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!

Sunday, 22 November 2015

Happy Days


Except with my boots and different tights.

Oh, and no jewelry. I considered wearing some
but didn't. My watch has died too.
Last night Tilly was away and I dressed. I got out the first dress I bought, the purple tights, the pink briefs and bra (stuffed a little). I wore my boots and wig and had a lovely time. I had even planned ahead and bought a fruity fizzy drink to have in a wine glass because, well, no real reason. It was lovely. Of course, being me, I sexualised it and went over to the corner-time app (12 minutes with handcuffs) and hung about on GetDare (though there was little actual activity there). Mostly I just surfed the net playing swarmsim and viewing good blogs that I haven't properly read in ages. It was strange because I actually felt positive enough to try it. And it made me feel good. Really good.

I love the ache in the legs from wearing heels and standing up (that was the corner time thing) and I loved the feeling of sitting down to go online. I loved keeping my knees together. I loved having hair that pulled and got in the way. I loved the feeling in my toes, the feeling on my shoulders, the view when I looked down, the warmth of the tights, the slip of the legs, the tailoring, the hugging of the fabric. It was everything I enjoyed the most in September 2013 and I have rather missed it.

Just... *sigh*
But that's the thing, recently I haven't felt in a happy enough place to even try dressing up. Other opportunities have passed me by without me doing anything. I've had the box of clothes out numerous times and not indulged, and indulging it is. I have not seen fit to enjoy it, even knowing that doing so invariably improves my mood and outlook, cheers me up and communicate some genuine happiness. That latter point being something that I poor at expressing and feeling most of the time. So, what was the reason for this change in heart and sudden ability to indulge in something solely to make me feel happy again? That is a simple question with a predictably complicated answer (oh, Joanna, you? Complex? Needlessly so? All the time? Say it ain't so!).

On Friday I was bombarded with positive communication from Tilly. She is away this weekend at some friends' that she has contacted and made via Twitter. They run their own hashtag or something. Anyway, after a week of snarks and grumpiness and isolation, it was quite a tonic. I got images from the day (the Boy has glasses because he's long-sighted after the Girlie was found to be almost blind in her short-sightedness earlier in the month) via e-mail and plenty of nice texts. We spent the evening watching the first couple of episodes of Game of Thrones (though she maintained her laptop and e-mails with the narcissist writing buddy via her phone) and then retired to bed. We held hands. It was nice.

Ha ha.

No. Not Tilly. But, y'know, the
impression is the right one.

She's got a second book deal,
she's got a fiction trilogy in the
works and she runs a Twitter
hashtag thing that may actually be
a business.

Did I mention she was a full time
parent?
All of which was very positive. Very positive indeed. She claims that this is down to having used a hot-water bottle on her neck to reduce the pain there and thus, now significantly reduced in pain, she was in a happier place. And I feel churlish because I recognise that, as happy as this makes me, it's the sort of thing I was bemoaning as being too little and a significant reduction in intimacy before 2011. Now... Now it's the wonderful light at the end of a tunnel. Coupled with the decision to have the conversation about what it is about my cross-dressing that Tilly finds threatening and repulsive (a positive move, I consider; though, as she points out, likely to result in anger and frustration for me) you have quite a heady mix.

Mind you, this is just before the weekend she is spending away and I have the children. Tilly does labour the point that I can be irritable with the children (no more than her) and that she worries that I will go too far or be too angry or do half of what she does when frustrated. After all, I'm not home most of the time. Sure enough, the Girlie regularly mentions how she wishes I had gone away so Mummy was still at home, how Mummy is better than me and how much she misses Mummy. Neither of them particularly enjoy my company, the Boy does like our Saturdays but precisely because it's once a week and special. The Girlie does like me reading Harry Potter because I can do the voices and because she gets to spend the rest of the time with Mummy. Already, after a week, there is evidence of fraying around the edges on that - since she was born it has been Tilly that has been her primary carer and I can't challenge that. In the very beginning that was a very deliberate thing and I was very deliberately excluded - Tilly's own admission. So, the timing does make me suspicious.

Even so, I enjoy the attention and have enjoyed the contact.

But it gets me thinking. This morning, the Boy came into bed a bit before we started the day and I had more physical contact from him in those ten minutes than I've had from Tilly since 4 September. I wish I could wrap Tilly in my arms, have her rub my beard or some part of me affectionately, and just be close to her. But she hates too much physical contact and enjoys her own space (we still have separate duvets after we found, early on, that she can't bear to share - it was only after I left the bed when Tilly was pregnant that we found the solution and only when we planned to co-sleep with the Boy that we had the extra space she craved by not having a bed) so that this will forever remain a pipe-dream.

Ah, negative endings to happy posts, clearly I am back. Take a bow, Joanna!

Or a curtsy, whatever floats your boat I guess.

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