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!

Thursday, 24 July 2014

He Dreamed of Machines

Pet Shop Boys in Prom Number 8. Awesome. Seek it out, have
a listen. It's worth it.

I went to see the Pet Shop Boys at the Proms last night with my father. It was a belated birthday present. I like the Pet Shops Boys, it may be apparent. It was my father who got me into them in the first place, he bought their early singles and albums and I had them on tape as a consequence. It was his buying, and playing, of Miracles that got me back into them after University. I had been looking forward to it.

On the drive down we had a deep and meaningful. My father believes I talk too much, listen too little, have a problem with authority and a wannabe rebel. It was not a fun discussion. He believes that the Boy has serious communication problems, that he is behind his peers, that he ought to be fully potty trained by now and that we give too much choice and freedom to both our children. He violently, and I realised how violently on this journey, disagrees with our decision to home educate. He believes that education is failing students trying to get a job by being too supportive and, as a teacher, that's mostly my fault. With my nervousness, it came up, I should just buck up and be more confident. I mean, jeez, what's the problem here, right?

We reached London. I decided to derail yet another go-over of how the Boy is deficient and how concerned he is about what we are not doing to help the Boy (you know, by labeling him with problems and talking about how he has issues in front of him to complete strangers) by coming out as a cross-dresser. His response was as predicted. Some factual questions: do you still do it, are you doing it now, what does Tilly think, do you do it at work (what the hell?) and is it because you're gay? I answered them. Much was said of my father's relationship with his own gay father (we were going to see something about Alan Turing, it seemed quite appropriate actually). Then it was gone and not brought up again.

The concert was brilliant. Then we came home. The journey back had some allusions to the Boy, to home education, to my job but not to my little bombshell. Mostly my father spoke about his relationship with his wife and fears about eventually retiring. Yes, my father spoke the majority of the time. He usually does on long journeys but I have a reputation for talking too much. I suspect my revelation has been filed away and is unlikely to be spoken of again. In a few years my father will be hard-pushed to remember me mentioning it. What else is there to be said of it anyway?

In the morning, I stopped over at my father's, I spoke to his wife (he had a meeting) at length. She shared concerns about the Boy (spotting a pattern?) and home education. I learned that her own experience of education was mostly negative and that when her learning began "after school" she did it the way we are trying with our children. I thus questioned why it was so important that our children went to school. "Because that's what everyone does" I was told. Right, stellar argument there. Then there was quizzing about my job and why it is that education (for which I am responsible) fails to prepare young people effectively for the job market. Why are things getting worse? I had grown a little bored of this by now, I was a bit more officious and dismissive. We discussed my parents' divorce and I told her how sorry I was for being such a bastard to her and my father at the time - it wasn't their fault - and assured her there was no ill-will from then remaining. There isn't. It was never really real ill-will, it was anger directed inward at my own inability to deal with it on my own. I did not seek support or sympathy from anyone, let alone my parents, and pretty much supported my mother rather than the other way around. It was fine, I wasn't getting divorced. I didn't share all of that with my father's wife.



Monday, 21 July 2014

Vanessa Popped

Vanessa, not long after purchase. You can just about see
me and the Boy. 2011?

My car has popped. The whole naming thing (thank you, Calvin) has largely passed me by when it comes to cars. Indeed, much as I loved, loved, my Nissan Micra I never actually considered it anything other than a car. It took Tilly seeing the number plate and naming it Scully for any kind of naming to happen. Then it exploded.

This is the car. My lovely Micra.

It was taken before she blew up, so before I met Tilly.
See, when I met Tilly and saw her for the first time I had just got back from a holiday to the States, Michigan as it happens, and we had spoken online. I had known of a crack in the radiator of the car before I went to the States for a month but lacked the £80 then and there to set it right. I reasoned that I would raise the money on my return (I was only a mile or so from work so topping up the radiator wasn't even an issue) and then get the car sorted on the weekend after the first week back at school - because that's when I got paid and I knew I would have £80 free. Except that I drove to meet Tilly on the hottest day of that year, in a place some 45 minutes distant, in a car with a cracked radiator too stressed to remember to top up the radiator on the way. We met, I mumbled something about holding a bucket, she guessed who I was and we went for food. My car blew up, with flames and everything, on the way home. £800 got it back on the road. £200 kept it going until Tilly moved in and a further £600 kept it going until I could get out and buy a new car. For £3,000. It was a Skoda. We knew it as Aflue.

Tilly.

