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A lengthy account of cross-dressing, femininity, kinks, and transgender chastity.

To grasp why I need chastity in my life, you must look back at the past. My story begins when I was very young, a boy living with my parents in a small rural village in England.

As a child, I was deeply curious but also highly sensitive, easily troubled by the emotions and opinions of others. This made it hard for me to fit in with other kids. I wasn’t particularly sporty, though I eventually learned to show some competency in both football (soccer) and athletics. Even from my earliest days at pre-school (what we called Playschool back then), I often felt uncomfortable and different from those around me.

This feeling led to a deep fear of leaving the house. My mum would have to drag me to school, or if I was particularly distressed, she’d let me stay home. My dad worked away from home, so he was only really present on weekends. As such, my mum became my role model. She was the one who got things done, wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense, and comforted me when I felt down. She told me I was a very sensitive child; while that might sound like disappointment, I think she just realized I was different from other boys.

My dad saw me as soft and would tell me to toughen up. It may have sounded mean, but he did it out of love and only ever wanted the best for me. To my dad, directness is the most sensible approach, though I now see that manner as blunt and reckless because it often comes from anger. My parents are a curious match since my mum has always worn the trousers and made the important decisions. In many ways, my dad prefers to be left alone but does have a habit of losing his temper over very petty things. This puts him in the doghouse when he is particularly unpleasant to my mum, and it used to take him days to worm his way back into her affections. My mum holds grudges for considerable time, whereas my dad just loses his cool and forgets about it a few hours later. The lesson I learned, though I didn’t fully understand it until much later, is that femininity is power given the right application.

As you might expect, a sensitive kid like me was far more likely to be inspired by someone who behaved in an appropriate and confident manner most of the time. My mum loved to sing and participate in amateur dramatics, so she would often go out once a week dressed extremely elegantly. I used to marvel at her appearance and wanted so much to become more like her. She would hug me before going out, and the way she felt along with the smell of her perfume was incredibly calming and wonderful.

It was only a matter of time before I started dressing in her clothes. At first, it was simple things, like an obsessed need to wear her chunky heeled knee-high leather platform boots. My feet were small back then, and as I slipped them on, I just felt amazing. There was nothing sexual about it since I was too young, but they made me feel like a girl. To this day, I don’t know where that need came from. Later, I found myself trying on her panties, bra, swimsuits, and tights/pantyhose. I’m not proud of the fact even to this day, but I couldn’t help myself because I needed to look and feel like a girl. If I had the means back then, I would have bought my own clothes.

As I got older, I remained highly sensitive, even in high school. I never had many male friends; the ones I did have might be described as geeky, often outcasts themselves but definitely loyal and trusted. Ideally, I would have preferred to hang around with the girls, though that didn’t really happen. Perhaps they had a small insight into the real me—the girly me—but the kinder ones always chatted with me, and I’d often try to help them in class because it made both of us very happy. Of course, you could argue that perhaps I just didn’t project enough masculinity to interest them.

My school didn’t have a strict dress code beyond dark colors, and girls frequently pushed the boundaries with their outfits: shortest skirts, over-knee ribbed black socks with high heels or Mary Janes; some even wore over-the-knee boots and skater skirts. Fashion was all over the place in the 1980s. As you might imagine, for someone who wanted to dress like a girl so much, I was extremely jealous of what they got compared to myself and my few friends. I craved attention and desired to be seen as interesting by others.

I was bullied severely at school, this going on for a long time until I learned how to deal with it… I started fighting back and winning. My secret caused confusion and anger, so as I got older and stronger, I became far more capable. I didn’t want to behave that way but saw no other course of action to end my suffering. As a result, other kids became wary of setting me off, and my life got easier though still very lonely. The terrible part was that my behavior wasn’t truly me; in many ways, I was pretending to be more like my dad. This worsened later in life when I started drinking and surrounding myself with people who weren’t especially tolerant—some might even call them bigots.

