|What I guess I was looking for. Like it|
even exists or I'd want it if I had it.
|The only knickers that I owned|
at the time. Plain black hi-legs
from a cheap Morrison's pack
However, there was the time where I did dress to go out. Up until that point I had dressed at Toby's suggestion and she had been in the driving seat. She had put me in handcuffs and locked me outside her room, she had chosen the wardrobe, put me in make-up and teased me about wearing knickers. All of these things were good, they were consensual, they were fun. They were also very exciting, even if I was pretty poor at accepting them. We had masturbated one another in bed, we had both reached climax and we had both slept in the same bed all night numerous times. But she had been in the driving seat, even prompting me to be more forceful. Now and again I took the driving seat, with her permission, and tied her up or held her down or whatever. I knew that she was into bondage and pain because with her own ex she had ended up with bite marks and bruises and, once I was going out with her, I saw that this wasn't abuse - she did ask me to try the same and while we did bite one another a little, I really didn't want to leave a bruise, so I didn't. There are ways.
|This is the sort of thing I imagined when|
Toby said I should wear dresses more
often and complimented my legs.
We'll be honest, I don't have legs
I guess the whole thing is an example of something that has plagued me. I had the opportunity to safely embrace my transvestism in a supportive environment and, rather than embrace it, I pushed it away as hard as I could. I was embarrassed, I worried about the consequences and I was concerned about the religious implications and these selfish concerns overwhelmed the kindness that was being shown me.
Mid-way through the relationship after the above break-up Toby held me down and had her younger sister shave my legs from half way down my calves to my feet because I was going on holiday with two girls I had liked the look of back in University. That was part of what made me stick around - the occasional bit of domination and bondage. I also quite liked the feeling of my legs being smooth and without hair. As usual, I over-egged the pudding and asked if I should shave my whole legs, completely missing the point of what had happened at Toby's Mum's house. She only didn't go on the holiday herself because I was hardly a 'good time' person. This blog stands as testament, I think, to the fact that I find being positive over a long period virtually impossible.
|About as masculine as I look shaving. Not|
that pretty though.
|The razor was a pink one that Toby deliberately left for|
me. The mini-skirt I wore afterwards was a gift from
her too. As was the nightgown I wore at her place.
I'm not really certain what purpose these entries serve, but perhaps they have been cathartic.