Sarahjanus's Blog

March 24, 2011

Shaved legs resolves inner tensions, who knew?

It has been awhile since I have written here.
The absence is due, primarily, to the turmoil of being a secret. It isn’t difficult to find the time during the day, and it is never difficult to find a subject to write about. There is an abundance of daily minutiae that can be commented on. It may not be meaningful to my readers but it does meet the objective of the blog, which is to record my thoughts and feelings.

I have begun to assemble the blogs in some sort of order, to create a volume and perhaps a book. I can see the irony
already. The assembled blogs garner a success similar to “Shit my father said”, and I can’t capitalize on it because I remain a secret. Look at the facets of that dilemma. They are like the sparkles in a diamond, changing constantly as you roll it around and let the light strike it a different way.

When I look back over the past few weeks, I see that I was probably in one of the so-called “pink fogs”, buying clothes
that I desired without acknowledging that the opportunities to wear them would be next to non-existent. I was pushing my own boundaries, finding out where I was comfortable, and what I was comfortable with. The answers were, not surprisingly,
not surprising. I have a deep and abiding desire to present to the world as a woman. In my mind, at the moment, that doesn’t extend to surgery and transitioning, for a couple of reasons. The greatest of these is my age. At my current age, retired as I am, it would be far too much effort for far too little gain. I could accomplish most of my goals by simply dressing well and
presenting to the best of my abilities.

As has been written before, there remains, in this house a last child standing, (LCS) that is, one who has not yet moved out
either permanently or temporarily. The former would be for work and the latter for post-secondary education. The LCS is, however, finished high school and lounging through a year of rest and reflection while he contemplates his future. His employment is part-time. This is not a reflection, (necessarily) on him. Few employers in this area hire labour full-time anymore. It is easier, and with fewer regulations to employ everyone as part-time. He works between 25 and 30 hours a week, enough for a perhaps-someday student, but not enough for someone to live independently, in the style to which he has become accustomed. The net result is that he is here, lounging, in the house far more than he is absent.

It being the end of winter, the transition of seasons, my significant other is also home more than normal. Christmas shopping
has ended. Shopping in general has been suspended while the financial damage of the Christmas holiday is repaired. New Year’s resolutions to work out more are slipping so attendance at the gym is down. The social calendar is in the same doldrums of seasonal transition. Her favorite television shows are in full swing, so she makes an effort to be home to watch the glory of success and the despair of rejection and elimination.

The sum total of all this domestic bliss is that there is no opportunity for me to dress and feel like myself. There hasn’t
been for a while. It became apparent to me over the week-end past. I was exceptionally grumpy, irritable, and restless. I actually undertook house-work with a measure of motivation to try and burn off some of the tension. I wasn’t entirely clear on the reasons for the grumpiness and irritability but it was obvious to all and to me. I for once brought it up and acknowledged it before anyone-else could.

When Monday arrived, I used a hair remover to cleanse all the hair from my legs. It was the act of a madman, obviously. How
could I possibly keep such a thing unnoticed? I loved the feel of my smooth legs when I was done. I loved the act of putting on lotion to moisturize. I was dying to feel a pair of nylons slip on. I was eager to see my legs in beige or sheer nylons, without the hair that normally so destroys the look. The act made me feel immensely better.

On Wednesday I took advantage of a rare few hours of privacy to put on leggings and a blouse while I worked away around the
house. I was relaxed and at ease. I felt whole, even without anything-else. This morning, after my shower, after feeling,
again, the smoothness of my bare leg, I wished for the chance to slip on my bra, add in my forms, feel the weight of them, and feel the snugness of the straps. But it is not to be.

Yesterday I returned to my email ( for the first time in weeks. I went back to my Facebook page and caught up on everyone’s writings and comments. Now I am writing for the blog. I cannot deny who I am, that is apparent. There is no putting the genie back in the bottle. Days spent in denial are obviously going to come with a penalty. For the moment, I am not
prepared to admit (to others) to who I am either. Perhaps there is middle ground. Perhaps Sarah and her host can each live reasonably well in some form of accommodation.

I wish you all well. I am not unhappy. I don’t need sympathy, empathy or condolences. I’m just writing to express myself, to
feel better at the end of it, to admit to this limited audience that I am a cross-dresser. I am happy with knowing who I am. I am just not yet able to be who I am.

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