Sarahjanus's Blog

October 29, 2010

The difference a day makes

It’s hard to believe the difference a day makes. Today I am at peace. The first days of this week were not the same. I’ve written before that my world begins when every-one in my house goes off to work or school and I’m relatively assured that they will abide by those schedules. That has been complicated this semester by our remaining student finishing the 09/10 school year one credit short of the requirement for graduation. He is completely unfazed by the matter. Like many of his friends, he doesn’t know what he wants as a career so he doesn’t know what college (or university) he should enroll in. Like his friends he planned to return for “a victory lap”, one semester in which he gets the required credit and not much else. Personally I think it has as much to do with a low stress semester in which he can party without consequence and troll for girls.

The end result for him is school from 9 to 11am and his part-time job. His work hours are all evenings or weekends so he has been underfoot more than he has been absent. Fortunately he prefers to spend the day with his contemporaries whose parents are both at work, so he often chooses not to come home until late in the day. I get a few risky hours from these social outings of his.

The whole thing went from bad to worse last week when one of his friends had an outburst of anger towards his mother that caused him to be temporarily ejected from the home. It is an entirely justified reaction by his mother. The young man has some serious mending to do before he goes home. However, being a life-long friend, he is staying with us. You guessed it; not in school, working part-time hours on an as-needed basis. When not sleeping he is reclined on our couch with the TV remote. Worse yet, he likes horror, scream flicks and the Military channel, so he alternates at every commercial break. My at-home office is on the main floor of a semi-open concept home so there is neither privacy nor quiet.

From Monday I have struggled with my mood. There is the base of frustration caused by losing my privacy. This aggravated by the noise levels, which I am reluctant to speak out about because he is a guest and under his own stress. My own children were always aware of my distress over loud music, television or video games. In crowded noisy social settings I’m allowed to escape occasionally to let the noise seep away and the silence seep back in.

The first two factors are severely aggravated by not being able to wear the clothes of my choosing. I wrote a post from my host’s point-of-view, saying that when I was present his work didn’t get done properly. I would have thought that not being able to dress all week would give him an opportunity to catch up. It didn’t. I was irritated all week and he accomplished nothing. I paced. I shifted from room to room, from chore to chore without actually finishing anything. I was an absolute horror all week, except for the trip out yesterday to shop. The intensity of the distress was startling. I cannot be denied for days on end anymore. I have to be out in the light of day or his life is miserable. I am in control of his life.

Last night our guest went out to a friend’s and he hasn’t returned yet. I’m guessing he is at work today. Although I wasn’t able to dress last night because I wasn’t sure where everyone-else was, I was more at peace and I did some work around the house. I would have been in slob clothes for housework anyway.

This morning, everyone was gone by the time I finished my shower. I already knew what I wanted to wear, the new shirt-dress from yesterday, and the leggings. I have a pair of black pumps with a rounded toe and a little bow on the front. The heels are decently high. These shoes have always been sloppy on my feet so when I bought the new shoes recently I bought the foam stick-on pads for the inside backs of these. They made all the difference. The shoes sit comfortably on my feet now. I took the time to do my make-up but I left the wig off. I added a nice pendant necklace that sits high in the open neck of the shirt. I know it’s over-dress for the house, but it is work-dress for me, and it is my only opportunity. I’m dressed appropriately for a trip to the mall. At least, it is appropriate for someone who cares about their appearance. I wouldn’t wear sweats or track pants to the mall even if I was going as a male.

I came downstairs relaxed, comfortable in who I am, at least while I am in the house. I cleaned up the breakfast dishes, did a quick tidy-up on the main floor and sat down at my computer. For all the years we have been together my wife has commented that I am always searching, that I never seem to know happiness. How tragic it is that she now tells her friends that I seem to be at peace these past few months. How tragic that I cannot tell her that I’ve found a greater, more consistent happiness that I have ever known before. For me to bring her into the world that I am happy in would shake her world to its very foundations. It would be a travesty. Even if I was myself during the day and returned to being her man when she came home, she would be distressed about how long I could live in two worlds. She would be distressed about how far my transition would go. She would be worried about her future, about ending up either alone or in a sexless marriage.

