Saturday, February 28, 2009

Scandanavian Style

Petra Nygren is a Sweedish designer who has blossomed into quite the artist. I love her watches, they are sexy and cool and fit for all. She's Sweedish and her watches would look fetching on anyone.

Not a bargain buy, though.

Everytime I read Petra's blog...I think of the designer.

Everytime I wear the watch I feel sexy, confident, and everyone comments. Looks good on men and women. Unisex, TG, fun.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Creative Non-fiction part one

Correcting My Walk


The boy stares in the mirror: the posters on the ceiling stretch back behind him like tall oversexed flowers whose elongated backward faces pull his eyes away from his fists, which pump at his side.

“You should practice,” his mother had said after they finished their walk. She offered him water, he wanted soda. “Make you fat,” she sighed as she pulled the glass from the cabinet and gave it to him to fill, as if to say make your choice.

She had made the suggestion as they had walked round the highway at the back end of the hospital, the oaks fat with serum, and plump crows. “Pump your arms, or your fists, and don’t put your feet in front of each other.”

The boy had only blinked back. He couldn’t see what she was talking about, as if what he was looking for was just out of his line of sight, as if it floated under him like a jellyfish under a boat.

“And don’t put your feet in front of each other,” She added, working extra hard, walking extra fast, looking back over her shoulder as if to say, hurry up.

He nodded and trusted his mother, and stared off at the line of crows.

That night he tried to relearn how to walk.

He detested staring at his doughy pale skin. He wished he had a sunburn at least, and instead looked to the ceiling lacquered with posters. And as usual the boy looked beyond the movie posters, beyond the drywall, into the bones of old sleep, in where he once dreamed of being small, lost on a rolling wave of mud, and debris; a wall that eventually overtook him. He looked into the dream as it wormholed into other old bones of his childhood, the first time he was mistaken for a girl, the way the cat had fallen asleep in his arms, the afternoon his mother was so sick she collapsed on the floor, and being so young all he could think to do was run to the door and call for Daddy.

When he looked down his hands were white, his knuckles like eight wrinkled stones.

The boy returned his eye to the mirror, the ceiling above him, and pumped his fists and marched, careful not to alternate his steps, to not move with his hips as his mother had coached.


Sharp spring sunlight arcs through the warm air of my mother’s bedroom
where one by one
the costume pieces slipped, clipped and rolled
in my palms like toy dice.
The Halloween wig upon my head,
the pale red lipstick I stole from the downtown drugstore,
smacked and dabbed on tissues
as my mother and grandmother had done so many Sundays
on their way out the door.

Sun & heat floated the air.

At that moment, in my mother’s nightgown and heels,
the world became a hot wine glass, refracting light
and warming skin and voice like balm.

From then on when my parents asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up
I would say anything

But would think only this:
Transforming, existing in sunlight, my skin bristling under fabric and disguises,
the small matters of attending to beauty cluttered about me like dime-store treasure.


When spring nights were not so humid and my mother did not have schoolwork to accomplish she bullied me from the basement couch to walk up and down Farmville’s hilly neighborhoods of magnolia lined homes, the sloping green of Longwood’s campus below us like a pool of green felt. And on these walks she began to press upon me the most awkward of talks: sex, girls, pot, self-esteem, the future, all of which was as fuzzy to me as the haze that shimmered upon the blacktop.

“I’d rather you smoke pot, than have sex before marriage.”

She was adamant about this. I didn’t get it because I had done neither, and they had not exacted their gravity upon me yet. If her talks were the sun, I was Pluto. Not paying attention.

And it was upon these walks my mother would try to correct me.

“You swing your arms too much. Don’t walk with one foot in front of the other.”

“What?” I was never listening, usually thinking about Tina Dimocalli, the Filipino girl in my class, whose photo I kissed every night before bed. As if that would make her love me.

“You walk like a dork. Your arms, swinging as they do.” I remember rolling my eyes at her emphasis of “dork.” She continued, breaking into a weird cacophony of elbows and hips and feet that was supposed to be me.

“It’s how everyone else walks.” I said. So she was saying I walked like a spas?

