
We just did remember, sense, each other, again.

I had a wonderful time, and although I did have to wake up 5:45 am, those few hours were sound refreshing.

Thanks, my dear.


-- Posted from my iPhone

Dreadful.

I'll never do that again.
My second time with "a professional whore", a trans (again) working in a city where I was for some business, has been dreadful. Truly: never had anything worse. In so many aspects that I simply can't understand how I could not recognise the signs before, and flee...

Poor sexual feeling, physical impact quite far from expectations, emotionally discouraging, poor empathic capabilities. The she-male even stole me some money (on top of the one I gave her myself) and tried to convince me I was on the worse side of the argue, faked a police call to a friend, and locked me in her one-room house.
At least I made her lose more money form client than what she stole to me. In fact I reckon she decided to let me go when she saw I wasn't afraid anymore of the police coming in, a clear sign that I would have waited for her "ghost policeman" to come long enough for her to lose even more money.

Now I definitely rember why I had always refused the simple idea of having sex with these sort of people. I might have been lucky last (and my very first) time, but I dedinitely had been only sheer luck then.

Bleah...

-- Posted from my iPhone

Envy?

He just quit with his fiancee, after a two finished marriages, and keep meeting nymphomaniac women. Who are even very interesting to talk to.

I've got some envy, I've to admit it.

Reminder

I got a reminder from gayromeo.com yesterday (or a couple of days ago, for that is): you've not been seen around for a while now, so we thought we put your profile on hold, because we'd rather have customers always only find users that are active on the scene.

"active on the scene". You can still see words hanging around in air.

Not a big issue, my profile is still there - they say - but won't be searchable.
I can re-activate by simpling logging in.
I spent some three minutes thinking about it: shall I do that? Relog in for a second, I mean?



It turned out I could manage not to do that, I didn't log in, and this set another step higher my resistance. I'm kind proud of myself (but I'll admit I got back wearing g-strings - but very plain ones - again even when not justified by running suits, and this morning I epilated, and it was lovely to feel the water flowing on my buttocks...)