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!

Saturday, 3 August 2013

This must be the place

I waited years to leave



This may or may not be to your taste and so I've put one of those line breaks in again. Read on at your peril. It discusses some more of my history in a candid manner.

Woah, hey, hi there casual readers!
Seriously, that looks uncomfortable, does anyone actually
read like this?
However, keen as I am to keep casual readers interested (I am) I have to leave something in this post that is worth a read even if you aren't going to go any further (check the post tags). So, what better thing to talk about than my children. The Boy has very much identified with the new place we're hoping we can buy with help from my parents (we'll be paying them back). When shown a set of images of the new place on the leaflet the estate agents sent (for some reason) the conversation went like this:

Boy: "What that?"

"Pictures of the new house. Do you recognise it?"

Boy, with gasp of amazement: "That where mine been!" Points to the picture of the garden, "That where mine line up toys in garden." Girlish squeal of joy as he points at a picture of a bedroom: "That where mine run round in mine house!"

"Yes, you've been there."

Boy: "Mine member. Member playing in the garden with toys at mine house. Not in mine silly house. This silly house. Want mine special house!"

See?

Then there's the Girlie. It was a warmish night, she'd done a show the day before and we think she's still feeling the after-effects. Also, she had some ice-cream yesterday and something in ice-cream makes her go loopy. Anyway, she was very tired today. Very tired. When asked by Tilly to get ready for bed the following conversation ensued:

Tilly: "Now, can you get undressed ready for bed, put on your pyjamas, go to the toilet and do your teeth?"

Girlie: "Yes Mummy."

She then proceeds to strip as she thuds down the landing, clutches her clothes in her hand, wanders into the bathroom and throws them down the toilet. Yes, you read that correctly, she throws them down the toilet.

Girlie: "..."

Tilly tries hard not to cry laughing.

Girlie adopts a look of pure horror as realisation of what she's just done dawns. "Mummy!"

Tilly helps sort it out, "Don't worry, we can put these in the wash."

See, parenting. Fun.

At school I had two fantasies. They predate any kind of understanding of the difference between sexual fantasies and just great day-dreams. The latter, by the way, involved dreaming up gigantic space wars in which I was a participant with pods and lasers and hulking great machines and planets or they involved the brutal world of 3093 with Ground Five Police Forces and eternal warfare and the Flying Panthers. There were stories of derring do and tales that would make your hair stand on end. That kind of thing. About this time two other day-dreams entered the fray and I realised that they were sexual only later, when I was still having them to be sure, but sex was never their main intent.

The first of these was based on some girls I knew. One of them, with strawberry blonde hair and a gigantic nineties watch was one of those human beings from the early '90s. You know, the 'feisty' girl. Basically, she was a human being. I, and others, found that confidence appealing in a non-sexual manner (later it became sexual, but I suspect everything did to some extent or other as puberty hit). There were also girls in my form. None of them were friends with each other (two of them actually were in RL, but that's not really relevant). Anyway, the day-dream had them somehow 'taking revenge' on me (for what was never clearly defined) and, eventually, taking me in the girls' loos. Wow, awesome revenge, right?

Yes, this kind of thing with the glasses and the
eyesight. Except the text would be normal
size, see.
Once in there I would be restrained (latterly with handcuffs, but originally by some unknown and not relevant means) and then they would dress me in a female version of the school uniform. Make up would be applied, a wig put on and glasses that made it difficult to see very far would be placed on. It was important in the day-dream that I could not take these off, in the end they started adding contacts that meant I had to use the glasses to see. This latter point, the glasses, stemmed from something I remember from about age 6 about being incredibly interested by my best friend's glasses and what it would be like to be short sighted. I was also insanely jealous of the fact that he had once been knocked unconscious as he knew what it felt like. I had a stuffed toy named Ruff who had been captured by the Bear Army and tied up at the age of 5. Nuff said. Oh, yeah, this was all in the UK, braces weren't ever a 'thing'. Aaaanyway, back to the story.

Uh... Actually, that was it. As I grew older (sometime around the age of 14) I realised that this was a sexual thing. Nothing really changed in the fantasy itself just my reaction to it. It became a bit of a recurring theme actually and, apart from allusions to it in this very blog, I think this may be the first time I have ever written it down in full.

