Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Tuesday, 18 July 2017

A Holiday

More illustrated story than caption to be fair.
I had a few days alone, ostensibly to finish marking, at the start of last week as Tilly and the children went on a break locally. The Boy, middle, wished to stay in a hotel and who are we to deny such a simple wish? So, they went about a bus ride away and I got the house to myself until the Wednesday. I am sure that I have already mentioned the site GetDare and I decided to use it to try and galvanise myself to use the time effectively. I was all for not actually getting dressed in the end but the dares there were enough to tip me over the edge. So it was that on the Monday night (note how I didn't dress on the Sunday evening) I was dressed in a my knee-length skirt and white blouse with stuffed bra and wedges. It was a lovely experience and I thoroughly enjoyed doing my marking, making my tea, eating food and generally just being dressed. The following evening I wore the black top that used to be Tilly's before she threw it out and I rescued it. I also wore the mini-skirt that was a gift from Toby as it didn't fit her and my purple tights, stuffed bra and wedge heels.

On both nights I indulged in corner time using a corner time app, which was lovely, as it happens. I don't know why that should make a difference, it really is a strange thing to be taking a fascination with, but it was relaxing and actually felt quite liberating. It got me thinking, again, about missed opportunities to live as I seem to want to live whilst I was at University and when people would actually have been pretty supportive. It got me thinking about my naivete when I was looking for a partner in assuming that I would be the stick in the mud and the one who would be holding back on the bedroom front. And about why I initially went out with Toby and wanted to stay with her. And what attracted me to Tilly - her apparent adventurous nature and Devil-may-care approach to life in general.

My vicar warned us that oftentimes relationships would be like that. The one partner would wish the other to change and they wouldn't, the other wishing their partner would stay the same only for them to change. I think we live that particular cliche. It was a sobering thought and so, naturally, I put it to the back of my mind and enjoyed the evenings. I even cleaned the house, as I had been requested, whilst dressed on the second evening.

An Art Teacher with some serious

No offence, Miss, I wish I could
look that good!
They returned home and the Wednesday evening was blessed with a take-out that didn't make me ill, yay! However, it was tinged with disappointment - Tilly was happy to tell me all about their adventures but less willing to talk about what I had been up to. Now, in fairness, I had been at work and marking papers as I do at this time of year so I can't blame her but it was a tad one-sided. Still, I can get a little over-bearing when in discussion mode so it was perhaps time for her to be allowed to dominate for a change. In the evenings afterward I missed the dressing but continued with GetDare and the cornertime where possible because... well, I don't know. I found an ABDL caption site and have been reading that with a massive surge in self-pleasure over the last week. I have mostly finished my marking but my late nights continue as I allow myself to jump more fully into that missed life once the children are in bed and Tilly is asleep.

A parents' evening (never know where the apostrophe goes any more, I end up second-guessing myself too much) and another late night after the weekend (itself the last gasp of marking) means that I haven't really been a proper parent to either of our eldest despite taking the new child for an hour or so of an evening whilst Tilly bathes or washes her hair or just has some time alone.. I can't complain, making a roast on Sunday gained me an actual hug and unbidden peck on the cheek, the first such things since she discovered she was pregnant.

I expected this, I predicted it, and I was not wrong. All Tilly's protestations when she was trying to get me to agree to having a third child about how she would be different and how she would be more emotionally and physically open to me were... well, no, let's not be unfair. She was much happier with what I did and didn't get angry with me as much, nor as resentful and didn't blame me for things at random. Which helped me as it showed me just how much she did the first two times and how much of all of that truly wasn't my fault - being much more than I had assumed at the time - but it wasn't anywhere near what she said she would be like - not that I actually believed any of what she said. I realise that sounds a tad accusatory, it isn't meant like that.

Tuesday, 27 June 2017

Mount Pleasant

Over the weekend I took on yet more responsibility in my mad dash to gain money to pay bills. This year I have been flattered by being asked to manage others in my annual sojourn into the stressed world of extra marking for money and it seemed to go rather well. I mean, I am stressing about having taken too much on. Two rounds plus a third now where I manage others, all in this pressured part of the year with a newbie small child, what am I thinking?

Nowhere near this pretty.

But it felt so good.
I am thinking that two nights in London gave me an opportunity to pack my chemise and a pair of briefs and sleep in them, alone, for two nights. Nothing raunchy, nothing seedy, just me in a chemise for two nights alone. And it was beautiful. Truly. I felt so at ease and got up at early hours, I walked the streets of London looking at interesting architecture until well in the evening. I stopped off at pubs and tried some over-priced shitty beer and just enjoyed the freedom of being me for a while. Two or three hours on each night as it happens. And I got paid to be there.