“No it isn’t.”

And so I would try, modeling her graceless gait, only to eventually step back into my own stride, which now memory only rewinds to awkward: lanky, with the light sway of the hips, like a girl, like I was excited to be going somewhere.

Thanks for all the comments

Seriously, I feel loved! Lol!

Good lesbian student was allowed back in the house. Her mother couldn't stand it, still they have relationships to rebuild.

New fab thrift store finds

My mother and all the hip 70s women (read housewives) had something like this...

I am a curious the color I adore

Also a new faceless pic...(I'm beginning to get a virtual complex about not presenting my full body, lol. God knows why I feel the need to do so, but oh well. As an aside since I have agreed to not post face pics...I cartooned the image. Inspired by the Crossdresser's Girlfriend profile pic, which I find fetching. Anyhow I love the scarf...$1.00 at my local thrift. Also...the pose...inspired by the Femulator herself...Staci Lana...whom always takes consistent photos)

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Gender Assignment: Spoon, Knife, Fork

Interesting day.

Before my Intro to Psych class one of my students came to me distraught for she had come out to her mother, and was kicked out of the house.

Her mother took her cell phone and car keys (as if that’s going to make her straight) and basically told her all the cliché horrible things conservative religious parents say to gay children (am I being stereotypical? Shame on me!) The girl is just a freshman in college, and maintains a high GPA, avoids booze, drugs, and according to her even sex. Her mother implied she'd rather her daughter be knocked up than gay.

What? WTF

She slept in the car.

Though we are south of the Mason Dixon Line, it was cold last night—26 with an evil wind blowing.

The girl is tough and will pull through; still my heart went out to her.

Later in class we discussed gender—which always leads to discussions on sexuality. I used the classic Spoon, Fork, Knife exercise where students must assign a gender to each utensil.

Spoon (at least every time I’ve done the exercise) was female.

The Knife, male.

The Fork, well, the fork was TG today.

Sometimes the knife has been TG.

Note: TG isn’t an option I give them; it’s always assigned by the students in the seminar.

How would you assign them?

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

View from the box

Whether carapace or quills
growth must occur.

To look in the mirror and be separated
from the body that stares back
erodes all defenses.

The bottling up of the voice that slips between gender
is as old as story itself

as Aesop's hare, who dared the sun
that he could hold his voice longer than the sun could shine,
and in doing so nearly lost his ability to trick his enemies.
He was given a pretty tail instead of his shout
to warn his mates.
Now he relies on speed, luck
and the ability to become as still as sun in midday,
the flash of tail that had once only belonged to the females
of their breed.

Adaptation is underrated, I'm thinking, and outside
the bathroom mirror, the rabbits eat, freeze, eat, and dart.

Like the rabbit I too eat, freeze, eat, and dart.

But the edges of that box are visible to me,
and what lies beyond
is too good to pass up.

Any news on The Riches return?

For those not in the know the Fox network show, The Riches, starring crossdressing comedian (or is it comedienne?) Eddie Izzard, features a young teen, Sam, featured above, who regularly crossdresses, sometimes as part of a scam (the family is a bunch of Southern gypsies, oh my!) and sometimes for pleasure.

Has anyone heard of its return? I have not seen it listed in any spring programming. An excellent drama with occasional TG issues, a must. Some of the students in my intro to psych class have seen it, and the TG element was curious to them, being Sam does not dress for any overt sexual pleasure, as most students assume TG/CD folk do.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

These are a few of my favorite things

Sonic Youth. Marilyn Monroe. Crossdressing.

Ah, pop a top. Kick heels, toss back the darkness!

Passing in cyber space

I have to credit Petra for this post. I had to try it, and though I know the program searches for signifiers, hits, if you will, that belie gender (captions, certain words, add-ons, etc.) it is still is tre cool.

We think is written by a woman (79%).

Try it out...

Also...for those who like this sort of thing check out:

What sex/gender is your brain?. Which I must say is based on current psychological and psychiatric research (I teach intro psych and stay up on all things gender).