No, really, it is Charlize Theron. Assuming I've spelt her
name correctly. This is the sort of thing I was looking
at when at school. I had many female friends... no, people
I knew who were female who wore glasses like this.
The important bit, in the girls' toilet, was actually pretty vague. The identities of the girls were largely irrelevant save for the need for some connection to actual reality. Certainly it didn't matter which one forced the bra on or put in the contacts or put on the skirt or stripped me off - indeed, I question if the people were needed at all except to provide the feeling of coercion and otherwise ground the fantasy with a skein of something approaching reality. The location was real, they were the toilets in Lower School, just down the staircase from my actual form room. I simply assumed that, within, they would mirror the boys' toilets and not have urinals. I have no idea if this was true. Anyway, I would be tied somehow to the radiator while all this was going on. The bra was stuffed, always stuffed, and the skirt pretty long (past the knees I think). The shoes were female but unremarkable. The socks were knee-high. Not in a fetishistic way, it's just that the only socks I had actually seen girls wear were like that and so I assumed all girls' socks were like that. Tellingly, I had no concept of girls wearing tights or stockings. Of the latter I had no knowledge and of the former I assumed they were a 'Mum' thing. Therefore devoid of sexuality.

Interestingly, the stuffed bra was non-sexual, it was about hiding the 'crime' by making sure that I would not be unmasked by staff (it was at the end of the day, you see) and allowing me to 'pass' enough to 'endure'.

I searched and, blimey, this is
a photo of one of the girls in
my form around the time. I
have monkeyed with it to
try and hide identities. Uh...
well, I tried.
There was a blouse and a school jumper, these were just like what the girls actually wore so slightly baggy and not at all revealing. Bear in mind this was between the ages of 11 and 14 so very few girls were playing with sexuality, and the one that absolutely did (so that even I noticed) in our form would be pregnant by the age of 16 to someone other than her long-term (and clearly boffing) boyfriend. Basically, it was the kind of sexuality that used tactical nuclear weapons to carry out small tasks like opening bottles of water and therefore almost cartoonish - certainly not the stuff that encouraged actual sexuality as far as young me was concerned.

I would be forced to wear a watch, one of the big nineties ones with the huge face and thick strap, the glasses and that was... it. The make up would be applied but, knowing little about make-up, there was no detail to this. It was just enough to hide my features enough to allow me to 'pass' - you know, soften the features of a manly face enough to look girlish. There was no chance of detail, as far as I knew my mother did not wear make-up for instance, and I didn't really notice if the girls in form did or did not. I knew that some did and that some of the girls I actually spoke to would pass comment on it being 'heavy' or 'light' but I admit that I had no idea who wore it and who did not. I assumed make-up was therefore, well, important to being able to look like a girl but not a big deal. The big deal were the glasses.

No one I know. But pretty looking, so a nice illustration.
Also, the glasses thing.
Looking back the lack of specific details in all of this is quite bizarre. Most of my dreams were heavily detailed and textured with completely random depth for no reason. The games I played when younger involved fantasy worlds that had insane amounts of incidental detail that were totally irrelevant to the game itself. And yet in this fantasy everything was sort of smudged. I mean, the clearest part was walking out into the yard behind Lower School Hall in the full get up and hoping not to be noticed with the same simulation of feeling that I had when I turned up to school on a non-uniform day with full uniform, having forgotten about it. That mixture of shame, humiliation and burning embarrassment coupled with the sure knowledge that it was all my own stupid fault. It was that feeling that I attempted to channel into the day-dream/fantasy and that feeling that I eventually started to try and use to make it all sexual.

All this was before I knew the term transvestite and before I even knew that cross-dressing was a thing, let alone had a name. I did assume anything about the normality of the day-dream either - it was mine and I had no idea if other people did the same or not. Did it matter? Keep in mind that I had been torturing my parents with the contents of my dreams since before I can remember and they had been dismissive at best and outright disbelieving of the amount of detail and plot I remembered at worst. As a consequence I naturally assumed that other people didn't dream like me and didn't much care what I thought. Equally, I didn't much care for theirs. This stemmed from trying to share dreams with my then best friend between the ages of 5 and 8 and learning that they didn't really remember their dreams (so most of them ended up being plots from computer games or TV shows that we both watched) and didn't want to trade. So I stopped caring about 'normal' and just enjoyed my fantasy worlds.

Well, I've written it down. About twenty years, give or take, after I realised it was a sexual fantasy. Aren't you glad.

No comments:

Post a Comment

All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!