A FemBoy Dressing Up – Gradual Steps to Womanhood (3)

Most of my life I have had a fluid gender and been openly bisexual (in rigour, pansexual, though it took me some time to become aware of it). Since my gender has changed with age several times, in and out of the binary, I have covered almost the whole spectrum of possible relationships and sexual practices. Of course, I have always had my preferences, but these have been varying too until not long ago, when I stabilized in a relatively passive, mostly submissive role –be it with men, women, gender-variant, agender and queer persons. To say it colloquially, I have drifted from being a switch to being a full-time bottom. (Being frank, I feel, physically, more attracted to men, and psychologically, to women and the other genders, and these trends have led me to have many men as lovers, but just a small handful of male friends; exactly the other way round has happened with respect to women and the rest.)

When I was a kid I was a normal boy. In my first teens I began to have doubts and to experiment with girlhood. It helped that my body was rather androgyne, but then, my sister (at that time, still my brother) began to come out, very clearly and determinedly, as a girl. Relative to her, I felt boyish again, and less hesitantly so. Also, our parents had enough upsetting with my sis, for me to bother them more with new gender issues; last, but not least, she really needed an older brother at her side at home and school, and my destiny as a boy was traced for several years –almost ten.

[I will prosecute these concise memories of my personal “gender roller-coaster” in next posts. Now, here, I will just jump more than two decades forward from my first girly impulse (at 12) to illustrate my third effective attempt to become a woman; inside and also outside, in my demeanour and looks — Thus, these two pics are from my mid-age; well over thirty. I was not having hormones yet, and so I only had very smallish breasts (not even visible here, just after a cold shower…). The super-cheap top was my sister’s; who really rocked it with full and foxy breasts. The skirt and belt, as shown in the wider picture, were mine. The childlike bracelet was my daughter’s, who gave it to me.]

(I’ve chosen to begin these remembrances with the penultimate stage (the third) out of a whim, with no rational reasons for it. Anyway, do not wonder about the previous posts, because they are not yet written.)]


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Dressing up with borrowed clothes – Angry, surly and dishevelled after a hot argument with a mate – Taking off a meaningful ring



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Dressing up with borrowed clothes …


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