Once this occurs you know straight away that the last frontier to your complete and total emasculation has been crossed - irreversibly.
You have been dressing for years but rationalised it away as a ‘harmless fetish’.
Over time, becauseof its association with the sexual arousal that accompanied your crossdresing, you started to be aroused of the feeling of shame and humiliation that was always there when you crossdressed..
You began to take greater risks - dressing partially and then fully and going out at night; then going to gay bars to be seen; then going to the mall in broad daylight; all the time dressing every more effeminately.
You needed a bigger and bigger hit each time and took increasingly bigger risks to achieve it. It was like an addictive drug you couldn’t get off.
Eventually, you sucked you first cock. And then another. And another…
You weren’t gay. You weren’t queer. You weren’t a fag (although that word was always wafting around in the back of your mind as you felt the girlyness of being on your stockinged knees sucking off yet another guy.
It was just a bit of role play. Experimentation. Whatever the rationalisation.
Then one day you are in a hotel bar on a business trip.
You have dressed up in a ridiculously sissy satin pink maids outfit, white sheer stockings, pink stilettos, a diamanté collaran andbfrilly sissy panties.
You know it will attract attention. Bemusement. Derision.
But the the feel and look of the clothes and the magnetic, erotic allure of being seen dressed like that in a bar at a hotel at which you are staying proves irresistible.
You are out of town. No one will recognise you.
You have a wine in your room to work up the courage.
Suddenly you are mincing out of the elevator into a crowded hotel lobby.
The friction of your sheer white stockings brushing against eact other is and enormous rush, as they shimmer under the bright lights if the hotel lobby.
You feel your heels are clicking a hundred times louder than they actually are.
You feel that everyone is staring at you.
They probably are. Wasn’t that the point?
You walk into the bar and sit yourself on a stool demurely, caressing your stockinged knees suggestively, but nervously.
An hour later, youve have had a glass too many.
A guy in a suit, who has also had a glass or two too many comes over to chat you up.
You are intrigued but in control and decide to let the situation go through the motions.
Next he is caressing your stockinged knees and the your thighs, then his hand is working your swollen crutch as he thrusts his strong manly tongue down your throat.
You don’t enjoy the sensation of being kissed by a man or the scratching from his stubble, but it all makes you feel so delightfully submissive and girly.
There comes a pint where you realise you are not in control, but you let it go on (as if you have a choice by now, stupid sissy). After all you’ll just give him a blow job and he’ll go away happy.
Next you are in his hotel room.
Before you have a chance to drop to your knees and unzip his fly, he is holding both you hands behind you and forces you onto the bed, face down.
You feel helpless and pathetic. He is so much stronger than you…especially whilst you are in stilettos and dressed as you are.
Next you feel his pulsating manliness ripping into you behind,
It’s painful. It’s degrading. It’s not pleasant.
But somehow the helplessness and humiliation of your situation is intensely arousing, although your cock is locked away in a chastity device, which only enhances the humiliation and helplessness.
Ther is a kind of intense feeling of else if that comes with total surrender.
Next you feel his hot juices filling up inside of you.
You are in tears.
You feel so weak. So powerless.
You are just being used as a pathetic prop for another man’s sexual gratification and you have surrendered and are allowing it to happen.
It is devastating; debasing; emasculating.
Yet so ecstatically arousing. The ultimate girly experience.
As he finishes he pushes your face into the pillow and contemptuously exclaims that word: “faggot!”
Ther it is. What you have always been deluding yourself into believing that you are not.
You know he is right.
There is now no rationalisation that you can hide behind.
He does up his fly an leaves, as you lie there limply; motionless; pathetically. Unable to move a muscle but whimpering and sobbing like a girl.
You know that you have passed the point of no return.
You can no longer be a man. And you know you can not be a real woman.
Suddenly, puff! You are now a sissy. A fag. Forever.
Strangely the realisation fills you with self-loathing and arousal simultaneously. A sense of horror and ecstasy all at once. A paradox you have been graduating towards for some time.
You spend the rest of the night, lying there, face down, crying intermittently, wallowing in your girlyness, his cum,still inside you.
But you remain torn between the agony and the ecstasy.
You wonder where it all went wrong.
But deep inside you know that this is where you were always going to end up.
Sissy. Faggot. For life.