I successfully led a meeting, which was nice, and even got some people saying nice things. Like Tilly has said before I am awesome in small doses but pretty crap in longer ones. I managed to get down to London, book a hotel, and get back without making any dating errors or errors of payment that meant I ran out of money or racked up huge debts. I managed to get the shopping done on my return and spend a day passing people following the meeting (suffice to say that each person took just shy of an hour and I had a team of seven). I have taken on more at work because my new member of staff struggles with new things and is planning a holiday.

I am a crap manager because I try to support too readily. I am not good at getting people to stand on their own two feet and support me, I tend to be the one that does the supporting. I am that kind of idiot.

I am home again now, I have been since Saturday evening, and there is no more sleeping in my chemise, it is hidden once more in the wardrobe, and there are no more happy early mornings. I struggle to arouse from slumber, stumble through making lunches and washing the pots and sorting out the pet and try to ensure the dining room is fit for humans after my marking spreads paper about. I go into work and teach nearly full days and fail to get the marking I need to do there done in the time I would like to get it done, not aided by taking on six teaching hours from my colleagues to try and deliver coursework lessons with little or no quid pro quo. I'd ask my newb, let's call them Silver, to do some marking in return but for the fact that their examination marking is crap and takes forever so I can't really rely on them to do it.

Still, I managed to get reports done and I am managing people over a computer sort of and in real life and no one has yet died. Three more weeks of this shit and then I am stopping dead I think.

Wednesday, 31 May 2017


This blog is about the aspirations to that highest of emotions: Happiness. So I shall start with the good news. Dee made a caption for me, sorta, and it is lovely and brilliant and well-made (as are all of the captions she makes) and I can't and won't do anything less that say good things about it! I mean, you probably know how electrifying it is to see something with your name in it in fiction generally, when you can identify with the story and the character a little more because of something as simple and effective as a shared name. Hard to contemplate why that should make a difference but it really, really does. There's something deep to be said about that, I imagine, but I am not the one to say it. Being AS and reading what that means still is fascinating and suggests that people are more likely to identify with characters without the necessity of having one's name in there - simply by dint of recognising one's own approaches and actions (or, in the famous cases of Bella and the one in Fifty Sheds, by dint of the main character having no discernible emotions and reactions, allowing a reader to import their own).

I digress, the point is that there was a caption made and my name was shoved in there and it elicited a series of lovely feelings, because that is how easily influenced I am.

None of this though.

No, I don't get it either.
Speaking of such things, I was delighted to read Terri's May update in which it was shared that clothing had been purchased and worn on day-to-day errands and jobs. That sort of thing is to be commended, politely and without fanfare, because it is just so normal and lovely. So, I'd take my hat off but for the fact that the only one I own is a Soviet police hat and it's hot and it resides at my place of work so I'm not wearing it. Even a friend of mine sharing a very interesting link about men and penises on the Book of Faces gave food for thought as well as providing evidence that, now we are the men, we get to set the idea of what masculinity is and the article suggests that there is much work to be done in removing the barriers of thinking around the male organ and how people perceive their relationship with it. I shall be honest, having a penis means that I am occasionally called upon to look at it and that means I have some views on it.


I'm hairier on the legs. Also, that hand position...

Can't say I recognise it. But, then, I get the impression
that I am somewhat abnormal in this regard.
I can't speak for the penises of others as I haven't really memorised or remembered seeing all that many penises either at school or otherwise. I mean, there were shared changing facilities in PE when I was at school and I always read about the 'japes' that would go on there - but I never recall being part of them. I went in the showers, shared, and I got dried and dressed. I do not recall ever seeing others in the shower - or, at least, not seeing their penises - nor did anyone seek to see mine. To that end I can only really comment on my own. I know that my masturbatory habits are unusual, to say the least, as I have never done more than manipulate the head of the penis and rarely, if ever, pulled back the foreskin. I mean, there was that part that joins the foreskin to the head of the penis that I recall being my first brush, ahem, with masturbation but, apart from that, I've only ever used two or three fingers (including the thumb) to get to the brink, so to speak. I understand that most people use their whole hand and use an actual grip along the shaft. I have also heard that many people with a penis prefer to be stimulated from the bottom up too. I cannot comment on that, it does not work for me.

More after the break, but no images.

Wednesday, 17 May 2017


Godwin invoked.

