This week I have been working beyond the point of exhaustion. I worked 33 hours out of a 40 hour period. The work itself in theory is dangerous because of the scale of the equipment. You are never moving very fast, but given the tonnage involved, you have a lot of momentum. As a result, complete lapses of attention are pretty rare. This heighten alertness made the long shifts possible, and sleep came easy, if not for long enough.
I found that often Barbara was riding along with me on my travels keeping me company. The phrase that came to me is "In vino, veritas." which if I have the phrase at all right and its meaning is in wine there is truth meaning that get a person a little drunk and the truth tends to come out. In this case, it was the exhaustion of work that let her peek out of the closet again. I had thought since she seemed absent so often since I started this regular get paid for what I do as I do it kind of job that my male side was just feeling better about himself and didn't need to retreat into Barbara to escape. Today I decided that its possible that the opposite is true.
At the end of the first one, I looked forward to a long, hot shower and a soft bed. I trudged down the hall in my bathrobe with a small sample size dove bath gel, a toothbrush and a razor. I had decided that the "manly" scent of my originally packed soap lingered to long in my cramped dorm room as the wash cloth dries. I have adopted a habit borrowed from those in the military of shaving in the shower to save time and for expediency in the field and long ago adopted the habit when I don't wear a beard. The hair on my head at an 1/8 inch is too long to shave easily, so I only shaved my face. I didn't want to waste the razor that was still pretty sharp so I decided I would shave a little of my legs, knowing in the poor light and tiny shower stall I would miss a lot. I figured that A few swipes a night and I'd get them smooth. It felt so good gliding the razor over my calves that I ended up doing a pretty good job on my whole legs and then moved on to my arms and my chest. I always love the way my skin feels shaved and was not disappointed. Dee laughs a little after I wax my legs that I can't seem to keep my hands off myself.
The next night went about the same with catching some strays here and there, and over all I was at least able to squint my eyes a little and see a woman's legs which, after all is the point of the exercise for me. The third night I declined the extra 4 hours and instead was planning on going home to sleep. I was out of laundry though and tried to squeeze that chore in by starting it before I went to the evening meal and finishing it after. A very long shower with careful attention to areas best shaved in better light left me a bit aroused.
I am not sure what I have said here about that sort of thing. Barbara's blog has always been relatively safe for work. Partly because my fem persona is a little youthful and in some ways dates from a pre-pubescent time, and isn't really about sex.
We have another blog for my male side and his wife and it gets extremely graphic, so it seems silly to use the euphemisms I do here, but somehow it would offend that side of me not to.
In my (rare) teen days of crossdressing (all though I had no name for it) I experienced some confusing sexual arousal about the dressing and in a difficult to explain way, experienced a sexual, voyeuristic thrill seeing and touching myself.
The resurgence of the urge to dress that from my reading seems to be common in "ex"crossdressers approaching or in middle age. I, like others have reported, tend not to get that sexual charge out of it as I did although there is an aspect of that that underlies it. I don;t consciously repress the sexual aspect to it and have worked through a lot of the shame I used to attach to it, so there isn't any reason it can't be, it just often isn't.
The third night, I fond my self lavishing my legs with soap and really enjoying every curve. The supple feeling smoothness contrasted with the firm strong calves of an ex-long distance runner. I found myself well, er, 'taking advantage" of myself. I really enjoyed the time I spent with Barbara in a sexual way and at the time was pretty shame-free.
The morning after I felt a little silly. That old wall of shame threatened, but I held it at bay.
This morning, after a couple of "normal" days of "only" 12-13 hours and my first full nights sleep, I realized with delight that I was Barbara at the time. I rode along in fem mode, fully garbed as a man if you don't count my size 7 Calvin Klein button-fly jeans. I resisted the urge to avoid fem gestures, or how I sat, or how I danced in my seat to the radio. I had a good time.
