Showing posts with label Crossdressing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crossdressing. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
How I Came to Blog. - The Husband
My wife is amused (and then again not) with my obsession with blogging and more so reading other's blogs. She knew years ago that blogging was a natural fit for me because I like to read and I LOVE to talk and would greatly enjoy a large audience, if not in person. (3 is my limit in person).
She tried and tried to get me to write. She tried to involve me in her blogging. I just wouldn't rise to the bait. I tend to be the sort of perfectionist that does nothing perfectly so I develop inertia and do nothing. I'll start things, but grow frustrated when they clearly aren't going to measure up to my high standards.
So enter the other woman. No, not that kind. The one that apparently has been living inside me for nearly 4 decades if not in fact from before birth. Turns out that a bunch of seemingly unrelated incidents with women's clothing may have had its roots in her looking for some method of expression. No I am not schizophrenic, nor do I suffer from any form really of dissociative disorder. I started by acknowledging to myself and to my wife that for years I had a strange urge to partially dress in women's clothing. I didn't understand it at all then, and not so much more so now. I have only discovered what it doesn't mean. I am not gay, not even repressibly so. I don't have gender diaspora (discomfort sometimes even revulsion at one's own birth gender) . I don't have any interest in BEING a woman. But I did need a place to gather the wool of my thoughts. So my femme alter ego got her/(our?) first blog. I had (still do) a lot of fun and learned about myself as I wrote about my experiences of going from an occasionally guilty wearer of pantyhose and lingerie to completely and tastefully dressed en femme.
In subtle but definable ways 'she' is different than 'he'. My personality comes through but the best I can determine is that she is actually an immature early version of me. That fork in the road that (Frost?) wrote about where she had wanted to take the road less traveled. 'He' had pressures, obligations, expectations placed upon him, and made every effort to remain true to himself despite the buffetings, but in fact portions of 'his' self were eroded away. The innocence, the openness, the willingness to put himself out there emotionally were blunted. She, hidden from view, was unaffected. With a brand new persona, I felt free to express myself. For some reason, although she seems to have all of my knowledge of grammar and spelling and syntax, she was able to flout the rules, get thoughts on paper and clean up the mess later. So she took to blogging and probably at this point has a book's worth written. As a youth I aspired to be an author, but no story was good enough to do what all writers must, begin to write. She didn't care, she blathered on, a regular 'Chatty Cathy'. Along the way wrote things that were for me to read, profound. It ceased to matter at all what others in my unseen audience read, it was about what I wrote.
All that writing led to noticing who was reading me, where they came from why they chose to read. I found other blogs, some I searched for, some I stumbled upon. Googles heuristics are getting better on blogs, but at first I kept running into commercial crap. Several really good blogs feature ads and sponsors , so thats not what I mean. For example, I love Always Aroused Girl. Her writing is genuine, her ads are relevant, in fact she works online as an adviser for Eden's Fantasies (an adult toy purveyor). The hard thing for a search engine is to tell the difference. What I found works best if to find a writer I like and then look for who they like to read and so on. My wife calls this blurfing for surfing blogs. I do it for hours everyday.
I originally started this post as the first in a series of posts that was going to be who I blurf and why I blurf them. I think instead, I will post a little something about what I read in my blurfing either one blog or sometimes a series, and how (if at all) that influenced what we ended up doing in bed (or not) that day.
When my wife had come through the room an hour or so ago, before I started this post, I asked her if she had any idea what direction or sex life might take in the next several hours so I could begin a blog draft. She, only slightly amused made it clear that she is not planning our fucking around the blog or it's readers. Fair enough I said. I explained that I had enjoyed writing about what I thought might happen, but it was equally interesting when it didn't turn out as expected like the time we had a spanking planned and we had a cranky toddler session instead.
Reassured, she thought about it and said in a serious tone, "Well, I definitely am going to blow you tonight." I asked her if there was any particular reason I should be anticipating this particular delight. She explained that with all the discussion we have had abut it vis-a-vis memory lane and the mention in the comments on Fellatrix's blog, that she just wanted to. She says it is a nice way for her to remind me how lucky I am. I might have to retaliate with some energetic cunnilingus.
