I've been alone at home for a week. That means that I've spent the last week living as a sissy faggot transvestite.  Oh, hell, simpler to admit that I've been a full-time woman for most of seven days.

It was delicious!  My Wife will be home within the hour.  Situatiion:  She knows that I dress.  She knows that I like to get high and dress.  She knows about my hypno-fetish audio files, courtesy of iTunes automatic sync feature (oops).  She knows nearly everything, and it's a safe bet that she knows that I've been high, crossdressed and reeling from the erotic mind-fuck of the hypnosis.

I don't know if She knows this last thing:  I'm on the very edge of begging Her to let me live as Her full-time sissy faggot transvestite submissive slave.  Pathetic shameful begging might do it.  I've been rehearsing the conversation with comic compulsiveness all week.  Nearly a sure thing is that She will find me crossdressed and stoned when She comes home.  (Five Catatonic capsules, if you are curious.  Now, my current tolerance level is astronomical from a week of abuse, but nevertheless, FIVE caps is a lot!  Truth be told, I did the same dosage last night and it was a long, slow crescendo of submissive mind-fuck.  Anyway...)  She will come into the house to find that Her feminized husband has put Her favourite show on TV, wine poured, snacks prepared, a tube of lotion ready in case She wants a leg rub.  Maybe that will be a hint that I have something on my mind.  Maybe not.  She's inscrutable that way.  

I plan to spend most of the afternoon kissing Her feet in a deep trance of submissive bliss.  Maybe more.  Can't tell.  Hang on...

/H