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, 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?




Anyway, we have managed to maintain some of the touching and the kissing that was started a week and a bit ago. This is mainly at my initiation now. I mean, she did go and get me a beer due to the stress of Vanessa's popped turbo (from the kitchen, not going out) and we have exchanged a brief hug and a peck on the head this evening. However, the mornings are unchanged. Tilly pointed out that she missed being kissed goodbye, if you remember, and argued that I had withdrawn first. So, I have gone back to kissing her goodbye in a morning. She is asleep in a morning. Today gave me a good view of this as she mumbled "sleep well" when kissed but did not otherwise respond. Sure enough, it is rare to get a goodbye and I haven't had a returned kiss as she is still very much asleep when I leave in the morning. Even if my children aren't.

Returning from work does get a hug and I will be allowed to kiss her. However, in the evenings she is back on her novel and trying to get to grips with Twitter in order to promote her novel. These are important things, like the magazine and the parenting group and the nanowrimo and the soaps and the reading were too, and I remain wedded (ha) to supporting her in these endeavours. But they restrict our time together. At least we are sometimes in the same room again, like tonight, but I'm not fooling myself into believing that anything can actually happen beyond shared space. I get more out of a made up relationship amounting to shared fantasy on GetDare with another user. I lie about what I'm doing, they lie back, and we have some fun that way. Not cyber sex, by the by, but it does the trick for me. I don't know about them. Hell, I don't even know whether they are male or female. I don't think I even care. I don't think they do either.

It was too hot to kiss or hug whilst out at the wedding, of course, and in the day that followed she was too tired. In fairness, I was looking at a long drive home so I guess I was the same. This morning there was nothing either, which is fair enough I guess. I kissed her goodbye and I kissed her hello. She got me a beer. I shouldn't really complain, this is more interaction than I've known for a while.

I'm going to stop now.


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