Not long after she moved in. Her mother was
to visit, here we visit a monastery ruin.
I credit the death of Scully as being one of the reasons that Tilly and I got together. I am known for over-analysing and focussing on the negative (have you read any of this blog?) and so when I tried to get to know attractive females I tended to believe that I would fail. Which, of course, meant that I did in the long run regardless of whether or not I had a chance in the first place. Meeting Tilly would have gone the same way (Leslie is correct to point out that Tilly is somewhere between an 8 and a 9 on the attractiveness scale) but for the fact that my car blew up and I had that to stress about for a week instead of going over all the mistakes I made on the first date. Equally, the shared experience of the exploding car, in that Tilly felt guilty about being the reason for me risking a drive in an exploding car, meant that we kept in contact during those first weeks.

Of course, our second date in York was also a hit. I met her via train this time and we ended up sozzled in a pub after a lovely meal. We bought a second bottle of wine and I accompanied her to the station and opined that she was much too sozzled to go home alone. She agreed. We went back to mine. In a move that sober me would have been (and was) appalled at, we ended up walking the mile or so to my car and then driving to my house. Once there I sobered up and Tilly... didn't. And I didn't really mind. I mean, sure, I was worried about her drinking habits but ultimately I found her fun and interesting. She took a pair of my socks and did not return them and I didn't want to kill her for it. As an autistic person with an attachment to possessions, that's quite something.

Tilly's bouquet.
What brought all this to mind? My car went pop. She is Vanessa (after the number plate again) and she is lacking a turbo because a pipe has popped out of place. She has no power at all, I managed to limp back from work with slow acceleration, whistling noises and an inability to make hills without belching smoke out of the exhaust. Luckily, Vanessa didn't decide to do this on the way to and from a wedding, of a friend of Tilly's that Tilly has known since birth (the friend's birth, not Tilly's), over the weekend.

Full disclosure: I hate weddings. Our's was shit. My family were annoying, my Best Man was poorly chosen. Lovely bloke, great friend, dear and true. Shit at organising a wedding and carrying out duties. I overlooked a better man suited for the job in my other close friend from my school days, the one in the Navy, because of a misplaced fear of what he may do on the Stag Night. Answer: whatever I wanted him to do. Bugger. Anyway, it meant that I was lumbered with the donkey work on the day, Tilly was feeding and soothing our daughter most of the time (she was four months old, what were we thinking?) and so it was a bit of a damp squib. It rained all day, heavy and incessantly, so that there were no decent photos outside. Our photographer was a friend from my work who, it turned out, was getting wed a few months later and, as it happened, was therefore unbothered about our wedding. We got some fairly competent shots but she was not at her best (I've seen her best work, it is fantastic) because she was busy worrying about her own preparations. We overspent on food, over prepared some areas and then went off-script with meal times, speeches and first dance.

Brighton. Looks lovely, doesn't it?
Romantic even. Hear my hollow laugh.

Oh God, the dance. Tilly and I had practiced a dance. But, after eating, Tilly wanted to lie down, so we retired to the hotel room we had and Tilly lay down with our daughter and promptly fell asleep. She was not roused until four hours later, we returned to the reception (Tilly was now in jeans and a t-shirt) and did the dance, all a bit lacklustre as she wouldn't hold me close (it was rather hot at this point). Then we stuck around before she returned to the hotel room with our daughter (I joined them) and then fell asleep. The honeymoon was just as bad. We'd booked a few hotels and each time I carted the luggage in and out, often up stairs and through coridors, taking about six or even trips. I'd make up the cot for our daughter and then she and Tilly would fall asleep. We walked a bit in Brighton but Tilly did not want any take-away food nor did she want to eat in restaurants. We ended up with sandwiches made by ourselves or got from a small supermarket each night. Tilly ate in bed with our daughter whilst I invariably sat in the foyer so as not to wake up the baby.

Welcome to romantic ruins. Silly me. I was carrying our daughter.

We did walk a bit around Stonehenge and the locality. Tilly hated it.


Me after the honeymoon. A rare moment with a sleeping
Girlie. Note the plethora of cushions.
I digress, we went to a wedding, which brings all of that back. Oh, we didn't consummate the marriage until a year and three quarters later. I guess having a daughter kind of made the fact we'd already done it obvious.

The wedding was lovely but, like normal, I was on child wrangling duties for much of it (it wasn't my friend getting married) and so I missed any part of it that made it a wedding. The Boy does not sit still for meals and for speeches - we retired to play jenga and explore woods in the dark when all that was going on. No, seriously. As for dancing and disco... well, our daughter loves it (as you'd expect) and so she and Tilly danced on. Meanwhile, the Boy and I retired to change his nappy, discuss bats and sit in the dark because he was scared of the music. Oh, and Tilly doesn't drive so, although she wasn't drinking, nor could I. Yay?


