Becoming Her: A Crossdressing Story Blog

 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 soft clink of bangles echoed faintly as Divya walked barefoot through the morning light of their small apartment in Mandaveli. Her silk saree from the wedding still hung near the wardrobe, its borders carefully pleated and unused after that one day. Anand, her husband, sat on the edge of the cot, struggling to fix the clasp on his wristwatch.Want help? she asked, tying her wet hair into a bun with a towel.He smiled but shook his head.I’ll manage, he replied, though it took another two minutes.They had been married for less than a month. The early days passed in temple visits, family lunches, and settling small logistics—like who took which shelf, or where to keep her bridal makeup box. Both had jobs, both were tired by night, and yet, they made time for each other with soft gestures. Divya worked at a recruitment firm that had recently promoted her. She didn’t talk much about the role’s details, but Anand knew she handled some senior clients now. Her voice had a certain clarity whe...

 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...