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!

Monday, 30 June 2014


I've said before how much I love flowers.
I got them on a whim for Tilly.

I have posted previously about being in a sexless marriage. However, in amongst the other terms I learned the term "refuser" - Tilly is not one. Why? She refuses nothing. I don't even bother advancing or initiating sexual relations and attempts to be intimate fail. Last night, she was home late and we talked while she had a glass of wine. It was companionable. But I couldn't help but continue marking whilst we talked. I suggested we talk in bed, to remove my laptop. She agreed. We talked. I reached out to hold her hand, rested on her forearm but she made no move at all. When I moved closer she subtly shifted backward. Today, I stroked her hair, she let me. I moved closer and she walked away. I bought her flowers. She said "thank you" enthusiastically. Asked me to arrange them, smelled them and that was it. I leaned in for a kiss, she pulled away. That last one wasn't connected to the flowers.

She continues to hug and kiss the children. She posted in her parenting blog about how she uses physical cues with our children to smooth over rough edges, to make up after being short or angry or simply to just reconnect after time apart. She does not do this with me. She actively avoids it.

Why it's my fault: I married to be supported, not to support. I married, dated, to try and capture that feeling of being wanted by another rather than to offer the same. In short, I was selfish. I am selfish.

Do I need to explain?

I feel very much like I would want to look like this when I feel
like this. The fact is that I cannot. And the fact that I want to
is probably a huge factor in why I feel like it in the first
place. Ha, the tangled web of human sexuality.

I fucking hate it.

I used to listen to sad songs about love and I would feel under-valued and lonely. I hated being single. I dreamed, uselessly, about a relationship in which I would gain the love I felt I lacked and in which I could be myself. Except that I didn't really know what that meant. Over time I have come to realise who I am and the impossibility of that being something that others would want.

No, that's not to say I am unlovable, just that I had unrealistic expectations about being accepted solely for who I turned out to be when I bothered to actually find out. I was looking for unconditional love and acceptance and it didn't matter what I brought to the table. That omission, that failure to work out what I could offer, initially meant no relationships. Then it meant an unhealthy one that was better for me having broken it up - she grew as a person and became confident enough to gain the relationship she deserved. My second relationship still confuses me. Perhaps I should have avoided the allure or else recognised what was being offered - I was accepted at least and I spurned it because I was confused and inexperienced and didn't know what was being accepted.

Tilly... she loves me. But I cannot, and have not, supported her as she needed. The situation we are in is a direct consequence of that. She has moulded to adapt and I have not. She is happy. I am not.

I think it was Travis that asked, back in the late 1990s,
why does it always rain on me?

I suspect it's because I have never carried an umbrella and
because I have a habit of interpreting mindless chance in
weather conditions as being a deliberate attack on my mood.

Figuratively speaking of course.
And how much of this is down to my cross-dressing? I ask this because it seems that everyone in a relationship who is also cross-dressing or has something approaching GID or any kind of TG issue seems to be having the same problem. Very few have anything approaching a spouse that is actively supportive let alone one that remains loving and physically intimate (and no, I don't just mean sex). In fact, even five months in, I could cope with the lack of sex, I really could (there's porn, right?), if only there were some physical intimacy that was initiated, or even reciprocated, or even accepted by Tilly. My desire for holding hands, for kissing and snuggling is considered to be emotionally illiterate, or at least immature, by Tilly. She would snuggle, she says, but for the pressure it would engender to have sex. My mentioning sex twice since the start of the Easter holidays (so, what, about two months ago now) is "going on about it all the time" and "pressurising" her to the point where any flicker of physical desire she feels is crushed beneath the weight of expectation and frustration. So she says. Is that because of my habits? I think it might be. I'm hardly approachable.

And so perhaps I am unrealistic. No, I am unrealistic. I have always been unrealistic. It's why I was single for so long (I count single-ness as beginning around 15 when most of my friends had had 'relationships' rather than from 13 when my brother had his first proper relationship - he's abnormal in this) and why I only had two relationships before Tilly. I am odd, intense and, well, hardly a catch. Physically or spiritually or based on my personality.

Ah, depression, I've missed you.