Did I mention that I hate weddings?



Thursday, 17 July 2014

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

We have nothing to lose but our chains

I can heartily recommend this mead. Really.
I paid a tenner, well worth it!

I bought some mead. It is green. I was not expecting mead that was green, I thought it was normal mead in a brown bottle but it was in a clear bottle and green. It is also very nice. Though I may sound it, I am not drunk, it is 10% ABV and I've had less than 50ml of it.

Apparently strict teachers are females.

Well, eh...
At work the Department is moving, I may have mentioned this already, and so much of the spare time (I have spare time at work!) I have is spent putting up posters in the new room preparing for the handover and the teaching that will follow. I have had some actual Head of Department things to do lately as well, including telling a member of staff to be a little less... irregular. She's a great colleague and a good teacher with oodles of determination, grit and ability. She is, in many ways, a perfect minion. Alas, she does have a tendency toward over naivete and over informing people of things. Heh, much like me on this blog. Still, she needed to be carefully warned about some potentially questionable behaviour, nipping it in the bud will prevent it developing into a bad habit and, well, yes, as HoD that's my job. Also, had to lay down the law a bit with some students. I don't like doing it, but I will do it and it was a bit of an arse when they complained about it. Gah. Anyway, yes, if these are the only issues I am very blessed when I think about what my job used to be like at the old place!

*sigh*
Since I have my evenings back to spend as I wish I am of course using them to do very little on the internet. The marking did leave me rather tired but, but this point, I think it's just me being lazy. On the plus side, I have the time to be lazy in. I am spending an inordinate amount of time listening to Epic Rap Battles of History and watching people like John Oliver because... I don't know why. We have also got a number of plants for food in the garden that have become my responsibility to water, I mean, I can't coplain, didn't have to plant them, and so I just make sure they don't die now that Tilly has given up on them. The basil she abandoned now looks thick enough to swing from and the chives that she decided were dead are almost ready to be used in actual food. The peppers she sort of disinvested in are now throbbing and growing ma-hoosive peppers, the radish are huge and the carrots are also looking pretty spiffy. I may be able to save the tomato plants and the potatoes but I may not. I seem to have green fingers. Or, more likely, I just add more water now I've figured out how to do that without drowning the plants.

It would be nice to dress again. I recall that this time last year I was spending some time that way. There's little opportunity when I'm getting up late (well, around the time that the children get up) and Tilly is working in the spare room. There's also the time we spend together that has increased a little from the nadir following the move, but that's a different issue.

So, that's me. My beer brewing is going well, it's burping nicely at the moment four days into the process and so there's about two days to go before adding in the flavour. We'll see. Leaving the last batch a little longer did no harm and arguably improved the flavour. All in all, a good week.


Sunday, 13 July 2014

Cornucopia

There's only so many post titles that I can conceive that begin with the letter 'A' in a short space of time. And this is a pretty directionless post and so the word, lovely as it is, will be most appropriate.



This has been a very good weekend. No, really, it's been really nice. No actual cross-dressing (though a lovely suggestion was made elsewhere on what to wear from my collection) and no actual hanging about on porn sites. Now, why would this be? First of all, there was the brewing on Friday. It had been a pretty positive day at work, in the main, and I was feeling chipper. So, I decided that, as I had finished the marking and such, I would embark on my second batch of beer. This one is a fruit beer, raspberry, and has much darker malt than my first attempt. Disappointingly it shan't be pink tinged when finished, the flavouring is colourless and I have none of my own berries to add, but hey, it'll do, right? Anyway, getting that going at the right time in the year and having it belch satisfying from the beginning rather than hovering at the edge of death is a positive mood enhancer.

Like this I suppose.
Then, yesterday, we went as a family to a local museum where there was some Edwardian, or at least pre-First World War, re-enactment going on. This was lovely for many reasons - not least because of my stymied novel set in that kind of era - and I enjoyed looking at, what else, the female fashions. I was quite enamoured of the long dresses that ladies had to hold up to walk with combined with the parasols that took up the other hand. Of course I was. I think I have pontificated at some length about my love of restrictive fashions and clothing for reasons that are still not fully explained. Still, the chance to see these 'in action' so to speak was lovely. Going with the children was nice too. The weather was hot and sunny, they loved running around and we got to walk as a family through the woods.