And a typealyzer which assigns your blog a stripped down Myers Briggs personality type. Note: the real Myers Briggs takes a while to finish, and this website uses similar hits and misses as the gender analyzer to box you into a personality label. It's all fun, but don't get over worked if you don't like the results. At best the analysis is skim.

According to the typealyzer I'm:


"The entertaining and friendly type. They are especially attuned to pleasure and beauty and like to fill their surroundings with soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells. They live in the present moment and don´t like to plan ahead - they are always in risk of exhausting themselves.

The enjoy work that makes them able to help other people in a concrete and visible way. They tend to avoid conflicts and rarely initiate confrontation - qualities that can make it hard for them in management positions."

Monday, February 23, 2009

A few words about gender dysphoria

Dysphoria (from Greek δύσφορος (dysphoros), from δυσ-, difficult, and φέρω, to bear)

The opposite of euphoria (Dysphoria,

Sisters, misters, those who not know who you are when I began to realize that perhaps my femme feelings and desires were other, I searched high and low for descriptions of gender dypshoria, hoping that to name the thing would be to tame it.

Hoping in my heart that I wouldn’t have it. For to have it is to face looking at the same face in the mirror and wonder, hope and yearn to be other, softer, made of light. Made of goodness.

See I always thought it meant you felt trapped in a woman’s body.

Which I have not felt.

Or that one hated their genitals.

Which I definitely did not. Let me assure you.

But dysphoria manifests itself in anxiety. Once while at work I looked down at my fingers typing and at once they were bathed in light and became the hands of a woman. Nails, polish, hairless, and pretty.

Like porcelain.

Like the very sunlight itself.

The hallucination/vision lasted only seconds, but the impression remains with me to this day.

Once I stared at a girl’s painted toes as she played with her mule. The mall noise became river water over stones. And for a second I felt her skin, as if my skin had somehow become the vehicle for her sensation.

Oh, to allow your consciousness to spread beyond the male body is holiness.

Is sex.

Is a painted lady.

Is a sculpture.

Home from work early

And you know what that means...

sporting my new shoes (fab)

and my two fav skirts

along with my fav sweater.

Oh yes, guitar, and singing

The blue gypsy skirt cost me 2.50 at the thrift store and the shoes 25.99 during the big Amazon Women's Shoe Sale a bit back. It's hard to find size 15 in the Goodwill.

The pearls were a freebie from the thrift store. The cashier smiled at me when I oohed and ahhed over the baubles. She winked and tossed them in. Sometimes it's great being T

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Oscar Blah

My back has been barkin' all week. You know what that means? Grumpy Momdy. All the tea and beer in the south could lighten my demeanor. However reading all of my mister-sisters/and signified others who roll around in trans like it was fur have kept my spirits up.

Am trying to get on with my literary career (was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in Poetry this year, which is like Rob Redford saying, "Come on to Sundance!")

I'm rambling. Back pills. Red wine.

The Oscars have not impressed. The nominated films do. I think the scrim upon the awards shows is tattered. Do we want to watch blank, vacant celebs spend thousands, and as an industry, millions?

I'm trying to be a thrifty T-girl and buy used, or close-out.

I 'd like to get some pants/jeans/slacks but I'm afraid my skinny male behind will thwart me. Any suggestions?

Oh, for SFCDGF...Cassidy Bryn is a viscerally more light name than my homme name, than my feminized homme name...stephanie (which I don't's just like why bother sticking with something so mundane when living something that is much more?). Cassidy evokes my prankster mood, my penchant for pretty names (it rolls, it lingers in the mouth, the double ss make it sexy) Bryn is my fav Celtic femme name, and though my heritage isn't worn on my sleeve, it is given its place.)

My Fav Mellow Trans Song

Technically, Robyn Hitchcock was thinking Drag Queen/transvestite when he wrote it. He is like in his sixties now. Still it is a touching and mellow tune that's pretty edgy. Here's a link to the you tube....

It is one the CD "EYE" and some compilations....

Trying to make sense of what we know we cannot


When ruffled panties cut with satin slide over skin
The third eye opens and the heart is flush.

