Crossdresser Novels & Stories

Why did he choose to dress so horribly, anyway? Larissa struggled to swallow a gulp of saliva and said, "So you dressed up so horribly just to go grocery shopping?" Zayn smugly flipped his curly hair and grinned, "Even you couldn't recognize me, so my fans definitely won't. This way, I can have some fun!" Larissa pointed at Zayn, who was dressed as a high school girl with black-framed glasses, braided hair, and a small backpack. She said, "Cross-dressing is one thing, but why did you make Rachel flat-chested? Give me back my curvaceous Rachel!"

After everyone went to bed at night, the loud snores of my gruff father the only noise heard outside of my room, a sign that everyone had turned in for the evening, I would allow myself to indulge in the desires I had suppressed throughout the entire day. Crossdressing, or being trans, as the more cultured people outside of my small-minded pack called it, was something that would get me roughed up and driven out in a heartbeat. During the day, I was the quiet, weird loner that no one paid much attention to. In school, I flew under the radar, except for when the Alpha’s and Beta’s kids needed an easy target to pick on.

He nodded as if to say yeah, you’re stating the obvious. “Go on, go see him.” He pushed me gently and walked back to his cubicle. At first glance, he doesn’t really look gay, he’s not a cross-dresser. Wherever we are, he said he doesn’t need to wear women’s clothes, he’s gay but he respects himself, and I agree with that. I’m not against cross-dressers, it’s just that maybe it’s not suitable for others, but why do I have to care about that? It’s their lives anyway, if you want to do things like that, then go ahead, as long as you’re not hurting anyone. I stood up quickly, as I might meet a lot of people in the elevator, and there’s a memo I didn’t hear about. I halted for a moment when I rea

"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."

xander said. "I don't and I never will. Don't mind me saying but you are just a Playboy and playboys like you don't fall in love. I see no reason for you to fall for a crossdresser , a guy like me, just when did all of these stary, I agree we managed to end the enmity between us but that doesn't give you the right to fall for me, Period." Clyde said and left angrily. "Wow, that was harsh." xander said before he smirks.

“Actually… there’s something I wanted to mention. It’s… unconventional.” Her curiosity piqued despite the hollow ache in her chest. “Unconventional how?” “There’s an artist,” Alden said. “Damien Cross. You’ve probably heard of him.” Lena frowned. “No, I don’t think so.” A faint smirk touched his lips. “Not surprising. He’s… not exactly mainstream. Reclusive. Selective. But his work...” he paused, searching for the word, “...it’s raw. Provocative. He only works with live models, and… he’s looking for one.”

By evening, I was too restless to go home, so I gathered a few files and decided to find a café where I could lose myself in work. As I passed Central Park, my thoughts returned to him, circling the same question again and again, what if I had spoken up sooner? What if I had not waited for the perfect moment that never came? Then something in a nearby shop window caught my attention. A sign read: EXPLORE YOUR INNER ESSENCE: TOTAL TRANSFORMATION STUDIO Beneath it, in smaller print: Professional services for cross-dressing, gender expression, and personal transformation. I stared at the display. Two mannequins stood side by side, one dressed in a sharp suit, the other in a flowing gown. Their

ADELINE After that stupid play with the faucet, I haven’t seen Croix anywhere for the past three days. I already started work and because of him, I ran late that day too. I am standing by the counter when Croix walks in with his black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Is there a ban against clothes here or what? He bites his bottom lip as he moves closer. Stilling, he plays with his lip ring, making my stomach instantly drop. The way he tongues that lip ring makes me wonder about the feel of it. I blink and dart my gaze away.

Three impeccably dressed ladies walk in… and then a fourth person, a tall, dark skin, stunning cross-dresser with flawless makeup, glossy lips, and nails so long they could slice through fabric. Behind them, I glimpse three long luggages, pulling in through the door. They all move toward me in perfect, synchronized steps, almost like a runway walk. Then they bow. “Greetings, my lady,” they say in unison. The cross-dresser steps forward, hands clasped dramatically beneath his chin. “The Royal Household sent me to correct your wardrobe,” he announces proudly. Then his eyes widen as he takes me in. “Oh my God… you are so much more gorgeous in real life than in the pictures.”

The first man said with a grunt. "Excuse you?" Yes, I was nervous as fuck, but I wouldn't stand here and get insulted. "I'm not a whore. I only came here because I was accepted as a fashion designer for the club." "Ohh, I apologize. I'll take you to him." The second biker whose patch was labelled 'Prospect' offered to take me inside. I could hear whistles from behind me with, "Damn, she's got a nice ass," and "Didn't you see her boobs? They are really big. Bet they are soft as hell."