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, 31 January 2015

Valentimes is Ser- Oh, you know

We go every Friday. It's nice. I have a social group. I have a
social group! Oh, to be second from left.
In the pub on Friday with colleagues I got excited about something. I'd had some caffeine at lunchtime and I knew that I was working myself into a frenzy when I did my lesson on Anti-Semitism with my class last thing (they suggested the link to Muslims in our society rather than me for a change, they've got to know how I work now). So it was that I found myself holding forth on my favourite random facts (the mayfly's sperm is longer than it is, there is a South American duck with a 20' long penis [coiled up], gannets don't have nostrils, Canis Majoris IV is so large that if it replaced the Sun its outer edge would touch Saturn, French sailors were literally buried at sea in the Napoleonic Wars by being buried in ship's ballast...). They suggested I write a book. Ha.

Apparently she's reading C. S. Lewis.

I'd read more if I could do it looking like that. It looks
remarkably comfortable. Proved by the fact that I feel the need
to remark upon it.
I haven't dressed. I haven't marked. Tilly has worked on her book in the afternoon. I have played at being a father, I wasn't really fully present. I have looked at some niche porn (forced feminisation captions if you must know) and I finally finished from last week. I'm getting less good at finishing, less in the mood to actually do what I need to do to get there. Is this how Tilly feels? Is this what it's all about? We discussed parenting and home-schooling and I am going to try and read some books above our daughter's level to be Daddy-daughter time and also to stretch her a little bit. I mean, she's reading C. S. Lewis level and picks her own books readily at the moment, so I figured some stuff I had when I was older than her would be good. I still need to mark books tomorrow. And there are trips to organise.

It is very nice. Alas, the place I got it from is all out (and at
79p a punt I'm not terribly surprised). I can get a case of 12
for £1.90 a bottle or I can get a single bottle from a local
pub for £2.20 - this is actually quite difficult.
I had two ales last night, they were very nice actually, Batemans Mocha. Very nice. I heartily recommend them if you can get your hands on some - it is surprisingly effective! Coffee and chocolate infused and you can really tell. It tastes pretty good. Tonight I have had an ale that was a Christmas present from my mother and it was more caramel. Nice, but I shan't be telling you to rush out and buy it. I also looked at Valentine's cards today. I don't know which way to jump. I can't bring myself to buy a card that states that Tilly has always been there for me, she hasn't and isn't, but nor do I want a faceless one that begs me to write a huge amount in it. I suspect an ale or two with a hot sauce or something will once again be the present, last year it was HP sauce and a card that was massive. I bought Tilly the toilet set-up, some live roses and some false ones (vases for both) and a card with a verse and one I wrote myself. In short, I was romantic and she wasn't. Do I decide to end my attempts now or not?

Yeah, this about sums it up.
I still passive-aggressively choose not to wear my wedding ring. She still hasn't noticed, or, at least, hasn't drawn attention to it. Difficult to tell these days. She's ill again, stomach upset at the moment that takes her to the toilet quite a bit after eating. Headache, as ever, and lots of sitting down to work - she's upstairs working on her book as I type. This came on over Friday and was broadcast loud and clear all day, I guess in case I try to make any kind of move on her after last weekend. I've been first to bed all week. Tonight will be no exception. I've rarely been awake when she comes to bed.

This is supposed to be about happiness and cross-dressing, I suspect I've developed again. Thankfully Femulate still makes me smile, Terri is still publishing fun-to-read commentary, Dee does what Dee does best and I know that there are people who read and care hanging around. It means a lot to me knowing all of that, it truly does.


Friday, 30 January 2015

Albums and Ale

Around Christmas I received a gift from my family's favourite Belgian and a challenge, which I think was part of the gift, and it's had me thinking ever since. If this goes well I suspect I shan't be long in trying a second bash at this sort of thing as it was an interesting exercise and, to my knowledge, it's not been done by anyone I have contact with before. What is this? Well, I was sent the album Sonic Highways by the Foo Fighters - this album is a concept album in which they take eight US cities and using their experiences there they created a song to match that inspiration.


The challenge was to listen to the album and then find an ale that was inspired by the music. That is, each of the tracks would be linked to an ale that would match their style and their rhythm and beat. Now, it goes without saying (I hope) that drinking an ale to each track (them being between four and seven minutes long) would result in rapid loss of use of one's body and is not to be recommended.


Would you like to see what this challenge has called forth from the dark recesses of my mind? You would? Excellent, click on the finely hand-crafted 'read more' link below!


Thursday, 29 January 2015

Rewriting History Again

Been a while, since the start of this blog
in fact. Not repeated.

Still a nice dress, no?
This time last year I was in fine fettle following happy times that had come out of nowhere with Tilly. These were then followed by many heavy hints about Valentine's Day, coming up, and then, of course the let-down. Following this year's sojourn into happy times with Tilly the week has been swallowed by her work and her writing with her buddy. I have used the time to catch up on marking and to try and support my newb at work. It's been hard and it means that some things aren't being done as swiftly as I would like. On the plus side, there's been snow and lessons continue to go well, I can't complain.

No dressing to speak of. I'm still not wearing my wedding ring. The coda of the weekend may have been positive but until I know that it wasn't just a flash in the pan, or even the spark of this time last year followed by a long drought, I'm not sure I want to wear that particular mark of a marriage. It's sad that I'm still thinking like this, what more, exactly, do I want from our relationship? It's one of those points when I'm feeling selfish and another reason why I find it hard to bring things up.


