At the risk of repeating myself, cross-dressing is terribly addictive. In fact, it’s downright obsessive. Get a taste of it and you want more. Take it to a certain level and the next time around you feel that burning need to take it a little further—or a whole lot further. And with each session you get closer and closer to what you long to see in the mirror: a beautiful woman gazing back at you, her eyes bright with both fear and anticipation. But what happens when you get there? What happens when there’s simply no way to turn yourself into any more of a woman? (Besides booking your femme self on the next flight to Thailand, or Sweden or wherever.) This is my humble attempt to capture how that moment might feel. Enjoy!
This caption reminds me of a lot of my makeup-centric works, like last year’s “Compulsion and the Cross-dresser“. A quick prowl through my archives reveals way too many others to list. Feel free to browse!