She tried and tried to get me to write. She tried to involve me in her blogging. I just wouldn't rise to the bait. I tend to be the sort of perfectionist that does nothing perfectly so I develop inertia and do nothing. I'll start things, but grow frustrated when they clearly aren't going to measure up to my high standards.
So enter the other woman. No, not that kind. The one that apparently has been living inside me for nearly 4 decades if not in fact from before birth. Turns out that a bunch of seemingly unrelated incidents with women's clothing may have had its roots in her looking for some method of expression. No I am not schizophrenic, nor do I suffer from any form really of dissociative disorder. I started by acknowledging to myself and to my wife that for years I had a strange urge to partially dress in women's clothing. I didn't understand it at all then, and not so much more so now. I have only discovered what it doesn't mean. I am not gay, not even repressibly so. I don't have gender diaspora (discomfort sometimes even revulsion at one's own birth gender) . I don't have any interest in BEING a woman. But I did need a place to gather the wool of my thoughts. So my femme alter ego got her/(our?) first blog. I had (still do) a lot of fun and learned about myself as I wrote about my experiences of going from an occasionally guilty wearer of pantyhose and lingerie to completely and tastefully dressed en femme.
In subtle but definable ways 'she' is different than 'he'. My personality comes through but the best I can determine is that she is actually an immature early version of me. That fork in the road that (Frost?) wrote about where she had wanted to take the road less traveled. 'He' had pressures, obligations, expectations placed upon him, and made every effort to remain true to himself despite the buffetings, but in fact portions of 'his' self were eroded away. The innocence, the openness, the willingness to put himself out there emotionally were blunted. She, hidden from view, was unaffected. With a brand new persona, I felt free to express myself. For some reason, although she seems to have all of my knowledge of grammar and spelling and syntax, she was able to flout the rules, get thoughts on paper and clean up the mess later. So she took to blogging and probably at this point has a book's worth written. As a youth I aspired to be an author, but no story was good enough to do what all writers must, begin to write. She didn't care, she blathered on, a regular 'Chatty Cathy'. Along the way wrote things that were for me to read, profound. It ceased to matter at all what others in my unseen audience read, it was about what I wrote.
All that writing led to noticing who was reading me, where they came from why they chose to read. I found other blogs, some I searched for, some I stumbled upon. Googles heuristics are getting better on blogs, but at first I kept running into commercial crap. Several really good blogs feature ads and sponsors , so thats not what I mean. For example, I love Always Aroused Girl. Her writing is genuine, her ads are relevant, in fact she works online as an adviser for Eden's Fantasies (an adult toy purveyor). The hard thing for a search engine is to tell the difference. What I found works best if to find a writer I like and then look for who they like to read and so on. My wife calls this blurfing for surfing blogs. I do it for hours everyday.
I originally started this post as the first in a series of posts that was going to be who I blurf and why I blurf them. I think instead, I will post a little something about what I read in my blurfing either one blog or sometimes a series, and how (if at all) that influenced what we ended up doing in bed (or not) that day.
When my wife had come through the room an hour or so ago, before I started this post, I asked her if she had any idea what direction or sex life might take in the next several hours so I could begin a blog draft. She, only slightly amused made it clear that she is not planning our fucking around the blog or it's readers. Fair enough I said. I explained that I had enjoyed writing about what I thought might happen, but it was equally interesting when it didn't turn out as expected like the time we had a spanking planned and we had a cranky toddler session instead.
Reassured, she thought about it and said in a serious tone, "Well, I definitely am going to blow you tonight." I asked her if there was any particular reason I should be anticipating this particular delight. She explained that with all the discussion we have had abut it vis-a-vis memory lane and the mention in the comments on Fellatrix's blog, that she just wanted to. She says it is a nice way for her to remind me how lucky I am. I might have to retaliate with some energetic cunnilingus.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Manly pictures. The husband.