My teenage years caused me to resent my femininity. I used to find comfort watching Kenny Everett on TV; he was a gay comedian who frequently wore very extreme, highly feminine ladies’ clothes to represent his many alter-egos. One of which was called Cupid Stunt (an anagram of something rather blunt). Yet every time my dad was home and caught me watching this awesome show, he would say, “What the hell are you watching that faggot for? Change the bloody channel.” So I did as told, but later when I finally got a small TV in my bedroom, I consoled myself with Julian Clary who was just as wonderful!

Yet I still felt troubled since my body kept changing. I got hairier and felt disgusted by my genitals. For some odd reason, I also developed extremely sensitive nipples and realized I could feel great pleasure caressing them. I dressed more often during this period because I had found my mum’s collection of clothes she wore for drama and music performances in the attic—a treasure trove to me. The problem was that the clothes started turning me on, and accidents would happen. One minute I was in heaven feeling so very female, and the next I felt like a disgusting animal unable to control itself. It made me ashamed; I felt sick getting them off as quickly as possible, washing them and ensuring they were dried and ironed properly because discovery would have destroyed me since I terrified of how my parents might respond.

I was never religious even though my school had bible readings every Friday, and I was often reminded of the special hell awaiting men who dress in female garments. I actually prayed to God for help ending this problem… but he or she never listened. Thus, I decided God was unreliable and not worth my time. My sense of shame compounded further when awful tabloid journalists reported on Members of Parliament found in compromising sexual scenarios involving hold-up stockings and 6” black patent heels. Or sometimes wandering Wimbledon Common dressed to the nines trying to attract punters. This just fueled the journalist smears about “Tranny MP caught suck