Yeah, it can get to a person.
In the course of the weekend, Tilly once again accused me of talking about nothing other than sex. I asked a few questions in my e-mail that led to the coda and none of them have been answered. She took issue that I was ruling things out on her behalf, but I still don't know what these are (unless things was a misnomer and it was just thing, in which case handjobs). I asked about what she thought of sex and what put her in the mood - to these questions there has been no answer. Again. I'm not certain there ever will be an answer. It's like when she demanded to be woo-ed and I asked what that meant and she told me to figure it out and then, subsequently, told me that she'd already said. She hadn't. It allows her to say, truthfully, that it's nothing that I try. And, in this case, she can make sure I do nothing that she likes as she never has to commit to anything. I also confirmed that she could never have sex again and be happy, in that I posited it in the e-mail and it was not one of the points that she disagreed with.

Funny, I have asked to be woo-ed too, but that's
not something women do for men, so I am
told.
Oh, final point, history has once again been rewritten. Whilst building to our coda she expressed that she felt a little insulted that I had not allowed her to give me a handjob before as she used to be good at it. Or, at least, the men she had had sex with had never complained. So much for once and it being a desultory affair. Oh, her evidence? That I had turned down the offer of a handjob (so long as I didn't finish on her) back in July when it had been offered instead of sex - forever. Oh, and she's told me how she had sexy times with ladies. When I asked and she said they did everything that didn't involve a penis. That's her full confession and I was rude to ask for anything more. No sexy times with more than one bloke and now she's tried handjobs on at least three before me too.

I grow weary of this re-writing of history.

Monday, 26 January 2015

Coda

So... this happened: I sent an e-mail to accompany my sex-map, at Tilly's suggestion, last night. She took issue with some of the text of that e-mail, but only odd points, and I took that to mean that rest was bang on the money. She was... I think she wasn't expecting my thoughts to be as they were. Lord alone knows what she was expecting.

Then she suggests we try an hour's 'fun' before work that evening, just after I posted on here. So... we did. It was. I'm not sure if we're going anywhere regular just yet (and I still didn't manage to finish, though she did and wasn't expecting to, so that's a plus) but it was nice.

And that was last night.

Oh, for reference, the actual map I shared:
http://www.humansexmap.com/showmap.php?mapid=map54c4099e2d0ad7.91733645


Sunday, 25 January 2015

Cross-Dressing

The photo does not do it justice. Also, no top.
Too cold for the floaty blouse or the short sleeve
red top.
I said I would talk about dressing when I had the time and the inclination. I have both now.

On Saturday I was marking whilst Tilly took the children out. I felt bad, but I thought I would indulge. I dug out my twirly blue skirt and put on my purple tights and pink knickers underneath. I sat and marked for a bit, then perused some sites on the internets and got myself off. I felt bad about that, after all, we were planning sex that night and I didn't want it to take so long that Tilly felt inadequate or that it was a chore for her trying to make sure I finished. But, I reasoned, it wasn't as if I was doing immediately beforehand and I would recover quickly enough.

Besides, the skirt felt lovely after all this time (last worn in September 2013) and the tights were good attire in the cold. Even so, I got changed after twenty minutes as I was certain that they were due home soon. In the end I had another hour and a half, but better safe than sorry, eh? Happiest moments since wearing that purple dress I bought myself.

Humiliation

Yeah, that about sums it up. That's exactly how I feel.
I now know at least one sexual kink that I have toyed with the idea of attempting that is very much not a turn on. That kink is humiliation. At least, not in its dictionary defined version, because last night was very much about humiliation and I was not turned on by it in the slightest. After my brief post on here I retired to bed, Tilly had spoken of us reading together and maybe chatting, but she had finished reading. I had been gone less than ten minutes. She briefly roused to discuss the sex map, and I said I would load it up. Then, as I was doing so, she announced that she was taking a 'power-nap'. I set everything up and I waited. Around 10pm I gave up waiting and turned out the light. Then I lay there, in the dark, feeling very alone and thinking about how on earth I could have got to this point. Sometime after 11.30pm (I checked my phone) I fell asleep.

Oh, you took off your ring, how bloody melodramatic!

I bet you put it back on when you get something you see as
Tilly trying. Like it's a bloody barometer of whether you get
your selfish kicks out of a life-long partnership.

You know Tilly hasn't worn hers since 2011, so your stand
means so much.
This morning I woke with the children and sorted them out whilst Tilly slept. She surfaced, briefly, and then went for a bath. Then she got dressed, got the Girlie ready for a birthday party, kissed me on the head goodbye and left. Last night was referenced only as "I really didn't know how tired I was!" For someone who apologises a lot about silly things (Tilly, not me in this instance) I suppose I was expecting a half-apology at least. It has not arrived.

I have taken off my wedding ring again. I'm not sure what it represents any more. See, last night I got to reviewing things, as one would expect. Tilly's old room-mate from University, a female, sometimes comes to stay. Tilly has cuddled her in bed more than she has cuddled me. And I stretch back to our wedding night in 2008 to make that claim. When they lived together they would often crawl into one another's bed to sleep. The room-mate, for the avoidance of doubt, is utterly straight - there's no affair here, just shared space and cuddling for warmth and comfort. Last night, Tilly made continual references to the fact that I smell. I'd had a soup with chilli in it at lunchtime, Tilly dislikes the smell of chilli. She also mentioned the fact that I fart too much. True, yesterday I had the lentil bolognese she made and had left out for me to eat, so there was some farting. She mentioned that I was shivering, true as it was cold, and didn't like that.