These are in the background for this morning. This morning I am gloriously calm, peaceful, and joyful in just being. Today is a beautiful day for me. I hope each of you can find some joy in your day as well.


October 28, 2010

I’m not the same as the other boys,

This is not a new thought, nor is it the first time I’ve mentioned it. Today I just want to explain it. The thought came back to me as I was driving through town on my way to a mall that is miles from where I would normally shop. I have been dispatched on a mission; to acquire an elusive size 10 top that is without a stitching error in the front shoulder seam. Most men would probably rebel or at least resist the request. It’s going to be nearly an hour of driving each way. I’m not the same as the other boys. I went willingly because it gave me a chance to shop in mainstream outlets far-away from home. I gave some thought last night and this morning to going “en femme” but that’s another story. Suffice to say, I didn’t.

The main road out-of-town to the highway is under construction. Today, they are paving, so traffic is sent weaving through rows of pylons like some downhill slalom for drivers. And just like the sport itself, some of us are good at slalom and others can’t quite see the line, which results in them either going really slowly or driving off the path and into the construction. The latter is much to the consternation of the green glowing workers who would like to go home at the end of the day. The former is much to the frustration of those of us who can see the line and the sweeping second-hand on the dash clocks of our cars. I am one of the former.

My difference lies in my own comparison with the laborers on the construction site. Dressed for the Canadian outdoors, quilted coveralls, banded with green reflective safety strips, liners under their construction hats, gloves for their hands, they have a rough-hewn quality about them that I once aspired to. I never worked in construction but I enjoy being outside working and when I dressed for the fall or winter, I felt manly, ready to go and hew wood or draw water. With worn jeans on my slender frame, tucked into high lace-up work boots, and gloves, folded and strategically placed in the back pocket of my jeans, I stirred more than one woman to bat her eyelashes and sashay by.

Unfortunately it wasn’t real. I would come back in the house, looking for something comfortable and in hindsight, gender neutral. It was all part of my life according to expectations.

Now I look at construction workers, truck drivers, gas station attendants and I accept that I am not like them. My sex drive has diminished as my cross-dressing has flourished. My wife is not happy. I look at “the men” I cross paths with and wonder why it is that they are comfortable being rough-edged, rough-spoken, and chauvinistic. I wonder what it is like to look at a woman and feel a “stirring in your loins”. I wonder what it feels like to be quickly aroused at the sight of a naked woman, your penis erect and ready. These days I rely on drugs, thank goodness for Viagra. The job gets done but it is without passion, it is function and release.

If ever freed from the bounds (not bonds) of this relationship, I would probably explore homosexuality as an alternative. I don’t have a physical yearning for sex with a man but I do have a chest-tightening, stomach-tingling desire to be loved as a woman by a man. On the other hand, perhaps, if I walk down this path, unencumbered by expectations and fear of judgments I may find that I am destined to be chaste, unable to bring a meaningful libido to any intimate relationship.

Post-script; The store I was sent to had the right top, and the store next door (Reitman’s) had a denim shirt-dress in my size that will look wonderful over black leggings. It was on sale and I couldn’t pass it up, so I have another new top.

October 26, 2010

The devil is in the details

The devil truly is to be found in the details. I bought a pair of plain low heel pumps on Saturday. I don’t really need another pair of shoes. I have seven pair as it is. I mean, really, how many pairs of shoes does a closet crossdresser need? That’s one of the riddles of life, how many is too many. Apparently seven isn’t too many.

I was shopping in a mall that is on a path I travel every few weeks. The mall is familiar but the chances of running into “one of the old boys from work”, or “that girl that we know, you know the one, she’s friends with” … are slim to nil. So I shop there feeling relaxed and with purpose. I don’t look over my shoulder to see who may be watching me go through a rack of blouses one by one.

