It’s Called Parenting…

I ‘d like to share a little of my past crossdressing (cd) experiences to arrive in the present with what is to me, a profound question regarding the future of Feminism. From 1959-66 my Mother and on very rare occasions my big Sister enjoyed dressing me in their clothes. No conjecture nor fabrication needed as those memories are very old, so what little I recall is sketchy but true.

It all started with my Mother putting a little Mother Daughter apron on me, teaching me to dust little cups knick knacks etc, on her miniature hutch. As time and northern VA residences changed, so did my conditioning. I was a bit over protected, climbing tree’s, riding bikes, and even toy “Tonka” trucks were forbidden for me to play with. Mom told me these were all noisy big boys toys, while handing me her gorgeous black oriental motiff jewelry box said, “here Robbi this is what little sissies like you play with”…

I’ve always been a little too submissive, so I accepted Mom’s decision as final. Standing up too  her formittable will was a painful option. It was way easier to simply believe that Mom knows best. She could see as we progressed together that I was on another occasion fascinated with a red summer skirt of my Sisters that Mom was ironing. She stopped ironing it and asked if I wanted to wear it? Can’t recall my answer but next thing I knew Mom was buttoning up the rear closure on me. As she gently coaxed me into submission. “You can be Mommies little sissy if you want Robbi? It’ll be just our secret, ok?”

My Father a VA National Guard Radar Tech was gone days sometimes weeks at a time due to the cold war and a ring of Nike nuclear missile sites surrounding D.C. in those days. The only person Mom feared was my Korean war veteran Dad whose temperment was to say the least, volatile. Feminizing his first son would have gotten Mom seriously hurt if not worse so our secret must remain so at all costs! To further complicate matters it was discovered by 2004 that Dad was having sex with my Sister which according to her, my Mother was at least partially aware of. Which would explain her vindictive actions with me.

Anyway as the cold war heated up Dad was gone for ever longer stretches and both Mom and I began relaxing with our relationship. That red skirt became my favorite that blouses and angorra sweaters were added too. Along with being schooled in all the domestic chores normally reserved for my Sister while she was in school. Mom also seemed influenced by a neihborhood little boy always running around outside in his moms clothes. Because soon I found myself outside helping Mom hang up laundered clothes on a clothes line, half dressed like a girl.

Mom told me the little sissy boy next door wore painted nails so I needed to learn how to paint mine. I recall her telling someone over the phone one day, that “Brenda (my sister) shoulda been born the boy, and I shoulda been born the girl.” I actually accepted my life and was happy with Mom calling the shots. On one occasion when I didn’t, she bent me over as she pulled my skirt up and whiped me with her belt. Saying “you’re just a little sissy, now act like a girl!!”  As I was beginning to learn Mom was getting bored and her tear drenched day time drinking increased.

One day while making my Sister’s and my beds I became distracted with all my Sister’s finery hanging through the open door of her closet. I moved closer fascinated with all the different colors and fabric choices. Suddenly Mom was behind me sorta spread eagle shoving me further into the closet. She whispered in my ear, ” show Mommy what you’d like to wear little sissy?” I recall trying to back up and maybe free myself, but to no avail… “Answer Mommy Robbi, show me what you wanna wear right now!”

I have always been a sucker for red, so I reached up and tugged at a red plaid, pleated parochial school jumper of my Sister’s, with it’s cute bright red side zipper. Mom roared with Feminine laughter as she spun me around to face her. “You wanna wear a dress?! You really are a sissy aren’t you?!!” I trusted Mom implicitly, and her tone was demeaning so I tried to make a break for it as tears rolled down my face. Mom was faster and caught my ear easily reigning me back to face her as she got down on her knee’s.

Her tone instantly softened as she hugged me. “It’s ok for you to wear a dress if you want to Robbi? You’re a sissy, you’re supposed to act like a girl, remember?” she reminded me. I  offered little resistance to having the scratchy woolen jumper pilled over my head, and it’s tight zippered imprisoning me in it. I knew from past Feminine conditioning with my Sisters skirts that wrinkles weren’t allowed while attempting to sit. So I asked Mom how I should sit in my new jumper? She told me “the same way I taught you to sit in a skirt little sissy.”

However because of the wool and it was a little tight on me, I complained about it’s scratchiness as I was trying to sit to please Mom’s judgmental eyes. Without a word Mom abruptly grabbed my arm and pulled me from the coach back to my Sisters room I shared with her. She pulled the jumper back off me, telling me not to move. “If you’re gonna wear a dress, you might as well get use too wearing girl’s underwear!” None of Brenda’s training bra’s would fit me which Mom grumbled she would buy me one. But the rest of my Sister’s old panties and slips fit and later became my hand-me-downs.

The soft girls under things made the jumper comfy, as Mom also added a white Peter Pan collar blouse to the outfit, finally zipping me tightly in it once again. I recall politely asking permission to take the dress off, but Mom told me that it didn’t matter what I wanted at that point. “It doesn’t matter what you want Robbi! I’m tired of seeing you in that same old red skirt! If I decide that you’ll wear a dress, then that’s what you’ll wear everyday from now on, so just get use to it!” 

And indeed I did… There was only maybe three of my Sister’s dresses that would barely fit me as I was chubby and Brenda was not. But my Mother religiously put me in one each day as long as Dad worked and Brenda went to school. The dresses inevitably led to my instruction in the proper application of make up and lipstick, a child’s wig which I was told I would wear until my own hair grew long. And ending by the graduation of my name being elevated from “little sissy” too “Sally Anne”.

However one day after being bathed, dressed as Sally Anne and finishing my chores as Moms little helper. Mom was intoxicated and she neglected to undress me before Brenda got home from school. My Sister began crying that I was “stretching her clothes” and of course the party ended when she told Dad about the incident. My parents had a knock down drag out fight that night which of course Mom lost… Brenda was kinder to me in years after that dressing me in her clothes on rare occasion and teaching me how to play with her new Barbie Doll…

My Mother abandoned me after that, as I had become the monster that she created but just might get her killed? She finally admitted duplicity in 2006, leaving me lonely in a sea of sharks. As my father embarked on a strict regimen of masculine training intended to masculinate an already feminized soul, damage done, no turning back…

This brings us to my profound question I wrote of in the beginning. lots of millenial parents these days have supposed “transgendered” kids. Who mysteriously know they are really members of their opposite gender by age 2? Also supposedly we are to believe they are put on hormones by age six with the supposedly innocent parents looking on like. “Hey what can we do? It’s my kids decision!

Or is it? Firstly no child knows fully what they want at that tender young age. I didn’t, can you say you honestly did? Secondly after surviving in the shadows of a overly manipulative Mother,  who denied her actions and abandoned me. How do we know “transgender” kids were in no way influenced by selfishly motivated parents. While I believe in Women and feminism. Mothers have a slippery way of causing damage then in a veil of tears claiming innocence, which everyone buys hook line and sinker!

By shirking the painful decisions of parenting they are unashamedly condemning their TG child to a life of lies! Am I speaking an untruth? Think about it… A MTF TG child may be given hormones so they develop as their opposite gender through puberty. Then once on the sliding board, they’ll likely opt for SRS as teens. And everyone lives happily ever after right?

No wrong… Now the girl that is really still a boy eunuch will marry some hapless guy, who may want to be a father? The question is will the “TG  fake woman” be honest enough with the man to reveal the truth to him? Or will both be seen on the six o’clock news? Wake up millenials it’s not a video game, it’s real life! It’s called parenting, a big responsibility….




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