I've been going through old posts from my previous blog lately, partly to figure out what's worth bringing over here and partly out of curiosity about what was on my mind back then.

I'm honestly a little surprised at how much of it was bimbo fetish content.

I knew it was a thread I'd indulged in but I didn't realize how much of my writing and masturbating time it had consumed. Whole evenings I'd lost to it. Whole afternoons.

I'd write a sissy hypno piece, jerk off to it, edit it, jerk off again, post it, jerk off one more time before bed.

What surprises me more is how seamlessly it had merged with my sissy obsession. Looking at the old posts now they aren't really separate fantasies, they're one thing. The bimbo transformation stuff and the sissy feminization stuff are stacked on top of each other in nearly every piece.

• The long blonde hair.
• The full pink lips.
• The thigh-high stockings.
• The cage.
• The pretty colors and the soft fabrics.
• The make cummies for mommy energy.

It wasn't a phase I dipped into between other kinks. It was the dominant fantasy for a good chunk of time and I was feeding it constantly.

And reading it back now, hours into the archive, I'm realizing it's still in there. It didn't go anywhere.

I just stopped writing about it for a while.

The Feedback Loop

I'm noticing it because I keep having to stop.

Reading my own old work is making me hard in a way I didn't expect and I've already paused this post twice to play with myself a little. Just touching. Not stroking properly.

I'm trying to be a good girl about it and not make cummies before I'm done writing this, but it's getting harder. No pun intended.

There's a kind of feedback loop happening. I'm reading my old bimbo posts, which got me off when I wrote them, which are now getting me off again as I'm re-reading them, and writing about getting off to them is also getting me off.

The layers are stacking.

The Hypnosis Is Fun

It's fun though. That's the thing I keep coming back to.

The hypnosis stuff is fun. The pretty colors, the looping phrases, the rhythm of it.

Stare at the pretty girls. Stare at the pretty girls. I want to be her.

Reading captions over a swirling background. Audio files where some sweet voice tells you you're a good girl over and over until the word girl feels like a warm hand on the back of your neck.

It's not threatening. It's relaxing. It's like a bath I sink into.

And I've always liked women's things anyway. The clothes, the smells, the softness, the bras and panties I keep in a drawer no one else opens. So the idea of brainwashing myself into being a bimbo sissy slut doesn't really feel like a horror to me when I think about it honestly.

It feels kind of nice.

It feels like something I could just let happen if I didn't fight it.

Maybe I should stop fighting it.

The Part I Don't Want To Admit

I think the part I always resist admitting is the gay part.

The bimbo stuff and the sissy stuff are easier to frame as aesthetic. A kink about femininity. Something that doesn't have to involve men.

But that's a lie I tell myself.

Because every single piece I wrote ends in the same place:

• A cock in the bimbo's mouth.
• A cock in her ass.
• A cock dumping its load on her face.

The bimbo isn't bimbo for nothing. The bimbo exists to be useful to cock. That's the whole point of the fantasy.

I'm not transforming into a pretty girl in some neutral void. I'm transforming into a girl whose entire purpose is to be a faggot about cock.

That's the destination. That's where every piece of this content goes, and it's where I keep going too.

Just Saying It

I should just say it. I want to be a faggot.

I like writing that word. I like reading that word about myself. I like the way it sounds derogatory and dirty and I like how it lands in my stomach when someone uses it on me, even imaginary someones in the captions I read.

The word does something to me that gay doesn't.

Gay is too clean. Too neutral.

Faggot has the right amount of contempt in it.

I want to be the kind of girl that men can call a faggot and I'd just smile and open my mouth wider.

Size Queen Confession

I'm a size queen too, of course. Every good bimbo sissy slut is.

The cocks in my fantasies are always huge. Always thicker than my wrist. Always longer than my forearm. Always the kind of cock that makes a regular dick look like a toy.

I want to be the girl whose throat is being stretched by something obscene.

I want my pussy. Yeah, my pussy. My boi pussy. The only pussy I have or want. I want it stretched out and ruined by something I can barely take.

I want to be the girl who can't even pretend she could go back to anything smaller.

Once you go big you can't go small.

That's how it's supposed to work, right? That's what the bimbo learns.

• Her body forgets how to want anything that isn't enormous.
• Her mouth waters at the sight of a bulge.
• She develops a permanent gag reflex pattern that fires when she sees a cock she can't fit.
• And the gag reflex is desire, not refusal.

I'm stroking now.

I told myself I wasn't going to but I am. Just lightly. Just enough.

Good girl.

Don't make cummies yet, you're not done writing.

The Slow Drift

The thing about size queens is that we don't choose it.

Or, we don't think we choose it.

We just notice, over time, that smaller cocks stop registering. Average cocks become disappointing. The bar keeps moving up.

It's a slow drift you don't notice until you're already on the other side of it.

That's what the captions teach the girl:

You used to think six inches was big, didn't you? Look how cute that is now. You can barely feel something that small. You need real cock now. You're a size queen, sweetie.

And the girl nods because she's been nodding for so long that nodding is just what she does.

That's me. That's been me for a while.

I'm A Sissy

I've written it before. I'll write it again.

I'm a sissy at heart. I like women's clothes and girly things. I like to smell pretty and use flowery soaps and shampoos. My mind is mostly filled with feminine thoughts.

I'm a sissy in lust. I'm submissive and I want to be controlled. Told what to do. Slapped on the ass like a piece of meat. I want my mouth full of cock and my boi pussy filled too. My little clitty should be locked up without hope for release because I'm only meant to please.

I'm a sissy in service. My face makes an excellent seat. I'll parade around in skimpy clothing for your enjoyment and thank you for letting me do it.

I'm a sissy in thought. I like to hear someone call me a sissy. A girl. A feminized slut. A cock sucking whore. A faggot. Don't let me think I'm anything but a sissy. Don't let me think, just tell me what to do.

I'm reading what I just wrote and it's word for word almost the same as a post I wrote years ago.

I didn't even mean to write it that way. It just came out.

The pattern is already there, in my hands, and when I let them go they type the same thing they typed before.

That should worry me more than it does.

Instead it feels like coming home.

The Wishlist

• Long blonde hair down to my lower back.
• Pink lips so full they look injected.
• A little pink bra and matching pink panties.
• Pink fishnets clipped to a pink garter belt.
• A chastity cage and someone else holding the key.
• Hairless from the eyebrows down.

I want to look in the mirror and see a bimbo staring back and not even recognize the person I used to be.

And I want that to feel like relief, not loss.

I want a cock in my mouth and another in my ass and a third in my hand and I want them all to be too big for me.

I want to feel small. I want to feel pretty. I want to feel stupid.

The bimbo doesn't need to be smart. The bimbo doesn't need to think.

The bimbo just needs to know where the cock is and open whichever hole is closest.

The Mantra

Stare at the pretty girls. Stare at the pretty girls. I want to be her.

I'm gay. I'm a sissy. I'm a faggot. I'm a bimbo. I'm a good girl.

Keep stroking. Keep staring. Over and over again.

Signing Off

I'm not going to make cummies yet. I'm being good.

I'm writing this for whoever finds it and reads it and recognizes themselves in it.

There's at least one of you out there. You know who you are.

You're stroking too. You stopped pretending you weren't a few paragraphs ago.

I have to go. I've been good long enough.

I'll post this when I get back.