I bought the Heartbreak Hotel, on my own with no investors,
Closed it down and opened the 'Fuck-You-Get-Over-It'
bed and breakfast.
I felt humiliated. We couldn't even talk about something I'd given plenty of warning about, had said would be light-hearted and... On Friday she was feeling out of sorts and I'd suggested sex, not expecting a yes response, and she said "we're doing that tomorrow, it can wait." Wait it did. Wait it did. "Can we not talk about sex tonight?" she asked after we'd got the children to bed. She didn't mean 'I don't want sex', that was already clear, she meant she didn't even want a discussion that may stray into the area of sex.

I feel humiliated. She tells me to take charge, to make her stick to her word and push for things that I would like, but when I do... Okay, everything is set up to discourage that, so that she can claim I don't try and then justify her lack of response and willingness. Other women she knows don't want sex either and wish their husbands wanted it less. Wanted it less - that is, they are having sex. I want to ask how often they're having it, and what would constitute less. Would twice a year be something Tilly's friends would be happy with? Is that their gold standard? And that's on average.

I nod sagely. It's true.
I get Tilly has been ill. I get the fact that taking both children out to the play was a bit draining for Tilly because she is still in recovery. I do. But I also know that when she is writing with her buddy on an evening she pushes through the tiredness, has arguments sure, but she stays the course and writes through. If she's working on her book then she will take notes, research, write segments and keep on pushing through until late at night and after I've gone to bed. If she's really tired she may even have a bath and read at the same time, heavy intellectual reading, taking notes and then writing it up after the bath and before bed. But not with me.

She says she wants a third child. I don't want another child. I already come last, I don't want something else to come before me, selfishly. I already come after the fucking pet. I don't want another two years of no sex, justified by breastfeeding, and then more years of no sexy-times or affection, justified by having a small person crawl all over her, followed by the last couple of years. I see no benefit to me, selfishly, in all of that. I'm stretched emotionally thin enough with two children. I'm not a good father, I have to really work at it, and having another child would just try my patience, and that's not fair. But it wouldn't be about this hypothetical child, it's about Tilly's need to have a child, her need to be a mother. And that just doesn't seem right or fair to me.

Not my most recent dressing.

Saturday, 24 January 2015

Called It

Easy. We live it. I've had lots of practice.

Too tired to talk about sex, let alone do it. Early night. Snuggling to watch a TV show was also out, the TV show was about to show a death and it was too sad, so now she's gone to bed to read.

I was feeling guilty about dressing to mark whilst Tilly was out with the children to see a play at the theatre. I don't feel guilty any more. I shall post about that another night when I have more time and inclination. Right now I'm too disappointed. But, hey, I kinda called this and suspected it would happen. Had she been writing and this tired, or even working on her book, I suspect she'd have soldiered through. I'm not denying that she's tired, nor that she's not still suffering the after-effects of her time in hospital but, as she has often said: "you make time and space for what you want to do."

And time and space is never made for us being together or sex. I think I have as close to an answer as I am likely to ever get.


Uninspired, uninspired, uninspired, uninspired, uninspired, uninspired, uninspired, uninspired.

Friday, 23 January 2015

Arm and Hammer

Remember, kids, women are only ever disappointed in the
bedroom and then look constipated.
Disappointing news today that the announced "end to Page 3" in the Sun in the UK (part of the paper that shows young women with breasts out and mocks the idea that women have opinions [news in briefs indeed]) was, in fact, just a sham. More disappointed that many male commentators have said things that suggest this is a victory for free speech in the wake of attacks on Charlie Hebdo, which kind of deliberately misses the point, trivialises the situation and cause, and remains deeply misogynistic.

Also, work was fun, but high-adrenaline and high-stress. I know I like that, but it does mean I am unable to carry out everything I would like to have done. Meh.

Three bloody units? Ouch. Worth it though.
And my arm, the one with the balloon hand from a sporting injury, has started going cold and numb if I bend it for long periods. This is not good. I suspect bone fragments trapping nerves and/or veins. I ought to get me to an A&E department (or something) to see if something can be done. But a cast will mean I can't get to work... Oh, and my car has been recalled, I really ought to have that seen to as well. And shelves. Tilly has acquired shelves and is struggling to find a space for them to go as they need to go up this weekend. This relayed about two hours ago. O-kay. Right.

I had a beer, I'd care but I don't.

In the saga of the sexless marriage we may see action tomorrow and we may not. Yay for sex maps? Probably not. I don't even know what I actually want, what is just fantasy and what might get me divorced.



Have a gay love song twixt Eminem and Dr Dre from 2011.


Thursday, 22 January 2015

Working 9 to 5

I ended up having to put her in the recovery position.

Delirious and babbling slightly, luckily first aid people arrived
and I could get on with sorting the students, clearing the room
and fetching lucozade at her request. I can fetch lucozade.
It's all gone Pete Tong. My new newb collapsed today and needed to be taken home, this is down to stress. Heavy handed knee-jerk reactions from my bosses (not my immediate boss) undermined what little confidence she had left and it got to her. But this is far from a clear-cut thing. The current moves, over my head and without my blessing, have done no more than hasten the inevitable or, perhaps, ruin the attempt to forestall it and rebuild my newb's confidence. Marking hasn't been done properly since starting, no planning was done in the run up to the new year (as in, September) and thus she found herself three months behind with no help. Assurances that she was catching up from her are lies and she refused any and all help from the rest of the Department. Today revealed the extent of the avoidance in the basics, but her lessons remain top-notch. She'd even started using the lessons on file to help her and prevent running herself ragged making everything new. It would have taken more work yet, but we could have done it for her. Now...

