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!

Monday, 9 September 2013


Like this, but less elegant.
I know that I should be working, but when I got back from my visit home I was so tired and, well, depressed that I did not dress as I have been doing here so far. Instead I stressed about what I had to do today without actually doing anything and didn't really talk to my wife online - that is, we shared a few remarks back and forth and then we... sort of stopped. She's preparing for a sleep over by the Girlie's eight year old friend, which should be good for the Girlie. Again, I feel bad about that because the house was slightly tidier than when I arrived but it was still a bomb-site.

Instead of working tonight, most of what I have to do is either done or do-able in the morning, I am luxuriating because... well, I know I don't deserve it, but I feel like it and I maybe want it to feel a little stressed. So I have on my short skirt (gift from Toby); the top I stole from Tilly's throwing out a few years ago now (velvet style strappy top); my fuschia bra (I chucked the other one); my favourite knickers; my boots and a shirt from my male wardrobe. I wanted to see if wearing a male shirt over a stuffed bra still looked feminine, and it does kinda. It certainly doesn't make me look any more masculine, the beard does a good job of that.

I'd love to be doing this. I mean, look at how happy and
carefree she looks. Yeah, I know, it's posed but still.
Merely thinking about femininity and masculinity like this has caused a physical response that is sexual in nature that has been entirely absent in my evening so far, by the way. I ate chicken soup with toast and a glass of red wine with my legs crossed, in an attempt to ape a more female method of sitting, and read the Private Eye (go look it up, it's a political/satirical magazine). I am watching the telly, K-PAX, not as good as the book but still a decent enough film. At 9pm there's a drama about losing power on the telly and I intend to be watching it. I have eaten some tortilla chips with Doritos dip on the leather sofa and I have leant back and enjoyed the feeling of the stuffed bra tight around my chest and the skirt on my legs and the heels on my feet.

I love the feel of the velvet top against my arms and I love the way everything hugs me tight. When I got in I put the boots on over my work trousers and I loved that too, the way the boots made the trousers cling to my legs. I love that feeling. I feel safe and warm and hugged tight - as if I am in the embrace of God Herself or Jesus or just the Holy Spirit or all three.

You have no idea how much I would love to end every day
at work like this. After the children was asleep, of course
but still, I would love to wear a female tailored  suit and just...
well, veg out like that. I want her hair.
It was a good day at work, I enjoyed it all and I have had a good day. This is unusual, as long-time readers will know, but it was a very good day. I have not had any stress from work, I have done everything I need to do and I have received praise both unbidden and welcome from staff and students. I have seen colleagues I hope one day to call friends and I have shared conversation with good people. I have had lessons with students who were sparky and interesting without arrogance and with innocence. I have, in short, enjoyed myself today. I was hoping for a video chat with my children to share this good day with my family. But Girlie was up in the night and Tilly remains tired having dealt with her being out of control and stressed out. My visit home has merely made her angry all over again at the move, at the change and at the indignity of not having her Daddy with her. Over the weekend we had a fall out that I still don't fully understand but that Girlie has not worked through with me. I was being punished by her but before it could be fixed, and Tilly and I tried, I had to go back to work. This has happened before and can last days. Of course, on those occasions I could retry the following evening. I couldn't this time and so we parted without a resolution. Now Tilly has to deal with a Girlie who will not be comforted or calmed.

More after the break.

Despite title, not me. But what if it could be. Oh, now that
would be delicious.
And I? I have had a good day and am luxuriating. So, in amongst the good feelings there is also the stabbing guilt of what it is that I am doing. Add in the fact that I'm wearing an overnight pad and trying, yes you read that right, trying to have a small 'accident' in it and you have a very fucked up individual. One who does not want to be a woman, honestly, but one who, nevertheless, wonders about breasts and wonders about dressing for longer - going for long walks. One who does not want to pass but secretly wishes that he could go about in public in clothes designed for women and have no one bat an eye - which kind of suggests passing as things are at the moment in our society (and, incidentally, is one of the reasons I whole-heartedly support Feminism). One who is very happy with his male parts but doesn't always know what exactly to do with them.

Oh I would wear the fuck out of this cloak
and wear a wig like that. Fuck yes.
I'd kneel too.
When Tilly started talking about cloaks and describing what she was looking at to me I was very excited. I was happy for her because she was happy and I was also glad because, well, I like what cloaks look like on the female form. I have always had a soft spot for women that wear gothic style clothing - in the whole spectrum of 'goth' - no, wait, I like women's goth clothing and therefore I like women that wear it but I cannot, so I take enjoyment when women do. Anyway, that's only part of the point. I decided to go 'red-bloodied male' on Tilly's choice of attire, when she showed me her choice I said: "Better not wear that next weekend if we're not doing the bad thing!" She laughed a little and then said: "You know, that's a bit like what you were saying, about women wearing clothes for others rather than themselves. I'm not going to be wearing it for you, it's not about what you think of it."

She's right. But I felt awful about that. Is it fair?

I kinda wish I had breasts. I kinda wish I could spend every evening with red wine, a skirt, a top, boots and a movie. I wish I could share this with Tilly. But it can't and won't ever happen.

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