Crossdress Story Novels & Stories

"A young woman vanishes without a trace. No evidence. No leads. As if she simply... ceased to exist." "The story fascinated me. I dug deeper, trying to find the truth behind the disappearance — until I came across a novel." My body went rigid. "What did you just say? A novel?" "The world we're in right now — it's a novel. I stumbled into it the same way you did. That's when I realized you didn't just disappear. You crossed over, just like me." "I've been watching you for a while. Everything about you confirmed it — you're the woman who vanished."

I was still dressed in the wedding outfit, hair messy and tangled, eyes smudged with eyeliner that I almost screamed thinking I was a ghost in a white dress. I made the bed quickly, knowing I would leave for work today. I had eight months to pay off eighty million and for fuck's sake that was a huge amount. I was about to make my way into the bathroom when the door opened and I held myself from screaming, panic surging through me. Mr Cross. He walked out of the bathroom, hair damp and water dripping from his hair down to his torso. The sweatpants he wore sat loosely below his waist that I turned around immediately.

He honestly didn't know how he was supposed to survive staying in this cramped space with Marcus Hale for an entire weekend without losing his mind. When he finally finished, the thick air of the bathroom felt heavy, dense with moisture and heat. Instead of walking out with a towel wrapped casually around his waist like he normally would with any of his other teammates, Ethan meticulously dressed inside the cramped, humid space. He pulled on a loose, dark t-shirt and a pair of thick gray sweatpants, carefully pulling the drawstring and tying it into a tight, secure knot at his waist. It was a volatile mix of intense shyness and a fierce, instinctual defensive mechanism; he absolutely did not

"I want them to feel powerful. I want women to put on my designs and feel like they can take on the world." *It's clear she's speaking from experience. Cross has taken on her own world and emerged victorious, building a brand that reflects not who she was told to be, but who she chose to become.* *Her showcase is Wednesday at 7 PM. If her designs are half as powerful as her story, it's one you won't want to miss.* I set down my phone, reading the article twice more to make sure I hadn't missed anything. It was good, really good actually.

The kind that has enough layers to rival a wedding cake. “I am NOT wearing this!” I protest, waving the dress around like it’s a weapon of mass humiliation. “Oh, you think that’s bad? It’s that or this...” Zak, the traitor, holds up the worst thing I’ve ever seen—a see-through chemise. “And for the grand finale!” Jax joins in, lifting a male G-string like it’s some kind of prize. This is a new level of torment. “Okay, fine! Fine! I’ll wear the stupid dress!” I snap.

My freaking underwear! “What the hell!?” I yell, trying to cover my body with my arms, “Where’s, where’s my dress!?” He shrugged, making my blood boil, “Where’s my clothes!?” I snapped. “Left it at the boundary” he answered, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Why!?” “It was dirty and carried your pack’s scent” he said, “Now get dressed or do you want to meet the pack in your underwear?”

My face started to turn white hearing Crimson say that, 'The idea of just trying on five dresses was already bad enough, but you picked out nearly 30. "Oh, before I forget, I should also look for my new dress! I might also get a couple of new ones for every day. I should also get some accessories to go with it and-" I couldn't help but cry inside when hearing Crimson go on, 'This happens every time...' we ended up leaving the boutique after five hours, and by the end, Crimson had to carry me out since I had lost the will to live.

"This dress is a one-of-a-kind Itania creation, the handcrafting alone cost thirty thousand dollars. I never meant to flaunt, but what can I do when I'm married to the wealthiest man around?" She feigned a look of concern, yet her eyes sparkled with triumph. The relatives gasped in awe, while a few young girls, green with envy, reached out to touch the gown, only to be deftly sidestepped by Betty. From the doorway, I let out a soft laugh. Three years ago, when I first laid eyes on Joseph, he was a man battered by life and plagued by illness. He once caught me performing a mystical ritual and became convinced I possessed magic. He begged me to heal him.

My nose wrinkled in disgust at Ryder’s fake responses, my lips sealing once again over my cup of tea before speaking. “But what about cross-dressers? I recall you weren’t too fond of them.” Ryder’s complexion darkened, his fists clenching so hard his knuckled turned white. I sipped on my tea. “Saying I am not too fond of cross-dressers would be hypocritical as I am the one who buys my little brother’s skirts and make up, Carter.” The tea suddenly scraped against my throat, making me cough vehemently. My dad stretched on his chair, hitting my back twice with his palm.

"Is it not enough that you're strong, resilient, kind despite how they've treated you?" I blushed, unused to compliments. "I'm none of those things." "You are," he insisted. "I've watched you endure their cruelty without becoming cruel yourself. That takes a strength few possess." I turned away, overwhelmed by his words and by the gifts spread across the bed. My fingers trailed over another dress, this one a soft blue rather than white. "That one's not for the wedding," Cross explained. "But I thought you might like it for other occasions." I picked it up, holding it against me. The fabric was softer than anything I'd ever worn. "It's beautiful."