Welcome to my blog dear new reader!
What can I tell you? Well, first of all, check out my Visitor's Guide for basic information about the author of this here blog, and some good links to various parts of this blog to start reading. The best places to start may well be my first cross-dressing and my first romance encounters. I have only one real link for you here, and that is the one to find all the posts that I have tagged as 'New Readers' because they sum me up and sum up the sort of thing that this blog is about. If you like them, then stay and read more, and if you don't you can leave with a clear conscience.
In short, this blog is about me and that means I get awfully selfish. There are sojourns into one-handed territory but this is not that kind of porn blog. It is also not a sex blog because there is so little of that to speak of in my life anyway. It's not really a cross-dressing blog either, though that is what made me start the place up way back when. So, don't expect too many posts detailing what I'm wearing or exploits when dressed. I post the odd fantasy, true, but mostly this is just, well, blogging.
And that's it.
All that remains is a Dramatis Personae to try and explain some of the people you will likely meet here:
She is my long-suffering wife. We met online and we hit off on our first meeting. I couldn't believe she was so clever (got a better degree than me) and beautiful. I don't actually know what she saw in me. Anyway, she seemed to be wonderfully strange and exciting and adventurous. She and I got on.
We argued, she moved in with me, she got depressed, I dealt with it badly. I changed job for her, I got worse, she withdrew through pregnancy following a miscarriage. We argued some more. She got pregnant again through my actions, she had another awful pregnancy. She had a better birth experience. She got depressed, horribly depressed, and this pushed me over the edge. She lamented my selfishness at getting depressed at the same time as her, I can see where she was coming from, and punished me for it as much as she could. She got better. I didn't. We haven't mended all of that yet. I miss the bisexual woman I fell in love with, though she remains awesome and out of my league, and she resents my issues. Can't say I blame her.
A friend from University. She is married with her own child of similar age to my Girlie and friends with Tilly too. She's a little competitive, a little scary when got going, but she knows. She has previously encouraged my cross-dressing and seems to find it somewhat fascinating. We share a birthday but that's about it. She's nice, she seems happy with her life, mostly, and she was someone I thought safe enough to 'come out' to after splitting with my mad-ex.
My mad-ex. A she. She had a dream once where she was introducing herself as Toby and me as Rebecca. We both liked it at first. But I was crap and selfish and eventually she lost interest. The insane thing is that we stayed together for as long as six months, not that we ended up splitting up. There was no 'win condition' but I didn't exactly help. She complimented my feminine features like my legs and my brunette hair, she refused to call it brown, and my overall weakness. It was this latter point that eventually convinced her I wasn't worth the trouble of dating, which is fair. I thought I loved her, I'm fickle like that. She also knows but we don't really talk now.
Tilly's cousin who is more a friend than a family member. Now that we have moved she isn't that far away and, being a godmother to the Boy (and one of two who take such responsibilities even remotely seriously) she is likely to be a more regular visitor and thus see more appearances on this here blog. Neither she nor her husband, Pik (a white South African fellow, so a Boer), know but they are both Anglican flavoured open-minded people with whom conversations can be, and have been, had on the matter. They are good people.
Old school-friend who was always the leader of the group of friends of which I was the hanger on. He, Tim and I were the three main characters of our own story. He and Tim had been friends a long while before we became friends. Now Jeremy was the last of us to get married and the second of us, after myself, to have children (Tim was first to marry). Jeremy should also know, I almost told him many times during school about my wish to dress in female clothes (keep in mind I didn't dress at all 'til University in 1998, and not more than once 'til 2004 and not fully 'til 2005 - I didn't dress regularly 'til 2006 then stopped, ish, 'til 2011) but I'm not sure if he ever twigged or cared. He is in the Navy, of course, and loves his family a great deal. I am the safe person for him to be, well, a little more emotional - which is a great honour I do not take lightly.
As mentioned above, my other school-friend. He is more boisterous these days than Jeremy and I had thought him the better of my two friends that I had. So he was my Best Man. Displaying my usual lack of character judging I failed - he would have made a much better godfather for the Boy than Jeremy does and, conversely, Jeremy would have made a better Best Man than Tim. Not that there is any issue with Tim, he was there for me throughout the six tumultous months of my relationship with Toby, the issue lies with me for basically being a tool in knowing people. He knows that I have dressed, voluntarily, but whether he knows the extent of this is unknown.
She's a friend from University. Married and with a child not much younger than our Girlie. She guessed that I could be a transvestite at a time when I'd only dressed in one pair of knickers ever. I was too scared to admit it but she seemed like she would have been supportive but it wasn't to be. We, instead, fell out for a whole host of reasons and maintained a kind of Cold War detente for the next decade. We remain vaguely friends and her husband was, and remains, more of a mate. For some bizarre reason I was their Best Man, a job at which I failed miserably, and they are decent people. Kristen is one of the nicest people you can meet and I remain shit at being a friend to her, but hey, what can you do?
Friend of Tilly's from University with a plethora of her own issues. Ostensibly a godmother for the Girlie though, like most of the people involved in that way, a bad choice and doesn't much care for the role. She may visit more often now that we have a house that is big enough for her and so may feature again. Back in 2010 she did actively support me in a quick, and never repeated, discussion about the fact that it had been over a year since any sexual touching between Tilly and I. I was punished for that later. She and I, that is Emily, haven't really talked much since. Can't imagine why.
Another friend of Tilly's who has visited more of late. Works in a high powered job in the UK government, but not on the public side, so a bit like my father (see below). Good for interesting videos and general internet stupidity through facebook. Not open to discussion on my issues or on things that I like to have a proper discussion about but very adept at leading Tilly astray and getting them both to drink more than is advisable. Part and parcel of being single and living in London one suspects.
Lovely lady trained in CBT. Very keen to listen, very gracious and just a nice person. Alas, the therapy did not really work for me, something about CBT didn't take for me. She did her level best and I messed her about, if I'm honest. She was a nice person, I loved her fashion sense and, yes, I did wish I could have dressed in what she was dressed in sometimes but she was not really my body shape or, well, anything really. Her fashion would not really have worked on me. A bit like the CBT. I have no other real information about her and I haven't seen her, nor had any therapy, since early 2012.
Me Mum. She's remarried, a year after Tilly and I married after our whirlwind romance with one of her own. She has issues, many issues. I seem to have been greatly wounded by them. I told her about my cross-dressing desires back in 1999 but she dismissed them and definitely does not know.
Good old Pater. He left us for a younger woman back in the day, just about when I would have started dating but this event meant that I became even worse at the whole thing. Combined with hormones I became a horrible son for him, and he felt he deserved it. I inherit my martyr complex from him and also gain much of my guilt from his actions and the way he fathers. I hope to be better than him as a father, but I suspect I am worse.
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!