She looks like she's on top of her marking.

I'd trade.
I inadvertantly walked in on her husband and her getting ready to go. The pent-up anger and hatred of the school emanating from her husband was palpable. He blames the school for her ill-health. And, given my nobbish bursting in, I have become the avatar on which he will focus that hatred. I am, after all, her immediate boss.

It meant a rushed and harried afternoon and then an evening rallying support troops to ask advice, confirm my suspicions and create the atmosphere I need to support my newb whilst surreptitiously lessening her workload - doing so in such a way that she won't feel undermined and shit. That's hard work, and I'm just barely treading water at the moment as it is (two exam classes will do that at mock examination time and with two papers to mark). Don't get me wrong, regular readers know that I thrive on adrenaline in situations like these, but it is hard work. With the senior leaders jumping at shadows for unknown reasons this could be an interesting few days. I hope my newb follows advice and stays off tomorrow...

Or her, I'd trade with her.

In other news, relevant to our interests, there was this article.

Tuesday, 20 January 2015

Bits and Bats


This is the scene at which Tilly declared it simply "bullying and abuse"
and we ended the movie.

Following the ill-advised viewing of Secretary and the revelation by Tilly about what she thought of it we have had a discussion. I tried, and failed, to get out my thoughts on sex and sexual relations and we danced around the big topics, with Tilly stating that she wasn't asking deliberately because she sees one of my issues as being an inability to say things straight. A fact about which I think she is right, but it is infuriating. It also manifests, less helpfully, as a willful, though unconscious, misinterpretation of heavy hints - that is, unless something is stated directly and with unwavering prose Tilly will not understand what is being driven at.

Sadness.
Here I must point out how little I use names and nouns in speech. The Boy has inherited this approach and though some of it may well be genetic (autism anyone?) I think it is also learned as he models himself on me. I tend not to use his name or his sister's, and I go to great lengths to avoid using names in normal conversation - it's almost second nature now so I barely even register that I'm doing it - or even in e-mails and the like. It's a fascinating study in and of itself. This tendency also shows when I'm trying to get to an issue (witness my long meandering introductions and tangents to make points even in this post, let alone other posts on this blog).

There was also that other thing that Tilly does. Something I have said at some point in the past will be taken as controvertible truth that cannot be developed, amended or changed without being made out to have been a lie. So it is that my statement that cross-dressing is not about sex (in my defence, I used the word 'solely') means that I cannot link my cross-dressing to what I would like to see in the bedroom without being called a liar. Never stated directly, but as a scared person, I can pick up on that kind of social cue with relative ease.

According to Tilly, yes: intrinsically. Also, perverted and
wrong. And no, never. She will not take part.
I did manage to get out that I like the idea of 'submissive' stuff in the bedroom, but with the caveat that I would make a miserable long-term or even 'proper' sub as I tend to like being in control (topping from the bottom if you will). I mentioned spanking and bondage. Tilly made it clear, ish, that I was unlikely to ever find myself tied to a bed and whipped by her - which is fine, but not quite what I said - and then we hit on something. I voiced my fear that if I asked for something she would say no, and that might be something I held important. Tilly said she had faced that already. I asked. The third child.

Ah.

Ah, yes, the chinchilla.

She's right though, I did feel nagged. But I did it
anyway.
The third child was still something she wanted and she didn't realise that when she'd agreed at the beginning of our relationship that she wanted to have two children that this was some kind of binding contract. She was left, after the birth of the Boy, with the distinct impression that she was not done having children. She understood that my reasons for not having a third child were reasonable and her reasons were not and that was why she never spoke of it so that she wasn't pressuring me. She just has to come to terms with the fact that the only way she will have a third child is with someone else but that she doesn't want to leave me. And she feels guilty that I was not ready for either of the children we do have and is mindful of that - she apparently still feels guilt (and this was the first time she has expressed it to my knowledge) that she nagged me into buying the chinchilla. Then she started crying and explained this as another reason she doesn't talk about it because it is too emotional and she knows I won't change my mind.

Hard to find an image of lesbians that wasn't pandering to male
pornography. In the end I settled for an image of just two
lesbians. I think these are actors though.
After that I suggested that this lack of transparency was part of the problem with sex. I also pointed out that I was inexperienced enough that I did not know what was 'right' to ask for - what is socialisation and what is genuine, what is acceptable and what is pornification, what is actual desire and what is the simulation of what I think ought to happen - and listed items as being blow-jobs (she pulled a face) and mutual masturbation. Tilly reminded me that she had done all of that with girlfriends already. All of that. Everything. Oh.

See, the last time I raised sex with her I was firmly put in my place that she had only had sex once with one man and it was a poor affair. No, see, I view, have always viewed, oral sex as, well, sex. It has sex in the name after all. So... Yes. Apparently she has had oral sex (giving and receiving) with multiple female partners quite a lot before me. So much for her only allowing me to go down on her because she thinks I like it. No, she stated that she did enjoy oral sex with previous female partners. That stung a bit actually, but only in retrospect.

