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!

Thursday, 13 September 2018


Between 17 and 20 August I was alone at home whilst the family were on holiday in Portsmouth. I know, this is becoming a feature, but I can't complain too much, my experience of holidays (as evidenced here) is that they don't work well for me. This arrangement works for Tilly as other adults who aren't me get to distract the children and she gets some time to, well, have a holiday. When I'm in tow I guess she doesn't?

And here it is! Seriously, I love it. Now my
favourite item.
All irrelevant. I was alone. Obviously I indulged. At first I was just stupid about it all. I took dares, did some of them and obviously made use of my new purchase for the dropping off of the family and immediately afterward. However, the biggest thing was buying a simple pink t-shirt from Aldi that had sleeves that tied above the arm and holes over the shoulders. It was a revelation. Combined with my knee-length denim skirt and a stuffed bra it was... It may be the most comfortable I have been since 2013's dress photo. So comfortable in fact that I didn't even feel the need to take a selfie. It was lovely and I spent most of my time at home in the get up. I felt like me. Even the new purchase, although used, failed to match the feeling I got from a t-shirt for £2. I tried on most of my wardrobe for very short periods of time but I kept coming back to that t-shirt and skirt combo. I paired it with my wedges and my heeled boots and both were just lovely. The boots work better generally as my feet are not really something I want to see.

Huh. Here is the skirt! H&M.

In combo with the t-shirt... I loved

I know I'm not fashionable. Never have
been, but they felt divine.
As the days went I even let myself shave the bottom half of my legs where baldness or something has denuded the outside of them of hair. I didn't give a shit about hiding it. It felt... nice. I'm not saying I can't not do it, I'm not saying I yearn for smooth legs all the time, but I am saying it's not been tried since 2005 and I welcomed the feeling again. I do also want to try doing that with my armpits too. A brief foray and test with small areas yielded interesting results and felt very nice indeed earlier in the year so that's something for me to consider.

When I went out to do shopping or go to the pub (I went to the pub) I went out with my choice of underwear - knickers and bra - and it was wonderful. If I thought I could have escaped notice I woudl have stuffed the bra. Why? I liked the feeling. I really did. Stuff (ha) how it looked, it looked stupid, it felt nice. Like the t-shirt. The other reason there's no selfie is that I looked a complete berk. But I felt light and airy. Free. Held. Safe. Me. I felt like me again. I didn't even wear the wig much. I mean, I did at first and I love having the feeling of long hair and it falling across my eyes. I love looking through it. I love the weight of it. But I hate how it looks. I hate the fact that it's not real hair. And, well, you know, it just can't be, well, real hair. So I dropped the wig. Oh, and I wore pop-socks (like small tights that are sock sized) when I was out. I under-dressed. Fully. And it was beautiful. I have no words to adequately describe it.

I was invincible. Unstoppable. Happy. I was happy. It was electric.

It was cold and sunny. Bright but chilly. I had split with Toby
for the first time. I was regretting it and thinking things
through. So I fasted to concentrate the mind and aid prayer.

It was helpful. It worked. I got clarity. Too late to repair the
damage my wobble caused. A metaphor for my life.
On the last day I packed it all away. The regret was palpable. Pangs. Like fasting and then walking past a butcher's five days in on a day out in Skipton in 2005 late in March. Proper hunger, not the kind people mean when they declare themselves starving, famished or hungry before lunch. Those kinds of pangs of regret, I nearly cried. But away it was packed. I prepared the house and ensured there was no evidence of anything in the house.

Of course, wearing my new purchase overnight and in heat did leave some issues. The ring left a welt on my ball sack. A skin nodule I have grew and got a bit painful as a consequence. I know this, leave it alone and it goes. Took a couple of days. Worth it, totally worth it. But I shall have to be more careful with the fitting next time, go back to the bigger ring.

The funny thing? I was actually looking forward to Tilly being home. I had genuinely missed her and the children. I was looking forward to the conversation, a hug maybe. I got some hugs. I got some conversation. But, as detailed here, I was also disappointed. She had not, it transpires, missed me much. Nor had the children really. I mean, don't get me wrong, they were glad to see me and regale me with their adventures, but they missed the holiday more than they missed me whilst they were on holiday. A tinge of gall there, but what can one do? Perhaps it's for the best.

Sunday, 9 September 2018


This is not a proper post on here, sorry, it's just a quick one. So much has happened.

The main thing is that I pushed a conversation again. And, records, because: records. Anyway, yes, the upshots were as follows:
1. The cheating thing is how Tilly feels and no, it is not fair. But it is how she feels.
2. She fell in love with my teacher persona. I was listening more then. Or, rather, she felt I listened more then. Can't argue with feelings.
2a - No, she can't imagine being physical with me because of my dressing. She knows I'm still doing it and that just makes her angry.
3. She can't change her reaction to my dressing any more than I can not dress.
3a - It's either as we are or we split.
4. Being a cross-dresser and actually dressing are two different things. It is the latter she has an issue with. My choice (that word again) to dress is the issue. She wouldn't be married to a gay person so, no, the comparison doesn't work.
5. All of this is unlikely to change, but she really doesn't want to ruin everything for the children and each other by ending things. She's heard how my parents acted after they split up. She'd scared she would be the same.
6. Why should she have to change and make it all alright to dress, why can't I be the one to change? But, no, if she could make herself okay with it, of course she would.

And that's it. Take-away, for me, is point 2. Felt like a punch in the gut. I did point out that, if anything, I was more open when we met than I am now but that's not how it feels to her. And feelings are not logical nor open to logic. For normal non-ASD people that is.

Tilly has also tried talking to others about my gender identity issues and the one she spoke to laughed in her face and said, of my musings on using Mx, that I was "just being a man about it". She, and I, have no idea what that means. It does, however, mean that she can't find anyone to talk to about these things and she can't talk to me because I'm the one about whom she is angry.

And that's it.