I don’t want to get side-tracked here but men, when they are shopping for their wives, scan the displays and then ask the clerk for the right size. The clerk, if she is on commission, will then suggest two or three things that go with the first choice. This is a double bonus because the man has now done all of his gift shopping in one quick stop and the clerk has boosted her sales. I scan the displays, find my size, and then, I try to decide if it looks as good in an XL or 1X as the S does pulled tight over the mannequin.

The shoes, I tried them on (size 10) in the shoe store. I got a few looks, because I had to pull off my clunky great man shoes and socks to put the pump on a bare foot. It was snug but I figured they would stretch. I also probably got a few looks because I was in a predominantly visible minority mall and I’m white. The mall was probably 95% visible minority, Indian and South-east Asian, so I stood out, a bit. I may have been looked at a second time because I was trying on women’s shoes while dressed as a man. I’m not sure; it may have been a factor.

I bought the shoes. When I got back to my car, I put them on for the drive home, thinking they would stretch while I wore them and the discomfort wouldn’t be too much because I wasn’t standing in them. Surprisingly (not), that didn’t work. By the time I had driven 45 minutes, my feet were in pain. Off came the shoes, but I really liked the simple conservative look of them and the low heel was appealing. The next day, I was the first one up in the morning, so I went outside, to the driveway, and put the shoes on so that I could walk up and down the driveway to see if they stretched. No luck, my feet still hurt.

Yesterday, I gave up and took them back. Unfortunately (in terms of risk) I was going to the mall closest to my home, where I shop as a man and a husband but that mall has a Payless Shoes. In I went and returned the shoes, trying not to attract too much attention. Just before the transaction was complete, I asked if the store had the same shoe in a 10W and lucky me, they did. The 10W fits like a dream but I’ve now purchased shoes from a store my wife frequents, and in a size she couldn’t possibly wear. I’m betting on the greater world’s indifference to anything that I do.

The devil is in the details was a reference to tucking, but I got side-tracked to the new shoes. Of the three new dresses I bought last week, one is snug and one is form-fitting, (think sheath). I took some pictures of the form-fitting one and realized that I had an inappropriate bulge. I returned to the Crossdresser Forums for a quick review of the tucking lessons and was quickly and easily successful in hiding the bulge. It was too quick and too easy but that’s another story for another day. Today in the snug but fitted houndstooth, I am tucked. It is freaky easy to put the junk away and still not feel any discomfort.

October 25, 2010

A little bit about my day and the inside of my mind

I’m alive. In my mind the words are spoken in the shadowy chamber that saw Frankenstein come to life. He lumbered about absorbing stimuli and being amazed before being terrified. It’s just a bit of dramatic illustration to start off my day.

It’s followed by; we’re not alone. I’m not, not today. So I’m in male attire. I have difficulty with the “in drab” phrase used by many, although for most of my days in male attire, it is the most accurate description. If I’m not going out to meetings or appointments, I’m in slouch clothes, loose, shapeless, comfortable, and mismatched. Given the opportunity to dress as a woman, I am quite particular about my combinations of clothes and the neatness of the overall appearance. It is another of the idiosyncrasies of my personality.

I commented on someone-else’s blog earlier this morning and described myself as a crossdressing traditionalist. Even I had to smile at the conundrum that conjured up. It would probably have traditional traditionalists turning over in their graves.

Last week was consumed with completing assignments that were part of a university continuing education program I am enrolled in, followed by a couple of days in class. I had to write extensively and intensively because I am a protagonist. I’m also a procrastinator. So, while I had volunteered to take the lead in much of the research and writing for the groups I was assigned to, I also left a lot of the work until the last moment. Did you roll your eyes and think I’d made a mistake? I’m sure I have, it just wasn’t there.

I had hoped that today being Monday, the house would be empty, and I would be able to dress to my comfort level. I bought a third (new) dress last week and a pair of shoes on the weekend. The sales are killing me; I can’t stay out of the stores. The dress came from a trendy store. Once I got it home and tried it on; I found it to be shorter than I would normally be comfortable with. On the other hand, it is a good fit, very nice on, an Empire line with cap sleeves, a knit with a bit of stretch. My wardrobe is beginning to worry me. I have so much stuff squirreled away that I’m bound to make a mistake and leave something out.