I need to explain a little here about my job, without leading to a Google hit that outs me. I operate a very large piece of equipment with all sorts of modern electronics, that really don't change the function of the equipment from when my grandpa operated a similar one on a much smaller scale. I can monitor exhaust temps, turbo pressure, suspension variance from side to side, brake temp on each wheel, weight and on and on and on. There is a completely separate system that among other things assigns me tasks and lets me report where I am with them and so forth. There were problems with both systems. The equipment ran fine, I used the old fashioned analog gauges to insure that the other ones were wrong and that in fact the leviathan was running as well as my ear and my gut told me it was.
About three hours into the shift I was interacting with another operator. His equipment serves to me. In the process of doing so I had no way of knowing when it was that he was done with his part and I was to take of to do mine. One system told me nothing the other told me he had released me. The third method was he honks. I can not hear that frequency over the squawk of two way radios, brake squeal and the like. I paused, waited to see what he would do, and when his equipment turned away it seemed to me that despite the fact that it just didn't seem that his part should be over, it apparently was, so off I went, only to be recalled when he indignantly protested that I had taken off early. It really was a no harm done, turn around and finish what we started sort of thing. I suddenly felt defensive though. I went back completed the task this time from a much harder angle because the delay had changed the nature of the task, but I did it just right and had every reason to feel I had done well with what I was given to work with. Never-the-less, I wanted to explain. I fought (successfully) the urge to try to battle through incessant radio traffic to explain why it was that I had no way to have known and that it "wasn't my fault". Silly since everyone had long moved on to the next thing and protesting would gain nothing and only fix the incident in peoples minds.
A little later I had a chance to call Dee from one of my "offices" as I like to call the port-a-johns. We chatted briefly and I got back on the big noisy monster. Only after I got off the phone did I realise that Barbara was not with "me". Puzzled, I retraced my steps to see where I had left her. I had an epiphany when I realized at the moment of defensiveness she had fled. I have suspected that Barbara irrespective of gender issues is a repository for the tender feelings of an verbally and physically abused child. I think that she has been the caretaker of that side of me and has brought, intact those qualities that might have been lost under layers of thick-skinned emotional armor.
As I thought of this, I decided there was no reason I should allow her to be run off at the first sign of trouble, so I consciously worked on channeling her. (I don't actually use the word channel to describe finding myself in that character, but it seemed the closest I could think of.)
I had no clothes with me at all, but I thought about what I would wear if I could reach into McGee's knapsack and out with it. I thought a pair of 4" heels would be nice and at minimum some knee-highs. I could see easily managing that below the sill height of the cab.
I needed to make a bathroom break and on a whim grabbed a small role of duct-tape. Now I don;t feel up to giving a description of "tucking" to those that don't know the process, so Google that if you must. I DON'T recommend duct-tape, but with a smooth shave, It was a reasonable field expedient. It worked and the overly efficient A/C system helped. I actually enjoyed the effort, if not the comfort level of bouncing around like that. After 2-3 hours like that I decided I could end up with some chafing and no one needs that, so I hopped down to my office and, er, well, let it all hang out again.
The effort didn't lure Barbara back completely but with some concerted effort on my part to sit up in a ladylike fashion and a little dancing around in my seat and I at least gave a nod to the fem side of me and felt good about that.
I am writing this in computer cafe attached to the residence dorms with a bunch of manly men all around and really don't care who reads over my shoulder although no one has tried. (Of course I would actually care if they did, but it was more important to get this out and on paper.) Dictated, but not read...
-Barbara
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Fleeting Moments of Duality.
I am finally home for my week off and can be who I want to be. I had the idea I might swing more femme in my time off, but it doesn't seem to be something I can predict.
While I was being a manly man as an operator of heavy equipment I had my moments this past week. It of course isn't actually a man's job anymore. In fact, about 1/3 or so of the operators are women, and not at all women that would fit the stereotype of what a woman in a "man's" profession would look like. I was backing my 400 ton behemoth next to another operator's behemoth. Looking over we met eyes because of course one doesn't want to meld the two machines into one 5 million dollar 800 ton sculpture. I blushed a little after I realized that Barbara had given her a fairly femme wave which was cheerfully returned.