Sunday, 22 June 2014

Beer Review whilst Parenting

It's the middle of marking Hell and, as is my wont, I shall add to the chaos by taking breaks and looking after the Boy. Who is currently babbling about long trains being even longer and not making the people talk. Apparently being outside makes him too tired. Yes, although this is a beer review, it's also about parenting.

Who'd have thought.

Still, 'tis a lovely day and I fancied myself some beer as I shan't be off Boy-duty until quite late this evening and so any lightweighted-ness on my part won't affect the chances of any of the students that I shall mark later on this evening. It's time for another edition of beer in my garden with our special guest star: Point Pale Ale. It's a curiously strong Statesian ale from Steven's Point Brewery in Wisconsin.

I'll be honest here, I wasn't expecting much. My experience of American beers has been poor and, from what I've read in other places, most ales that end up being broadcast aren't all that hjot. Too much Budweiser and a belief that lager is beer. The Boy was equally suspicious as we sat down with sweets from the shop and some water for him. As is my custom I offered him some of my beer - the theory goes that if I never limit his access to something he'll never develop a fascination with the forbidden. As usual he demurred (he once got as far as allowing some bubbles to pop on his face, never again). "No, Gaggy, you know that I do not wyke your beer". And he wrinkled his nose and face.

In fairness, the CO2 looked heavy upon opening and, although there was no real head, both the coppery tint and the fizz were more suggestive of cheap lager than a decent ale. Still, the warmth of the day and the lovely sunshine had pushed me to a pale ale rather than a stout, which is the other ale that I currently have in. However, the bottle promised far more than I believed it could possibly deliver from 355ml, suggesting it was 1.9 units. Hold on, what? Yes, it was 5.4% ABV. Oh. Well. After a trip out to the park with his scooter and some odd games of chase and catch (no, they are apparently very different even if the rules seem, to my uncultured brain, to be exactly the same) it was a good wake-up call, I guess, don't underestimate ales on a hot day, that way will surely lie madness.

First taste wasn't half bad. Light on the malt and heavy on the cascade hops. I recognised the taste (and yes, I was geekishly proud of myself) from the Cascade Ale from Saltaire way back when. However, here, in this environment, it was actually rather nice. Perfect for the hot weather and for sitting companionably in the garden. Not too strong, fading to a mellow yeasty taste that then gave way to the faint spice of hops and the over-riding malt of memory. The Boy played with some sweets in the shape of racing cars and then demanded my presence on the trampoline. I said I would come after I had finished my beer. And that, right there, is perhaps the best way to sum up the overall impression of this (rather cheap and cheeky) ale: it was good enough for me to finish before I went and played with the Boy. Not rushed, but light enough to take a pretty quick drinking session and serviceable enough to fit in the milieu. I can't really ask for more than that.

Especially since we had popped out at lunch time (I had managed to mark about 22 papers) to get me some lunch. Lately I have become enamoured of very cheap and cheerful noodles. I know, I know, they've been current just about everywhere since forever but I completely missed out on them until recently. They are great for lunches at work because I get hot food with little effort and the price means I'm saving a good £15 a week on lunches. Mind you, I'm still spending about £5 more a week than I was before we moved, so it's not really a saving overall. It was a nice set of noodles too, lovely and spicy, I shall be buying them again. Indeed, that spicy background probably explains the way the mellow nature of the beer popped out at me and why it was that the Boy was adamant that we went on a trampoline (he got some sweets in case it wasn't already obvious).

Enjoy this one, then, in warm weather, it's a proper summer ale and it is light and airy. Almost thirst-quenching (forgetting that the alcohol content will dehydrate you) and fits the smells of a garden awash with garlic, onions, potatoes and mint. In fact, chewing a mint leaf during the experience actually enhanced the taste and really allows the hops to shine through. I am reasonably impressed, can you tell?

Saturday, 21 June 2014


Jamming signals have been broken for a moment! The Revolution speaks!

*sound of gunfire*

My apologies, fair reader.

Yes, this year my annual sojourn into the world of marking has all been online (and still is). Unlike previous years where I have squirreled one or two extra posts away I didn't plan ahead and, unlike last year in particular, the switch to paper marking has not freed up time to be updating this blog. That's not to say I am completely snowed under or incapable of getting online it just means that if I have a browser open I have my marking up too.

Roden's The Thinker versus The Graduate?