“ing cock” or “Transvestite gang bang goes wrong in the House of Lords.” It was sensationalist nonsense and made me realize very quickly that journalists have little integrity and don’t care about trampling on other people’s feelings… all they see is a big fat paycheck! The term transvestite originally comes from Latin, meaning trans, “to cross over” and vestitus, meaning “dressed.” But you only need to Google the definition now to see that the first definition shown is “a man who derives sexual pleasure from wearing women’s clothes.” This perversion of the original meaning was used by doctors, politicians, and bigots to make anyone just like me feel as though we had a sickness and were less than people. It was and still is utterly cruel and despicable behavior. Fortunately today the world is a little more enlightened and the term “crossdresser” is used and can be found under the umbrella and far-reaching term of “Transgender”, which embraces anyone who is born feeling that their body and feelings are not in line with their true gender. Of course I knew none of this back then so all the heavily biased and untruthful things I read just filled me with sadness and fear. What made things worse was my dad laughing at those horrible stories. I used to think “I wonder how he would see me if he really knew”. I had no one to turn to back then, it was the 1980s the age of the ZX Spectrum and the Commodore 64, there was no widespread Internet, no support groups or forums to join. Everything I felt and did had to be figured out in isolation and as a result I got so much wrong. I started to believe there was something inherently wrong with me, that I was somehow defective. As a result sometimes when I dressed I would tie myself up with belts and speak aloud saying just how disgusting and perverse I was. Later on this became much worse and I apologize for any ladies reading when I say that I saw myself as a filthy slut or two bit hooker who only deserved to be used and treated badly. This was a betrayal of the beautiful love of femininity I had been gifted with. Sadly back then it seemed more like a curse than any gift. Becoming more masculine in manner was a huge pretense I had adopted but it did make me more friends and even attract girls. It came from a desire most of us have, the need to fit in and belong. But in many ways I was simply walking through life as if I was wearing a male person suit which appeared very male but deep inside there was a woman wondering just what the hell had happened to that sensitive person I once was. I had girlfriends but I think I only chose them due to what they wore and how they looked. That wasn’t fair and while I did feel love for them in my own way I think my attraction was also in large part a need to be close to femininity. It’s correct to say then when I spent time with them I was often thinking about how much I wanted to be them. In my opinion this was not the correct reason for me to be in a relationship and most of them have ended quickly, my longest was three years. Yet none of them ever knew my secret and I’m sad to say that none of them ever met the real me. I came to a decision in my mid 20’s that I wouldn’t allow myself the joys of a relationship because I found it hard to be honest about myself. I used to go out drinking a lot since at this point this I had a job in a city where I had done my university degree. The friends I made were very down to earth and blunt men, but since that’s how I was acting at that point to fit I’m not surprised. Between the ages of 17 and 25 I had pretty much managed to suppress my urges to dress but that was not to last. So at age 25 one late night in November I decided to buy myself the gorgeous black knee high platform boots I kept seeing in the ladies shoe shop every time I went to work. When I wore them it brought so many of my old feelings back in force but the male persona I had adopted couldn’t handle that fact. Comfort, compulsion and an absolute need to feel feminine made me go further. Yet my male side of my brain always lied about the reasons for doing it. He convinced himself that he had a significant other in his life, a very Gothic girl who was strong, powerful and also very kinky. Eventually he called her Joanne. He used me for his own ends and also for his sexual satisfaction because despite projecting masculine confidence he was very weak and scared inside. He cut himself off to feelings in every day life because he didn’t understand them and believed they were a weakness. Yet for all that he did have the power to lock me away in a box in his mind when he wanted nothing to do with femininity. He took to thinking of me as his own personal slut and would buy me very risqué items. Once he had the nerve to buy lingerie from Ann Summers (a cheap UK mainstream Victoria’s Secret) it was his undoing. He was always full of stupid inhibitions but only by dressing as me could he ever find the confidence to explore them. But what he didn’t realize is that those clothes made me feel powerful and the part of my mind that had always been Joanne grew even stronger. It might amuse people to know that he eventually saw me as his Mistress or Domme and he desperately needed my strength, he wanted to be controlled and directed because he never liked the person he had spent many years pretending to be. In a curious way my understanding of domination and submission comes entirely from experiences I subjected myself to as a way to truly understand myself. It wasn’t always this way and for the longest period the man in me would fight back and even hate me. Purging my clothes when he grew sick of my frequent dressing. Trying to hurt me, thinking of me as an evil bitch (apologies ladies). But I only ever wanted to help him. To clarify so nobody think I’m totally nuts… to help me become who I always was deep down. Much of what I have written has to be described from two perspectives for it to make sense to you. I’ve always been Joanne even when I was never fully aware of it. These days the male and female parts of my brain have come to an understanding and the understanding is simple. I am the one in control, I think and feel female no matter whether my physical body is in line with that fact. I am the one who cares and tries to emphasise with others, I feel love whereas the male in me has only known hate. I can be cruel as Joanne but only to people who seriously offend me or specifically ask for it because they enjoy it and it is always tempered by the belief that it’s purely for their own good. I never go over the top with it because I don’t believe in hurting anyone. Anyway chastity was something I got into when I started reading about sissies. I had previously tried to fit in on transgender forums but I was too different, too kinky and to an extent too rebellious to ever fit in. I didn’t care to be told what I should wear and how I should behave because I like to do things which benefit me. And dressing in Goth clothes as I do many were cruel to me and told me I should frequent graveyards. Do understand that when I dress Goth it is more elegant than fetish but I still love my fetish clothes too. However I don’t wear my feminine clothes outside of the house so I harm no one and I especially don’t harm the Transgender cause. I think in the future I feel that were I to venture outside I should project an androgynous appearance which gives me the balance of both male and female in harmony. So regarding sissy behavior, it interested me and I found much of the erotic fiction highly amusing. I always took keen note of how the Dommes behaved and I often giggled at the elaborate and very cunning scenarios they would devise. I found sissies very understanding to talk to and I enjoyed the fact that so many have an extreme female dress sense. That makes sense to me because I often used to have to overcompensate with my feminine dress sense for feeling too male inside. But there is also

