Author: EvelynWilde

Angel on my shoulder, devil in my rear

My story is pretty similar to most other goth girls. I watched *The Nightmare Before Christmas* as a kid and came out weird on the other side. My family’s last bit of hope for a happy, well-adjusted daughter died after we were assigned *Frankenstein* in my freshman English class. After that it was all chokers and eyeliner.

We fought about it from time to time, my mom especially. She always scolded me not to wear the cross on my necklace upside down and to put on something with a little color on it. It was never serious enough that I felt the need to cut everyone out, but it was enough that I became distant.

Luckily there were a few other girls at my school who had pretty similar experiences. Either they didn’t get along with their parents, or their parents didn’t get along with each other. So we did what teenagers do when they don’t have a support network and made a little family of our own. We hung out pretty much every day, and there was always someone to talk to when things were getting rough. Read more »

The Future is Feminization – Part I

History books and classes are such faint memories that they feel like something I came up with in a dream. The world changed so suddenly that we seemed to collectively forget about all the little things we did everyday. All of our routines, our celebrations, our passions were swallowed up in an effort to resist fate. But fate has a habit of getting what it wants.

Seven hundred years ago humans made their first steps on Mars. A century later the planet’s rust red was replaced with lush green fields and forests and dotted with sprawling, gray metropolises. We gradually spread out further and further until the whole solar system came under our grasp. Those of us on Earth lived luxuriously, reaping the rewards of an empire of eight worlds.

Eventually it all came to an end. The galaxy was engulfed by solar fire, destroying all of our technology and leaving each planet to fend for itself. Decades of revolt and tyranny ensued but eventually things stabilized and we managed to rebuild. The crisis was a distant memory by the time of even my great, great grandparents. Still we had a small unit about it every few years in school. The story always fascinated me. Sometimes it kept me up at night, and I would go to my window and look at the stars, wondering what Martian culture was like so long after we were cut off from each other. Read more »

Crossdressing Confessions – Part V

My face is pressed closely to her sheets, my blush-covered cheeks just faintly grazing her white-cream toned sheets. I can feel her stalking behind me, creeping closer and closer with a predatory sense of pleasure. She is like a snake on the verge of striking, and I am her prey. I feel like a trembling, thoughtless mass of warmth just waiting to be constricted.

“How about we make this a little more interesting,” Florence muses, as though she hasn’t already launched a full fleet of surprises. She drags a solitary nail up and down my back, before correcting my position. I can feel the smooth, glossy finish on her nail as she traces the proper arch of my back. The sensation creates a feeling of weight bearing down on my own painted fingers and toes. The shallow hue of pink is sinking into me, pressuring my hands deeper into the mattress.

“Legs apart,” Florence orders. I obey. “Keep your face down. Don’t stop bending your back. You’re trying to show off your ass and nothing else. More. Relax your feet. Good.” She does some manhandling to make adjustments. “Perfect. Now hold still.” Read more »

Crossdressing Confessions – Part IV

I roll over, back under my sheets right after I read her promissory message. I changed back into boxers in a fit of shame after coming home last night. Still the thrill of that night lingers like a lead weight on my chest, making my breathing shallow and constricted. The sensation resurrects the memory of her hand holding me down against the mattress, the sharpness of her narrowed, blue leer pinning me to the sheets like a silver needle. “Fuck,” I pant, tossing the sheets off of my shoulders and over to the foot of the bed.

My swelling arousal confesses what my thoughts cannot. I don’t dare let it bleed into words, even as a faint inkling of cognition. I need to see her again. I need more.

I make an effort to spend my morning as normally as possible. I turn on the television while I make breakfast, hoping that the little whispers of desire accumulating in my head would be replaced by some monotonous morning show. It’s no use. Every word floats through my mind on a flood of yearning, dissolving in my hands before I can gather enough pieces to form a single clause. Read more »

Crossdressing Confessions – Part III

I start to make my escape but Florence lays a hand on my chest and presses me back into the couch. She looks directly at me and I cannot turn away.

“Yes,” I confess, barely audibly. I try to rise from my seat again but she stops me once more. A capricious spirit takes over her expression. Her eyes narrow and the ends of her mouth curl.

“Don’t worry,” she says “I’m not judging. I kind of like it actually.” I exhale reflexively. She gives me a moment to collect myself. I suspect she is also reevaluating our current arrangement. “Take your clothes off. I want to see.” My cheeks flood with blush at the order, but I comply.

I get to my feet and make short work of my jeans. They’re tight enough on my figure that they come inside out by the time they’re under my ankles. I bend over to fix it but another command interrupts me. “Take your shirt off too. I think I want to know if you’re wearing a bra.” Read more »

Crossdressing Confessions – Part II

I resolve against saying yes, but my tongue conspires against me with the technical compliance of a divorce lawyer. “I would love to.”

“Great. I live just down the street, and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to walk home alone.” Her head tilts toward me as she speaks, as though she’s admitting something deeply private. Again I feel the whole room focusing into me when her eyes lock onto me. They dart back and forth for a brief moment, scanning over my expression for any clues into my desires. My lungs tense with each breath under her scrutiny.

“Sure, just let me actually water the plants and we can head over.”

Her house is just a few blocks and an uneventful walk away. She wraps an arm around mine as we walked. I give her an affectionate look and she gives my bicep a squeeze. I learn her name. Florence, or Flora for short. A single corner of the apartment is illuminated with yellow light, revealing a frosty plastic container and the sharp glint of a handful of metallic pins. Most prominent, however, is the glossy sheen of a glass case, whose contents are obscured by the sharpness of the light’s reflection. Read more »

Crossdressing Confessions – Part I

A photograph of a flower hangs on the other side of the room, taunting me. The petals push softly into the lens, curling back on themselves on the tips. The black and white blossom rests on the dark, graceful contours of a wooden slab.

I was never fond of photographs. For the longest time I suspected it was that the camera lied, that the light would never hang so perfectly as to cast a shadow to etch every fiber and tissue in trembling beauty; that the leathery feeling of those petals existed in that singular, fictional moment. I thought I wanted to reach through their looking glass and caress the wooden grooves with my own fingers, that I wanted to see the flower for with my own eyes and from every angle, savoring every drop of pink-white radiance that I could squeeze from it.

But, as I’ve stared into the borders of that picture frame night after night, the true cause of my resentment gradually came into focus. I hated being something separate from the flower in that crystalline moment. I yearned to be the delicate fold of a single petal, a white curve emerging from the shadowy heart of the flower. Read more »