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, 1 March 2014

Triumphs or Phantasms?

Ah yes... guilt.

I'm so used to it these days I'm not even sure what
it's about this time.
It's quite something when you score an own goal. On Friday I went along to football, as has become my custom, and played along. I can't claim to really do sport very well. On Thursday I had had an energy drink and then had unguarded conversation with some students about marking standards (my ultimate boss marks considerably more leniently than anyone else, sometimes up to three grades more positive - however, as examiners, myself and another member of staff know that we are accurate, realistic and supportive. Understandably, my students want me to up my grades to match my boss's, even though his are unrealistic and won't match the standardised results). Naturally, in my current mood, I ended up guilty and feeling scared. Given my past, I also ended up with the familiar stress/fear loop all Thursday night and Friday morning.

See, this should be just as normal as any other image
of people doing sports. Here, in the community that
reads this blog, it probably is.

Alas, not so in the world.
Anyway, in the game my immediate boss (as opposed to my ultimate boss) was also playing and, at one point when I was in goal, passed back to me. I wasn't expecting the move and hadn't actually got to the middle of the goal yet. I dived but arrived just too late to do anything more than have the ball bounce over my hand and into the net. It was amusing, and in my autistic way I shrugged it off and thought no more about it. However, my boss mentioned it again, and then again at the end of the evening, adding (as he thought I was out of earshot) "why wasn't he back in goal by then anyway?" I suspect that this will bite me on the ass quicker and more violently than the other situation but, in both cases, I feel very guilty.

Would you like to know more?




Did I mention I was fat?
This is supposed to illustrate a lose-lose situation but it
does work well to explain my feelings another way.

Tilly has confirmed that I have a paunch, she finds it
funny, but I don't want to be fat.
So it was that I drove home and got caught in traffic, making me later home than I had intended. Tilly hasn't been getting much sleep lately. A migraine this time last week gave way to cold symptoms and then, on Tuesday or so, the Boy began to come into our bed sometime around 3am. At that point there's nothing that can be done. If I remove the Boy and sleep with him to prevent further interruption then Tilly will surface anyway and complain in the morning that she did not return to sleep, gently blaming me for waking her up (it doesn't matter what I do, she is a very light sleeper) for her lack of sleep in the morning. If I let the Boy stay then he will be "moving all night" and Tilly won't get any sleep and I shall be gently blamed for not removing the Boy or having him sleep with me. If I try to get the Boy to move to my side of our enormous bed there will be a conversation - success with the Boy means I have woken Tilly and we see option one, failure means a more angry version of option two. The upshot, of course, is that Tilly has grown progressively more irritable, irrational and tired. This always has the effect of making me creep about guiltily as it reminds me of my upbringing and I know of no other way to operate around people that are pissed off generally rather than directly at me.

There was a sale. It cost £2.
Having not had chance to wear the top I bought last week I decided that I could probably bagsy the spare room one evening this weekend with Tilly being the way she was. Today, as planned, I took the Boy out whilst Tilly took the Girlie to dancing and I made a stop to buy myself a denim knee-length skirt to complement my red top. Given my planning the Boy barely registered what we did or what I bought and we proceeded neatly and seamlessly between my mission and the other things we had to do. Then I went back out (having hidden the skirt) and did the supermarket shop. Where I picked up some new male clothes (first since last year, about this time of year actually) and a pair of purple tights (140 denier). Having safely hidden the new tights and spoken about my clothing (Tilly was uncertain about the new t-shirt as it had a design that was " a bit flowery" [dots, just dots] and thus "not very manly") in which Tilly once again visited my favourite shirt that she dislikes as it "looks too much like a blouse" (it has a purple flower pattern on white) I thought I was home free.

Wrong.

Tilly, contemplating my cross-dressing.
At some point the receipt from the charity shop where I picked up the skirt ended up in a pile of stuff in the kitchen. I must have taken it out of my pocket by accident. Tilly was going through the receipts because she "knew something was up and thought it may be [buying clothes]". She said that she felt bad about going through my receipts and stressed that it was her issue. Which was sweet of her but we both know that it means there is no way on God's green earth I'm going to get the time or the space to dress for a few weeks. Also, despite what she says, we both know that she will feel a bit weirded out by this and so hugs, kisses and any other forms of affection directed from her to me are completely out. I can get away with stroking her hair but that's it, and I'll only be allowed if, as tonight, she is tired and can't be bothered to recoil. Don't get me wrong, she likes it, but will be thinking of the fact that I bought a skirt.

I am a bit shit at this whole 'keeping it secret and private' lark. In essence, I scored an own goal here.

Even Doge is in on it. That's... kinda scary.
Last night I had two beers, because I could and because I felt like it. I ended up talking to a couple I know from University. She is far more Feminist than I in many ways but also wedded to the patriarchy in ways that I am not. We both carry enormous privilege and vie for who is worst at spotting our own. He is calmer, a little more like me than I had thought, and more like me than he knows. We discussed this article. (I have related it before) She believed that it was all a complete load of bollocks bereft of any real saving graces. She pointed me in the direction of Butler (see below - she does seem a bit cool). He, like me, saw merits beneath the froth of RadFem and agreed that PIV wasn't really what we would be going for sexually. However, he also revealed that he and her had been to sexual therapy together to sort out his 'issues' with PIV. In short, without actually saying so, he seems to have fallen into the female category in the original article with his wife as the male who believes that only PIV is sex (well, mostly, she is a little more prepared to accept the existence of other forms of sexual intimacy than is Tilly). Then I found a supporting article to the first and read it. Damn. Butler time.


Does this make Brian a dude?

Brian is the sobriquet Private Eye uses for Prince
Charles. It is not meant nicely.
Grayson Perry was brought up ("he dresses as a little girl because he says only little girls are loved simply for being and without having to do anything," says she, "so gender is a performance.") and we discussed the fact that, as parents, both she and I know our boys like wearing girly clothes a lot. Thing is, she doesn't believe that their son will grow out of this and does not believe it is even an issue. Tilly very much indulges the Boy's love of pink and girly things on the grounds that "he'll grow out of it" and is not comfortable with the idea of it continuing very long into the future (as in, around puberty I guess). I very nearly disclosed a link to this blog but, instead, went with Femulate (where this blog is linked) leading to a discussion of hyperfemininity within the trans* community and thus back to the idea that gender is performative, something I've banged on about a few times (but I lack the exact blog posts to link to here).

So what? I don't know. I still feel guilt, mainly because Tilly found the receipt, and I know I won't be dressing tonight, which makes me a little sad as I was looking forward to the tights, skirt, boots, top and cami ensemble. I even wore knickers (purple) all day as preparation. Hell, I downloaded a hypno file to simulate a painful period to try when dressed (because I am very curious and very strange). So there's also a truckload of disappointment. Tilly also dropped her phone so the screen failed. She's grumpy, upset and feeling crappy with lack of sleep, a cold and a novel that she's trying to write her way through a bramble patch. As she put it "everything's happening at once, which is shitty" and so I am aware that my purchase, my habit, is another aspect to that shitty confluence.

Meh.

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