Becoming Her: A Crossdressing Story Blog

For the first time since they were married, a Monday morning didn’t feel rushed. Divya had woken early, dressed in her soft grey cotton kurta, and left with barely a whisper. A single kiss on Anand’s forehead. The way one kisses a sleeping child. He stirred but didn’t open his eyes. The flat felt wider that morning. Slower. Anand walked into the kitchen still in his checked lungi, his hair messily tied with a rubber band he'd picked up from the floor. He hadn’t planned to stay home. But after breakfast, he found himself not logging in. He simply… paused.The office laptop was closed on the corner desk. His phone buzzed with meeting reminders. A voice message from his colleague, Karthik. A polite nudge: “Joining in 15 mins?” He didn’t reply.Instead, Anand looked around the living room, tracing the light that fell diagonally across their bookshelf. Dust had gathered in the corners. A vase held two marigolds that had long dried and curled. Something about the silence between 9 and...

Chapter 2: The Mirror Blurs The apartment was quiet that Tuesday evening. Anand stood in the bathroom, shaving cream spread along his jaw. The mirror had fogged lightly from the hot water tap. As he wiped it clean, he paused there was a tiny red bindi stuck to the corner of the mirror. He smiled faintly.“She must’ve stuck it last week,” he thought, then carefully left it untouched. He took longer to shave that day. Not because of carelessness, but because he was looking at his face, not just grooming it. His chin looked softer than before. His lips, naturally pinker. Maybe he was just noticing himself differently now. He didn’t know why Divya returned late that night. Not too late—but just past their dinner time. She had messaged earlier: “One extra call. Sorry, da.” She entered wearing a kurti and leggings, her laptop bag slung on one shoulder. Her kajal was smudged from the day, her hair messy but tied. She looked busy. Real. Confident.“Did you eat?” she asked, slipping off her sand...

 The credits on the period drama rolled silently. Karan absentmindedly traced gentle circles on Sneha’s shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, not quite asleep—but content, grounded. Her hair still smelled of city air and old perfume, and there was a faint smudge of kajal under one eye. His fingers trailed down, brushing the soft silk of his kaftan. She shifted slightly and murmured, “You make this place feel like a home.” That sentence stayed in the air longer than any dialogue from the screen. Karan looked down at her. “Do I?” She turned her head slightly on his lap, lips close to the fabric now. “Mhm. You... soften everything. I come back to warmth. To light.” He swallowed. “But you’re the one doing all the real work. The deals. The late nights. The signatures.” Sneha’s eyes fluttered open. “You think value comes only from what gets signed?” He didn’t answer.Instead, she sat up slowly and turned to face him on the sofa. You cooked. You folded the laundry. You diffused the la...

 The morning light spilled through the half-drawn curtains, brushing against the vanity mirror where Karan sat, towel still around his neck. The faint scent of rosewater lingered in the air, from the cleansing wipe he’d used. He had started to like that smell. He picked up the soft satin nighty from the bedpost. It was lavender today, edged with tiny lace. He slipped into it, almost absently, then sat in front of the mirror again. The wig was there. Brushed last night. Ready. It felt strange that he always checked its parting nowhe hadn’t even noticed when that habit began. Then came the lipstick. He uncapped it, twisting the color up delicately. Coral. A shade he told himself looked neutral, not too bold. His hand hesitated only a second before the first stroke. He pursed his lips, then tilted his head slightly just enough to catch the light. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the expression staring back. Not because it was foreign, but because it was so familiar. The phone camera ...

The Challenge That Started It All Karan prided himself on being a man of strength, control, and tradition. Masculinity, to him, meant leading, making decisions, and ensuring his wife, Sneha, followed his guidance. He wasn’t cruel—just firm. He truly believed that a man’s role was to "protect and provide ", while a woman’s role was to "support and obey ".   Their marriage had followed this pattern for years. Karan ran a successful business, a well-established firm he had built from the ground up. Sneha was technically a co-owner, but her role was symbolic. She had "ideas ", but Karan rarely considered them. She had "dreams", but they always came second to his.   Then, one evening, everything changed.   They had invited a few close friends over for dinner. The conversation had started harmlessly, drifting from work to politics and then to relationships. But then, someone brought up traditional gender roles.   “I think it’s good when a man leads the...