I think Ive mentioned previously that I hated having my picture taken under any circumstances. There are maybe 3-4 pictures of me in existence from 16 to 26. The wife is an avid photographer and has gotten begrudging support from me of the years in family pictures which seemed a not- unreasonable request.
When I started experimenting with Crossdressing, I found I really liked having my picture taken that way. Interesting side effect of female impersonation was how I felt about my male physique. I used to be pretty skinny and the general commentary I received was that I was slightly effeminate. The art and sophistry of playing dress-up taught me how many visual clues had to be hid that just SCREAM "It's a dude!" My jaw, my shoulders, my hands, my but, hips all give me away.
I have been going through the process of going to a work in a very rugged, manly man environment. I felt that until I got thorough the hiring, process. As a recreational, straight crossdresser I don;t see it as a 'need' more of a fun kink, (I think). I have avoided waxing for the last couple of months which is silly since plenty of manly athletes are smooth, but never-the-less, thats what I did.
Now that I can shave again, I am kind of anxious to shave because I want to see how she and I look in lesbian porn. On the other hand, I can shave anytime and it'll take a month or so to butch up again.
I wasn't that interested in pics of my manly side until recently when she ran across a thread with a really good photographer who is his own model. I am not sure what she liked more his pics or his abs. I found them interesting in that it wasn't the usual 'dick pics' even though he has shown it in some pictures. The were oddly tasteful. Odd perhaps only to me, because I think in most cases the male form (including my own) looks a little silly especially when erect. I like most straight porn aficionados have learned to tolerate a dick or two in my field of view as long as it is part of the action so to speak.
I am going to try posing for my wife's camera and see how they turn out. depending on how silly I feel during or after the shoot, I may post them up. Don';t hold your breath. :)
When I started experimenting with Crossdressing, I found I really liked having my picture taken that way. Interesting side effect of female impersonation was how I felt about my male physique. I used to be pretty skinny and the general commentary I received was that I was slightly effeminate. The art and sophistry of playing dress-up taught me how many visual clues had to be hid that just SCREAM "It's a dude!" My jaw, my shoulders, my hands, my but, hips all give me away.
I have been going through the process of going to a work in a very rugged, manly man environment. I felt that until I got thorough the hiring, process. As a recreational, straight crossdresser I don;t see it as a 'need' more of a fun kink, (I think). I have avoided waxing for the last couple of months which is silly since plenty of manly athletes are smooth, but never-the-less, thats what I did.
Now that I can shave again, I am kind of anxious to shave because I want to see how she and I look in lesbian porn. On the other hand, I can shave anytime and it'll take a month or so to butch up again.
I wasn't that interested in pics of my manly side until recently when she ran across a thread with a really good photographer who is his own model. I am not sure what she liked more his pics or his abs. I found them interesting in that it wasn't the usual 'dick pics' even though he has shown it in some pictures. The were oddly tasteful. Odd perhaps only to me, because I think in most cases the male form (including my own) looks a little silly especially when erect. I like most straight porn aficionados have learned to tolerate a dick or two in my field of view as long as it is part of the action so to speak.
I am going to try posing for my wife's camera and see how they turn out. depending on how silly I feel during or after the shoot, I may post them up. Don';t hold your breath. :)
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Will clean for kink. - the (husband?)
The previous night's session where I was able to fully feel my (insert my femme name here) side. This is monumental because a current rugged job upcoming physical suggests I stay my macho, (relatively here) , hairy self. No wig, (although for fun I did put it on for some post-coital cuddling) no makeup, no sexy lingerie, although I did slip on a pair of plain cotton high cut panties to keep the optional equipment package stowed away. The results below speak for themselves.
We have glossed over the gender issues I have previously because this blog isn't really about that. I have one for chronicling my journey of self-discovery and don't wish to link the two or make this one yet another just spicier version of the other. This blog is about unrestricted kink and playing dress-up as I like to think of it is just a small part. It has been a non-existent part lately because its hard to feel femme when you are a couple of months since you last waxing..(ladies, am I right here?)