On another occasion I was listening to the radio. There are only three stations that even sort of reach the remote location. One country, one classic rock and one that features 70's 80's and 90's music. I was listening to the mix station when apparently they were in 70's mode and I found myself grooving to disco. I was thinking of the alternative club that Dee and I have been thinking of and for some reason it seemed the very music that I imagined they would play. My male side would have had no interest whatsoever in the music. Barbara was tossing her auburn mane around to the music, oblivious to the fact that I am actually shaved bald and wearing a hard hat.
While I was being a manly man as an operator of heavy equipment I had my moments this past week. It of course isn't actually a man's job anymore. In fact, about 1/3 or so of the operators are women, and not at all women that would fit the stereotype of what a woman in a "man's" profession would look like. I was backing my 400 ton behemoth next to another operator's behemoth. Looking over we met eyes because of course one doesn't want to meld the two machines into one 5 million dollar 800 ton sculpture. I blushed a little after I realized that Barbara had given her a fairly femme wave which was cheerfully returned.
On another occasion I was listening to the radio. There are only three stations that even sort of reach the remote location. One country, one classic rock and one that features 70's 80's and 90's music. I was listening to the mix station when apparently they were in 70's mode and I found myself grooving to disco. I was thinking of the alternative club that Dee and I have been thinking of and for some reason it seemed the very music that I imagined they would play. My male side would have had no interest whatsoever in the music. Barbara was tossing her auburn mane around to the music, oblivious to the fact that I am actually shaved bald and wearing a hard hat.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Not feeling very Barbara lately...
...but I smile at the moments I do.
I was in the cafeteria with a bunch of rough and rugged men. There was a fairly cute smiling girl working there of vaguely Asian extraction that seemed to be commanding the attention of all there.
What I noticed was what she was wearing. (Dee is going to be livid that I found this outfit cute.) She was wearing sweats. In male mode I detest sweats on a woman. This particular track suit ensemble was gray with pink piping and has slash pockets and a cute hood. Something only a transvestite could appreciate.
I was in the cafeteria with a bunch of rough and rugged men. There was a fairly cute smiling girl working there of vaguely Asian extraction that seemed to be commanding the attention of all there.
What I noticed was what she was wearing. (Dee is going to be livid that I found this outfit cute.) She was wearing sweats. In male mode I detest sweats on a woman. This particular track suit ensemble was gray with pink piping and has slash pockets and a cute hood. Something only a transvestite could appreciate.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
New Driver's License.
I have a long history of difficulty with motor vehicle registration. Emission testing, lack of insurance, or other problems has me very wary of my surroundings and keeping cops off my six. I have driven 10's of thousands of miles with one missing document or the other. Sometimes this has cost me my license for extended periods. Having been legal in all respects for a couple of years now, I am loathe to give up my good citizen status if I can avoid it.
The mid-life crisis was due for new tags October 31st. I had my initial interview on that day. I drove up the night before and scooted 225 miles home on the last good day for the tags. Being pulled over for no good reason (which seems to happen to me an awful lot for a basically law abiding white guy) reinforced to me that that area is not a good way to flout the law.
6 weeks later my background check came back clean (surprising me most of all) and they finally scheduled a physical. A one month repair tag (allowed once in any 12 month period) got me there and back where I waited for a start date. By the time the human resources leviathan slowly ground out a start date for me that free pass had long expired. I lacked the money for even the emission testing that I knew would fail. My catalytic converted is clogged and the car only runs well because a bump took out part of the down pipe and the resultant exhaust leak has let it breathe again. I can't weld on a new one because my garage door is broken and I cant muscle my welder out past the junk out to where I could work on it. I had resolved to try emissions testing anyway, but ran out of time to do so. What I ended up doing was taking the title from one of my many spare cars of the same make that is currently our of service and getting a temporary tag for it. I slapped that in the window, knowing that if stopped, the VIN was not going to withstand scrutiny.