Does this make me Alt-Left?
Not sure that I ever posted much about my aborted attempt at a novel on this blog. It was on my literary blog. I may have mentioned that the main character of that novel actually became more than my usual textual musings on humanity and how it relates and took on a loife all their own in ways that I didn't see coming. I was happily ripping off Hitler: the Rise of Evil when the protagonist decided that they could quite happily be a leader without being divorced and without being evil. Rather, they had their own agenda. And then, because I suck at writing, all went quiet. That was years ago.

One of the oddities of the current General Election campaign in the UK at the moment is the number of people I speak to who seem to be basing decisions on the oddest of factors. At least, to me they are odd factors. Emotional renditions of the unknowable and disparaging any attempt to bring in sober reflection as being 'pie in the sky' or, worse, as being the very dream-like lying that they then reveal as the stand-in for sober reflection. It's bizarre, it's other-worldly, and it appears to actually be working. By turns I am angry, saddened and terrified.

I can't imagine that the Zanu-PF would be terribly nice to
a white cross-dressing British schmuck...
My online life, as evidenced by the existence of this blog, is the sort of life that would destroy me professionally and probably personally as well. I make no bones about that. My self-destructive side would quite like for it to become a reality too, because then it all goes up in smoke. That is not the point of this post. Anyway, yes, the pictures and opinions on here pretty much exclude me from any political ambition anywhere in the developed world I would imagine. And, selfish git that I am, I'm not sure I fancy my chances in LEDCs either.

But it all came together on the way home from work today, listening to Unstoppable by Sia about putting on armour. She means make-up and going out drinking as a means to avoid showing her true self - the lyrics make that one pretty clear. But what if that were just the start? My protagonist popped up to inform me that he would likely serve another leader, a woman, and that he would deal with security and enforcement. He would be an aware Himmler to a less self-aware Hitler and he would likely take his revenge on the Dandies from the earlier portion of the book. He would burn out all that he had abandoned about himself from society around him with a twisted grin of one who sees the purification of the self in the destruction of those around him. What if Sia was putting on armour by adopting a salute and a uniform?

Speaks for itself.
But what if they don't salute or offer a salute? What if the militarisation on the back of victimisation of the majority was less about war and more about defence of culture? Without the uniforms and salutes one is left with slogans. My protagonist suggested "Zu Ende!" - "to the end" which works in both languages. And around us we have those too, the slogans that speak of danger and fear "strong and stable" and encourage the majority to view themselves as a whipped minority. After all, real persecution doesn't exist so anyone who says that they suffer issues are lying and gaming the system so the majority can do that too.

I spoke to a teaching colleague in training. I was ranting about one of my newest bug-bears - people who say "I'm a bit autistic too, we're all on the spectrum" and then follow it with "autism doesn't really exist anyway, it's just an excuse". The colleague said "oh, I agree with you!" But they'd misunderstood, they revealed that they really didn't think autism existed. After all, he said (yes, twas a he), we're all on the spectrum and all human behaviour is slightly 'autistic' to the point where people who claim to be affected are just moaning. I was got a bit angry. I pointed out that I was, he was not, and that I had two autistic children. I said "there's a bit of a difference between actually being autistic and people with things they do that they joke about being autistic". He did not speak to me again in the next two hours. I worry about that. My righteous indignation (suffered a hit/and my photon accelerator's broken a bit) wasn't and I think I came across as the sort of dick that would merely confirm this scientist's (yes, he teaches Biology) opinion.

Many colleagues are happy with voting against education this election, I have discovered, with the excuse that, yes, if their preferred candidate wins then education is fucked but at least we'll have proper leadership. They actually justify their opinions with the idea that the leader of another party is a bit of a dick and won't ever win or he has questions to answer on security or he's bringing back the 1970s. This is why I say it's different actually being AS rather than simply joking about it - the dichotomy is bridged by the sort of flexible thinking that holds no internal logic, like the news I regularly have to turn off, because it actually gives me a headache and stops me sleeping. It causes me pain to try to follow the mental gymnastics. But NT people, even if they don't agree, can not only follow it but empathise and say things like "you can see where they're coming from" whilst agreeing that it makes no sense" but "does in a way, you know?"

No. I don't.

Saturday, 6 May 2017

Cable Street's Failure

See, she's balancing. See what I did there?

And, also, yeah, well, there's that thread that runs through
this blog like something that is a thread. Hmm.
Balance is key, so the aphorism would have it. There is something in giving and taking and allowing some semblance of balance into life. Work and everything else, self and family, stress and not. Beer and not beer. I am struggling.

