So you think you can cross-dress? A straight guy’s guide to getting into her panties

Will she love it, will she freak, or will she just hate that you have better legs?

As a straight guy, the idea of cross-dressing has always interested me. There’s something very tempting about the thought of sliding into some soft silky girly undies. In fact the thought of that flimsy material straining against my package and fishnets hugging my calves and thighs makes me positively shudder with delight and go weak at the knees…

(Ok, ok, putting my brain back online).

We now all know that I like it, maybe you like it too, but will she like it?

Perhaps if she’s a little dominant, the thought of you emasculated like that will be a turn on (maybe that’s why you like it). Maybe she’s vanilla and will freak out, running away, sobbing and screaming. Or maybe, just maybe, she’ll be jealous because you look much sexier in a garter belt than she does.

Putting all of those ifs aside, let’s assume you’re prepared to take the risk and give it a try, hoping against hope that she isn’t as vanilla as she seems (after all you can have vanilla all your life; why not sample some of the other flavours before you die?)

First you need to work out what to wear (decisions, decisions… I’m sure that cellulite wasn’t there this morning…) Do you secretly borrow some of her stuff and surprise her? (If so, avoid the expensive designer ones as you will most likely stretch them beyond repair.) Do you go to a lingerie shop in your local shopping centre and enjoy the speculative glances from the sales assistant when you ask for something for your girlfriend who’s about your size, and oh incidentally does this colour go with my eyes…? Or do you head to a sex shop, where (assuming you choose the right one) you will get lots of help, be able to try most things on, and find a range of absolutely delish corsets – uh, I mean, find some really great stuff.

Actually, let’s take a step back. Before you get to what to wear (the fun part) you might like to sound your partner out. The last thing you want is for the poor girl to walk in on you unexpectedly wearing her undies and makeup.* If it was me, I would talk to her on a quiet evening at home, perhaps after a glass or two of red to relax (her, not you – you need all your wits about you), share your fantasies, and find out what turns her on. I’d gently open with how hot you think her undies are and how you’ve always been curious about what they would look/feel like on. If she’s not vanilla she may suggest you try some on as a joke. This is the crucial point. If you agree and she doesn’t freak, you know it’s ok to start suggesting where to get stuff; if she does freak, you can always pass it off as a joke (preserving your poor bruised ego).

Say you do end up trying things on. Be honest and tell her how it makes you feel (sexy is a good adjective here). If she’s understanding, the fact that you so obviously enjoy it should make her much more open to the idea.

And it that goes well, you could even go shopping together.** And if it doesn’t… well, you live and you learn.

Above all, have fun exploring.

--Tiger

*Under no circumstances should you start giving her tips. Even the most reasonable and understanding girlfriend may lose her shit at that point.
**Make sure you both get something sexy; it’s no fun if she doesn’t get spoilt a little as well, and who knows, you might get matching colours.

Tiger Tale Regales... on being THAT guy

A short response to being THAT girl from Tiger Tale

Let me preface by saying I’m a geek and a nerd. I take pride in my geekiness and childlike delight in old cartoons and dressing up like a fool. Let’s be honest, I can and do work out. I can dance, I’m socially adept, but I still never quite feel like I have reached the pinnacle that others seem to effortlessly attain.

I like to call myself an extroverted introvert. For those that don’t know what I mean, it’s someone who will occasionally be the life of the party, regaling others with anecdotes and soaking up the adoration, but then you won’t see them for months, or if you do manage to drag them to some social engagement, they end up being the moody one in the corner because their social batteries haven’t yet recharged.

I understand the urge or the drive to be THAT person, the one who’s sought after, the one the girls want and the boys want to be, but I don’t want it all the time. I recently attended a very good friend’s engagement party. I was a member of the 'bridal party', so to speak, and was dressed as such. The theme was Burlesque Casinos and I was resplendent in my pin stripes and cufflinks with matching braces and Panama hat. It was a blast. I danced through the room lavishly spending thousands (we had lots of play money provided) on roulette and standing at the end of the table surrounded by stunningly dressed young women with a mountain of chips in front of me. It was like a scene from a movie.

It was fun. For that one night I was the guy in the spotlight. I had the nice suit, the pretty ladies on my arm, and the wad of cash to support it all. But the next morning I got up after a night spent alone and put on my 8 bit gamer T-shirt to become that nerdy guy again, so I guess yes, it was a nice break from reality, but eventually I had to come back to earth and just be me again.

Yours,
Tiger Tale

'up for anything, just don't tie me down'

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'...not for the faint of heart'

Rhonda Perky goes under-the-covers to unleash the Beauty, Truth and Horror of Atrocity Burlesque

Described as 'a contemporary, thought-provoking and visceral brand of cabaret, burlesque and cinema for the new age', Atrocity Burlesque at the Burlesque Bar on Johnston Street, Fitzroy, did not entirely meet expectations.

The audience were promised ‘a 21st century sadistic soap opera of sex, violence, beauty, horror, audience participation and psychological play designed to entrance, enrage, entice and entertain.’

There was some of that.

I would concede it was a night of kink, some inspiring performances, and a creepy melodramatic soundtrack (think Alfred Hitchcock meets Trent Reznor during his instrumental phase).

But the costumes - wow.

Not just the performers and venue staff, but the audience, too. A room full of out-fitted stunners, including one notable brunette with inch-long gashes the length of a forearm (I am definitely playing dress-ups, and soon), all stuffed into an under-sized bar.

Plus I have a new girl crush (check out ‘Forma’s' website: http://www.scarlettburlesque.com/), and may have rekindled my fetish for accents.

But after all that hype and a promotional gallery promising an orgy of semi-naked women bound and slashed, the show itself was rather tame. Perhaps I’m just de-sensitised to the perversity of seduction and betrayal, the atrocities of war and infant mortality, and the psycho-sadism of the sexualised child.

Which is not to say I didn't enjoy it. I did. It was just a tad reminiscent of a ghost train or theatre restaurant, only with boobs.

-RP