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. 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 "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" 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, 11 December 2011


2nd December 2011
Tilly found my bag.  I had been condensing my wardrobe into my rucksack, which I had stored near the backdoor beneath a whole bunch of other stuff.  The idea was that it would be out of the way whilst still being accessible.  But Tilly found it, this morning.  And she looked through everything that was in there.  Which means that she found her old top, and everything else I haven’t written about in here yet – I dressed one weekend and added a sanitary towel, because I was interested, no other reason, it wasn’t anything interesting in the end but I hadn’t thrown it all away yet.
Bag like this, full of my 'wardrobe', had
been lurking in the kitchen by the back
door under a load of stuff.  Safe?  No.
I came home, Tilly mentioned that she wanted a ‘chat’.  She detailed what she’d found.  She was angry at being lied to. Twice.  She’d previously found some of the stash and I had denied ownership, she had believed me.  I had also said I wasn’t wearing her stuff, but one of her old tops was in there, so she felt betrayed.  She felt that if I could lie to her without her noticing so easily then I could lie to her about anything.  And she felt stupid for not noticing the lie.  After all, the first one was ridiculous, she knew that, but she believed it and now she felt stupid.  She was keen not to ‘blow it all up’ but she wanted assurances.  As usual I could not offer them.  I have previously waxed lyrical about my ability to twist the truth, how I do it without realising and don’t mean to lie but end up doing it anyway.  Tilly has never believed that.  Now she has proof.
She didn’t want to know anything else, she had no questions about what she found, apart from the sanitary towel, and was not interested in whether they had been used recently or not.  She did not want to know why they were there, she said she had no demands, she wants nothing from the conversation, she just wanted to let me know and have an assurance that I would not lie to her knowingly.  What is that worth?  She has it, of course she has it, but is it worth when I’ve already done it, twice?
And I feel bad.  Really bad.  She shouldn’t have found the bag.  I didn’t know what else to do on the two occasions, of course I lied, the alternative was great anger and upset and ructions.  The top in question was thrown out by Tilly a good two months before I appropriated it.  It doesn’t matter.  Like Tilly said: it felt a bit weird for her.  No amount of ‘lawyer-ing’, her term, would make that feeling go away, no matter how I twisted things.  She’s right, I have proved my ability to manipulate people and events, to twist words and meanings and to lie with a straight face.
I’ve been sleeping dressed now and again, it’s a habit I’ve never really lost but it’s infrequent, because it’s comfortable, it’s nice.  But I haven’t dressed for two weeks.  Thursday a few weeks ago as it happens, I was on strike and Tilly was out.  Seemed like a good idea.  I marked in my new dress, with the shoes, in tights, the top and a stuffed bra.  I enjoyed it.  It was nice.  Now that feeling is ash, hedonistic pleasure in the short term exchanged for cold reality and guilt in the real world.  Nothing happens without consequence, no action has no effect, and nothing I ever do comes without strings attached or guilt as part of the baggage.  I’d managed to avoid it so far, but it couldn’t last forever.  Today… Today it caught up.  Properly.  And there are no excuses.  No second chances.  No way out.
I’m sick, possibly?  This isn’t right.  It’s never been right.  Being ‘nice’ or making me happy doesn’t make it right.  But lying to Tilly sure as Hell makes it wrong.  Betraying her trust makes it wrong.  The guilt and the ash and the horrible feeling in my bones makes it wrong.  And my continuing desire to engage in the activity makes me wrong.
Tilly’s doing my CBT questionnaire now.  She’s just pointed out that she doesn’t like me or Lauren in the conversation in that.  It’s interesting, when I’m honest about my life, I am the bad guy.  I am.  Confirmation has now been given.  I thought my therapist looked a little differently at me after reading the information that it was carved from.  I thought I would come out as in the wrong, and at least I was right about that.  Further confirmation that I am not a terribly nice person.  I lie, I cheat, I manipulate, I’m incompetent and I have a serious perversion that negatively affects my day to day life.  Is therapy enough?
I started this, I think, to record that odd feeling I had when I first dressed since my therapy began.  I tried to document that feeling of happiness.  As if that could be separated.  Instead, it has become a document that charts how that goes.  It has become a place to confirm that the reasons I have for feeling I am a horrible person are, well, correct.
Fucking bastard.  Fucking, waste-of-space, lazy-arse, shit-headed bastard.  I want an end to me.