Tell me something new! Thank you rhetorical device, I shall. See, there are politics all around. And it would appear as though I shall be on the losing, nay, the crushed side again. And I don't know what to do. It is terrifying. I see the future, sort of, and I kinda know where things are going. Not specifically, but generally enough to know that within two years we're going to struggle as a family to function - we're just on that cusp financially and socially. As social conservatism rises and scrutiny becomes more invasive and complete I wonder just how long I shall last in my current line of work with my current line of issues and how long I can possibly maintain any separation twixt my public and private life. Will there still be the facility to be diagnosed when the waiting list reaches the point I can go and be diagnosed? Will that just accelerate being discovered? How long can we rely on privacy anyway?

An anti-Nazi rally in Berlin in 1932. Looks powerful and strong
but we know what came next. They just suspected it.
A gathering storm is evident. It's the 1930s alright but in a new and subtle way. In the UK there's no obvious fascism, just the drum-beat of jingoism in the background growing increasingly insistent; there's no obvious route to death camps, just the casual disregard for people that need help and care getting increasingly higher up the scale; there's no obvious rounding up of asocials, just the increasing disparaging of those who disagree. It's a scary place to be. Am I in an echo chamber? I suspect that I grew up in one. Maybe I still am. Maybe the coming epoch will bring that rugged individualism that is so addictive to those on the right, afforded to those that the right feel deserve it and I am just a snowflake about to be evaporated by the coming global increase in temperature.

The Women's March in London in January this year. Looks powerful and strong
but we don't know what will come next. They just suspect it.
I read about socially progressive people, that is, people who have benefited from more progressive approaches to society, saying that they won't vote progressive for spurious and fallacious economic reasons based on propaganda and 'personal experience'. I don't understand. My experience, anyone's experience, is rather useless when confronted with actual trends and data. As a military historian I know to be wary of any big picture stuff from someone who was there - they don't see everything and any future research is coloured by what they wish to find from their experience. Not to say that one should strive to be objective, such a thing is impossible, but I do know that my own experience is no decent guide to, well, anything. I am swayed by statistical analysis and combined trends. That tells me that, economically, the social progressives tend to do better in my own country, YMMV, at least since 1945. Furthermore, that people who have benefited from social progression would vote against it when those who would roll it back have already started to do so and promise to do so more is infuriating and mystifying to me.

A British MP, Jo Cox, was assassinated by a right-winger
and we carry on as if it is all normal. He was mentally ill, they
say, and so there was no politics here. We have calm and clear
politics. Strong and stable. To challenge is chaos.
Some people seem to believe words over deeds or, worse, come out with the "all politicians lie" line as though that excuses the fact that they are voting for actual liars - because all politicians lie so vote for the lies you like the best? It makes no sense. Surely find the politician that doesn't lie? Ah, but then you'd have to face uncomfortable truths, about Brexit, about your friends and neighbours and about people you have never even met. You'd have to accept compromises and maybe even face some unpalatable home truths. Maybe you would even have to lose out some of what you have that others may gain and we can't be having that. I doubt it is my Aspie nature but there may be some element in it - I am quite happy to degrade my existence and experience if it means that a more equitable society is the result. Raise my taxes if the NHS can be helped and returned to full coverage. Lower my wages if it means that the Minimum Wage can be increased for those on lower pay. Increase my mortgage if it means that houses become more affordable or rents can go down and landlords be held accountable enough to provide a better quality of housing to be rented. Increase my workload if others' falls, especially if they were working harder than me. But that is not the general way of things.

I look around and I am scared.

In the meantime, an update.

Speaks for itself.
I am on the sofa, as predicted, so that I get sleep and can go to work. This is working. I am also making the meals as much as possible, which is sort of working but Tilly is reaching the point where she wants different food but has no idea what. This will eventually lead to issues. She is losing sleep as our children have colds at the moment and there is a dance show on the way for the Girlie so that she is finding things hard to. I am barely seeing my children again, working into the late evening and night because Tilly needs respite from a small child. I barely see Tilly for that matter. Washing the pots, cooking the meals and keeping the house tidy. Mostly doing the washing too, when I get chance, and maintaining the pet. I don't mind, but as Tilly gets increasingly tired and sleep deprived and adds more and more extra to her life I know full well that the time approaches where her frustrations will be loosed upon me.

She has started gardening again, at increased levels to what she was doing before she was pregnant. She has increased the amount she does to support Girlie and the amount of travelling she does to get both children to classes. She has reduced the amount of crafting and activities she does with our elder children whilst increasing the amount of time they spend alone - which is a bit random in my mind - and has decreased the amount of time she spends with friends (and friends for our elder two) and the amount of contact she has with people online. I can't do much on this score. I suspect that the political situation at present colours my views on these things more than it ought.

Not much else to share here. Not right now.