Did I mention that I’m adult ADD? Yeah. My safety net when I’m not being secretive is to tell people that I’m going to overlook one or two significant details in pretty much anything I do. So, if they are working collaboratively with me, it’s in their best interests to proof my work carefully and not assume that I’m as careful as I am productive.

The house is not empty, house guests. They have been here since last week and I thought they were leaving this morning. I was wrong and now I’m frustrated. I have been dressing so regularly and for hours at a time that any change in the opportunity is resented. Last week I felt so good in my women’s clothes that I had to struggle with myself to not go out the door, get in the car and go to the mall. Clearly I am heading towards a crisis of some description. My self-esteem is so much more positive when I am dressed as a woman, than it is when dressed as a man.

Sitting in a notebook is a reminder to write about the evolution of my cross-dressing. Unlike so many that I read of, my cross-dressing as a youth was next to non-existent. I only had moments throughout my adult life when I would try on women’s clothing. Here I am now, fantasizing about being able to dress as a woman full-time and go out into the world.

In a recent conversation about “bucket lists”, I was taken to task by my wife because my list of “deeds done” was significant. I have dabbled in many fields. The question that she eventually came to was; why aren’t you satisfied with what you’ve done? The answer is probably blatantly obvious to anyone who reads these blogs. I am not satisfied with what I’ve done because I am not satisfied with who I am. I cannot be who I want to be while I remain in this life. So, I am always moving, always changing, never at peace. I am looking for an escape from the life I created for myself when I didn’t recognize who I was as a youth, and instead began to live to the expectations of others. A part of me screams that I want to run away and put all of this behind me but that isn’t completely true. Running away is just the simplest way to completely detach myself from my past and begin anew as a crossdresser with a potential for transitioning.

So, how is your day? Is the sun shining in your world? Actually, the sun shines more often in mine now. The more I realize who I am, the less dark my days are.

October 22, 2010

The disadvantage of being a secret

There is a significant disadvantage to writing as a closet crossdresser. While the anonymity allows me to be totally honest, to the point of sometimes being self-contradictory, I can’t write too much about the events in my life outside of cross-dressing for fear I give too much away and reveal myself to some other closet cross-dresser who happens to read the blog.

When I retired I began a blog about my daily life, nothing particularly meaningful, just the day-to-day stuff. One of the goals was to find something positive to relate in every day. It was intended to be a way of off-setting the negative outlook associated with my long-established depression. The blog was tied to a Windows Live address that my family knew of. I wasn’t going to push it on them, simply write it and leave it. It was for my family primarily, rather than the public at large, but it wasn’t made private in any way. I didn’t expect many people outside of my family to ever find it.

My wife knew of it and one day, when she wasn’t busy, she read some of it. What I got out of the exercise was a lesson in observation and values. She pointed out how I had under or over estimated a variety of things. She suggested I needed to correct them so that the record was accurate. So much for honest flow, the blog withered like an autumn leaf, which triggered its own set of comments about thin skin etc.

So here I am, happier than I’ve ever been. I am getting a decent amount of private time in a few days of each week, to dress from head to toe and be completely at home in my own skin. I have surprised my wife with words and acts of affection that come more easily as Sarah directs more and more of my day. I have been more emotionally in tune with those around me and more sensitive to what they are going through, for much the same reason.

I have built up a small wardrobe. I added three dresses, nylons and tights this week alone. My storage boxes are full. My wig is becoming much less of a wig and far more comfortable with every hour that it’s on.

I don’t have any friends that I can share this with in person. And even if I did, my wife’s suspicious nature being what it is, she would ferret out the root cause of any new friendship and cause no end of difficulty. I envy those whose significant others know of their dressing. It must make their world a much easier place. I do get a great deal of pleasure from writing this blog and sharing. I try not to look at the reader numbers. I like to believe it is being shared widely. I also take a great deal of pleasure from even though it is also a cyber-communication and there is no real reason to believe that the other writers are anything like they claim to be. I simply choose to believe they are. That’s the definition of faith; belief in the absence of evidence.