  1. I have been coming back to your blog, reading your posts in an arbitray or perhaps not so arbitrary fashion, following suggestions in your "visitor's guide" (An excellent idea, btw!)
    So it comes I am commenting a post that is more than a year old, and I hope and believe that you feel better now than when you wrote it. I still appreciate - increasingly, actually - your honesty. Not only in what you tell but also your sincere struggle with the moral implications of your (our) crossdressing. What compells me here to answer is your intense feeling of guilt, not only manifest in this post, and more: your conviction that your are not only feeling guilty, but actually are!
    Here I want to declare my disagreement: You are obviously not a horrible person! And I am not saying this to be nice. I am, unlike many people I find in the TG internet community, quite averse to the exchange of niceties which have the foremost aim to make each other feel better. Now to the point.
    First: A person who is so seriously struggling to be honest and to do the right thing, even if (s)he persistently fails, is much less a bad person than the far greater number of people who make much less effort in this respect.
    Second: Being honest is very important, but being always honest even if only towards people you cherish (like your wife) is an impossible and undesirable goal, not only for crossdressers. I think it is a sign of maturity to recognize that. Though it is of course important to remain watchful with oneself, and not let this healthy common-sense undermine by and by the notion of the importance of over-all honesty!
    But third, and above all, I think you are being too hard on yourself by not conceding yourself what I consider a fundamantal right. To be yourself, to your sexuality and sexual identity!
    This right is finally getting recognition, at least in a good part of western societies, unfortunately not yet so much regarding transgender issues as gay issues. As you (and I) and everybody of good faith wil recognize, sexuality and sexual identity is a tremendous force. And repressing it is causing an enormous amount of pain. Thoughout human history, sexual freedom has been suppressed, by society and religion as the original constituent of society's order, at it's time out of necessity, because social order was based on gender roles and the controlled transition of wealth and power from one generation to the next. (Heritage demands sexual fidelity and so on.) But we have, fortunately, I say, since the age of enlightment begun to question the rules that seemed immutable and indispensable for human order, and learned that the world did not only fall into chaos but became even more human without the systematic supression of women, for example, or the insurance of transition of power by inheritance (monarchy). So what I am saying: Society's insisting on gender roles and identities is not justified. Everyone, you, me, should have the right to dress and behave as a woman, in private and in public, without getting mobbed for it or made fun of or worse as it still happens.

  2. (cntinued)
    We are who we are and have a right to be it. The pain that arises from it: for example, the embarrasment of your (or my) wife, the social exclusion to what it may lead, are not our fault. They are society's fault. That does not mean that we have no obligation towards our loved ones to spare them pain and problems. Of course we have. But it sets the proportions right: Essentially we are ok! Morally ok. Being a crossdresser, a homossexual, a transsexual is morally ok. There is no guilt in it! The guilt only arises from our failures to manage our life in face of the contradiction of our sexual condition and identity with society's norms. Here we are compelled to compromise. Often to choose between two evils. We will commit errors, cause pain. But our guilt from this is not GUILT. Not essential guilt I mean. Not guilt as woulds arise from murder, or rape, or even involuntary manslaughter for comparison.
    So, do not be so hard on you!
    I can't advise you how to deal with your situation in relation to your wife. I myself am handling it not very successfully and quite cowardly, I am afraid. But I am sure we do better also in this respect if we learn to love and respect ourselves as what we are.

    1. You are very much heard!

      Yes, I do feel better now than when I wrote this entry and, yes, you are right about the creation of guilt. Scarily enough you echo my own thoughts on where guilt originates and how it operates!

      I am very glad that my Guide is doing the work it was supposed to and also that you felt moved to post. I know what you mean about the exchange of pleasantries in the community - I can see why it's a great thing but have tried to discourage that here in the way I post - so it means a lot to have your thoughts here!

      Religion may well create suppression and monarchy, but my faith is that this is more of Man than it is of an imaginary friend who may have created the Universe. However guilty I find myself, and however much I may find my own issues thorny, I must always bear in mind that I believe I was created (through whatever scientific process you care to name) with love. And that means that Him Upstairs knows all about my compulsions and addictions and, arguably, placed them in me in the first place. In that regard, belief is the antidote to religion.

      But you are, of course, dead right.

      Thank you again, there's a lot to digest and I look forward to doing so over the next week or so.


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