Thursday, 13 April 2017


On 27 March my third child was born. Tilly was in two operations afterward for minor, but still pretty powerful, stuff and then was in recovery until the Friday that week. I took a second week off from work to support as best I could and, since then, have been primary caregiver for my elder two children. We now have the Girlie, the Boy and Stalin. And, if you know me, you know that Stalin is an affectionate nickname. Tonight I am finally toasting my new arrival with a bottle of Billionaire from Wild Beer Co which is a stout that I have become rather fond of. It's an Imperial too, at 10% ABV, and it tastes like drinking Belgian chocolate topped Millionaire's shortbread.

I wish that I had more detail for you but thems the breaks. It's been busy since, but not necessarily in a bad way. I note, with interest, that the ASD people in the family were mostly fine and directed and that problems do return when we have a NT person back in the mix, but that's a story for another time.

In the meantime I am plagued with strange dreams about work, again, but not my work, if you see what I mean. These sometimes end up surreal, like the walking between classes on high wires or the one where I wasn't prepared for teaching at all and in on my day off or something. And the sometimes veer into the erotic, with the one that included some scenario about being in chastity for some reason or other. Basically, they're all completely odd and probably due to being woken every now and again at night because that's what happens with a newborn with whom I am occasionally called to change nappies.

Even so, this is the first time we have a birth on my blog and so there's that. A third child. A boy child, so far as we know, as the world slowly descends into actual chaos.

Wednesday, 22 March 2017


Looks enough like the NHS, I love the dotty auntie NHS.

Took a while though.
We move on. Just a short post tonight as I have nothing much to get a cob on about. I do rather paint Tilly badly on here, and I know one person who reads this and knows her would probably agree with me when I say that I don't lie or misconstrue, but I probably paint things blacker than they are. That said, there was a bit of a minor scare today, not connected to the horrendous incident in London (which, thank God, was not worse and that is something given its nature; how do you plan to stop that without removing all freedoms?) whereby I was called away from work to take Tilly to the hospital. Possible complications. There weren't any, but I was called away from work.

These images always befuddle me. Who does that? Is it
paid well?
Despite all my shouting and moaning on here I do know that Tilly is not the type to ring me at work unless things are awful and I am needed. So it was that I left work and helped out. Not much to do, she was stoic, but she does still do rather too much. Walking and busing to Gym with the children yesterday (not like a paying gym, like a class for them to do physical education stuff with trainers and the like - think running around, vaulting, hurdles, tumbles and balance beams) which is a two hour trip. Also walking around town with them both long distances to do errands and the like. Oh, and weeding the garden yesterday. And hoovering every surface in the house for three days straight. And cooking. And washing the bathroom and... you get the idea. She's agreed to try and tone things down now, we're close enough and she's of an age where more rest is required.

Yay for ale.

I may even get to drink it before Easter.
Good things! Someone I know through twitter (yes, I joined there about two years ago) has sent me a hard-to-find US ale for free today. That was nice, and rather unexpected, so I now have a bottle of Founders Breakfast Stout awaiting consumption in the kitchen. It may have to wait a while but that's no biggie for this one. Hard to get in the UK and I've been trying to get hold of some decent Founders stuff after I had their Imperial Stout in the summer at Leeds International Beer Festival. Well, now I have it!

My observation was had way back when and I got feedback yesterday to say that it was the highest grade one can achieve, which is nice. Completely unrealistic, by the way, because I know that the school inspection people would have rated it 'good' - mainly because they base it less on the lesson and more on the evidence and stats over a long period (which wasn't hot enough to warrant anything more than the now standard 'good') - but I'm not complaining. This is not my square to circle and so I'll take the effective pat on the back and move on to pass on the good feels to my colleagues.

It was to Thackray Medical Museum.
Speaking of which, Harry ballsed up the trip yesterday by ordering coaches an hour later than we needed them and we didn't pick up on the error until we were ready to go. I hope that I did not do to them what was done to me when similar balls-ups occurred in my old place, I comforted, assigned no blame and tried to remain chipper, if a little panicked, and blamed no one. I was going to get some ale and wine (for another colleague was also involved and distraught) but haven't had chance yet. Maybe by the end of the week. I can't complain too much (though I will take some smug satisfaction that the day before Harry had been in a foul mood and said, when I realised they'd beaten me to making lists and timetables for the trip, "well, I've got used to you not doing anything" - I thought that a little unfair) as I didn't organise this trip. In short, I hope I was more managerial and supportive than managers have been to me in the past.

My AS allows me to analyse and imitate compassion. Better than nowt.

Right, and now it is bedtime.

Nurses in the NHS are brilliant.