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!

Tuesday, 10 February 2015


Never going to happen.
Today I felt them grow in real time in a way that I don't think I've felt in a while. My lovely workplace remains lovely and the people in it very nice - but stress is coming. Predictably, this morning, I woke up with the fading dream of being cross-dressed, I can tell you no more than that. Morning was spent hurrying in preparation for a visit from the speech therapist for the Boy and I was on Girlie duty. Except that Girlie didn't really really want her Daddy about, so I retired to the spare room, with my wardrobe.

Taking the family to their friend's house for a playdate, Patti's, we had a mostly quiet drive but for me reeling off what I had to do as Tilly asked. By the time I got to work I was pretty wound up. And I wanted to dress so badly. To feel knickers on my midriff, a skirt or dress about my legs and the support of a heel arching my foot. Even maybe the bra around my chest. Yesterday was similar. In both cases it was most distracting from what I was doing at work, and it rises all the time. I actually went and bought some new male underwear today, my existing boxers are getting threadbare, and I wondered at the waste of it all. But Tilly would never consent to me washing female-designed smalls, think of the possible questions! You know, from all those people that count our underthings and would wonder where the extra came from or our children who would know the difference. Truth is, I suspect, Tilly would feel threatened. By what and how is confusing to me. But, you know, I'm autistic.

We're switching rooms around, mainly my suggestion after getting new shelves, and so the whole place is a tip. It's hard to concentrate. Tilly is the same, she has retired to the spare room - her office - one of the few places left reasonably tidy and usable. It's also where my wardrobe of female clothes lives. I'm giving her a free day on Thursday, we're having 'family days' tomorrow and Friday. Saturday will be a normal Saturday - so busy and separate. Sunday will be spent making sure the house is in order as we won't have done it before then. On Monday I'm back at work. I'll be amazed if anything comes of the weekend, especially if that thing is me, and I suspect I'm in for the long haul again. But, you know, I said that before Christmas too and look what happened just over a fortnight ago.

I wish I knew what you were missing.

In truth, I'm a bit of a shit. My first relationship was badly attended to, and deserved to die: there was nothing to be proud of in how that developed, ran or ended. My ex managed to salvage some dignity and learn something from it but I did not. Then I was a bit of a shit with my mad-ex, Toby, after all: she was mad. I did kind of use that to my advantage. I got nothing that I wanted but I managed to reel her in a little, in the process killing any respect she had for me and revealing myself to be boring. A backlash from her, long overdue, and it was all over. And now? I should have let Tilly end it at our first Christmas together. She was right and I was wrong to fight for it. I won. Ha. I won.

Forewarned is forearmed only if you give a shit.

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