I do find a lot of meaningful communications in the Forum. Often I read a string of posts and don’t reply because my point has been made by someone-else. I think repetition just to see your name on the list is pointless. Again, I envy those in the Forum who are able to get together with each other in person, even if it is only occasionally. It is probably these two envies that will drive me out into the light of day and an open admission of who I am, to my wife.

Coming back to the point of the disadvantage; in the past few weeks I have been participating in a university program. One of the exercises, due in the next few days, is a self-reflection essay based on the material covered. I opened the essay with the comment that my wife has been waiting years for someone to force me into an honest self-assessment, and that she would look forward to reading the final product.

I gave her the next-to-final draft just recently. She hasn’t read it yet, too busy at work. As I waited for her response, I thought to myself, I know who I am much more clearly that I can ever admit. That is a burden that only gets heavier. I yearn to be able to be honest and open with her but I know her reaction will be one of disgust and dismissal.

I can’t claim the credit for the new-found insight; that goes to retirement and the Crossdressers Forum. Retirement allowed me to ease out of living to expectations. It allowed me time to reflect, something I didn’t have in the world of work, shifting priorities and deadlines. The Forum wasn’t the first place I found. I went to a lot of junk sites before I landed at Crossdressers. It is the best I’ve found.

It allowed me to see that I was only one of many, somewhere on a continuum of crossdressing. It allowed me to see that others had the same thoughts and concerns as I did, so that I wasn’t deviant or even particularly unique. I was just one of many. The answers given in response to the uttered worries and concerns of others reinforced my own decisions and rationales, or they opened my eyes to new thoughts, and greater acceptance.

I went to the funeral of a young man this week, the son of longtime friends. He was struck down by an insidious disease before he could fulfill his dreams and ambitions. I had to incorporate that randomness into my evolving personality as Sarah.

Act today, tomorrow may never be.

October 18, 2010

Shopping is such fun as a girl

It’s Monday morning, and the beginning of the work week for most. For me, it means the start of a week of opportunities to dress in my most comfortable way. The house is mine this morning and so Sarah is out. Last week was an interesting week in many ways, some of which I will be able to share, some I can’t, unfortunately.

                              Fall has arrived in Canada, and Ontario, so the dresses and nylons that I so enjoy aren’t cutting it anymore for comfort. It’s into the leggings and sweater dresses. Last week my wife went on a shopping binge (literally). Into her favorite clothing store three consecutive days, rested for a few days and returned for a final all-out attack. The all-out attack lasted several hours and I was a part of it.

                              My host doesn’t like shopping, that’s been established. I, on the other hand love it. All I had to do was allow my personality to the forefront while the host presented the physical appearance and we were off to the races. I scoured the racks for items for her to try on. I hung tops with skirts to see how they looked. I tried combinations so that she could get as much mileage out of each item as possible. It was glorious. Of course, through the whole thing, I was looking through the racks for things I liked in my size. My wife does most of her clothes shopping in one or two stores. I try to stay out of those stores because we are both recognized by the staff and they all know her sizes so anything I buy for me would scream out to them and cause me grief.

                              In what appeared to be a fortunate twist of circumstances, there was a specific item she wanted that wasn’t available in her size. It was available at a location outside our normal travels and close to where I had to be for a legitimate purpose. I offered to pick it up there in the course of my day. It seems wrong to score points for being considerate when the favor is actually self-serving, so I don’t collect these little deceptions in my “good” list. I went into the distant store, found the item and purchased it. Then I shopped for me, quickly picking the items that I had already spent so much time reviewing earlier. The only faux pas occurred at the check-out and I didn’t realize it until later; the clerk, who rang up my wife’s blouse, did so under her customer loyalty number for the points. The same clerk rang up my purchases, and put the points onto my wife’s number.