You may have one of these for yourself
already actually. I thought the concept
a helpful one. Tilly disagrees.

But she would.
She said she might try oral on me, and maybe other things, but that she would likely be poor at it and this would increase the chances that she would give up or not be interested. Right.

Eventually, as I continued to fail to actually ask for things, she set a date to talk about my sex map (a concept I thought would help, but Tilly maintains would be less than useless as she would reject everything on the map, and she has looked at it in detail, unless she was 'in the mood' and, even then., may reject things on the grounds that it is new) instead of a date for sex. In other words, to use the 'mood' as prescribed by calendar (days when she is not writing with her buddy and her period is over) to discuss potential sex in the "right frame of mind".

There was also the thing where Tilly claimed that my inability to be direct led her to feeling ambushed, until I pointed out that going round the houses as I did was the opposite of being ambushed as she could figure out the general direction of the conversation long before anything transpired if she cared to do so. She agreed, but persisted that I was ambushing her in such situations because she may not know the eventual destination. The destination, she acceded, that I was unlikely ever to reach anyway. So, still not an ambush.

I get the feeling that this may be a set up.

Sunday, 18 January 2015

Disappointment

We watched just under an hour of Secretary before Tilly declared it "abuse and bullying", decried the scene as "degrading" and then roundly condemned the premise, the film and the entire set-up as being "made to titillate" - which is, apparently, a bad thing. It was "disgusting" and she "expected better".

So, the chances of trying to explain my position grow slimmer. I kinda knew that would happen.

Saturday, 17 January 2015

Parallel Universes

A short post, but a positive one. You'll have noticed, no doubt, that yesterday I was particularly fired up and excited and enthused by the music from the Olympic Opening Ceremony in 2012. I have, of course, now downloaded many different versions because human voice and over one thousand drummers can never be anything but powerful and heavy. I listened to the music for the industrialisation bit maybe twenty times and I'm still doing it. This morning I even introduced my children to it whilst they ate breakfast and something of my enthusiasm infected the Girlie, though the Boy remained resolutely unimpressed (though even he stood still to watch the full 17 minute epic), so that was good. None of this is the point of the post.


No, after I posted and on the eighteenth run through of the music Tilly started packing up to go to bed, having spent the evening writing her book. She had done some preparations for her writing buddy to come and visit (and they are upstairs as I type plotting out a joint writing effort) and I had helped but it was now late. She stopped by me and sighed, we held hands a bit. Then the following conversation began apropos of nothing.

"It's one month today that I went into hospital," she opened, "I can't believe how ill I was."

I agreed, it had been a testing time. We briefly discussed the oddity of the Christmas period and the fact that in the week before she'd gone into hospital she'd barely left the sofa and been wrapped up in a blanket. Several of Tilly's friends have commented that she looks much better (she does) and she asked how bad she could possibly have looked. We laughed a bit and I assured her that she looked much better and with less bags under her eyes. I had been reviewing old photos of her and the children, some of them had been quite emotional to me.

Then she dropped the bombshell: "I'm on my period now, it's regular again," she started, "That's how I know it was a month ago, because I'd just started then too. I know.." she paused, seemed to search for the right words, "I know that it probably kick-started the whole thing a month back but, when I'm off the blob, would you like to try again? I think I'd like to try again."

She meant sex.

Pretty much my reaction.

"Yes," I said, "Of course."

And then she went to bed.

This morning she suggested that after her friend had been over and gone we could watch Secretary - so on tomorrow evening.

Have I entered a glorious parallel universe? I feel like I have
entered a parallel universe.

Friday, 16 January 2015

Pandemonium


I can't believe I didn't watch this in 2012, well, okay, I can. But when my newb used it in her lessons I sort of half-listened and didn't go and check it out. I did check it out this year. Oh. My. God. As in, fucking hell. How did Danny Boyle get away with this? It's brilliant!


It's officially, officially, titled 'Pandemonium', you know, the capital of Hell in Milton's Paradise Lost. The opening coda is from Jerusalem and references Dark Satanic Mills. They peel back the idyll to reveal a street map of London! Workers toil beneath the ground, people die, there is a stoppage for war but then it all kicks off again. Even the flash of colour from the Beatles is subsumed into the dark toiling chaotic mass. Molten metal creates the ring and, when hoisted, rains fire on the working class. The top-hatted industrialists undertake some minor work but mainly show others what to do and call down wealth from the sky as they dismantle and destroy England's green and pleasant land to create this seething shithole of darkness and exploitation. Hell-fire, Boyle includes the Windrush of 1958 when we brought in people from the Empire to plug the gaps (and they disappear into the seething chaos). At the end you have Brunell sauntering about looking proud whilst the workers look like post-apocalyptic survivors. Contrast the faces at the end! And the crowd cheered! The commentators view it as a triumph. People talk about power and prestige and wealth. The government offered Boyle a knighthood for crucifying the myth of the Industrial Revolution as a positive thing for the people of the UK and the world!


I cannot believe I didn't see this!

You might guess it has excited me somewhat.


Thursday, 15 January 2015

How I met your mother...

Welcome to a new reader, lovely to know you're here and reading, genuinely!

This new reader was badly misled by me on G+. There I maintain an outwardly female presence with little indication that I am not. We got to talking and they offered help and advice regarding the situation with Tilly, naturally I gender-flipped, and that wasn't right. I ought to have said something sooner.

That is not the point of this post.

