The Pink Mist: Freeing Your Trans or Crossdressing Alter Ego

transgender identity

The Pink Mist: Freeing Your Alter Ego

Most crossdressers I know are sensible, rational people.

In fact, more often than not, these crossdressers are professional people, usually with good academic qualifications and a sensible outlook on life.

Many of my acquaintances also run businesses or hold senior positions in their companies. They are reasonably well known in their chosen field of work or among the societies in which they dwell.

They work hard, make astute decisions—and some even play hard too, taking up adventure sports or aggressive games, getting their hands dirty with their typical man-type hobbies. It would appear that, like almost all of the rest of the male population, they are superficially the same, just aiming to get by and on in life.

In addition, the demographics of my crossdresser friends suggest that there may be a wife or long-term partner in the background and, typically, a couple of children in tow. All in all, fairly staid, pillars of society type of people.

Yet wave a set of En Femme stockings and garters, a corset, a slinky nightgown, or attractive lingerie in front of them and see what happens to their personalities. Give them an uninterrupted opportunity to slip into a sexy black dress (with or without thigh-high boots) or a low-cut top with a short, tight-fitting mini skirt and can you believe the changes that occur?

There’s no use denying it, but all crossdressers share the same sort of emotions when the opportunity to dress as a female arises. We all have the same irresistible feelings—and any sense of rationality often flies out of the proverbial window. Now, I don’t pretend to know where these feelings come from but I can, quite neatly, group them together as follows:

Anticipation and Anxiety

We are all aware of the feelings associated with knowing that there will be an opportunity to dress sometime in the future.

It might be next Saturday or a week on Monday. But we know for sure when the wife will be out or the children with friends—and the house empty and the wardrobes full of beautiful female clothes, just waiting to be worn. We will be all alone to ruminate, all alone to dress. It might be for one hour or one day or one week, but the anticipation will start to grow almost from the time that we become aware of the next (distant) opportunity to don a dress.

We (and more so those crossdressers who are truly closeted, those who have very little private time to truly indulge themselves) subconsciously start to focus on the date on the calendar. Ten days to go, five days, only a few more days/hours, later today… Oh time, move faster! In fact, sometimes, we focus on this opportunity to dress at the expense of many other things happening in our lives.

This feeling of anticipation gives way to or blends with our anxiety: concern, maybe starting the day before, that your wife or partner will not go out; one of the children might be sick; someone may call around and the house may not be empty for the time you need it the most. This anxiety usually making us irritable, crotchety, withdrawn or even sullen.

Until, eventually it happens. They all go out. We are finally, finally alone…


The realization hits that our journey to become a female, even if it’s only for a few hours, is underway. After all that waiting, all that stressing and anxiety, we now have our precious time alone.

We find our En Femme underwear and breast forms, and we dig out the dress we plan to wear. We carefully select the sheer nylon stockings we plan to encase our newly shaven legs in. Gingerly lift out our overflowing makeup box and then our accessories from their hiding places: earrings, bracelets, watches, rings.

Now which shoes shall I wear?

There’s the palpable relief, the joy that the time to dress has finally arrived after so much waiting. Take it easy now; savor every moment. Quick shower and application of body lotion. Caress the bra strap as you wrap the garment around your upper torso. Insert your En Femme breast forms and slip on your panties. The sequence of dressing may change but, my-oh-my, the feelings never do.

It happens slowly but surely. We all know, if there is no time pressure, it can take 1-1.5 hours for most crossdressers to get ready. We love to luxuriate in the process of transformation.

Euphoria in the Extreme

Tingling in the stomach, mild palpitations of the heart, flutters of excitement throughout your body, the thrill that all will soon be revealed. Whatever your crowning glory, whatever the final piece of your own particular jigsaw, whatever defines the moment that you finally become “she”, the euphoria that accompanies is addictive. It’s our own private drug, our own special fix. But it’s something that can never be replicated by some commercial maker of drugs, some pharmaceutical company.

Finally, after all the waiting, all the preparation and the checking and rechecking of your appearance, your alter ego is here. And she has been waiting patiently for her release. But now she’s here, and tell me, who is in control?

Where has your rationality gone? Where has your level-headed, objective, decision-making self disappeared to? Where is that fake-person you usually show to the world?

What else is in your head but She, She, and She?

You see, the “Pink Mist” hath descendeth, whether you like it or not. And there is nothing you can do about it. Nothing at all.


  • Elena

    Starting with many coincidences I can find in this article. All my accessories are hidden and the anxiety to find the opportunity to be alone is like a drug at all. My appearance is a person who work hard in my job as well as at home, getting my hands dirty too. At last, I'm alone to become in Elena, who has several followers in many social net-works. They are not only a lot of men but also some women. Elena is my mirror where I reflect my real feelings about everything that matters to me.
    Elena and I is a powerful union to cure my loneliness and my shyness.
    Thanks a lot for your attention and my best wishes.
    Me and Elena.

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