                              I was driving home when it occurred to me what had happened, so I had to pull both receipts and look at them. Sure enough, my wife is getting points for my purchases. I can only hope she doesn’t pay any attention to the individual entries, and of course (t.i.c.) that she makes good use of the points. Now, I’m thinking that I need to have these cards in my name for my own points, especially the Shoppers Optimum card, because they are always asking me when I check out there. Honestly I’m sure the risk out-weighs the benefit but it certainly is something to do if I ever end up out about who I am.

October 13, 2010

Adultery explained

I bought another dress yesterday. It’s from Le Chateau. It is very fitted, something that I didn’t think I would like. I wasted a good bit of the afternoon taking pictures of myself so that I could post them somewhere that others could see them and comment. This is another facet of my personality that is different from my host. He wore clothes and never cared how they looked or if anybody noticed or commented.

                              I, on the other hand, want to be noticed and admired. It is another of the dichotomies of cross-dressing. On the one hand I want to dress as a woman and blend. On the other, I want people to notice my new clothes, to see how pretty they are, to see how well they fit me and how they make me look. They make me feel beautiful on the inside and I want people to see that on my face, in my attitude.

                              The snug fit from shoulder to knee was novel. I reveled in it. I have to learn how to “zip up” and unzip the back zipper. Aside from never having had to learn the technique, (& being a closet-dresser, there’s no “honey can you zip me”), at my age I lack the flexibility to reach over and down or, around and up.  Hints, anyone?

                              In spite of the new dress, I spent an hour today on e-bay, looking at the on-line listings for dresses. I shop willingly and happily. My host never did.

                              A family gathering for (Canadian) Thanksgiving led to another realization, another step along the road to understanding me better. As a male, I engaged in a lengthy litany of bad behaviours. Many of the bad behaviours were affairs, infidelities. As the affairs were exposed, I was always asked why. My spouse (both) always wanted to know what was missing in my chosen relationship that led me to commit adultery. I’m trying to be factual and to the point by using words like adultery, and infidelity. I have been accused in the past of letting myself of the hook, so to speak, in the non-committal words I used. Apparently I side-stepped the seriousness of the act by under-stating or being evasive. If I do that here, draw it to my attention. I need to accept responsibility.

                              My infidelity has made my wife (rightfully) suspicious so when we’re out in the company of others, she is watching for any signs of old habits and behaviours. There is one sister (among a number of sisters) who has been inappropriately flirtatious. I have always enjoyed this sister’s company. According to my wife, I enjoy it too much, so there has been conflict. Over the course of the dinner, as I watched all of the social activity, it dawned on me that my attraction to this sister isn’t sexual, and never was. I adore the way she dresses. She has a definite sense of style and is always fashionable but in her own way. I would dress the way she does if I dressed full time. I admire the way she engages people in conversation, the way she speaks her mind without too much concern for social correctness. I would be like her if I could.

                              As I thought about this over the remainder of the evening, I realized that I (Sarah) wanted to be her friend. I want to shop with her. We could coach each other on buy, don’t buy. She has the same conservative style as me in terms of necklines and hemlines but she is far more adventurous with fabric and color than I am at the moment. Although, lately I have been moving away from the blacks and grays that my host wore and that I bought out of habit when I began buying my own clothes. Now I go looking for bright colors or “statement” clothes.

                              I have convinced myself that of all my family members, on both sides, she is the one that would be most accepting. She is the one that would most easily adapt to the new me and she would be the most supportive. I sense in her a kindred spirit. If I was going to share my secret with anybody beyond my wife, it would be her. I’ve read that women consider emotional infidelity as significant as, and possibly more significant than the physical act. That said, I can see that any relationship with this sister is completely out-of-bounds. It is just nice to know, in my own mind, what the motivation was and still is.

                              I have been asked how my affairs started and my answer was always; I was looking for a friend. The sarcastic response to that is usually something to do with ending up in bed with your friends. In my own mind, I always knew that I never intended to go there. I just didn’t control the events. I let them happen. It is still my fault but my initial response was and is true. I was looking for a friend, but I was looking for a girl-friend. The girl in me was looking for a friend, someone to chat with, to share with, and to be natural with. I couldn’t do that in my marital relationship because I was a male and had to continue that role. My first answer about friendship was true but was never accepted because my partner thought I was looking for a male/female friendship. The retort I always got was, find a male friend. I have very few of those, next to none. I don’t enjoy the company of men the same way as I enjoy the company of women.