There is a part of me that feels I missed my chance to be a party girl when I was young. At this point, Joanne was still coming to terms with many of her feelings, which drew me toward hypnosis. It was typically feminising because I wanted so badly to clear the mental blocks created by my male self; I needed release from that box. The issue for me was that most hypnosis I encountered was FemDom, and I didn’t appreciate being pushed around by ladies who expected blind worship as soon as their recordings began speaking to me. To some extent, I found it laughable, growing resentful toward these so-called half-baked hypno-witches because they threatened my identity as Joanne. I knew that 90% of them were only in it for a quick profit rather than being true practicing, experienced Dommes. Looking back from my current perspective, I would say that the very dominant nature within myself as Joanne felt challenged. Essentially, my male side had already become my sub and answered totally to me, not to some other lady. For the record, I am not a sissy. I hate humiliation and degradation—which won’t surprise anyone given my history—but I have nothing but time for sissies because they were friends when others wouldn’t accept me. I got into chastity after reading about sissies; locking masculinity away forever highly appealed to me. I have no interest in masturbating like a man because it disgusts me and reminds me of something horrible that once spoiled my joy of femininity. Yet I am very sexual and enjoy exploring other pleasures that make me feel more womanly. Also, from my perspective, I am not a crossdresser: when I wear my favourite clothes I don’t feel like I’m crossing over; it is only when I have to project the image of a man that I feel I am. What I truly am is Transgender and importantly, me! I did eventually find more positive feminising hypnosis and could tolerate some FemDom as long as they acted like female friends trying to help rather than rulers. After much time and research, I wrote my own script and made a recording to help face her side of myself. As a result, all my feelings came spilling out and were difficult to process at first. It still takes work now, but I appreciate the benefits of these feelings; in many ways, my male and female sides have become blended. Yet for most respects, I am more Joanne now. Sadly, I still have moments where I feel I am falling into old stupid male ways or slipping back into that false, quite asshole persona I used to project, so chastity is a superb form of mental correction. If I act stroppy, annoying, or have silly ideas about throwing out my beautiful things or deleting photos because I suddenly feel hideous, then it is time for lock up. After a few days, I am back to myself again. Sometimes it takes longer periods—perhaps two weeks or even a month—but after a while that old masculinity learns its place at my heels. Thank you for reading my long and somewhat bizarre tale. I hope it has been interesting. Joanne

What a wonderful introduction, @JoanneLockedUp! I really appreciate you opening up like this. Your story definitely strikes a chord with me. Keep us posted on your ongoing journey.

It takes courage to share such a personal side of yourself here. I’d struggle to be that transparent about my life with the whole group. This post leaves me torn on whether to hit like or not; your story is so touching it actually hurts, creating this dilemma for me. But I pressed the button anyway because you were brave enough to do it. Thanks again from the bottom of my heart for letting us into your world.

> Sissy_Denise said: > It takes courage to share such a personal side of yourself here. I’d struggle to be that transparent about my life with the whole group. This post leaves me torn on whether to hit like or not; your story is so touching it actually hurts, creating this dilemma for me. But I pressed the button anyway because you were brave enough to do it. Thanks again from the bottom of my heart for letting us into your world. > Click to expand... Thanks, Denise! I completely get where you're coming from with that hesitation; it’s tough when a post has such highs and lows. But there is logic behind what looks like bravery or maybe just madness on my part. Since accepting myself as Joanne, I’ve aimed for total openness with anyone who wants to be friends—that's really how I found my deep sense of feminine confidence. It clarifies who I am now, and by putting everything out in the open, I believe nothing about me can ever be twisted or used against me. My gender therapist has often noted that this kind of sharing helps both you and those around you. And regarding your last note: you are always welcome here, dear sister.