Cliff Notes on gender:
The reason this hasn't really intruded into our love-life is that no matter how I feel - I like chicks and fortunately I married one. The other reason this has been a non-issue is that until 6 months ago I was deeply closeted from the world, my wife and in hindsight, even myself. I mean I was aware that the dude in the pantyhose in the mirror was in fact me, but I wouldn't have described myself as a transvestite. I knew I was something, but didn't have a term for a straight crossdresser which if I had coined the term I would assume that it was an oxymoron. My reluctance to ponder these occasional closeted urges were probably rooted generically in some homophobia, and specifically in the unfortunate results of the experimentation of a pre-schooler being thoughtlessly crushed by a misguided, over-reacting mother.
Now that I have shared this (and by shared I mean got caught with a satchel full of women's clothes) with my wife, we have had fun figuring out where my femme persona fits in sexually. We still don't know but its one of those "the trip is more fun than the destination" sort of things. We have discovered that so far if I was gay I apparently would not be a bottom, except maybe in a prison sort of situation. I do think it is a little insulting to women and lesbians alike to describe myself as a lesbian trapped in a male body. Because I'm not sure any lesbians want a clit my size.
Prior to my "sharing session" with my wife...(now THAT was an interesting exchange) I had only crossdressed maybe once in bed as a lark, she thinks she initiated it I think I did. I liked it. A lot. I was embarrassed to say so, so I spent the next 15 years dressing up only in my mind when we role played say two girls at a slumber party.
At the time that I had purchased that satchel of thrift store clothes to figure out my sizes with the help of an online acquaintance that was also an crossdresser admirer. I had figured out that I was a bulging size 14 skirt and maybe a 16 top.
A word about the proportions of man my wife married. When we met she probably had me by 20 lbs. Before the eventual wedding she lost 25 and her country cooking raised me 20 so that on her wedding day she had what every bride wants, a scale reading lower than her groom. I was always of a slight build having given up upper body development to the ravages of genetics, indifferent eating habits and endurance sports. I had to have custom tailoring or sometimes with great (but ironic now) chagrin at buying from the juniors department.
A decade and a half later at nearly 170 I could buy off the rack at any mens department. Sad commentary on our society that mens wear requires a minimum of 10-12% body fat. Men carry their weight around their waist and above, women in their hips. The most androgynous people if you notice tend to be slender. The reason is that it is the distribution of fat that most closely identifies the differing sexes in the human species. Evolution says hips and breasts mean ready to birth children, and a big beer belly means one can feed extra mouths.
I was by no means obviously fat, but I had found my stamina down and that I couldn't run because of joint problems and some bionic hardware from an adrenaline related mishap. I begin to diet with a stated goal of 135. I went from 14, to 12, to 10, then 9, 8's and now depending on how its cut to accommodate my size 14 clavicles and ribcage, I can squeeze into a size 6 gown. I'd puff out my chest with pride but male rib cages tend to bust seems in prom dresses.
Along the way, the lovely Fellatio Artist, who on at least 5 occasions did not complete her task resulting in 5 additional mouths to feed, has been losing weight at nearly 2 to one clip. We have a fairly friendly competition going. We refer to each other as "Bitch!" at each new low the other hits. I still weigh less but she is rapidly closing in as I hit the practical and probable healthy bottom of the plunge. I got compliments at 155, questions about what besides diet and exercise accounted for the loss at 145, and concerned looks from some when I finally crashed through the floor of my goal. When I hit 130 I tried in vain to break the healthy eating habits and portion control but I still slid lower hitting 128. I feel great, and if I was actually working out or running, I could probably be healthy at 115. Now approaching my bulked up wedding weight it sets an impossibly low bar to ask the mother of my 5 children to limbo under. I (and apparently hundreds of you lingering over the pictures) think she looks great but she is as I said competitive, and no tranny husband of hers is gonna weigh less.
