Ever since my last post, when I described what happened when my mother and sister caught me all dressed up in my mother's lingerie, I have been tormented by that memory. It was never really gone, but it was so long ago, and so much has happened since then, that I really haven't dwelled on it. But since writing about it on my blog, the painfulness - the humiliation I remembered feeling as my mother bent me over her lap - me wearing her panties, girdle, stockings, bra stuffed full and high heels, wearing red lipstick, as my older sister watched, I really wished I were dead - has been eating at me. And making me hard. God! It was awful. And yet, it was amazing. And even though they put it in the past, for weeks I remember not being able to look in their eyes. Because when I did, I could tell they were looking at me in a whole new way. I'd never be just a little boy again. I was the sissy boy who liked wearing women's underwear. I can't remember when the moment came that things seemed normal again. But whenever it was, it was probably about that time that I went back to sneaking into her panty drawer - only now I was so much more careful. And I never got caught again. By my mother.
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