Muscle movements tighten like a schoolgirl crush
Skin responds
like exposed nerves in a tooth you forgot
while eating ice cream once,
it hurts but
in a good way, like sunshine and sunburn.

Then sucking backwards into the gravity of the clothes,
The gravity of the heels, which like an anchor
Lock the hips.

Sometimes it is as if the tide had knocked you on your knees
and ripped you out,
the beach deep
behind you
The stars
out and bright
as a lung spark

Sometimes you can make it back, sometimes
You’re adrift for days.

Dear God, can one live for so many years without stepping over the edge?

Saturday, February 21, 2009


Tiresias was the blind prohphet from mythology. As a young man he struck two snakes making love and was punished by Hera and transformed into a woman (the first sex change). He was a woman for 7 years (and a famouas prostitute for the oracle of delphi) and had two daughters (who could both switch genders at will). She was transformed back into a male after again coming across two snakes, this time killing the male. His symbol, like Mercury/Hermes is the caduceus--twin snakes climbing a staff--the symbol for male and female.

This poem is from the perspective of Theresea....Tiresias as a woman


Act like a man and be cheap
once a week,
it’ll help when you have to switch.

That bitch, the oracle, is often out of tune.
Learn how to pluck the right notes
from her throat. You’ll both be naturals,

you were born into this;
I wasn’t. Like waking up
to remember that somewhere beyond the scrim

there was another life
waiting for you like a copperhead
dozing on a rock, waiting

like a poison ring to open.
Word to the wise,
no playing both sides

there’s no luck in it.
You might get confused
if you try to befriend a lover

in the wrong body.
Be ready to avoid a beating, a rape.
That’s what stones do when they meet someone

like us; for to understand
what our flesh knows they have to swing
at our skulls. They must have our brains

on their skin
like wet cornmeal.
We’re so queer they must smash us

to acknowledge the body which is chorus
and congress of man, woman, and sky.
Remember, a woman’s great secret is that she is beautiful

without anything; especially a man,
or a child. Where a man
needs proof he exists.

If you haven't checked out Gender Variant Biography...get lost for a few hours.

Southern Saturday Night Femme Fun Mix

Okay, I crapped out early last night. Me back, oh, me back. And walking around in five inch heels didn't help. I can't help it, I'm training my calves to glide (note in 3 inch heels I am smooth as Amish butter, baby).

I stopped at 3 songs last night. Here's my revised playlist:

Crazy little thing called love--Dwight---he's great, fun, danceable, and uber cool.
Frozen Guitar--Thurston Moore--a bit of urban edge to blush to
Kool Thing--Sonic Youth--start kicking heels, and adding punk eyeliner--okay maybe not punk eyeliner
America--Allen Ginsburg and Tom Waits--a smash up of America and Closing Time--Ginsburg's beats (I'm a Kerouac fan--can you tell from my new name) led the way for gender revolution in NYC
Follow Me--Unkle Cracker
Orgasm Addict--The Buzzcocks--it is the weekend!
Halloween--Dave Matthews & Tim Reynolds--passionate and kinda creepy
Time After Time-Cindi Lauper--did I mention I'm uber girly
Where did you sleep...--Nirvana
Still Be Around-Uncle Tupelo
Straight to Hell--Drivin and Cryin
Fascination--Human League--I had one of my first tranny moments to this song
Friends in Low Places--irresitible---where's my cowboy boots?
Jetliner--Steve Miller--another toe-tapper
Superfly--ready to dance!

Musings...and go George Mason for electing a Drag Queen to Homecoming Queen

Sisters, I have been actively crossdressing since I was 11. Yet, it has only been in the last few months I've done so with no psychic plaque and ego crushing guilt and shame. The last time I felt this free with dressing was when I was a tween.

Thank God!

Exactly one year ago I contemplated a gruesome Faulknerian suicide just so I wouldn't think about all this T-stuff. I couldn't deal.

So I went to therapy.

I hate to loose.

And friends, mister sisters, gals, and took me a while to open up to my counselor. I went in every session thinking "this is it. I'm telling her today." And eventually I came out.

And it snowballed.

I was dressing the whole time, in fits and starts, hoping I could manage it myself. But I couldn't. The husband-father-friend guilt sucked me down into a hole.