I resolved to break no laws on the way there, and to out run them if they (as per usual) attempted to again violate my civil rights with an illegal stop. Fortunately the two cops I did see had their hands full at the time.
I managed Friday during a brief time out when the family came to visit and I could bum a ride to that county's MVD office to get a new license. Again as per usual I lied about my weight. This time I was only off five pounds. I put 135. Two weeks ago I was 125, but a week of eating food designed for roughnecks on oil rigs has put me halfway back up to my goal.
With a valid residence in this barely populated county, no emission test is required. $55 later I am legal for two whole years. Hallelujah.
The mid-life crisis was due for new tags October 31st. I had my initial interview on that day. I drove up the night before and scooted 225 miles home on the last good day for the tags. Being pulled over for no good reason (which seems to happen to me an awful lot for a basically law abiding white guy) reinforced to me that that area is not a good way to flout the law.
6 weeks later my background check came back clean (surprising me most of all) and they finally scheduled a physical. A one month repair tag (allowed once in any 12 month period) got me there and back where I waited for a start date. By the time the human resources leviathan slowly ground out a start date for me that free pass had long expired. I lacked the money for even the emission testing that I knew would fail. My catalytic converted is clogged and the car only runs well because a bump took out part of the down pipe and the resultant exhaust leak has let it breathe again. I can't weld on a new one because my garage door is broken and I cant muscle my welder out past the junk out to where I could work on it. I had resolved to try emissions testing anyway, but ran out of time to do so. What I ended up doing was taking the title from one of my many spare cars of the same make that is currently our of service and getting a temporary tag for it. I slapped that in the window, knowing that if stopped, the VIN was not going to withstand scrutiny.
I resolved to break no laws on the way there, and to out run them if they (as per usual) attempted to again violate my civil rights with an illegal stop. Fortunately the two cops I did see had their hands full at the time.
I managed Friday during a brief time out when the family came to visit and I could bum a ride to that county's MVD office to get a new license. Again as per usual I lied about my weight. This time I was only off five pounds. I put 135. Two weeks ago I was 125, but a week of eating food designed for roughnecks on oil rigs has put me halfway back up to my goal.
With a valid residence in this barely populated county, no emission test is required. $55 later I am legal for two whole years. Hallelujah.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Pantyhose sure are warm....
Today at the barracks was linen service. I sort of forgot it was Wednesday. I left in a hurry and left my bottom drawer hanging open. I keep my short sleeve shirts there and all of the small electronics, camera, charges and so on. Staff here seems pretty upstanding, but never-the-less, no need to tempt anyone. So I was quickly looking over them to make sure all was in place. Yep, all there...
...including the pair of pantyhose I had balled up and set on top.
I got a virtual laugh online out of Dee when I related this. She pointed out that a lot of guys up here wear them for warmth against the extreme cold. Even her dad. Hmmm, he might be wearing them for warmth. Don't they say that a girl tends to marry her father?
...including the pair of pantyhose I had balled up and set on top.
I got a virtual laugh online out of Dee when I related this. She pointed out that a lot of guys up here wear them for warmth against the extreme cold. Even her dad. Hmmm, he might be wearing them for warmth. Don't they say that a girl tends to marry her father?
Monday, January 28, 2008
Little White Dress.
I made the four hour dash home after getting a couple of days leave. I lied to Dee and told her I was going to sleep and then come the next morning. Towards the end of my 4 hours of excuses about where I was in camp and what I was doing, I couldn't reach her. I was a little worried I had pushed it too far and she was miffed at me putting off our nightly phone call so long.
All was forgiven including the foolhardy run home after 12 hours in the rumbly seat before I even left. I arrived weary, but pleased to be home. The kids were up and cheerfully enthusiastic about not alerting mom to my presence. I had a fantasy about getting a bath and a quality triple blade to touch up the hack job I did to my skin. None of that was to be, though.
