Title: 7 Days Unwashed – The Reality of Constant Re-Wear (No Escape)
It’s Day 7 now, and I finally get to wash everything tonight. But looking back on this week, the fantasy I built in my head for years doesn’t match what actually happens when you live it. The uniform has been on me non-stop since last reset: the same high-polyester body-hugging pinafore layered over the white blouse (fully buttoned to the neck, tie knotted tight), no slits in the skirt so every step feels locked in. Same bra all week, same panties (cycled through the mouth-clean ritual every 2–3 days—stuff, lick as much as I can, rinse mouth with mouthwash, re-wear damp). High heels all day for chores, then school mary janes even for sleeping. No stockings, as I decided they’re too much hassle.
The Build-Up – What It Feels Like Day by Day
Day 1–2: Still bearable, almost exciting. The polyester is crisp at first, hugs every curve under the pinafore like it’s molding me into the perfect sissy shape. Blouse clings a little when I sweat during morning chores (dusting high shelves on tiptoe in heels, scrubbing floors on knees). At night, sliding into bed with the mary janes still on feels odd—shoes press against the mattress, soles awkward when I turn. But the smell is faint, just my own warmth. Sleep is restless but arousing: the tie digs into my neck when I shift, hands automatically go over the pubic area per the posture rule, reminding me there’s nothing masculine left to feel there.
Day 3: The cling starts. Polyester doesn’t breathe—overnight sweat doesn’t evaporate, so I wake up damp and sticky, especially under the arms, at the waist where the pinafore cinches, and between my thighs from the panties. Chores become harder: bending to brush Master’s shoes (gloves off for dirty work, then back on to “protect his world” from my lowly hands) makes the layers rub and chafe. By evening the uniform smells—musky, sour, personal. When I kneel to serve dinner, the odor wafts up every time I move. Bedtime in school shoes feels confining; the leather warms from body heat, soles dig in when I curl up. Sleep is broken—itchy patches, constant awareness of the damp fabric glued to me.
Day 4–5: It’s bad now. The polyester has turned into a second sweaty skin. Every chore (vacuuming, polishing, laundry folding—ironic since mine stays filthy) makes me sweat more, and there’s nowhere for it to go. The blouse clings transparently in places, pinafore straps cut into shoulders, tie feels like a noose when I bend. Smell is strong—sour armpits, musky groin, overall stale funk that follows me everywhere. Master sniffs close during inspections and triggers the extra layer rule: second blouse and pinafore on top. Double cinching makes breathing shallow; movement is clumsy, heat trapped double. Chores take longer because I can’t move freely. At night, school shoes in bed press awkwardly—heels of the shoes poke when I roll over. Sleep is miserable: hot flashes, itching from trapped sweat/bacteria, smell so thick I taste it when breathing through my mouth. Hands stay over pubic area per rule; the flatness reminder makes me feel even smaller.
Day 6–7: Peak endurance test. The uniform is heavy, stiff from dried sweat/oils, reeking even from a meter away. Polyester holds the odor like glue—every turn in bed wafts it stronger. Skin is irritated: red chafing at collar/neck, underarms raw, waistband digging in. Chores feel endless—kneeling to scrub floors on hands and knees (gloves off, hands in grime, then back into white gloves to serve), heels force constant tiptoe strain, double layers make me overheat fast. Bladder pressure from controlled intake adds urgency, but I hold until bottle+funnel window. Sleep? Almost none. Shoes awkward, uniform clammy and smelly, posture rule forces hands down, body too hot/sticky to relax. I wake multiple times gasping from heat or itch, regretting how far I’ve pushed it. The fantasy of “total immersion” crashes into reality: tired, sore, humiliated, wanting out—but the rules don’t allow it.
The Emotional Side
It’s not the glamorous escape I imagined at 12. By Day 4 the thrill mixes with real discomfort and shame. The smell, the cling, the inability to just strip and breathe—it’s degrading in a way that hurts. Yet there’s that pull: knowing I’m stuck, owned, no choice. The uniform isn’t just clothes anymore; it’s my prison and my identity. When reset finally comes tonight—full shower, wash everything, fresh set—I know I’ll feel clean for a few hours… then crave the cycle again. Because even when it’s too much, it’s exactly what I need to feel truly gone as “him.”
Comments welcome if anyone has tried similar extended re-wear. How do you cope when the smell gets unbearable?