Somtimes it wasn't so bad, but most of the time...

I can't explain the phenomenon of crossdressing any better than anyone else, but doing so without the ugh! of deceit and fear is frakking liberating.

My spouse is supportive to a point, and that's tre cool with this gal.

My kids, very young, call me Mommy, or Dadme, or Momde... For Halloween my oldest proclaimed I should be a witch. They can tell, I think, on some level.

Interesting note: in a recent study, psychologists noted that people who used fake avatars, pics, and identities on-line experienced confidence boosts. This age of gaming where boys can play as girls, and vice-versa, could be the foundation of the future culture where the barriers of gender are stripped further down to the bones.

George Mason, a fine southern middle of the road Academic institution elected a gay crossdresser for homecomming queen.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Southern Friday Night Femme Playlist


Let's slide our heels slowly over our soles
and let the lipstick glide over wet skin.
By the roll of our hips
we are newly made...

Greetings, y'all. It's cold here, but my peach tree is buddin' (take that anyway you'd like, sweethearts) and my God

It's good to be girly once again!

A playlist--not necessarily a TG themed playlist---but more of an empowering shake your head and dig your heels playlist, capiche?

Everything is under control---Coldcut--featuring Mike Ladd and Jon Spencer: party mood setter. Shaka ya hipsa

Down in Missippi and Up to No Good--

Yo, go girl! Sugarland is sugary pop, perfect for Friday night.

Run Through the jungle--CCR--this deep groove is uber cool, plus for me a reminder of when my TG self was a hinderance and stressor. Total psychic suckage. And I was lucky.

Enough for now! On to cocktails and champagne!

Monday, February 16, 2009

A New Look, a New Name?

With a long weekend almost up I took the liberty of rearranging my blog.

I am also contemplating a new femme name. I have always gone by Stephanie, the feminization of my male name.

I have also considered: Jamie, Jenny, Hazel (yikes), Ophelia, Michelle, Stacy, but nothing. I must muddle this more. If you have suggestions I'll take them.

In the meantime...tights

Sunday, February 15, 2009

When I was 11

Slipped between two genders
like a boy's slender foot
into his mother's shoe

those few shards of afternoons
skin blending
into the glassy light of a long mirror

was to bridge a divide
and guard against death
and offer a voice to both sides.

The Crossdresser and TG as maverick, as artist

The Crossdresser/Transgendered as Maverick. As artist.
What does it mean to be T?: Day to day living.

Closet Fashionista? Like a Cylon switched on
to stare down the lady in my head that runs the controls.

What is this waking life? This fiddle faddle illusion?

Often I am shocked at myself. A grown man, at least clearly presenting as a man, masculine in most regards except
for flourishes, finishes of the wrist, of foot, or in vocal tones
and pitches, something like a note stuck between

The older I get the more feminine I feel. Often
The more masculine too.


Day to day working loving managing family being a husband/wife spouse
I try not to think about being T,
Or presenting as such and such and so and so.

What it means, if anything, is empowerment to bridge roles
and if you are transitioning, biology.

It’s special if you allow it. Because in the span of fifteen minutes can
Split firewood with masculine strength and tender caress my wife
With more sensitivity than I did since I came out of the closet
And just admitted to myself that my spirit
Had one leg in each world.


For us married T people our spouses are an ever presence of strength,
Inspiration and anxiety.

My wife is stylish, and though she wishes not to see me presenting as woman

I cannot blame her. After all would you want your spouse to present masculine?

Probably not. Maybe so, in any regards one must respect her wish.

So to say I am completely worry free in w/r/t my marriage,

I do worry that sometimes she sees me as less
That in being honest with myself

I have not grown, in her eyes,

But shrunk.

And sometimes I am surprise. For Valentine’s Day she gave me a hand-bag.

Flirty, simple, cotton, girly, and masculine. Perfect for jeans, my 3 inch sandals, and a cute top, or a floral skirt, which I favor.


As a teenager I rejected materialism, but embraced a femmy style, long hair, long nails, lots of hippie jewelry and colors. I often wore more jewelry than my gfs.

