How I Wish My Wife Would Feminize Me Again

I stumbled across an article today, and wow—it hit me right in the chest.

It was bold, raw, unapologetically kinky, and full of the kind of passion and power that I once tasted—just once—in a moment I'll never forget.

Years ago, my wife feminized me.

Not just passively letting me dress, but actively participating.

Choosing the clothes.

Doing my makeup.

Watching me transform.

Laughing at how girly I looked.

Teasing me.

Encouraging me to strike a pose. For a fleeting moment, I was the girl in the mirror—and she was the woman holding the brush, the smirk, and the power.

And then… it stopped.

Not with a slam. Not with a fight. Just... drift. The school runs, the bills, the normality of life took over... the Pandemic.. But my longing didn’t.

Reading that article, I saw myself reflected in every silky panty, every forbidden thrill, every tug of war between humiliation and release.

It stirred the deepest parts of me—the ones that Davina lives in, quietly, patiently.

The writer was right—feminization is naughty. My wife all those years ago Feminised me and I'd never thought of it like that before and it was an exciting revelation.

It’s thrilling because it’s transgressive. Because it flips the script. Because I’m not supposed to enjoy wearing gloss or feeling the tug of suspenders or hearing her call me a girl or a bitch lol

But I do.

And yes, it’s funny seeing a “man” prancing about in heels—but inside, it never feels like a joke. It feels like relief. Like the weight of masculinity lifted, like being seen, maybe even adored… if only for a moment.

Do I want to be humiliated? Not exactly.

Do I want to be owned? No not really I'm not that kinky

Do I want her to tae charge Yes I want her to take charge again, to tease me, to tell me what to wear, to giggle when I try to walk in heels. I want to feel her eyes on me as she turns me into the kind of girl she could never imagine marrying, and yet somehow did.

I want her to look at me not with confusion or tolerance, but with delight. Maybe even lust.

I want her to see the power she holds. Maybe this is why she says "Davina is nicer"

I want her to rediscover the thrill she once had when she painted my lips red.

I know life is complicated.

I know this isn’t easy for her.

I know our dynamic isn’t like the ones in that article.

Because being feminized wasn’t just sexy for me - I don't know what it really meant for her putting makeup on me etc.

For me it was liberating. It was intimate.

It was us—on a different wavelength, one I wish we could tune into again.

Maybe one day she’ll read something like that article, smile mischievously, and say, “Come here, I’ve got something for you to try on.” - Or in my fantasy come home to her dressed sexy all made up and tell me "We've got the house to ourselves"..." There's things for you to wear on the bed upstairs.. go get changed I'll sort the drinks"... "Girls night in"

Until then, I’ll keep the memory alive—and the fantasy ready.

Davina