Let us examine pornography of the perversion
transvestism* (fetishistic cross-dressing) to find these bits of historical reality. There should be an advantage for us in using such an odd condition for our example, for it is pretty rare and its pornography does not stir anyone but a transvestite. (One might suggest, not quite seriously, that a test to establish the diagnosis of transvestism or any perversion in men would be to show its pornography to several subjects: only those with increased penile blood flow would fit the diagnosis. One cannot ask for a more rapid, precise diagnostic procedure. Such a test would also demonstrate most concretely that the psychodynamics of transvestites are different from those of other people.)
In the pornographic literature catering to transvestites, there are repeated stories with the same theme— a frightened, pathetic, defenseless boy-man finds himself, through no doing of his own, trapped by powerful, dangerously beautiful women, who bully and humiliate him. The poor victim—the peak of whose victimization is illustrated by the women physically forcing him to put on women’s clothes—hardly seems a subject created for inducing sexual excitement. Yet the men who need such materia] find their greatest anticipation just at this point in the story, when the humiliated man is illustrated being exposed to his greatest anguish. The typical picture and accompanying text show him seated, cowering, while standing over him with threatening gestures and looks are the very phallic women. (The term “phallic” here is not simply the application of a concept: the drawings show repeated themes of phallic-shaped objects—stiletto heels, table and chair legs, whips, pens.)
Here are excerpts from the pornography. Fraternity pledge Bruce King, as part of his initiation, has to raid the clothesline of a sorority house, when "squeals and
•I shall use the term “transvestism" only for those in whom clothes of the opposite sex cause erotic excitement. There are other conditions in which cross-dressing occurs (139), but they are different from fetishistic cross-dressing and need not oe confused with it.
bubbling laughter” suddenly envelop him. He is caught
and bound by sorority girls, all of them “shrieking with
joy”
He tried to protest but his gag was too tight; he wiggled but only succeeded in getting the brunt of their sharp fingernails into the muscular flesh of his flanks and thighs. This brought much raucous laughter from the victorious vixens who thrilled at the helpless struggles of their male captive. . . .
The girl named Lori, apparently the group leader, was a silver-blonde Amazon. She must have stood a statuesque six feet tall, proudly erect, her heaving bosom thrust forth with a strange form of arrogance which demanded obedience and respect. Lori was garbed in a tight fitting buckled beauty of a pure satin dress; it featured a permanently pleated skirt which shivered like so many leather strings with each movement. The turquoise blouse boasted floral and fruit decorations. Lori’s waist was captivated [sic] by a huge patent leather belt of shining black; the contrasting silver buckle resembled a lock, with a tiny keyhole which defied entrance and exit. Her hips were forced into a figure-training position so that she walked with some difficulty, but with greater pride. And Lori’s shoes: they were the heavenly dream of any clothes raider. The unbelievably thin match-stick high heels must have been a perfect seven inches long! Made of shiny white patent leather—believe it or not—the shoe featured a slinky sling back which was a silvery chain, a peau de sole [sic] trim, an open toe through which peeped a gleaming red nail, the toe almost grateful to be liberated from its confinement. The vamp was charmingly decorated with a pair of gleaming glass eyes! Yes, the eyes even winked wickedly as Lori moved her slender legs. Such white patent leather, polished to milky perfection, deserved respect as they were held in awe and esteem! As Lori stamped her dainty but powerfully shod foot, tiny sparks escaped from the stiletto 7 inch heel!
Bruce flinched, struggling against the bonds of the robe belts. “Lori,” his voice tried to be fierce and confident, “will you cut me loose? All right, so I didn't sue-ceed in my panty raid. I lost! The frat brothers will give me a real paddling," he squirmed at the thought, “and that’ll be that. So let’s just forget it."
“Oh, we don’t want you to be paddled out of your fraternity, no sir!” another girl said. “Lori, what say we give him . . . what’s your name . . .”
“Bruce . . . Bruce King.”
“. . . let's give Bruce a complete feminine outfit to bring back to his frat brothers. This will be something he shall long remember!” Lori smiled. As she folded both of her slender swan-like arms across her chest, Bruce caught sight of her blood-red fingernails, extended like the talons of a wicked vulture! “Very well, Sandra. We’ll give Bruce a nice frilly outfit . . . bloomers, slip, bra, dress, silk stockings which attach to the garter straps of the garter belt we’ll also let him have, and a nice pair of high-heeled shoes ...”
Before Bruce could protest, he found himself descended upon by the girls, who ripped off his simple white business shirt, cotton khaki trousers (he was grateful he wore protective boxer shorts), off went his moccasins, wool socks. “It's cold ..." he shivered, feeling more embarrassed and humiliated than the elements of the weather in early spring. To be stripped, bound and in the captivity of four domineering types of females was certainly an experience that shattered his manhood. There was no telling what they could do to make good a threat that Lori now voiced: “We’ll teach him that the female of the species are the real aggressive members of the human race! . . .”
“We’re going to dress you, Bruce,” purred Lori, her green eyes glittering with a strange fascination of the spectacle of a man being held in her captivity. “Now, girls —get those boxer shorts of his and throw them out . . . good boys shouldn’t wear such sloppy things. We’ll teach our Brucie how to dress.”
"No! No!” he protested, but four sets of female hands yanked down his boxer shorts. With a sigh of relief, he remembered he wore his tiny athletic supporter which the girls ridiculed by giggling, “Look—he wears a G-string!"
Lori then said, “Okay, girls, untie him. It'll be easier to get his clothes on. But Brucie-boy," she said in a falsetto tone, “you won’t get very far—in your G-string.
So behave yourself, or we’ll take that away from you, too.”
Bruce flushed and no sooner were his arms and legs freed than he tried to cover himself with his hands but his awkward knock-kneed position and round shouldered position of embarrassment only provoked more laughter. "Very funny! Very funny!” he gasped. “Come on, girls," laughed Lori. “I can hardly wait to see what he looks like in some really dainty clothes. Let's start with this panty . . .”
Lori held up a few brassieres and finally made her selection of a charming item. “See, Bruce,” she dangled it before him, as if threatening his manhood, “this brassiere has in-up pushup pads and foam rubber shapemak-ers. This low plunge front gives real cleavage; to a girl, it’s breathtakingly sinful. To you,” and she made a throaty laugh, "it’ll be very wicked ...”
He would make no protest. It would only infuriate the girls and they might intensify their hatred upon him. And now ... yes ... here it was: the gown to be worn by Bruce King.
“Do you like it?” asked Lori, already joining in giggling with the other girls at the anticipation of seeing him wear a dress. “It’s a French import. It’s an exclusive design.” The color was Vampire Red! The gown featured a gossamer silk sheer V-insert lined in nude, exciting “nail-heads” and a braid trim. The back was plunging. The sleeves were made of transparent net-like soft silk of smoke-red. The waist was captured with a very tight suede belt, its buckle a huge replica of Satan, with twin fangs for an insert. A tiny Devil’s pitchfork pointed at the buckle which was polished silver. The skirt of this unusual gown was scintillating in its 3 rows of 6' fringes made of leather. Each fringe was as delicate as a shoe lace but as strong as the reins used to compel a team of horses to do the bidding of the driver. With each movement of the hips, the 3 rows of fringes would dance in all directions, as