No one questioned me then.

But in the work grown up money and suit world of adulthood

For a grown man to wear pearls is weakness.



For most of us being T on a daily basis is stealth

Is a black bag of tricks,
Is a warm spot in the belly
Is a secret written on the page in a room of illiterates
Is paint mixing on the palette
A song in the air, the wine warm, the weather holding.


It’s interesting. And I allowed myself to block these memories and experiences. Repress them.

Stress hormones help create complex and strong neural networks for memories to be stored; which is why repressed memories can come back strong and visceral, despite having happened decades ago.


I always felt like a phony around my male friends.
Especially when conversation switched onto an Alpha male line
And like a tramp, I began to fade to the back of the car
As more and more citizens jumped on board.

With the women I feel like an outsider.
Wanting them, and wanting to be them,
and knowing that if I was one of them,
I would not be welcomed in their arms.


Sometimes it is the sound of bells
The caress of a fine dress
That swirls the motes into the air

Freedom, o free, o pulsing heart

Response to anmti-trans rant/s

Like most T girls and T guys surfing can dredge up a plethora of tg/ts/cd rants, raves, porn, tips, advice, blogs, and fun. It’s all interesting, despite any hate.

I read somewhere an angry rant written by a young man who was offended that so many T people were so in his virtual face about it. I wish I had bookmarked the rant, for I feel compelled to respond to it, some weeks later.

Go figure. I’m late to the party no matter what I wear.

Wedo feel comfortable in virtual space. Get over it. Surf on super straight man, surf on.



Is a black bag of tricks,
Is a warm spot in the belly
Is a secret written on the page in a room of illiterates
Is paint mixing on the palette
A song in the air, the wine warm, the weather holding.

So of course in cyber space, where no one can hear you scream, we shout, kick darkness and sing!

Sorry, if our self-love/affirmations offend.

Perhaps you have some issues of your own you’d like to address.

There’s probably a 1-800 number you can call for that.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Happy Valentine's Day: Give it up for your sweetie!, Oh, and new shoes

Happy Valentine's Day!

I plan on kicking back and putting these tired dogs up. After a Friday of being Mr. Mom all day and planning and cooking for a V-Day party last night, I need a cup of hot tea and a copy of Lucky magazine to cruise me through today.

I felt as though I should remind crossdressers and tg wives out there to pay special attention to the biological wife of the marriage/relationship. Even if they have trouble accepting your femme side, the heart swells at the notion of romance today, and one should be willing to give to their sweethearts all the attention and flattery she deserves.

Romance is double edged. Whether it's roses or new sexy boots (my gift to her)stroke your realtionship. Take extra time to kiss longer. Hold hands. Caress.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

My Story

I suppose I have to tell my story 'cause that's important. Trans people all have one and if you have found my virtual porch in a search for yourself, well, stay a while. I'll make some tea.

We can share a smoke and smell the manure as it lifts over the fields and into my yard like a ghost.

I live in the rural south. All my life I knew I was different, but not necessarily trans. Being tall and healthy I looked masculine but felt like a phony around my peers. Hell, I still feel phony around my peers.

Around the age of 11 it was mother's high heels, satin slips, and make-up. Lipstick, rings, lots of fantasy space reserved for wishing I was a girl.

I used to pray that I'd wake up a girl. Everything would be so much easier.

Now as you can imagine this led me to think I was gay.

And I had my share...and it was fun. But I could not, cannot relate to men emotionally, and therefore could never fall in love with a man.

But women. Ah...

Not only did I want them, I wanted to be like them.

In high school I could stare through a girl's jeans and tell, just know, what kind of panties they were sportin'. I knew because sometimes I'd wear them too!

Now it came and went. I like the way Petra says it on her blog, like a tide, like an ocean.

Because I live in a small town in the middle of nowhere, I have to go far and wide for fashion. Still its an adventure.

I'm in therapy and I am not seeking SRS. I'm happily married and one night a week get to be myself.

For some of you that's a lot, or a little.

So far I can deal.

Though, good God do I think about it a lot.

That's enough. More to come. Plus pics of my new pumps!

