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!

Friday, 17 January 2014

Oh, What an Atmosphere

I never knew that this was sung by Russ Abbott! It's in the background of an old tape I made as a youngster, recording myself telling a story I made up on the spot (I did that from time to time when very bored, so I know that I had about an hour an a half of uninterrupted bored time), the recording quality was a bit shit on my father's tape thing and so this song fades in and out at the beginning of the second side along with me attempting to ramble about something or other. No idea, I have never been able to listen to myself since recording it. Anyway, it was a tape being thrown out by my father.


When the flames are burnin' hot they take you higher.
Russ Abbott is not the reason for this post, of course. No, I have been mulling over issues surrounding the re-emergence of the pink fog and the increase in desire to dress, underdress and generally move toward feminine things. I have been perusing several new websites and these have fueled the pink fire (if I may mix my metaphors on this subject) to an all new intensity. I have also played football and buggered one hand (my left) by making a save badly and the other by picking up the ball funny and damaging the little finger nail quite badly. Because I am no sportsperson.

Anyway, as ever with such self-serving ranting and whatnot, there's a line break to save you if you want to quit now. My thoughts are perhaps less incisive than Calvin's comments here. It's the penultimate comment there (number 7 at present), I think he sums things up more succinctly than I bother to these days.




Close. My knickers were a hot pink and I was
festooned with three bracelets and a long
wig in ginger with blonde streaks...
Last night, for unknown reasons, I donned one of my pink camis, a pair of hot pink full briefs and sat down with my laptop out of the way to read the Get Dare forums, focussing upon the cross-dressing and slave lifestyle dice dares. I've said before, I think, how much I love dice based things. I love the Dice Games at Rachel's Haven, for example, and the reason I love it is the abdication of control to the vagaries of chance on dice (or, at least, dice emulators). When it came time to finish I read a bit of Game of Thrones and threw on my pyjama top to hide the cami from Tilly long enough for her to get to bed and turn out the light. This done, I removed the top and slept thus for the night. Come morning I slip out of the bedroom unseen and to the spare room.

I dug out the wig, put it on, then the bracelets I bought a while back. I added a pendant that I bought Tilly back when we first met but she has not worn since the day I gave it to her (I figure that's a safe bet - I mean, I should point out she told me what to get her, but I don't think she liked it as much when she had it, or she was just naming something for me to get her because she didn't really have anything she wanted). Then my wedges/heels that I bought way back when. Then I went downstairs to wash the pots, feed the chinchilla and carry out that heels thing I mentioned (five minutes toes and nose to wall, shoulders back; five minutes butt and shoulders to wall with heels to wall). It felt surprisingly good. I loved the hair falling into my face as I did the pots and got on the the morning routine. I loved the feeling of wearing heels (I've waxed lyrical about this enough times I think) and I loved the fact that I felt like me. I genuinely did.

Is this closer to who I feel than what I look like?
I should have given in to the niggly little voice that told me
to take a selfie this morning. I know I should. But I didn't.
Ho hum. It's not like I won't get another opportunity.
So, I have to ask myself, is this in fact who I am? Has my journey toward self-discovery started on here finally reached a point where I can stop pontificating about not knowing who I am? If it is who I am then what does that mean exactly?

When Tilly and I were preparing for marriage we shared our secrets via some written forms provided by our vicar. Intended as a conversation starter, I filled mine out as fully and honestly as I could, including my desires regarding cross-dressing. It was intended, by me, to spark a proper conversation about that part of myself. I had said that I cross-dressed on our third date and discussed it briefly since then and mentioned it through my clothes collection on Tilly's first evening at my house. When she moved in I showed her where my clothes were kept. We had never really spoken further. When nothing was said following the exchange of forms (me: "should we have that conversation then?"; Tilly: "is there any need to?") I assumed that Tilly knew but wasn't interested. I carried on as before, when Tilly was out I would indulge in a spot of cross-dressing whilst reading dodgy sites on the intertubes. Then Tilly got pregnant and nothing really changed until later on. I indulged on an evening in bed on the sofa and then dialled back again when the Girlie was born. Then the Boy and then a pause and then a step back up in the July before starting this blog following a conversation with Tilly in which she professed amazement.

I would swap. I would.

And go back to school?

Yeah. Yeah I would.
Basically, she thought my references to cross-dressing were purely past-tense and was appalled that I was still doing it. She felt betrayed, that I had lied to her (I still don't accept that) and wanted me to stop. She was horrified. Disgusted. The rest is on this blog and a matter of record. So, it's not like the urge to dress, the pink inferno, is anything new.

The risks that I am taking at present with it, sleeping in the same bed whilst cross-dressed in secret, are rather new. And the comfort I draw from it is not new either. But the addition of the random tasks and the Get Dare forums... well, actually, that isn't all that new either truth be told. But the risks, the frequency, and the amount are all new. The underdressing, for example, allows an indulgence on a scale that I have never been able to do before. The addition of the wig is new, along with the feeling of having hair brush my shoulders and back, feeling the pull as I move it or inadvertantly trap it behind my head or somesuch. It's... enchanting.

And this morning, hair falling across my vision and feet in heels and seeing the pearls on my wrist, I felt very much at home washing the pots.

Is everything else a veneer? Did I lead Tilly on with a veneer, however accidentally? Is Tilly, in effect, married to a lie that I created through omission when I failed to push conversation on my cross-dressing and the reasons for it? By allowing Tilly to avoid the conversation completely, to not engage and to be able to not see anything she doesn't want to see, am I pretty much lying to her face?

Hrmm. I have no answers at present.


No comments:

Post a Comment

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