Allowed Out - He Wears Panties!

John is never allowed out of the house unaccompanied. It's not a matter of trust but of control. On those few occasions we do leave the house together I insist, and have done from day one, that he wears a bra and a pair of panties. Nothing special, plain white nylon one's usually, it's the secret knowledge that gives them their power. We are the only two people in the world who know John's secret. He trusts me not to expose and humiliate him, and yet his fear of being exposed makes him wary and very nervous. Ask yourself, is such a man likely to argue with his wife under those circumstances? I think not. Is he likely to run away? Of course not.
Now here's where I admit to being surprised. Making him dress up to go out was a practical measure, one I may even have contemplated even if I'd never feminised John at home. But something every odd happened. I enjoyed having my secretly feminised man at my side. I enjoyed his fear and I enjoyed the way he rarely strays from my side. He's like a frightened child clinging to and hiding behind his mother's skirts. It's exciting, arousing, thrilling.
The minute we get home he quivers with relief as the door is locked behind us. I take him in my arms and John melts willing into my embrace. I kiss him and he's as eager as I am to get his clothes off. I often make love to him in out tiny hallway with John still wearing his white nylon bra and his filmy white hi-waist panties!

A bed-jacket for my husband!

I was actually nervous about giving it to him. Not sure why exactly; I know he'll wear it and I also know he won't enjoy wearing it. He already wears silky-smooth pyjamas (pale blue nylon) and the bed-jacket is a match in as much as it's blue and it's made of soft filmy nylon. It is however, ultra feminine. With a double layer of crisp snow-white lace, tiny pearl buttons and a satin ribbon tie it looks like something a matronly Aunt would receiving guests when laid up in bed ill. 'When would I wear it?' Was his first question. Think about that for a minute. Not much resistance there masculine or otherwise you may think. 'Visitors?' He echoed when I suggested that as a reason. 'Who would visit me in the bedroom?'
'Mummy sometimes pops round on a Sunday -' I answered. 'I'm not exactly comfortable about her seeing you, in bed, in your pyjamas.'
'But you're comfortable about her seeing me in this?' He held the froth of nylon aloft.
'Yes,' I replied softly, 'and of course you'll wear your earrings, the one's Mummy bought you. That will please her and wearing your pretty bed-jacket will please me. That is what you want, isn't it darling - to please me?'
'Yes Dear.' My husband was gazing down, at the lovely lace-decorated bed-jacket. I tried imagining my fingers at his throat, tugging at it's satin ribbon tie, flipping open it's buttons... 'Maybe I should have bought you a negligee instead?'

Happiness is a Dominant Woman: My Epiphany

A husband who surrendered (happily), but as a slave?
Happiness is a Dominant Woman: My Epiphany

Earrings and jewellery...another first step?

My mother bought him a pair of earings! Cruel of her I know but she's known, or suspected, that our relationship is odd. What impressed him was how expensive they were - beautiful pearl earrings with a lustrous shine to them, tiny and barely visible most of the time, until they catch the light - in the evening. I think accepting them gracefully from her was harder that actually wearing them.
I make him wear them in bed as well as in the kitchen. I'm thinking of buying him a pretty bedjacket, pink with a lace collar and a satin ribbon tie.

The Feminization of Men?

I've just read an article entitled The Feminization of Men - www.lewrockwell.com/barnwell/barnwell23.html
It's a kind of complaint I think about the way we women are intent of turning our men into non-men. Quote: "...women want a man who has feminine physical traits, but a combination of feminine and masculine character traits. It is in many ways a contradiction, and the seeking male has to walk a fine line between looking like a sissy and actually being a sissy."
I was irritated at first (I mean it appeared to be aimed in my direction) but to be fair it did explain a lot. Maybe I'm not so different than any other woman out there. Maybe we all want a man we can control, alter, direct and subdue...but do we really want a sissy? Wanting a male wife, or a housemaid type husband is not really the same as wanting a sissy in pigtails...

Role-swapping? Who wears the apron?

I've been surfing. There are one or two sites that indicate (to me at least) the idea that house-husbands are a reality. But not many that suggest the opposite, that women can he 'husbands'. Okay, lots of sites that show dominant females, which only indicates to me that there are sub males out there. But what about women who are natural in the authority. Women who can run a business but feel that a housework is beneath them? Why is it impossible to imagine that a man would happily obey a woman (in the way that women have traditionally obeyed their husbands). The 'good' thing is that few wives will admit to being obedient (whereas fifty years ago they did) and they don't like their men 'instructing' them in front of other people. Maybe wives like me are meant to keep quiet about what my man does and about what I want. Surely that just helps sadistic and bullying wives (how many shelters for battered husbands?). Spousal abuse is real, but it's a joke when a man is the victim. I don't want my man seen as either a victim, a figure of fun or an object of derision simply because I'm unwilling to live like most women. It's no longer 'who wears the trousers? It's 'who is willing to wear the apron?. And if it's not me then it has to be my husband? Does that make him a wife?

I propose to John!

Why marriage, I asked. How would it improve what we already have? We were in bed late at night. John was tired but I wanted to get his proposal out of the way.
You want me to give up my job, he reminded me. Where would that leave me if you met someone else?
Now that's fair comment, any woman would accept that much. I really did want him to stay at home. I'm not a bad person. Seeing him working hard in the kitchen after he's had a hard day at the office fills me with guilt. I earn more than enough to support the two of us. And what's more John hated his job. Marriage would make life easier for him.
But what's in it for me? I already had the best of both worlds already. John's reply surprised and thrilled me. I actually blushed. 'Don't pretend you haven't thought about it,' he said. 'You want me at home full time because you have plans for me.'
Well he was almost right; they weren't actually plans but ideas, outrageous ideas maybe but with John, entirely possible given time. Seeing my interest he pressed home saying, 'look how far we've come already. Be honest, did you expect as much when we first met?'
There was no denying John's point. We'd gone further than I'd ever dreamed of.
'Men change when they get married, I answered. It could be a backward step. Masculinity rears its head.'
He sat up suddenly, a strange expression on his face. 'I got home after seven,' he said, 'I prepared and cooked dinner. I even made a pudding. While you watched television I cleared the table and washed the dishes. I was tired but you need a blouse ironed for tomorrow so I did that and ironed a skirt as well. In a few minutes you'll make love to me if you want to and you won't if you don't. My tiredness won't be a factor. If you don't make love to me tonight you'll use me in the morning even if it means me being late for work. And you lie there talking about my masculinity - please!'
Anger flared inside me, not so much what he'd said but his sarcastic tone. I hate sarcasm and he knows it. When I moved he didn't flinch. He knew I was about to lash out and he didn't flinch. I think that's what saved him. It made me think. I could hit him, and we both knew it was safe for me to do so. I could put him over my lap and demand an apology and my masculine boyfriend wouldn't resist.
My rage evaporated and I lay back feeling exhausted and mentally drained. Maybe you should have waited for me to propose to you, I said. It was a lame joke. But once more he surprised me.
'I always thought you would,' he said, 'I expected you buy me a ring and tell me, tell me we were getting marred.'
The words came out of my mouth without any conscious thought. 'Okay, we will get married, and we will take this further - a lot further. But I don't want a husband. I want a wife. You stop work tomorrow you hear?'