A bit like this I guess. She was ready for a new relationship and I looked like an interesting option compared to the guy
she was sorta kinda not dating at the time.

This is an attempted selfie in winter before I met Tilly.
It was taken on a lonely walk in the snow. It was snowing,
no way was I not walking in it.

Yes, that is a genuine Russian police hat from the 1980s USSR
and yes, I bought it in Russia.
First of all, the story of how Tilly and I met. I think it's an important part of the story that is thus far missing from this record and account. It was 2006, I had been out of the relationship with Toby for just over two years and was going on holiday to Michigan to meet with some distant family, with my mother (I know). I had also just bought a house. I had signed up to online dating at long last and actually shelled out money as I hadn't met anyone since Toby and Toby I only met because she shared a house with a childhood friend of mine who lived locally. Basically, I have never been on the dating scene and was feeling incredibly lonely. In order to get six months' free you had to send five notes to people a month. So far, five months in, I had not received a note and all the women I had contacted had either blocked me (which I thought a bit harsh) or simply gone inactive. I sent my five before going on holiday to save some time.

A scene from that holiday.
On holiday I checked e-mails and was amazed to discover a response. We exchanged a few messages and I was amazed that an actual attractive woman was paying attention. When I returned we messaged further, exchanged e-mails and spoke on MSN messenger (oh those were the days). I went to see her at her end, it seemed safer for her, and I was astounded by her. We got on like a house on fire. My car exploded, preventing me from over-analysing the situation on the way home, and we agreed to meet again in a city equidistant from us both. This we did, near some friends of mine, and had a lovely day. I invited her back to mine, she accepted, and we had a bizarre but, frankly, intriguing night. After that I visited her a couple of weekends on the trot and she came over to make jelly. I explained that I cross-dressed, she explained that she was bisexual. It was a good time.

The hotel room we stayed that night. I took this whilst she
was having a shower. The roses, she loves roses, were
intended as a surprise. I got them in yellow deliberately
(she preferred pink) to represent us joining (yellow is me).
I arranged a romantic getaway to a romantic city with a four-poster bed. We both knew what we were building towards. I have related the story of that night a few times before, but to recap - we had sex, I didn't climax and we barely left the room. She went to a convention, I went back to work. We met a few more times, me going to see her, and we arranged a Christmastime set of trips to meet one another's parents. It went okay at my end but at hers things frayed a little. I over-reacted in a club to being out of my comfort zone and frightened and she said it was the end of the relationship. In the morning we drove home and I had my say (having let her rant unabated since the incident). I said I thought we had something worth saving that I would be happy to fight to save.

The bedroom into which she moved. We changed the bed
direction to accommodate her wardrobe.
Eventually, she agreed. We made up. I visited her a few more times. I proposed. She said yes. In a month, February, she moved in with me. She found that hard. We had sex a second time, and a third, and more. She got a job. Sex began to taper off and it was always on her initiation, mine were rebuffed without fail. She had a miscarriage at two weeks (yes, at two weeks, a day after she had confirmed that she was pregnant after testing herself twice a day since we had sex) and that's when thing started their current trajectory. We were trying to rebuild the relationship on holiday that summer when we conceived the Girlie. The rest... the rest you know.


I'm not sure what I'm hoping to achieve with this post, but here it is.

A view from some wasteground near where I lived. Taken
just after Tilly moved in and was out at work.

Monday, 12 January 2015

Secretary


At work we were discussing books in schools and the problems with getting students to read. In one of my current newb's old placements there had been an issue preventing the student body reading Fifty Shades of Grey when too young. My ex-newb, previously dreamed about by me and spoken of here, related her own experience reading the books and not only being disappointed at the unrealistic and vanilla depictions of the BDSM but being glad her labour came early so she could stop reading them. Mummy-brain means that it is often not possible to read anything more taxing, apparently. Discussion turned to the unrealistic depiction and she mentioned the film Secretary and suggested, if I hadn't seen it, I ought to borrow it.

I have seen it. But I lied.


I suggested it to Tilly, among other films, as something we could watch. My newb has previously loaned me DVDs, back when I was living in that flat before we bought the house, and I have usually watched them. I borrowed one more and ended up watching it alone after we moved too. Anyway, I thought we might watch this one together, why not, you know? Her response? "Isn't it 18 and a bit pornographic?" Because, you know, we're not 18 or something and God forbid we watch somethingf between consenting adults.

"Maybe." said I. I used the fact that I last saw it, have only seen it, late at night with some friends in shared accommodation and I was only paying passing attention as camouflage and suggested that maybe it was a love story in the main with some 'other' overtones.

"I think it's that disgusting porno film," she replied, implying she was holding out on me with her level of knowledge too. "All a bit dirty. I'm not sure I'd want to see that."

Conversation, apparently, over.


I think, perhaps, she's right on one level - it is a bit heavy on the sexuality and it is, just a little, anti-feminist (I suspect there's a male rather than female fantasy in the film just from the camera angles) - but pornographic? I can't imagine 'getting off' by watching the film - and that's my definition of what pornography is - and, from her reaction, I don't imagine Tilly would want to either. I don't know, with things the way they are I'm not certain we can discuss sex, touch one another sexually or even really think about sex at all. She's already stated that she doesn't like me using or accessing porn or reading erotica because 'it's like cheating' but on what and how that works I have no idea. In the end, I don't think we'll watch it. I get the feeling that, once she's looked it up, she'll think less of me for suggesting it.

Assuming she even bothers to look it up like she said she would.