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Warm days

The mercury hit 70 today and little miss thing shook it in the sunshine.

Plus! Accessories: two new scarves, an edgy black leather belt with cute studs (yes, cute) A great light pink empire blouse and a cool blue gypsy skirt.

Pumps arrive tomorrow

So does my new wig!

My little tranny head is going to explode! Wee!

Saturday, February 7, 2009

New Dress. Thrift Store Bargin. 4.99

Love thrifting. Love it.

And honey, in my town there are three thrift stores and one cheap, cheap, cheap, broke-ass Big Lots-type department store (which is bargain hunters dream/hell...sometimes you can find a killer denim skirt, or a nice sweater dress, and then nothing...

for months.

Which means you troll the thrift stores, like some clothes junkie, your heart rate jacked, as you thumb through the stale fashions.

But let me digress...

Thrifting rule number one: shop for basics, and timeless looks/fabrics: i.e. wool skirts, shrifts, scarves, sweaters, cardigans, turtlenecks, and the like.

Crossdresser's guilty pleasure: floral print dresses, skirts, tops.

God,I swoon. All the girls I loved before wore a variation of such wispy femininity.

So this dress was a boon.

One size too big for me, but it is a comfortable fit. I am a tall large shouldered, but slender man, and sport an 18. This, alas is a 20w. Still it fits well it the arms, but makes my already shapeless, hipless (oh for an hourglass!) self seem even more so shapeless and hipless. Needs taking up. Or padded panties, and a upgrade in the bra and tissue department. A summer project.

For the price, nice.

For the memory/sensory associations, priceless.

Pics that make my girly heart flutter!

Southern Crossdressing

Friday, February 6, 2009

Drawbacks about being T in the rural south

Going out en femme is verboten!

At least not any where in the vacinity of distant relatives. Rule of thumb, at least leave the county.

Perhaps more than in an urban area, the impact of your personality upon your community and family is, or at least feels magnified.

At least in a city or large urban area you can go out and be a nobody.

But in the country, there's a big spotlight on you if you stray from the norm.

Oh yeah. Stealth mode baby

And yes it sucks to deny yourself. But in my situation I can manage the anxiety, the gender dysphoria with my one night a week jaunt into myself.

There aren't a lot of trans people. Or gay people.

At least where I live the gay lifestyle is accepted at best and tolerated at worst.

There's a uber macho vibe, which I can get into for like a few hours max, and then I'm tapped. I jumped off the alpha male train years ago.

In the last six months I have acknowledged my trans-ness, or whatever. Living in this macho culture really made me repress my trans self (I hesitate to say trans self because it implies that it is separate of my self and therefore "other". I say my trans self is not "other" but is a part, perhaps half of my self. But how else to explain? Stop brain, stop.) and I almost destroyed myself.

Seriously. I stared it down. Was maybe 90% there, but luckily 10% fought back.


Coming out

More pain and suffering and now

happy days. I didn't destroy myself, but I did deviate from my thesis, my impoetus, my muse of this post.

I am wearing pearls and cool Victorian goth costume bracelet, a wool skirt, black tights, 3 inch mules, and cute sweater dress that on my long and lean frame serves me better as long top. Anyhow, it shapes my torso.

Loving Life

I am in love with life.

Winter's glassy winds are keeping me wrapped up in tights.

What would the world be without them?

And baubles and beads. And baubles and beads.

It has been decided that I am a 36c. Which I love. I'ma tall girl, 6'3 and slender.

I favor wools, and knits and cheap department store knockoffs.

Make-up has become my friend.

I am a straight married cd/tg. And my awesome wife, and true love and I have compromised one night of the week when I be alone and express my feminine self. That one night when I feel free and normal, which is ironic


because well any normal person would think I was a freak.

A tall, slender man-woman/sissy, no doubt.

But I feel beautiful, and pretty and happy.

I won't post my face, but everything else is up for show.

I will try to focus on crossdressing on a budget, and being a rural southern crossdresser and transgendered person.

And of course t-related news, and art and cultural reviews.

After all a girl has to have something besides herself to talk about.