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| For any dominant women reading this, I will assume that your preferred appellation is Mistress or Goddess. As my name is Stephanie, Steph or Stephie would be reasonable forms of address with or without prepending any of these names with Sissy.
While being referenced as a sissy is considered derogatory in ‘vanilla’ society, I do not necessarily share that view. It is simply an adjective that recognizes a psychological state of being in a person. Being a sissy is neither right or wrong, good or bad – it simply is an innate desire to be as feminine as possible to the degree possible within the constraints of reality. The binary construct of gender is now considered archaic and has been subsumed by the construct of a spectrum. This spectrum runs the gamut from a heterosexual transvestite (a now antiquated term generally replaced with cross dresser) through being transgendered to the opposite end of the spectrum at transsexual. Thus the label sissy can loosely be applied to any individual at any of these points along the spectrum.
Some websites seem to focus more heavily on the more salacious sexual aspects of those on the sissy spectrum. I don’t have any particular problem with that focus, but it must include safe sexual practices because no one wants to die from AIDS or another form of sexually transmitted disease. Fantasies are erotically intoxicating, but safety must be primary.
It took me many years to acknowledge my desire for men sexually to myself. I blame Catholicism at least in part. Guilt and shame are integral to preventing acceptance of oneself as a sissy wherever one finds oneself on the spectrum.
My story is typical of sissies in general.
I started wearing my mother and sister’s underwear under my jacket and pants during my grammar school years. This continued throughout my Jesuit high school years and as often as possible after high school. After marriage it continued and my dreams were of having a boyfriend. I longed to pursued, loved, and protected by a guy as his girlfriend. My closest ‘encounter’ was with a friend of my step-daughters. I dressed as best I could, went to a motel room at which he as staying, and told him I wanted to fellate him. He was using drugs of various kinds at the time and just said ‘good luck getting it up”. A part of me considered that something of a challenge so I got right to work. While trying to get him hard, another guy and his girlfriend came into the room, probably to get high also, and I became embarrassed and stopped. Maybe if I felt more secure with these other two people I would have been able to overcome my embarrassment at their arrival, but I didn’t know who they were. I wish I had been stronger and proud of my desires and who I felt myself to be, but the usual guilt and shame were too strong. I also had an experience with a musician with whom I used to play while we shared an apartment. Because I still felt shame and embarrassment at the time for my desires, we engaged in sixty-nine which soothed my psychological dissonance. My rationale was that I wasn’t doing anything he wasn’t doing, so I could transfer my guilt.
I would often dress and drive to pick up my wife from work at 8:00 p.m. staying in the car, but that was met with belittling condescension bordering on outright hatred. It’s the age-old story of being out in public dressed as what I felt myself to be, while enclosed in the safety of a car.
A few years later, I worked at a Swiss bank as an IT project manager where I dressed as a woman every day for several years. I was undergoing gender therapy and started electrolysis, but it didn’t last long before my wife made my life intolerable. I struggled for a few of years doing this but my balding scalp made this untenable and I stopped. It was the combination of her lack of understanding to put it mildly and my disappearing hair that stopped me. I should have filed for divorce, but I didn’t have the courage. So, in a way, if an attribute of being a sissy is weakness, then I am. At the time, I just could not resolve the cognitive dissonance resulting from a need to wear a wig with being a ‘legitimate’ woman. I no longer feel that way because a woman who loses her hair from chemotherapy is no less a woman, so why should I feel differently?
There is little that would make me happier than to transition myself into a woman. I would much prefer a neovagina than what nature provided, but that is, short of a miracle, unlikely.
I wonder if there is any greater gift to give to another than willing submission to another’s will over one’s own. Again, in classic sissy psychology, there is also within me that desire also. What is more erogenous than elbows and wrists locked in Darby cuffs or rope bondage behind one’s back, with handcuffs or leg irons on ankles elevated on five inch heels gagged with a serving tray locked on a corseted waist serving a group of mistresses – a classic, I know.
I have chosen proper grammar instead of using lowercase letters to refer to myself as I believe a lack of proper grammar is an insult to the intelligence of the reader.
As to ideal match, a women who likes sissies would be ideal. Someone who is caring yet insistent on feminization at the very least under male clothing in vanilla situations, fully dressed at all other times. A deep understanding of the psychological needs of submissive sissies is fundamental. Public secret bondage, gags, rope, steel, butt plugs, etc. All the usual suspects. The usual insistence on some kind of punishment for not achieving the goals set out for me by the Mistress. One thing I would not like is to be revealed as obviously male in public – having a wig removed in public for humiliation for example. People are free to have their suspicions, but publicly 'outing' me for humiliation is a bridge too far. I need to feel safe and know that no harm will come to me and at the same time have my limits tested and pushed. We do, after all, live in the real world despite the desires in submissive sissy fiction.
Stephanie
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