The other day combining disparate conversations of late on gender roles, dominance/submission, and weight loss I suggested a practical incentive for me to remember to eat. Any day I dipped below 130, I am her bitch for the day.
Yesterday was the first of my sub-130 'subbie' days. The Fellatio Artist, though talented in many ways besides her ability to suck the chrome off a tailpipe, does not count dominatrix among her varied job descriptions. I assured her that I was simply abdicating decision making responsibilities, as my diminished weight didn't provide the nourishment such high level thinking requires. I said I simply planned to serve her for the day at her pleasure. I explained that I was going to do some housework while she was at work, and just needed her to point me in a general desired direction. I also pointed out that we are both concerned about my long hours spent online and that she might well both suggest some limitations on both time and content of such activities. With a grin she offered me the choice of cleaning the bedroom or making her a photography studio out of the garage. The garage was out..not because it is man's domain, as her bitch I'd gladly give it over. My future track car is stuck in there and the spring is broken on the jammed door so there just isn't a way to carve out room without taking a torch to the car and hauling it out in pieces, and I was pretty sure that that was not going to be required of me.
She called a while later and set me on a schedule of 30 minutes work, 15 minute online specifically watching cunnilingus. She announced that on her return she would be having a quick shower and laying back to allow me to show her what I had learned in my time online for the day. I got a bit hyper focused on cleaning the shower, then the entire bathroom as well as washing towels and her soft pink fluffy robe that I spent a couple of my breaks cleaning and fund the whole thing fairly relaxing.
We have glossed over the gender issues I have previously because this blog isn't really about that. I have one for chronicling my journey of self-discovery and don't wish to link the two or make this one yet another just spicier version of the other. This blog is about unrestricted kink and playing dress-up as I like to think of it is just a small part. It has been a non-existent part lately because its hard to feel femme when you are a couple of months since you last waxing..(ladies, am I right here?)
Cliff Notes on gender:
Gender Identity is what you have between your ears, (no not your mouth - Pervert!) It is what you perceive in your brain as to whether you are a "boy" or "girl" as defined in your particular culture. Sex is defined by your actual genitals. Sexual Preference has to do with what sex you find yourself attracted to and has nothing to do really with the other two but is inexorably linked in most peoples minds.For me these three permutations present thusly: I perceive myself as not quite a boy, less so a girl. Maybe 65/35 male female. I am decidedly endowed with all of the primary and secondary sexual characteristics of a male with no plans or desires to alter my optional equipment package. I am assuredly gynephilic as far as my orientation. Too sum up: I am a male fetishist crossdresser that digs chicks.
The reason this hasn't really intruded into our love-life is that no matter how I feel - I like chicks and fortunately I married one. The other reason this has been a non-issue is that until 6 months ago I was deeply closeted from the world, my wife and in hindsight, even myself. I mean I was aware that the dude in the pantyhose in the mirror was in fact me, but I wouldn't have described myself as a transvestite. I knew I was something, but didn't have a term for a straight crossdresser which if I had coined the term I would assume that it was an oxymoron. My reluctance to ponder these occasional closeted urges were probably rooted generically in some homophobia, and specifically in the unfortunate results of the experimentation of a pre-schooler being thoughtlessly crushed by a misguided, over-reacting mother.
Now that I have shared this (and by shared I mean got caught with a satchel full of women's clothes) with my wife, we have had fun figuring out where my femme persona fits in sexually. We still don't know but its one of those "the trip is more fun than the destination" sort of things. We have discovered that so far if I was gay I apparently would not be a bottom, except maybe in a prison sort of situation. I do think it is a little insulting to women and lesbians alike to describe myself as a lesbian trapped in a male body. Because I'm not sure any lesbians want a clit my size.
Prior to my "sharing session" with my wife...(now THAT was an interesting exchange) I had only crossdressed maybe once in bed as a lark, she thinks she initiated it I think I did. I liked it. A lot. I was embarrassed to say so, so I spent the next 15 years dressing up only in my mind when we role played say two girls at a slumber party.
