Übersetz den Text in gut lesbares deutsch und schriebe aus sicht der Sissy in der Ich-Form: “”"…a bra visible though a flimsy blouse…


…the hair sofa wig tickling our neck or our faces….


…our faces painted with makeup, and lipstick…


…as our heels click audibly on the ground.


Our self consciousness is off the scales. 


Our faces are burning with embarrassment under our makeup. 


We think everyone is staring at us but in reality most are too busy getting on with their business to even notice. 


Others may notice, but don’t show it. 


There may be the occasional second glance or telltale smirk. 


Maybe even a nudge or a question - “hey, is that a man?” Or “is that one of those transvestites?”


When we do notice those reactions it’s sends over shame into the red zone.


But we’re hooked on that shame. 


It’s arousing.  Girlieness and shame go together. 


But our makeup, our wigs, our prosthetic breasts are also a disguise we hide behind.  


Not enough people even notice…


…and any who do offer a mild reaction and move on. 


Almost no one who knows us would recognise us.


It’s kind of comforting, but also disappointing.


We have to take our shame and humiliation to ever increasing levels of intensity.  


Through constant association with the arousal we derive for dressing up in our pantyhose and high heels and girlie clothes, and the girlie sensations, feelings and thoughts we derive from them, our sense of shame has also become fetishised. 


It has gone from something we tried to negotiate away in our minds to satisfy our needs for effeminacy and our urges to dress up and present in public in pantyhose and girlie clothes, to something that has become an indispensable and part of the experience. 


It takes the self-consciousness of our girlie arousal into the stratosphere. 


Dressing up and presenting in full makeup and wig, in public no longer draws enough attention. 


We need a bigger hit of shame. 


One day you find yourself, in broad daylight, in bright sunlight, in the middle of a busy shopping centre, in black pantyhose on your smooth, shaved legs, a delicate little ankle chain around your pantyhose sheathed ankle, all exposed by a tight skimpy pair of hotpants, some pink girlie flats, a humiliatingly girlie t-shirt declaring yourself to be “100% Tussi” - or 100% Bimbo.


You’re wearing some light makeup and pink lipstick, but no false breasts, no wig to hide under. 


There’s no way anyone could miss it. 


You’re a male (you wouldn’t describe yourself as a man in that outfit) in women’s pantyhose, skimp revealing women’s clothes, humiliating yourself.  


Groups of young girls point out giggle at you. 


Young boys laugh outright and make derogatory remarks about you to each other. 


Adults smirk, sneer or even the occasional sarcastic cat call or wolf whistle. 


Others try not to notice but don’t know where to look. 


You’re a freak, a laughing stock, an extreme limp-waisted queer.  


There’s nowhere to hide. 


On one level you want to be swallowed up into a big hole in the ground. 


On another level, you make appendage is drooling pitifully into your panties as your sissy faggotry and extreme humiliation push into the stratosphere.  


If anyone you knew did happen to be there that day, they would not only be certain to notice the bizarre make sissy in pantyhose and embarrassing girlie clothes…


…they would also recognise you, with all the social or employment consequences that may have. 


Your “innocent curiosity” has, over the years morphed into a monstrous, all consuming addiction to pantyhose, women’s clothes, girlieness, emasculation and intense public humiliation. 


It puts at risk your friendships, relationships, social standing, employment and even your self respect.  


It’s like a one way, high speed journey to self-destruction.


You know where it’s headed, but you cat stop it. 


In fact, you wouldn’t stop it if you could, because you’re so pitifully addicted to the intense erotic rush you derive from it. 


Where will it end?


How will it end?


Who knows?


But you know it can’t end well.


Welcome to the sissy abyss. 