Or is this a pastiche on the development of mankind from
our common ancestor to primates?
I mean, I have been posting in a forum about sexless marriages, but mainly it's been repeats of points on here. Why? Well, mainly to support other people and also to get a fresh perspective that is not tied to the cross-dressing on this blog (not to diminish or in any way call into question the views I have here). Unsurprisingly, the views are the same, but I had to check it out, you know?

Also, if ever I decide to share this place with some friends of mine (and I am still considering it) I don't really want my marriage to be the main focus of what they read.

Well, no, quite like that.
I've also done the Nazi lesson a few times. That takes a lot of mental preparation (I'd not realised how much I don't think) and with examining at the same time, along with reports and taking over a new area of teaching at work, with a trip (you know I hate school trips) and birthdays... Well, yes, my time has been pulled in different directions in a way that I don't think this blog has ever witnessed.

I have bought a lovely black and red dress (black velveteen top, some kind of semi-stiff shimmery fabric in red for the skirt) and it fits. But... well, I don't make it look terribly good. Increasingly I am of the opinion that the dress I got waaaaaay back I can make look fairly decent (provided one ignores my bearded visage, mono-brow and bad hair) - in fact I look better in that with a stuffed bra than I'd wager I look normally. However, this dress may not be as flattering of either my figure or my arms or something. I like wearing it (managed twice) but I don't pretend that I look anything short of appalling.

Why, yes, I am the eldest.

Yes, I am identifying with the female.

Yes, I wish I had been her.

What of it?
My brother and his wife have failed to recognise any family (well, my family) birthdays since the Girlie's last year and a quick exchange of texts showed that they were a. aware of it and b. unwilling to discuss it further. It's sad, I have made something of a point of doing stuff for my brother's birthday (he's missed three of mine now) and for his wife's birthdays (they have never recognised Tilly's) and now for his daughter's (my niece) but they've missed two of the Boy's and one of the Girlie's now. I shouldn't be surprised by this, our family has had a pretty crap time with birthdays generally and I think both my brother and I were glad to be shot of the whole politics that surround them. Equally, at my wedding I screwed things up several times by not inviting him to be Best Man (I was his, and I think he regretted it) and I don't think that's ever been forgotten or forgiven. After a string of dubious relationships, one night stands and one affair, my brother went hardline Christian (well, Pentecostal) and I think he and his wife also judge me harshly for a. living with Tilly before marriage; b. having the Girlie before marriage and c. supporting gay rights generally.

Right, back to marking...

Monday, 16 June 2014

Pictures of Me

No, not this one. That first picture isn't me, I just don't think going all out in the first bit is good. The pictures of me I post for purely selfish reasons and they follow the line break. They were all taken on my phone camera and all relate to dressing undertaken during the latest exam marking.

It's been a birthday recently and it has been an odd experience. Most of it took place whilst I was at work and my efforts to take part in any of it at all were the subject of much argument the night before - I say argument, more irritation and anger directed at me, I'm not good at direct confrontation and was too tired for my usual passive aggression. Long story short, I got to take part in some birthday shenanigans but cards and the bulk of presents were done in my absence and, despite being back earlier tonight, I just got to help in the bedtime routine with little birthday cheer.

Coming after a day away at an examination meeting after which I didn't really see the children (or my wife) this has left me feeling a little bruised.

Sunday, 1 June 2014

A History Lesson

After yesterday's post and some noodling around on the Experience Project sub-group called "I Live In A Sexless Marriage" I am prepared to offer one or two points:

1. The incidence of MRAs/PUAs is lower than I originally estimated. They clustered on the few posts I read to begin with.

2. My descriptions of Tilly are poor there. Or people there are prepared to believe the worst (and I don't blame them having read what they're going through).

3. Very few people have anything change for the better.

It did flag up a number of points and a quick discussion with Tilly flagged a few more. So, a history lesson follows where I shall try and get things straight. the line break is for your sanity.

Oh, an update on cross-dressing: since I injured my foot I haven't been able to put on my boots. I am still unable as of this writing. It makes cross-dressing hard as I rather like the heels. Sigh. I suppose I shall try without tomorrow morning if I'm up early enough. I managed to get enough work done today that I have nothing pressing provided I get out of bed before 6.30am.

History follows...