The 'funny' thing? When we first had sex, when I gave my virginity to her as a gift, my inability to finish the job was raised as a potentially worrying thing by Tilly: "some men who are very religious think that having sex is dirty, and that stops them cumming" she said and advised that I make sure it wasn't a physical problem after I assured her that this was not what I thought. I have never thought that. But apparently she did. And does. Ha ha. Ha. Ha.

Sunday, 11 January 2015

Follow up


I spent today working. Can't complain, massive pile of marking is now completed, but it's been a hard day. Tilly looked after the children, for which I am grateful but also very guilty. Boy blew up right before bed, threw himself about and knocked his head on the top of his headboard. He and I talked about it. I feel I handled it well, reminding him that it was okay to feel angry and upset even if it made him feel bad. I reminded him of the happiness he had felt at other points of the day, how he had been kind and cheerful and excited at different things and with different people. Being angry didn't make me love him any less, and his Mummy and Daddy are always happy on one level because we have him as our Boy and his sister as our Girlie. I tackled his guilt, after he started displaying it, and told him that he didn't need to feel that (but it was fine for him to feel it) any more. It seemed to work, he went to sleep much more easily tonight than any point recently.


The video above is a bit skippy, sorry, it does not do the song justice. B-side to Hey Matthew, which I have on 7" vinyl somewhere. It's a brilliant song, but... well.

No, I'm guilty because Tilly didn't manage to get any work done (her new laptop was suborned by the children to watch some Gummy Bears for a change). When she did get to write with Carol, earlier than usual, Carol had a blow-out and they've spent three hours in the back and forth that followed and Tilly hasn't managed to get any of the other things she wanted to do done. So, having completed my tasks, with her help, I was met with irritation. I gave a hug but was shoo-ed away. I was also ousted from the room, so I have retreated to bed and I'm writing this. Tilly hates any kind of physical contact or conversation when she's upset and/or angry so I'll aim to be asleep when she comes up.


The song above is called Faust by Pavel Dovgel. It's moody.

Last night was very cold indeed and, in bed, I reflected on the fact that though we'd gone together, Tilly wrapped up in her duvet in such a way that there was no way to share any physical contact. Do you think couples snuggle on cold nights? Is that what one does in a relationship? Toby and I would spoon, she was the big spoon, and sleep like that all night. But Toby was slightly unhealthily mad and so I have no idea if that is normal or not. I enjoyed it. I would like to repeat it. But I cross-dress and so my compass on what is and is not acceptable or desirable is a little skew-whiff.


Yes, it's the Pet Shop Boys. Obviously.

On a forum I frequent, someone asked a question: "could you ever love a cross-dresser?" Interestingly, there had been about 15 responses. It's not a place normally associated with sexual deviance either and so membership may be more representative than the circles I usually move in on forums online. The men suggested that it was possible, not from them as they were straight; but all of the women, bar one, said no. Not at all. That was 9/10 women. That's... compelling. Of the 9, six suggested that it was a disgusting habit and three said cross-dressing men was fine but not someone they would be able to spend time with. The remaining one lamented a man she liked being unobtainable, and he was a cross-dresser who was gay. She'd love him, you see, if he were straight. That woman was also the youngest, 18-21 from her profile. Telling, no?

Too much to ask? Too much to ask.

No one deserves to be loved. No one deserves acceptance. But it would be nice if no one had to.

Saturday, 10 January 2015

Fed Up

Yeah, this about sums up my feelings at the moment.
I made the mistake of propping myself up with coffee yesterday. A late night in front of the computer reading shit on sites I really ought not to visit but I do because it gives me a chance to pleasure myself a bit. I am being supremely selfish, I know this, because I am attempting to use time for my own sexual gratification. We ordered some Chinese food and we ate together in virtual silence whilst Tilly researched for her book and wrote with her writing buddy last night. I had an early night, leaving for bed around 10pm. I don't remember Tilly coming to bed. On Thursday night I stayed up until gone midnight, Tilly had worked until 11pm, because I wanted to visit GetDare and look at some captions and fantasise about actually carrying out a faproulette (look 'em up).

And also this.
I was shattered the following day, of course, and I ended up having a coffee so that I was awake enough to do my job and lead a meeting on standardised test scoring. I actually take a glee in the latter because it appeals to my personality. But one of my staff is going to need more support than I had initially thought was needed. It's going to test my ability to be organised, clear and forceful. Anyway, I went to the pub, had some Pepsi, and ended up being too wired when I came home. Tilly worked. At no point this week have I thus managed to get up early enough to repeat my dressing on Monday - the high point of the week actually - which is a shame.

Yeah, that too.

Not often I live my principles enough to truly identify beyond
the surface either.
She's feeling better. She had another wine. But not well. Dull, continuous pain. She has a cold coming on. She's started her book. Her and her writing buddy, let's call her Carol, are planning a novel now. Carol is coming to visit later this month and again in February to plan properly. That's cool, I have friends over from time to time. But it fills me with dread. It's another thing that comes before me. There, I've said it, the selfishness is out. Most things come before having any kind of intimacy with me. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. Tilly has been run down and 'not up' for sex since 2007. And I don't actually finish my job in sex anyway, haven't since we conceived the Boy. I mean, I can, and do sometimes, but it takes a lot of work. It's no fun for Tilly.

I think I may be giving up on this, by degrees.

Is it me?

Not just me.

