Becoming Her: A Crossdressing Story Blog

Chapter - 1 Kandamalli Puram Changed First. Then Our House Did.  Kandamalli Puram was not a village where change announced itself loudly. Things shifted there the way seasons did—quietly, without permission, long after people had decided nothing would ever be different. In Kandamalli Puram, memories clung harder than dust. A man’s past mistakes were remembered longer than his children’s names, and debts were spoken of with more seriousness than weddings or funerals. Respect was not measured by how you treated people, but by how much land you could point to when asked who you were. And a woman’s place—her boundaries, her silence, her obedience—were so firmly agreed upon that nobody ever felt the need to explain them out loud. I was born into that certainty.My name was Ramesh. Farmer. Son of a farmer. Husband to Meena. The land behind our house had my father’s sweat in it, my grandfather’s bones somewhere beneath it, and my own pride scattered across its dry stretches. I wore my mous...

The street outside was warm with mid-morning traffic. Coconut vendors shouted from their carts. A temple bell rang somewhere distant.Divya stood by the bike, key already in hand, helmet strapped tight.Anand, in a soft beige kurta and a cloth bag slung over his shoulder, adjusted the strap of his sandal. He reached out, instinctively, for the bike handle.She glanced at him, not harshly but as if she hadn’t even considered offering. “I’ll ride. You always get distracted in market traffic,” she said, half-smiling.He let go.He sat behind her, arms gently resting, not around her waist but lightly near. She rode fast, precisely. She didn’t ask him which route to take. She didn’t need directions. He stopped trying to give them.They entered the small store tucked between a tailoring shop and a juice center. The usual man was at the counter.“Enna venum, sir?” he asked—looking directly at Divya.Anand blinked, unsure if the man meant it politely or mistakenly.Divya didn’t correct him. She handed ...

 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 ...

 Missed first part - read it here  A Restless Night  Karan barely slept. Every time he shifted, the bangle on his wrist clinked, a constant reminder of the absurd situation he was trapped in. His body felt different—lighter, smoother, almost weaker in some strange way. He had never cared about body hair before, but now, every time the bedsheet brushed against his skin, he noticed it.   And Sneha’s words kept ringing in his ears.   "Who said this would last only a week?" She was just teasing… right?   The Morning After And A New Rule Karan woke to the scent of coffee. He sat up, stretching and immediately felt the saree shift around him. Right. That was real. This was real.   Sneha strolled in, looking fresh and confident, holding two cups. She handed one to him with a sweet smile. “Good morning, sweetheart.”   He took it cautiously. “Morning.”   She plopped onto the bed beside him. “So, how does it feel?” ...

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...