It's the yellow parasol that does it.
And the hat.
Throughout the weekend, Tilly has made an effort to be a bit more physically open too. And that has been nice. We have hugged a little bit more, she even initiated some of it, and we have held hands and kissed (pecks mainly) in the morning and the evening. Last night we even snuggled while watching a film. I can't, for a moment, suggest that this is how it will be for the future, we've been here before, but it was a lovely feeling and nice to have that closeness. It means that I have not been further tempted to spend some money to connect with a pro-domme or push forward elsewhere to look into the vague possibility of out-sourcing. I have, however, been tempted by a chastity device for about £20, which I'm not even sure why I want to purchase let alone use, but I can't deny the attraction. I digress, the point here is that Tilly and I have actually had conversations and had some physical intimacy. Two nights running we have even held hands in bed. This is a monumental step forward and re-reading that sentence makes me feel a little sad that I can derive as much happiness as I have from these simple acts. Still, the point is that I have and so I shall and proclaim that I am much happier than I have been of late.

And that, I guess, is that.


Friday, 11 July 2014

Astounded

A frank chat, almost blunt. Tilly says I have misunderstood. Since then we have hugged, even in bed, and we have snuggled a little when I got back from work. We're still in different rooms on laptops and she's still too ill to contemplate doing anything (and has another Never Ending Period) and she still won't contemplate sex, but it is a start.

I have also begun brewing beer again, some fruit-flavoured stuff this time. It seemed fitting and about the right time of year fro something fruity rather than hoppy. Now I need to get some more components in to make a second batch as soon as this one is done. I may have to buy some bottles too in order to have one kegged and one in plenty of bottles instead. We'll see. Either that or a second keg. Hmm.

At work we've moved rooms, it's been tiring hot work in a high pressure hot patch of weather. But it's mostly done. My current teaching room looks sad and empty and the new one is a different shape and is a bit of a mess. No way I'm moving yet but, at the same time, staying in my current room is going to be difficult. With most of the cupboards and posters gone there's too much of an echo and I am finding it hard to operate. Odd how such little things make a huge difference.

I'm having a beer. Charge, by Marston's and inspired by elbow, which is proper little summer ale. Light golden and with a smooth malt and limited bitter hops. No review, you'll be glad to know, just an acknowledgement that I'm having it and that the marking season is thus completely done. Tomorrow we visit a museum, the Boy is missing the access to York's Railway Museum that we used to enjoy before we moved. Hopefully a visit to somewhere more local can avert complete meltdown.

Positive? Yes, I think so. We'll see.


Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Adrenaline

What do I want? A question I oft return to but never satisfactorily answer. It is something I think I'm going to have to try and answer soon I think. Since learning the term "sexless marriage" and reading about others in them I am learning that most are very much the same in fundamentals and I'm going to have to start seriously thinking about where I go from here. That's the trouble with learning new things - one cannot un-know what is known. New thoughts and knowledge requires new paradigms.


So, what do I want? In broad terms I have the following:

1. Physical and emotional intimacy from a single, female, partner.
2. Security of need - to know that I will be supported and desired.
3. To be loved for who I am and to love in return.
4. To be complimented once in a while.
5. When I say things like "I'm fat" to be told the pointless lie "I still love you".
6. To have playful and experimental experiences that may, or may not, lead to sex. Indeed, they may not work, they may fail totally. But to share them, enjoy them, laugh about them and then try again. For these to not have the pressure that they lead to orgasm and sex but be able to accept they might and that not be a bad thing.
7. To leave with a kiss goodbye, arrive home to a kiss hello. Hell, to kiss once in a while.
8. To come first once in a while and be able to allow my partner to come first too. And no, not in a sexual sense.
9. To dress safely and be able to talk about that fully. To have someone understand the liberation it brings to me and accept it, even if they don't want anything else to do with it.


That's all I've got at the moment.

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

Affection

I said this wouldn't become all about my marriage. Dammit. It's after a line break. I... don't feel like posting images, but here's an opener anyway.

The promised picture of me in that new dress.
It's... not flattering.


Monday, 7 July 2014

Appropriate

Back when Tilly first moved in I discovered, by accident, OkGo and their videos. This was about the time when they first went viral and before their stunts were all over advertising campaigns. I somehow managed to download one of their tracks (A Million Ways) and over-played everything I could find. Then, as these fads do, I forgot about them. Until just before I started marking.