We planned to have some "Barbara time" when the kids were bundled off to school. We had grand ideas of costumery and pictures, but the errands to get me ready and financed for the trip back out took up most of the time.
We did manage to get past Goodwill and spend about $9. I got a Glen Quagmire approved pilot's jacket with wrist stripes. (Giggedy!) Dee got herself a leather look jacked and a pink one. She got a couple of items for the kids. I found a slip with lace work at the décolletage in ivory and pink. Yes, I liked it for me too but pink is her color. My favorite purchase though was a lined, white lace, clingy, sleeveless dress I found with the wedding gowns. I had time to try it on before I left and was satisfied with the look even still wearing my briefs and crew socks.
The beard would probably need to go if I hope not to be read.
All was forgiven including the foolhardy run home after 12 hours in the rumbly seat before I even left. I arrived weary, but pleased to be home. The kids were up and cheerfully enthusiastic about not alerting mom to my presence. I had a fantasy about getting a bath and a quality triple blade to touch up the hack job I did to my skin. None of that was to be, though.
We planned to have some "Barbara time" when the kids were bundled off to school. We had grand ideas of costumery and pictures, but the errands to get me ready and financed for the trip back out took up most of the time.
We did manage to get past Goodwill and spend about $9. I got a Glen Quagmire approved pilot's jacket with wrist stripes. (Giggedy!) Dee got herself a leather look jacked and a pink one. She got a couple of items for the kids. I found a slip with lace work at the décolletage in ivory and pink. Yes, I liked it for me too but pink is her color. My favorite purchase though was a lined, white lace, clingy, sleeveless dress I found with the wedding gowns. I had time to try it on before I left and was satisfied with the look even still wearing my briefs and crew socks.
The beard would probably need to go if I hope not to be read.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Sisters and clothes.
No I don't mean borrowing from my sister. Other than the odd pair of pantyhose and the initial full dress-up at age three and a half, I haven't borrowed clothes from her for at least 30 years.
I started amassing a femme-drobe after I had come out to my wife. In assembling an actual outfit with her help, from time to time at first I had to borrow a shell or a top or jacket. As my wardrobe expanded to take over 2/3 of the closet, I was able to return the favor. She has borrowed my Liz Claiborn sweater top a time or two and depending on the shoe we can sometimes share. As I dieted out of things, she dieted into them, chasing me down the scale. Always though we have been careful to segregate the 'Hers' from the 'Hurs'. Dee explained that having seen arguments between sisters or roommates, she didn't want any misunderstandings. She always asks if she wants to borrow something. I am flattered that she wants to and get a a little private thrill out of seeing my clothes walking around in public.
Her weight loss has been at a faster rate than mine, and if I had managed to stop at my goal she would have already been been at her goal of weighing less than me. I am away from home eating really good institutional food. (No, I haven't been arrested....again) Its incredibly calorie laden food designed to sustain rough necks working 12 hour shifts. She has continued to lose meanwhile and there is a good chance that when I see her next we will be at the same weight. I a little taller, her a bit curvier.
When we got married we were about the same proportions and although she didn't know it of course at the time occasionally I did borrow, obviously without asking.
Today she was practicing her photography and post production skills and borrowed one of my thrift store ball gowns. The results really showed how beautiful she is and how confident she is feeling in her skin and my dress these days.
I started amassing a femme-drobe after I had come out to my wife. In assembling an actual outfit with her help, from time to time at first I had to borrow a shell or a top or jacket. As my wardrobe expanded to take over 2/3 of the closet, I was able to return the favor. She has borrowed my Liz Claiborn sweater top a time or two and depending on the shoe we can sometimes share. As I dieted out of things, she dieted into them, chasing me down the scale. Always though we have been careful to segregate the 'Hers' from the 'Hurs'. Dee explained that having seen arguments between sisters or roommates, she didn't want any misunderstandings. She always asks if she wants to borrow something. I am flattered that she wants to and get a a little private thrill out of seeing my clothes walking around in public.
