From Beginner to Pro

 

Credits : Crossy Ramya

Acceptance of My Family

 

Credits : Anushree_Sissy1

Interview tension for Junior

 

Credits : Ritu Sissy

Waiting for Dream Husband

 

Conversation with Beggar

 

Credits : Dhivyaa Pottachi 

Beggar : Are you a sissy ? I did not know this matter, I thought you are a real girl. 

Divya Sissy : I think, you found out when I am giving blowjob to watchman ? Now, I have 5 rupees only, tomorrow I will give you 10 rupees, don't tell this matter to anyone.

Beggar : I don't want that dear. After seeing your hips, I got moody, after seeing your face, He asked me to come to his house.

I understood his intention and obeyed his order. 

Uncle is the reason

 

Happily Getting Ready

 

Another Level of Self Satisfaction

 

Lovely Transformation -2

 

Ladies Special bus

 

Arjun, or Anjali as he was known on his secret commutes, adjusted the pallu of the emerald green synthetic silk sari. The fabric, crisp and unforgiving, felt like a banner of defiance against his nerves. He checked his reflection one last time in the cracked mirror above the sink: the subtle eyeliner, the careful shading along the jawline, the two bangles stacked high on his slender wrist. Everything was perfect, yet precarious. Today was the day he would try the Ladies Special bus—a route notorious for its overcrowding, but also its efficiency. It was the ultimate test.

Stepping out onto the street, the morning air was already thick with diesel fumes and the impatient honking of horns. The tension was immediate; he felt every eye graze him, convinced they saw the tell-tale breadth of his shoulders beneath the tailored blouse, or the slight stiffness in his walk that betrayed decades of male conditioning. But no one paused. No one looked twice. The first wave of thrill, sharp and electric, washed over him: He was passing.

When the bright pink Ladies Special bus, designated clearly with 'KEVAL MAHILAA' (Women Only) in bold letters, shuddered to a halt, a surge of women—students, professionals, and homemakers—pushed toward the door. This was the moment. The close physical proximity meant the risk of detection was exponentially higher, but the safety of being swallowed by the crowd was also greater. Anjali took a deep breath, mimicking the casual, assertive way the other women moved, and allowed the flow to sweep her inside.

The conductor, a stout woman with a loud voice and an intimidatingly efficient manner, barely glanced up as she collected his fare. "To Mahalaxmi," Anjali managed, his voice pitched slightly higher, slightly softer. The conductor nodded and handed him the ticket. Relief, pure and liquid, soaked through him.

He found a small, contested space near a window, clinging to the overhead railing. The bus was a symphony of feminine energy: the rustle of cotton, the clatter of tiffin boxes, the low, rapid-fire gossip in various dialects. He was surrounded, cocooned, in a space built exclusively for the feminine experience, a space he had only observed from the outside his entire life.

The thrill was no longer fear, but a profound, almost dizzying sense of belonging. Every bump in the road, every shared exasperated glance with the woman next to him when the driver braked too suddenly, affirmed his reality in that moment. It wasn't just the clothes; it was the shared air, the collective identity. For the twenty minutes of the journey, he wasn't Arjun, living a life of performance; he was Anjali, just another commuter, moving through the world seamlessly, freely. The danger of being exposed—the heavy, delicious weight of the secret—only amplified the elation of the successful performance.

When his stop arrived, the relief of safety was mixed with a pang of loss. He knew he would have to re-enter the general world, shedding the protective bubble of the Ladies Special. But as he stepped down, catching sight of the familiar emerald green of his sari against the grey pavement, he carried the thrill with him—a powerful, quiet victory that belonged only to Anjali.

Fantasy of receiving parcel from Zomato Guy

 

It is always one of my fantasies to dress up as a girl and receive the parcel from a delivery boy. This is fantasy of many of the crossdressers. 

This is not going to be the last time - 2

I am Rohan, the elder brother of Suman. She, did not do well in the exams. She was scared to tell this to our parents and she asked me to come to school as the mother. I took the help of my friend Riya and dressed up in saree like this as Roshni. I somehow, made people believe that I am a girl. I spoke to her class teacher Sanjay. He was very much impressed by me and he was undressing me from top to bottom. I was blushing and he was noticing that. I somehow, saved my sister from getting humiliated, but understood that this is not going to be the last time of dressing. 

The Dream I have every night

 

Credits : Pottachi Priyanka

To wake up as a complete woman once someday
To wake up in the arms of the man I love
The man who loves me, Dominates me, Cares for me and completes me

To be a soft, Submissive, Feminine beautiful woman who just loves to dream the best for her man

Replacement

 

Staying as Housewife

 

Pretty Challenge