                              I didn’t go looking for sex because I am not good at sex. I don’t have the touch, the patience or sense to read my partner and adjust what I’m doing or how quickly I’m progressing. Sex for me is an expectation, not an anticipation. But in the milieu of extra-marital affairs, conversation and stolen time is simply a prelude to illicit sex. Like my entire life as a male, husband, parent, I have played a role and tried to meet expectations. Even as an adulterer I was meeting someone-else’s expectations. I wasn’t being me.

                              Most of my illicit sexual encounters were one time occurrences. This is something-else that I have been quizzed on repeatedly. Why only once? Is that a lie? The answer is, it is the truth. My illicit partners quickly realized they had hooked up with a dud and quickly cut back the time and energy they were prepared to invest.

                              This is a classic “out of the frying pan & into the fire”. I can finally provide an explanation for my adulterous behaviour. An explanation that is truthful and sound, but in doing so, I have to reveal that I am a cross-dresser, that at the very least I suffer from gender dysphoria, at the worst I am a transsexual (in the context of ‘one who completely identifies with the opposite sex). My dictionary defines transvestite as one who seeks sexual pleasure from wearing clothes of the opposite sex, and for me, it is not sexual.

October 8, 2010

Putting me away

I’ve gone beyond my safety limits. I enjoyed the afternoon too much. I was sitting in my favorite chair, a book in hand. Everything felt perfect; I could only improve it by having someone to engage in conversation. Someone who wouldn’t care that I was an older man dressed as a woman. I loved the look of my shoes on my bouncing foot. I loved the look of the patterned nylons on my crossed legs. I loved the feel of the dress material against my hand when I smoothed the material.

I went to the closet and took off the wig. I wore it for hours today and I’m beginning to get comfortable with the bangs and the whole hair in the face thing. I took off the shoes, strappy little heels that feel like slippers when they are on. I took out the forms and put them back in the box. I had enjoyed the weight of them against me. I had admired the swell they put in my dress. I had noticed the profile in the mirror as I walked by.

I pulled the dress off over my head, hung it carefully and returned it to the garment bag that serves as its hiding place. I’m taking my time, savoring each action, knowing that it may be days before I can go through the reverse process. I took the other sweater dress out of the same bag and made sure it was hung properly before I returned it as well and zipped the bag up. I dropped the straps of my bra off my shoulders, and pushed it down so that I could spin it and unhook it. I pushed the nylons down, both legs at the same time until I could take my feet out and shake the nylons out before folding them with care, feeling the material slide across my hands as I did.

The panties were all that were left, somewhere between red and purple, thong, that holds me snugly, and little bows on the front. From La Senza, I think they are beautiful and I love to pull them on. I have four pair, each a different brilliant color.

I’m naked in every sense of the word and I feel it. I’m putting me away in boxes, out of sight, hidden. How I want to be out in the light. How I want to be seen for what I am. I know why I waited so long before changing. I’m wishing to get caught so that I don’t have to own up by myself. It would be my way, the coward’s way, of giving up my secret. It’s wrong on so many fronts but I linger in the closet, wishing it didn’t have to be so. I head into the bathroom to finish the undressing, washing my face, removing the last vestiges of the secret me.

I remind myself that my wife married a man, my children know me as a father and none of them asked for this assault on how they know me. I re-affirm that this is, for the moment, my burden, my secret. I was beautiful today. I know it, I felt it. I wasn’t the person they all know but for an afternoon I was beautiful. I was me, a truer version of me than they have ever seen or known.

I stand in the middle of a room, close my eyes and think through every step of the process to be sure that everything is away. I feel the burden pressing down on me like the winter darkness outside.