> JoanneLockedUp said: > This will be a long tale of cross-dressing, femininity, kinks and transgender chastity > To understand why I need chastity in my life you have to go back to the past. So my story starts at a very early age when I was a young boy living with my parents in a small village in rural England. > As a child I was very curious about things but I was also highly sensitive and easily troubled by other people’s emotions and opinions. This made it extremely difficult for me to fit in with other children. I was not a sporty child, although I did eventually learn later to project some competency at both football (soccer) and athletics. Even from the earliest days of pre-school (what we in the UK referred to as Playschool) back then I often felt very uncomfortable and different to those around me. > This feeling led to a deep fear of leaving the house and my mum often had to drag me to school or instead if I was particularly distressed allow me to stay at home. My dad had to work away from home so was only really present at the weekends. As such my mum became my role model. She was the one who got things done, the one who wouldn’t put up with any crap from anyone and she was also the one who comforted me when I felt bad. She told me I was a very sensitive child and while that might sound like she was disappointed, I think really she just realised I was different to other boys. > My dad on the other hand saw me as soft and would tell me to toughen up. That might sound mean but he did do it out of love and only ever wanted the best for me. To my dad “in your face” directness is the most sensible course of action but I now I see that manner as blunt and reckless because it usually comes from anger. Now my parents are something of a curious match since my mum is really the one who has always worn the trousers and made the important decisions. In many ways my dad prefers to be left to his own devices but did and still does have a habit of losing his temper for very petty and unimportant crap. As a result this puts him in the doghouse when he makes the mistake of being particularly unpleasant to my mum and it used to take him many days to worm his way back into her affections. My mum bears grudges for considerable time, whereas my dad just loses his cool but then forgets about it a few hours later. The lesson I learnt although I didn’t truly understand it for some time is that femininity is power given the right application. > As you might expect a sensitive kid like me was far more likely to be inspired by someone who behaved in an appropriate and confident manner most of the time. My mum loved to sing and also partake in amateur dramatics so she would often go out once a week dressed extremely elegantly. I used to marvel at the way she looked and wanted so very much to become more like her. She used to hug me before she went out and the way she felt and the smell of her perfume was so very calming and wonderful. > It was only a matter of time before I started dressing in her clothes. To begin with it was simple things like some obsessed need to wear her chunky heeled knee high leather platform boots. My feet were small back then and as I slipped them on I just felt amazing. There was nothing sexual about it since I was too young but they made me feel like a girl. To this day I do not know where that need came from. Later I found myself trying on her panties, bra, swimsuits and her tights/pantyhose. I’m not proud of the fact even to this day, but I couldn’t help myself because I needed to look and feel like a girl. If I had the means to have bought my own clothes back then I would have. > As I got older I was still highly sensitive even when I got into high school. I never had many male friends and the ones I did have people might describe as geeky, often outcasts themselves but definitely the most loyal and trusted of friends. Ideally I would have preferred to hang around with the girls but that never really happened, I think perhaps maybe they might have had a small insight into the real me… the girly me but the kinder ones would always chat with me and I would often try to help them in class because I knew it made myself and also them very happy. Of course you could also argue that it could have simply been the fact that I didn’t project enough masculinity to interest them. > My school didn’t really have a dress code beyond dark colours and the girls would frequently cross the line with what they wore. The shortest of skirts, over knee ribbed black socks with high heels or Mary Janes. Some even wore over the knee boots and skater skirts. Fashion really was all over the place in the 1980’s. As you might imagine to someone who so very much wanted to dress like a girl I was what you’d call extremely jealous. What truly fascinated me was how much attention they got compared to myself with my very few friends. I so wanted attention and to be desirable and interesting to others. > I was bullied very badly at school and this went on for a very long time until I learnt how to deal with it… I started to fight back and win. My secret caused a lot of confusion and anger so as I got older and stronger I became far more capable. I didn’t want to behave that way but I could see no other course of action to end my suffering. As a result other kids became very wary of setting me off and my life got easier but it was still very lonely. The terrible part of that was that my behaviour was never truly me and I think in a lot of ways I was pretending to be more like my dad. This got much worse later in life when I started drinking and surrounding myself with people who you wouldn’t call especially tolerant, one might even call them bigots. > My teenage years caused me to resent my femininity. I used to be comforted by watching Kenny Everett on the television he was a gay comedian that