Category:Poems

Harry the Cross Dresser.

Rubber lover, Harrietta Is not a brother, or a fella. He has false tits, and kitten heels Not a chest and ankles made of steel

His spiky rubber bag is old, Cleverly patched with a Marigold. It’s been so long since he wore cotton And only zips, never a button

Harry’s a rubber Tube commuter, Six foot tall in his Trannymuters. Lots of people stop and stare Even more when he had pink hair.

Being a punk was such hard work, Every day another jerk! Better to dye it back to brown Play his fetish lifestyle down.

A little less attention is better When all he wants is bread n butter Down to his local corner shop, In skin tight leggings and a belly top.

He could blend if he wore a sweater, Or maybe brown corduroys would be better, That’s what a loving woman would ask It had happened in Harry’s past.

He’d had a wife, who he loved dearly, But she couldn’t understand him clearly, Take off that dress and put on some trousers! What about mother? Think of the neighbors!

It went on like that for years. Lots of heart ache, floods of tears. Even though she was his lover, He felt like they didn’t know each other.

Then on a bight and sunny morning, Came the last, the ultimate warning, ‘Harry, I want you as a man!’ ‘You’re turning me into a lesbian!’

He was forced to wisely choose, The rubber-wear would surly loose He had made his vowels for life. How could he just leave his (darling) wife?

The only decent thing to do Was to be loyal…to be true. But then depression set right in, When all his beloved rubber was thrown in the bin!

Time stood still for a couple of year, Lots more heart ache, rivers of tears For he missed rubber in his (now) sad life More than he would miss his nagging (dear) wife.

This could not go on forever, He needed a friend not a jealous lover. Maybe she didn’t like his feminine side But Harry loved dear Harrietta with pride.

So one sad day they said goodbye, With no questioning or reasoning, why. It was how it was meant to be, She was free…and so was SHE!

Alone again, but not as much Much more honest, much more in trust. For Harry loves all things feminine, Now the woman he holds dearest lives within…him.

Mistress Feral