But it may be me.
Is it me? Time and again on here I have written that I'm 'not a catch'. Perhaps it is. I'm not enticing her enough, I can't make romance work and I'm just not worth having sexual feelings for. I am not wanted. Not like that. She's fond of me, but, to Tilly, I am just like an extra child - and one from a different marriage rather than one of Tilly's own. Or I'm like a sibling or something. I don't know, I didn't (and don't) really get on with my brother or cousins so I have no basis for comparison.

And I end up wondering - has anyone ever been attracted to me rather than what I represent? My first relationship was her's to, she was attracted to my availability and politeness - my gentleness - but we weren't going anywhere. I was a safe start in romantic life. Good enough. My second, Toby, was attracted to my apparent straight-laced qualities coupled with the strangeness of my cross-dressing desires and understanding. The apparent strength of my faith. Once she got to know me, she was less enamoured. Tilly? I have no idea what she saw in me. It wasn't me.

The tags explain what's after the line break.


Friday, 9 January 2015

Interactivity

I have some posts percolating in my head, they are fantasy and fiction, I hope to get them out soon. In the meantime, some interactivity.

A friend of mine in the world set up their own 'Johari' window. Apparently there's a Nohari one too. So, in the interests of my own sense of importance, would you do me the favour of clicking the links and letting me know how I front on this here blog? I'll do you the return favour if you like!

First the negative one. And now, the positive one. Thank you!

Curtsies.

Tuesday, 6 January 2015

Back to Work

Contemplating the future, reflecting on the
past...

I would happily wear this if I thought I could get away with it
in a professional setting.
I was worried about the pile of work that I had built up, and it is huge, but so far so good and I'm getting through it. New shoes, though clownish in their length and painful generally, are not causing inability to walk. New brown suit is comfortable. I've even managed to read more of my book on the latest archaeology around Stonehenge, which is making me happy. Colleagues are all okay, though my newb remains very slippery and worse than me at organisation. She's very like me, she hides the chaos with a veneer of organisation, beneath the exterior it's roiling insanity, worry, self-deprecation and confusion. And I spot this because I share the trait. But she is much, much worse than I am. This is going to take a while to sort out in a way that won't inadvertantly make things worse for her whilst maintaining the level of professionalism that I want from my Department.



Huh, it's my actual suit jacket. Not my shirt
or tie though.

See, it doesn't look too bad.
Children coping moderately well with me going back to work, and the first night had me there until quite late. Today was a late one too, arriving back as they were being read to in bed by Tilly. Tilly has started working on her book in earnest. Two nights in a row now she's disappeared to do laptop (newly bought with advance money) stuff. Yesterday she was in the living room, I was in the dining room, writing with her writing partner, tidying up blog posts, announcing her deal publicly for the first time and researching the beginning of her book. Until midnight. Tonight she retired to the spare room and wrote solidly from 7.30pm to 10pm. She's now in the bedroom reading research.

No greeting home. No physical intimacy. But don't break out the violins just yet, I was late back on Monday (7pm) and today (6.30pm) - the children go to bed at 7pm and start bedtime routines around 6.30pm (today they started earlier) - so I'm quite firmly locking myself out of the family routine at the moment.

I briefly saw her in the morning yesterday, in which she warned me not to check on the children lest I wake them, as she was reading research in bed (6am to 7am then further sleep). She did the same this morning, but I was later setting off, so I caught her barely awake at around 7.30am. I set off at 6.30am on Monday, for reference.

This is a good enough representation of Tilly working.
I respect the fact that she has a book deadline, I do. But, once again, I appear to come well behind that, her writing, the children and that continues to hurt a bit. She's still pretty ill too, she tried to hoover today and has ended up with increased pain in her lower back. Her glasses are also rubbing her ears and leaving nasty marks again. She keeps getting them adjusted only for a child to knock them and throw them off again within a day or two. Or I do it. Not recently, I've stopped trying to kiss her again.

I should be happier for her than I am, I know this. I don't want to be that guy, you know, the one that decries the success of the women in his life because of how it reflects on him. The one that makes every narrative about the male at the centre of the ego-centric view of the world. I don't. And I therefore need to allow Tilly the space she carves out of her full life being primary carer for our children and household to do things for her. And that means I don't come into it, I get that, it's temporary. And yet... Coming so soon after the period since the birth of our daughter and the associated disconnect on so many levels... Coming so soon after the magazine, the parenting group, the enforced organisation to move, tyhe sleeping on the sofa, the depression (both of us), the drought after moving and now an illness that prevents any kind of close physical contact... In short, continuing an increasingly gloomy relationship situation that has lasted since late 2007, this temporary effect, likely to last until October, is bloody annoying. And doesn't feel so temporary.

I wonder what will replace it in October?


Sunday, 4 January 2015

Skirting Issues

Something happened yesterday, certainly. Not only did I manage to pick up a, frankly, lovely purple dress from a charity shop for pittance but I also managed to actually purchase a suit, well, two suits that fit me. Brown is clearly my colour now though, so I also had to accessorise - what, cis males can do it too. Shoes, belt, socks, the whole shebang. I imagine that Grayson Perry would be shaking his head at me wanting to be more and more like Default Man.

More to the point, I even got up early enough today to wear the dress and take a picture. For now, that's all I've got but at least it moves us on from my last selfish entry.

Easily my favourite pose of the lot.
Look at the skirt effect!

Shaky cam attempt at a curtsey.

Just the dress.

Less shaky curtsey.