At the time that I had purchased that satchel of thrift store clothes to figure out my sizes with the help of an online acquaintance that was also an crossdresser admirer. I had figured out that I was a bulging size 14 skirt and maybe a 16 top.
A word about the proportions of man my wife married. When we met she probably had me by 20 lbs. Before the eventual wedding she lost 25 and her country cooking raised me 20 so that on her wedding day she had what every bride wants, a scale reading lower than her groom. I was always of a slight build having given up upper body development to the ravages of genetics, indifferent eating habits and endurance sports. I had to have custom tailoring or sometimes with great (but ironic now) chagrin at buying from the juniors department.
A decade and a half later at nearly 170 I could buy off the rack at any mens department. Sad commentary on our society that mens wear requires a minimum of 10-12% body fat. Men carry their weight around their waist and above, women in their hips. The most androgynous people if you notice tend to be slender. The reason is that it is the distribution of fat that most closely identifies the differing sexes in the human species. Evolution says hips and breasts mean ready to birth children, and a big beer belly means one can feed extra mouths.
I was by no means obviously fat, but I had found my stamina down and that I couldn't run because of joint problems and some bionic hardware from an adrenaline related mishap. I begin to diet with a stated goal of 135. I went from 14, to 12, to 10, then 9, 8's and now depending on how its cut to accommodate my size 14 clavicles and ribcage, I can squeeze into a size 6 gown. I'd puff out my chest with pride but male rib cages tend to bust seems in prom dresses.
Along the way, the lovely Fellatio Artist, who on at least 5 occasions did not complete her task resulting in 5 additional mouths to feed, has been losing weight at nearly 2 to one clip. We have a fairly friendly competition going. We refer to each other as "Bitch!" at each new low the other hits. I still weigh less but she is rapidly closing in as I hit the practical and probable healthy bottom of the plunge. I got compliments at 155, questions about what besides diet and exercise accounted for the loss at 145, and concerned looks from some when I finally crashed through the floor of my goal. When I hit 130 I tried in vain to break the healthy eating habits and portion control but I still slid lower hitting 128. I feel great, and if I was actually working out or running, I could probably be healthy at 115. Now approaching my bulked up wedding weight it sets an impossibly low bar to ask the mother of my 5 children to limbo under. I (and apparently hundreds of you lingering over the pictures) think she looks great but she is as I said competitive, and no tranny husband of hers is gonna weigh less.
The other day combining disparate conversations of late on gender roles, dominance/submission, and weight loss I suggested a practical incentive for me to remember to eat. Any day I dipped below 130, I am her bitch for the day.
Yesterday was the first of my sub-130 'subbie' days. The Fellatio Artist, though talented in many ways besides her ability to suck the chrome off a tailpipe, does not count dominatrix among her varied job descriptions. I assured her that I was simply abdicating decision making responsibilities, as my diminished weight didn't provide the nourishment such high level thinking requires. I said I simply planned to serve her for the day at her pleasure. I explained that I was going to do some housework while she was at work, and just needed her to point me in a general desired direction. I also pointed out that we are both concerned about my long hours spent online and that she might well both suggest some limitations on both time and content of such activities. With a grin she offered me the choice of cleaning the bedroom or making her a photography studio out of the garage. The garage was out..not because it is man's domain, as her bitch I'd gladly give it over. My future track car is stuck in there and the spring is broken on the jammed door so there just isn't a way to carve out room without taking a torch to the car and hauling it out in pieces, and I was pretty sure that that was not going to be required of me.
She called a while later and set me on a schedule of 30 minutes work, 15 minute online specifically watching cunnilingus. She announced that on her return she would be having a quick shower and laying back to allow me to show her what I had learned in my time online for the day. I got a bit hyper focused on cleaning the shower, then the entire bathroom as well as washing towels and her soft pink fluffy robe that I spent a couple of my breaks cleaning and fund the whole thing fairly relaxing.
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