Tonight I texted that I was coming back from work. I got an enthusiastic 'yay' text back from Tilly. I thought that, maybe, that would herald a positive evening experience. No. I came home to an ill Girlie (most likely tired actually after her show and no surprise) and a Boy who was also tuckered out. Tilly was writing cards to family and showed me where tea was. I warmed it up and came to eat with the family. Bad move. Tilly was clearly irritated by my eating (she hates the sounds that eating makes, so I should have seen this coming). Then she left me with the Boy. After I got the Boy to sleep, Tilly complained about feeling ill (for the third time this week) with a new ailment and has sat online in the bedroom ever since. She's not having an affair, I know, but she does spend more time online with her writing buddy than she does with me in real life and the relationship has passion to it that is very much missing from our interactions. I'll be honest, I didn't even bother trying for a goodbye kiss this morning when she was awake - she hasn't given one (or received one happily) since before being pregnant with the Girlie... 2007. So, yes, this song seems somewhat appropriate.


I know, I know, this blog isn't supposed to be about my marriage but I am finding it hard to focus on anything else at the moment.


Sunday, 6 July 2014

Another Life Another Dream

I have posted in a similar vein, and with much the same resultant muse, before apparently. Odd how this blog ends up being so cyclical. I shall put in a line-break after the music videos to avoid the blatant repetition dominating!


I've alluded to the fact that I regret things before and I've mentioned the missed opportunity at University when a friend of mine, and a housemate, correctly identified that I was a cross-dresser (in the days when all I'd ever cross-dressed in were a pair of knickers two years earlier) and suggested that a. that was fine and b. I could cross-dress in public. She spoke for the group of which I was a part. Of course, I denied the charge and carefully choreographed the next few weeks so that the topic didn't come up again and so that I didn't actually have to give an answer. Respecting my wishes more than being fooled by my oh-so-clever social engineering, the friend, twas Kirsten, didn't mention it ever again.


It was in a bar and she had guessed because of my choice of song that night: Girls and Boys by Blur. Though it is worth mentioning that I had 'come out' already to my ex-girlfriend when drunk (plausible deniability, well used) and so it is likely that the rumour was doing the rounds. A few comments I would have been making at the time, like a desire for a fancy dress barcrawl in which I hinted strongly at a gender-swap theme, would have merely confirmed the case. I like to think I was careful, but looking back I'm guessing it was blindingly obvious right down to my choice of posters (I had models and what not, but my attitude to them and the way they were probably tipped people off that I wasn't lusting after the people in them).


Saturday, 5 July 2014

Random Aside

In order to add some content here I have to share something. Now, it's not my usual fare, and it's not a fantasy either. However, I shall categorise it as such because of its nature.


I refer, of course, to spanking.

Ongoing

Yes, much like this actually. So many papers to refer to!
It's been a while. Marking is getting hard - all on the computer screen is beginning to make me sleepy just looking at the stuff and my pace has slowed to the crawl of around ten scripts a day. I can say that the students will be marked fairly and well, however, as I am still reading every word, it just makes me more and more tired to do so each time.

I am propping myself up with an energy drink.

Hmm, has this response actually managed to answer
the question? Well, there is an assertion that could be
linking back to it so...

Good thing I don't chew pens.
Unlike previous years, I can honestly say that cross-dressing hasn't been a huge thing this year. I think part of that is being so darned tired that I can barely string a thought together outside of work (I am still very much enjoying my work - the lessons are more tiring than they have been for years because I keep wanting to knock stuff out of the park!) but part of it is also that other issues have taken centre stage.

Firstly though, work. It has been really good. I took some taster sessions for new students coming in and they were very well received. The word from those in high places is that I have achieved a status in the school that is matched only by those people who are institutions in their own right - these students are asking if I will teach them or if they will have a chance to have a lesson from me even if they have never actually met me or seen my lessons. Around school, other staff are regularly told about my exploits in the classroom even if the students being taught have never been taught by me. It's quite the ego boost and such a change from the last few years. Well, no, that's not entirely true. I had a good standing among the students where I used to work, I knew that, but it wasn't appreciated in the same way by my superiors and it balanced ill against the world of shit they put me through.

Yay!
Also, I made a bit of a difference in a staff training day when leading a session. I only upset one of my colleagues and the rest were reduced to murbling agreement for the most part - this is more of a plus than it initially sounds.

So, yes, there are big positives and, even if I weren't marking, I would be made very tired. All the good press means that I want to justify it. I want all of my lessons to be good enough that the students enjoy them, learn something and staff don't feel that I am being unjustly praised. It's ridiculous, I know, but it's a positive pressure that I've put myself under and I quite like the feeling of trying hard because I want to. This is also supported by the fact that I am managing to get most of my work done at work as well - it's a nice feeling to get it all done and then have home time at home, if you can see what I mean.







No, it is the family where things remain out of sorts. So, this continues after a line break.