frequently wore very extreme and highly feminine ladies clothes to represent his many alter-egos. One of which was called Cupid Stunt, which I’m sure you’ll realise is an anagram of something very blunt. Yet every time my dad was home and caught me watching this awesome show he would say “what the hell are you watching that faggot for, change the bloody channel”. So I did as I was told but later when I finally got a small television set in my bedroom I consoled myself with Julian Clary who was just as awesome! > Yet I still felt troubled since my body kept changing. I got hairier and I felt disgusted by my genitals. For some odd reason I also developed extremely sensitive nipples and I realised I could feel a great deal of pleasure caressing them. I was dressing more often in this period since I had found my mum’s collection of clothes she wore for drama and music performances in the attic. It was like a treasure trove to me. The problem was that the clothes started to turn me on and then accidents would happen. One minute I was in heaven feeling so very female and the next minute I felt like this disgusting animal that couldn’t control itself. It made me very ashamed and I felt sick to my stomach getting the clothes off as quickly as possible. Washing them and making sure they were dried and ironed properly since discovery would have destroyed me since I was in terror of how my parents might respond. > I was never religious even though my school had bible readings every Friday and I was often reminded of the special hell that awaits men who dress in female garments. I actually prayed to God to listen and help me end this problem… but he or she never listened to me. As such I decided God was very unreliable and not worth my time. My sense of shame became compounded further when awful tabloid journalists reported about Members of Parliament who were found in some compromising sexual scenario involving them dressed in hold-up stockings and 6” black patent heels. Or in other cases of them wandering Wimbledon Common d Dressed to the nines in an effort to catch men's attention. This only added fuel to the fire for those snide journalist comments like “Transgender MP caught sucking cock” or “Transvestite gang bang goes wrong in the House of Lords”. It was all sensationalism and nonsense, which quickly made me realize journalists have little integrity and don’t care about trampling on others' feelings… they only see a big fat paycheck! > The word transvestite originally comes from Latin: *trans*, meaning “to cross over”, and *vestitus*, meaning "dressed". But if you just google the definition now, the first one shown is usually “a man who derives sexual pleasure from wearing women’s clothes”. This perversion of the original meaning was used by doctors, politicians, and bigots to make anyone like me feel sick, as though we were less than human. It was cruel and despicable then, and it still is today. Fortunately, the world has become a bit more enlightened now, and the term “crossdresser” is commonly used under the broad umbrella of "Transgender", which embraces everyone who feels their body or feelings don’t align with their true gender. > Of course I knew none of this back then, so all that heavily biased, untruthful reading filled me with sadness and fear. Things got even worse when my dad laughed at those awful stories. I used to wonder, “How would he see me if he really knew?” Back then, I had no one to turn to—it was the 1980s, the age of the ZX Spectrum and Commodore 64; there was no widespread Internet or support groups or forums for us. Everything I felt and did had to be figured out in isolation, so I got a lot wrong as a result. > I started believing something was inherently wrong with me—that somehow I was defective. Because of this, sometimes when I dressed up, I’d tie myself in knots with belts and speak aloud about how disgusting and perverse I was. Later on, it got much worse; to any ladies reading here, please forgive me: I saw myself as a filthy slut or second-rate hooker who only deserved to be used and treated poorly. It felt like a betrayal of the beautiful love for femininity that had been gifted to me. Sadly back then, it seemed more like a curse than a gift. > Becoming more masculine in manner was a huge pretense I adopted, but it did help me make friends and even attract girls. It came from our shared desire: the need to fit in and belong. Yet in many ways, I was simply walking through life wearing a man’s suit; outwardly very male, but deep inside there was a woman wondering what on earth had happened to that sensitive person she once was. > I did have girlfriends, though I think I mostly chose them because of how they dressed and looked. That wasn’t entirely fair; while I did feel love for them in my own way, part of my attraction was also driven by a need to be close to femininity. It’s true that when I spent time with them, I often thought about how much I wanted to *be* them. In my view, this wasn’t the right reason for me to be in a relationship, and most ended quickly—my longest lasted three years. Yet none of them ever knew my secret; sadly, none met the real me. > By mid-20s, I decided not to allow myself the joys of a relationship because finding it hard being honest about who I was weighed heavily on me. At that point in time, I had a job in a city where I’d done university and used to go out drinking often. The friends I made were very down-to-earth, blunt men—but since that’s how I acted at the time trying to fit in, not surprised there either. Between ages 17 and 25 I mostly managed suppressing my urges to dress up but it didn’t last long. So one late November night aged twenty-five decided buying myself gorgeous black knee-high platform boots which kept catching eye every trip through ladies shoe shop near work place wore them brought back many old