It was a stupid idea.  I was feeling a bit of a chest infection, so I took a Robax.  An hour later, motivated by porn, I gobbled down a mixture of THC tincture and ground 'shrooms.  I regretted it immediately.  It was just a bad trip - one of those days - filled with random anxieties and a hypochondriac's menu of imaginary maladies.  For hours I was sure that I was having a heart attack.  

So, I made a deathbed conversion.  If I survived, I would quit this silliness.  I would drop the weed, quit the hypnosis, tone down the crossdressing.  I would live dammit!  The resolution, along with tears and a clenched fist, is clearly recalled.  I changed into my boi clothes, tidied up my mess, and unlocked the front door - expecting to drop dead at any moment.  I would climb free.  Dammit!

Not four hours later, again with teary eyes, I regard myself critically:  black seamed stockings, matching pumps, a corset and garters, a dress over top.  I'm stoned, recently hypnotized, and slowly turning to stone in the middle of my kitchen.  My mind growing blank and empty, my limbs growning rigid and unresponsive.  Quite literally without conscious thought, I turn into a submissive sissy faggot with a placid and stupid expression on her face.  The feminized obedient remnant of consciousness behind my eyes is growing glassy from relentless waves of arousal.  I.  Am.  Helpless.

Bambi has won.  I am broken.  

/H