A word from the host

Good morning, I am the individual that Sarah refers to as “the host”. There is a complexity behind the title but for the purposes of this narrative, it gives me a measure of anonymity that I still require. In my profiles I have written that I am retired but that doesn’t mean that I’m sitting home watching the grass grow, or (being Canada) watching the snowdrifts grow. Like so many civil servants, the combination of the Internet and economic restraint has provided an opportunity for me to work from home for my former employer on a contract as-needed basis. This provides a very nice stipend that allows for indulgences that otherwise might not come so quickly.

That said; I don’t get paid for doing nothing. Tongue-in-cheek, if I wanted that I would have had to stay on staff. I get paid for piece-work. If nothing is produced, I don’t get paid, simple.

Sarah said yesterday that, in the beginning she would do the work for me and that was both helpful and interesting. She does work in a slightly different style than I do. Without getting into the psychology of cross-dressing and transvestism, (Side-note; I have to get rid of the Christian fundamentalist dictionary that M.S. runs with Word, it won’t recognize words like transvestism) she is a better conversationalist, more attuned to the people I talk to, more likely to respond with an emotion based comment, so she not only does the work but she adds to it, giving a better end-product.

Lately Sarah has been at the fore-front more than she has been in the back-ground. She has also been establishing herself as an individual. She spends time on the Forum and she writes these blogs. Last night we struggled to stay focused when I was trying to work on assignments that had nothing to do with her. She wanted to go to the Internet and explore sites, shop online for shoes or clothes. All this after she shopped successfully in the last couple of days. She bought two more pair of shoes yesterday. She’s up to about 9 pair now.

I was trying to hold her to a couple of hours a day. The rest of the time was mine to do all of the things I’m expected to do. Where she would help me with those things in the past, she no longer does. She isn’t interested in work, house-keeping or cooking. I know that a lot of cross-dressers write about establishing boundaries for their habits/practices. Some are successful, some aren’t. At the moment I’m not. Even in the struggle for time and work, I shift from my work to writing a blog for her. She wins again.

Now maybe I can get back to my work.

October 7, 2010

Want your pity, share my pleasure

                              I need your pity and I’ll share my pleasure. Pity first; this morning I wanted to try on something new so I grabbed a bra, the forms and panties. I tried on the something new and was putting everything back when … I reached back into the closet to return the storage container (I’m a closet crossdresser) that holds my bras and panties. I was hurrying because I always let my own intensity wind me up too much. As I wrestled the container I was leaning forward and over-extended for my arms, (hindsight is wonderful, and if I could go backwards my life would be perfect). The result was a twinge in my lower back which quickly became a pain. I ended up on my knees, doubled up for about 5 minutes or so until I could get back to my feet. Thankfully I have a dentist who over-prescribes pain medication which I keep for moments of intense stupidity like this. I’m sitting here, carefully placed on my desk chair, bum to the back of the chair, back fully pressed against the chair, feet flat on the floor. I’m moving in and out of the chair very carefully, and walking about the house like someone who should be in a home. Pity me, I’m in pain.

                              The pleasure on the other hand is; a new bra, (black demi with lace edges) which is a beautiful thing to behold when it is on and the forms are in, and a new dress from Smart Set. I just bought the dress last night. There is a “Big Box” plaza that I go to frequently for the restaurants. There is a string of shops, La Senza, Reitman’s, Smart Set, Mexx and Addition-Elle, which have been a successful shopping territory for me. This morning I rushed for the clothes as soon as I could and tried on the dress. It’s an Empire line which is not my favorite because it doesn’t compliment my body shape as well as some others, but … I was quite pleased with the overall look so I think I’ll keep it.

                              Later today I’ll have a chance to do the whole dress process and I’ll make the final decision then.  Share my pleasure at the joy of my two purchases. I just love the way the lace edge of the bra shows ever so slightly above the scoop neck of the dress. It makes me giddy.

                              I’ve got to go now. My host has appointments for the morning but I’ll be back later. Funny thing, once upon a time it used to be a special moment when I got to dress. Now it is just frustrating when I can’t. What’s that line in physics; no two things can occupy the same space at the same time?

Older Posts »

Blog at