Date: Sat, 3 Feb 2007 16:35:14 -0800 (PST)
From: Random Guy <brancusifrogger@yahoo.com>
Subject: Tommy, Pt.1 (M/M, humil., sissification)

Tommy had a secret.

All through his teen years, he knew he had to keep part of himself
hidden. Even though he had run with an alternative crowd of skaters and
stoners in school, he was convinced that nobody would ever accept this part
of him. And he knew for damn sure that his macho father would kick him out
into the street if he knew.

And Tommy was a sissy.

The day he found those first images on the web, Tommy knew he wasn't the
only one in the world. There on the screen were pages and pages of men -
young, old, slim, muscular - all happily showing off in luxurious-looking
silk lingerie, stockings, pantyhose, tights... all the things Tommy had
dreamed of wearing himself. He even did sometimes, when he could manage to
get some privacy at home.

Tommy was short - only 5'6" - and had a slim build, so he was able to wear
the tight t-shirts and colorful tights that he loved. Once he was able to
drive, he would go hours out of town, to a shopping mall where (he hoped)
nobody would recognize him. Then when he got his prizes home, he would
carefully hide them away for one of his alone days. Then he'd take them out
and indulge in his lonely, guilty pleasure.

After years of dressing and fantasizing in private, Tommy developed
favorite scenarios: of being the submissive sissyboy to a hunky Master who
would keep him dressed; of being shown off in public while dressed; even of
being used and gang-fucked by groups of macho jocks.

And like a lot of young men who know they are different, Tommy chose a
college as far from his hometown as he could manage. That fall semester
found him in New York City, a place he had always dreamed of visiting. And
instead of taking a dorm room, Tommy had sought out a gay roommate referral
service. He got lucky on a share with two other young men - one a working
actor, the other a grad student at the same university where Tommy was now
a freshman. At least he could relax about his gay identity with these two
guys. They were friendly, and helpful showing him around his new home. But
he still didn't dare reveal his other secret. He was deeply ashamed of his
desires, and only indulged them in secret, with his roommates gone and the
door to his room locked.

One afternoon, home from class, Tommy had that familiar urge. He called out
for his roommates, and got no answer. He stripped and showered, then
hurried to his room and retrieved the box under his bed. Inside, carefully
folded and bagged, were all Tommy's tights - all colors, from black to
shocking pink - as well as the leotards and girlie tees he had been
furtively buying since he got to the city.

He selected white tights and a pink leotard, imagining he was a sissy
ballerina. He sat down at his computer and found his regular chatrooms. The
usual characters were online, pic freaks and "dominant tops" who still
lived with their mothers.

Then a new name popped up: Master P. Tommy clicked on the profile and
gasped as he read. This Master P was looking for a slim, submissive
sissyboy just like Tommy. His pictures showed only his torso and arms, but
Tommy liked what he saw: firm and well developed, with some dark hair and a
treasure trail down the taut stomach. He IM'd the stranger and hoped for a
response.

Master P responded immediately. "What's up, sissy? I'm looking for
realtime." Tommy gulped. He had never gone this far, but all the
anticipation had finally built up. "Me too, Sir," he typed.

For the next half hour or so, Tommy spilled his guts to Master P about all
of his most shameful fantasies. Master P responded patiently and
sensitively, with the clear tone of a man who knew how to handle sissies.

And then, finally, the moment of truth. "Pic, faggot?" Tommy had been
dreading this. He was petrified of sending his image out in chatrooms like
this, but Master P was almost too good to believe. "Yes Sir, please wait,"
Tommy typed as he turned on his web cam.

Carefully framing his face out of the shot, Tommy clicked off a few snaps
of his slim body in the tights and leotard. Then he sent them off to Master
P and waited.

What Tommy heard next made his blood freeze. Instead of an instant message
alert, there was a knock at the door to his room. Fuck! He raced around the
room, fumbling for sweats or jeans and something to wear on top. "Just a
second," he called nervously.

His roommate Pete's voice was firm and forceful. "Open up, faggot," he
said. "It's Master P."

Tommy froze. Was this the answer to a prayer, or the beginning of a
nightmare of humiliation?

Or maybe both?