9th October 2011
I have only felt that way very rarely, perhaps the first time I dressed, in the company of someone who was soon to become my mad-ex, and that was in a long dress (later I learned that it was a purple ‘wedding’ dress) but with trousers and shirt worn underneath. There were ribbons to tie the bodice in the back and tighten it, meaning that I couldn’t get out of that one on my own. The only other time I recall a similar feeling (but it is by no means the only other time I’ve felt it) was when I was dressed in a skirt, blouse, blue satin camisole top, tights and a pair of ‘strappy’ sandals with a bit of a heel. Thing is, was it down to the clothing that I felt so comfortable or not?
I confess I tried a curtsey: mostly to see if I could actually do one but also partly because it felt ‘right’ to try it. I wasn’t very good at it, but it felt good to try.
I won’t say that there wasn’t a sexual element to the whole thing because there was an undeniable one in the form of you-know-what doing its thing, but the interesting part about that was that it was a side-order, the same sort of thing I get when being close to my wife – there but not insistent is the best way I have of putting it into words and even then it’s not a terribly good way of putting it. Like I was aware that there was a physical aspect to the whole thing but could ignore it at will. There was also a feeling that I wanted to do it again, and really do it properly. On this count I failed, I did do it again, this evening in fact, but it wasn’t the same. I got caught up in the whole physical aspect of the dressing and thus failed to, well, enjoy the whole thing. I didn’t sit down, as I did in the morning, and luxuriate in the feeling of the skirts gathering beneath my legs, or the lace falling softly on the top of my forearms or the way that the skirt was cold but comforting beneath my hands. I didn’t take the time to swish the skirt about or hold it up to walk over an obstacle, to play with it with one hand and see what it would do.
Again, none of these affectations were done with thought of their femininity, and I would hardly cut a feminine figure in carrying them out, but they were done because they were nice, because it felt ‘right’.
And, I suppose, that’s it. That’s what it has taken me a full day to record and write about: a feeling of everything being ‘nice’ and ‘comfortable’. Essentially, I was happy twice today but most of all in the morning when I took the time to enjoy the whole situation and luxuriate in it rather than pushing for a physical response. I was taken by surprise this morning but, this evening, I was rushing too fast to get in and feel it again. I was happy, this is rare and, I fear, tied up with being dressed. What was it about being dressed that allowed me to feel happy? If I could answer that maybe I would be happy more often and dressed less.
Where does that leave masculinity and me?