Sissy Hypno

DeviantArt Post: “Archery” 

  by user: campinmypants

Woody, Andy always felt off. Like he(*she) was born a square peg and the hoooole

world just had their locks changed. Andy did all normal boy stuff like sports school day camp for way too long. He got the name Woody from a counselor. Couldn’t remember Andy or Woodger, so the counselor just smooshed them. Maybe the counselor saw something in him. Something that needed adjustment. Discipline. A lousy strap all dinner. Everyone liked Woody better. The counselor said it and magickly everyone in the camp, in one day, started calling him Woody. Andy wasn’t his name anymore. In psychology when you name something—a toy, an address, a fish—it becomes yours. Discovery: it’s not just a name on a police report. Sometimes it happens to you. Andy couldn’t believe he could get so much attention from just saying, “if you say so”. Secretly, it gave him a little thrill—an emergency shoveling through the crazy traffic behind his sternum. Whenever he said, “I’d be glad to”, NOBODY argued, everyone was happy. Even if he ended up without the root beer flavored pop. At the archery station, he had his favorite weapon. A skimpy stick painted green with a single string. His counselor called it the thong. Counselors said archery was the most dangerous sport in the whole camp, and that’s why we’d take it the slowest. It was because you could do everything right, have perfect form, know about aerodynamics, about tension and release. But once you let go, the arrow left your control. “Who’s in control,” they’d ask, “you or the arrow?” And we’d have to shout back “YOU ARE!” “That’s right,” the counselor would smile over their whistle. Andy’s arrow never buried. Neither did Woody’s. We all wore the same white t-shirts and tiny green shorts—the boys and the girls. Green as our undregable lake. In the lake in pinchy trunks, Woody told his mom his new name. She said, come outta there. And that he wouldn’t like that name. “It doesn’t mean what you think it means,” she said. He asked, over and over, but she said later.

…

Generally, Sissy hypno 

can be categorized as a form of Consent/Non-Consent porn. So, trigger warning. While sissy hypno, or sissification, as a genre can be localized within transgender and—importantly! —pre-trans viewers (…? clients...? patients...? perverts…?), but sissification more broadly exists under the umbrella category of cucking. Cucking, in essence, is the forced revoking of a man’s “manness” for sexual gratification. At least “manness” how it exists in Porn. In the real world, it is when another person has sex with someone you love and you aren’t mad at it. It’s a pretty thing. To not be mad about it.

Specifically, importantly, sissy hypno fetishizes the period of pre-transition when the trans person may not even yet be sure of their desire 

to transition. Sissy hypno exists as one of the few existing mainstream “gateway drugs” one uses to explore and accept transgenderism, besides RuPaul’s Drag Race and being a YouTuber.

Essentially, Sissy Hypno: is a form of therapeutic self-care for some trans women that, due to environmental/personal circumstances, can only accomplish their transition through repeated forms of digital self-abuse. Analyzing sissification (otherwise known as bimbofication, forced femme, or Reiki) can help us navigate the slippery spaces between euphoria and pain, abuse and love, care and truama, thuddy v. stingy, and 

So get your toy safe silicone lube, and strap in because, for these next few pages, you’re all mine. Don’t worry sissy, I’ll be gentle.

…

Sissy’s Lament 

         What’s this? All I remember

         From last night

         Is my girlfriend

         squeezing me into this Chifon 

         prison. Aw sweetie

         Mistress muses from the hotel chair

         your becoming is showing. 

         I don’t mind

         being cringy.

         I'm not scared to be bad.

         “Your body’s a memoir

         of someone’s desires

         But ever yours?”

         There’s a certain power

         living for spite.

         Now, in the morning mirror 

         I touch my mani  cure

         dchest like a fossil winking

         on the cave wall. I hold 

         my impossible Double D’s, those scary 

         Mammeries. Those (fantasies)

         that deny physics,

         she whispers

         in my ear, are doomed to repeat it.

...

Now that we have some technical jargon all lubed up and ready to go, we can talk about the experience. Sissy hypno, and sissification more broadly, can be viewed as: 

         The Jungian anima inoculating the viewer against their surly animus.

         As a community exercise in self-determination complete with a juicy lexicon and

         A parasocial relationship betwixt the sissy and her sweaty laptop.       

The nexus where otaku and otokonoko stumble into eachother.

         And, of course, as a legal mandate for any participant in gamergate (click “F” to pay respects).

The draw for me personally was how Sissy hypno plays with the idea of “re-programing”. I’ve always been so terrified of losing myself to someone else. Losing control over my body and mind. Cartoons make it look so horrible. Or, at least, in the 90’s it was always a bad thing. And my parents were always complaining about taxes and I trusted them. And I trusted cartoons. And I hated when the cutest, most corruptiblest character would stiffen and her wide, oversized eyes would lose their  pupils. Like in My Little Pony: The Movie, when The Smooze (think, a Shoggoth) attaches to Gusty Pony and she turns “mean” and “grumpy” and under the influence of an evil witch. I remember watching it so clearly. It was approx. 3rd grade on a Tuesday, and the teacher’s in the corner nursing her hangover. And I want to save Gusty so bad 

But at the same time, once she snapped out of it, everyone just forgave her. All the grumpy things she said and grumpy things she did were forgiven. And the witch was beaten! And left to rot in her castle. They threw her through the wall. And she got stuck there, feet dangling on the other side, with an ‘ugh! mondays’ expression left on her pale face. And everyone was safe. All in a Saturday’s afternoon.

Sissy Re-programing: the act of being forcibly dissuaded from patriarchal ideals of male dominance and Old Spice commercials. The dissuader, she is often a “Mistress” or former sissy turned trainer (Gotta Catch Em All). In this way, the CNC dynamic, the hypnosis, the dumb bimbo brains, the washing, the regiments, the “forced” of it all, the abuse. Sissification is framed as not a “mean” ol’ Smooze, but as liberation. Essentially, doing for the sissy what she can’t do for herself. 

The only thing that's scary is it could happen to anyone.

…

— p. 1/3