|When the flames are burnin' hot they take you higher.|
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...
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.
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.
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.