feelings strong again; male persona adopted couldn't handle fact well enough anymore! Comfort, compulsion and an absolute need to feel feminine pushed me further still. Yet my masculine brain always lied about why it did these things. He convinced himself he had someone significant—a very Gothic girl who was strong, powerful AND kinky too! Eventually naming her Joanne; using ME for his own ends as well sexual satisfaction because despite projecting confident masculinity inside he felt weak scared often cut off everyday feelings not understanding them believing weakness instead power lock away box mind whenever wanted nothing more than feminine world outside him took thinking personally owning slut buying risqué items once dared buy lingerie Ann Summers cheap UK mainstream Victoria Secret equivalent undoing found confidence exploring stupid inhibitions only dressing AS ME clothes made feel powerful growing stronger Joanne part within eventually saw Mistress Domme desperately needed strength controlled directed because liked person spent years pretending less than truly desired understanding domination submission entirely experiences subjected myself understand deeply wasn't always this way longest period man fought back even hated purging clothes grew sick frequent dressing trying hurt thinking evil bitch apologies ladies wanted help clarify so nobody think totally nuts…help become who deep down. Much written described from two perspectives make sense. Always been Joanne never fully aware days male female parts brain come understanding simple control I think feel regardless physical body aligned cares try empathize others feels love whereas male known hate cruel Joanne seriously offend specifically ask enjoy always tempered belief purely good go over top don't believe hurting anyone. Anyway chastity got into started reading sissies previously tried fit transgender forums too different kinky extent rebellious ever fitting cared told wear behave like benefit doing things suit Gothic clothes many were cruel telling frequent graveyards understand dress Goth elegant fetish love wearing feminine clothes outside harm no one especially Transgender cause think future venture project androgynous appearance gives balance both male female harmony. Regarding sissy behaviour interested found much erotic fiction amusing keenly noted how Dommes behaved often giggled elaborate cunning scenarios devised found sissies understanding talk enjoyed extreme female dress sense that It makes sense to me because I used to have to overcompensate with my feminine dress style for feeling too male inside. But there is also a part of me that feels I missed my chance to be a party girl when I was young. > At this point, Joanne and I were still coming to terms with many feelings so I became interested in hypnosis. Typically the feminising kind because I wanted to clear the mental blocks created by my male self. I needed to get out of the box. The problem for me was that most hypnosis I found was FemDom, and I didn’t appreciate being pushed around by ladies who expected blind worship from the moment their recordings spoke to me. In a sense, I found it laughable; resentment grew as I hated these so-called half-baked hypno-witches because they threatened my identity as Joanne, and I knew 90% of them were only into it for a quick buck rather than being true practicing Dommes with experience. Looking at it now from my current perspective, I would say that the very dominant nature within myself as Joanne felt threatened. Essentially, my male side had literally become my sub and answered totally to me, not to some other lady. > For the record, I am not a sissy. I hate humiliation and degradation—that won’t surprise you given my history—but I have nothing but time for sissies because they were friends when others wouldn’t accept me. And I got into chastity after reading about sissies; locking masculinity away for good highly appealed to me. I have no interest in masturbating like a man because it disgusts me and reminds me of something horrible that once spoiled my joy of femininity. But I am very sexual and enjoy exploring other pleasures which make me feel more womanly. Also, from my perspective, I am not just a crossdresser; I don’t consider myself crossdressing when wearing my favourite clothes but do so when projecting the image of a man. What I truly am is Transgender and most importantly, me! > In the end, I did find more positive feminising hypnosis and could tolerate some FemDom as long as it acted like a female friend trying to help. After much time and research, I wrote my own script and made a recording to help face my female self. As a result, all my feelings came spilling out and were difficult to process. It still takes work but I appreciate the benefits of my feelings now; in many ways, my male and female sides have become blended. Yet I am more Joanne now in most respects. > Sadly, I still have moments where I feel falling into old stupid male ways or slipping back into that false asshole persona I used to project so chastity is a superb form of mental correction. If I act stroppy or annoying or have silly ideas about throwing out my beautiful things or deleting photos because I suddenly feel hideous, then it is time for lock up. After a few days, I am back to myself again. Sometimes it takes longer periods—perhaps two weeks or even a month—but after a while that old masculinity learns its place at my heels. > Thanks for reading my long and somewhat bizarre tale. I hope it has been interesting. > Joanne > Click to expand... Pamela, I want to add my thanks to the others above, for posting this very personal story of you and your journey. I am glad that you have found self-enforced chastity to be a reliable tool for recuing Joaane from her occasional forays into self-criticism. I am glad I met you. Pamela