Her weight loss has been at a faster rate than mine, and if I had managed to stop at my goal she would have already been been at her goal of weighing less than me. I am away from home eating really good institutional food. (No, I haven't been arrested....again) Its incredibly calorie laden food designed to sustain rough necks working 12 hour shifts. She has continued to lose meanwhile and there is a good chance that when I see her next we will be at the same weight. I a little taller, her a bit curvier.When we got married we were about the same proportions and although she didn't know it of course at the time occasionally I did borrow, obviously without asking.
Today she was practicing her photography and post production skills and borrowed one of my thrift store ball gowns. The results really showed how beautiful she is and how confident she is feeling in her skin and my dress these days.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Bored, yet smooth.
So I am stuck in this camp, training by day, ineffectively perving online by night as most adult sites are blocked. I understood that I would have a small private room and communal bathroom, that remains mine for the duration of the assignment there. I still thought it prudent to get the lay of the land, in this land of roughnecks prior to breaking out the ball gowns.
The only femme thing I brought was the very first pair of panties I actually bought and admitted to myself they were for me. The are plain, white and nylon. At a glance they could be men's bikini style briefs. I actually wore them one day, and it was comforting, but not femme. I was expecting to go home Friday afternoon. There is a lot of pent up urges for both of us. Dee has taken some really beautiful, tasteful, sexy self portraits and we had talked a bit about taking some of Barbara. (that is after my male side's more primal needs are met!)
This morning I woke up an hour early and am afraid to go back to sleep, any tardiness can result in termination. high risk job with no margin for someone not being there when something gets dangerous. So I headed to the communal bathroom to shave my head and face. Can of cheap foamy shaving cream, bar of Irish spring, one single edged disposable razor.
The eight stalls are not very private. Cheap three by three vinyl u-shaped showers with plain vinyl curtains. Two rows of four across from each other. I had woken up an hour early and had the showers to myself. I started with my head and was going to just hit a few of the easy to reach spots. As I cleared a section of brush, it only made the next thicket look all the more furry. I ended up taking it all of as best I could in odd contortions in that little shower. I ended up bloody but smooth. The water up here apparently is incredibly hard..I seemed to have lime scale on my hands and feet after an hour in the shower. The cuts seem a little slow healing. Next time I think I'll wait till I can get home.
The only femme thing I brought was the very first pair of panties I actually bought and admitted to myself they were for me. The are plain, white and nylon. At a glance they could be men's bikini style briefs. I actually wore them one day, and it was comforting, but not femme. I was expecting to go home Friday afternoon. There is a lot of pent up urges for both of us. Dee has taken some really beautiful, tasteful, sexy self portraits and we had talked a bit about taking some of Barbara. (that is after my male side's more primal needs are met!)
This morning I woke up an hour early and am afraid to go back to sleep, any tardiness can result in termination. high risk job with no margin for someone not being there when something gets dangerous. So I headed to the communal bathroom to shave my head and face. Can of cheap foamy shaving cream, bar of Irish spring, one single edged disposable razor.
The eight stalls are not very private. Cheap three by three vinyl u-shaped showers with plain vinyl curtains. Two rows of four across from each other. I had woken up an hour early and had the showers to myself. I started with my head and was going to just hit a few of the easy to reach spots. As I cleared a section of brush, it only made the next thicket look all the more furry. I ended up taking it all of as best I could in odd contortions in that little shower. I ended up bloody but smooth. The water up here apparently is incredibly hard..I seemed to have lime scale on my hands and feet after an hour in the shower. The cuts seem a little slow healing. Next time I think I'll wait till I can get home.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Back to my old driver's license weight.
I figure the steel-toe work boots required on my new job and the heavy wool coat to keep out the chill has to be making up the 10 lb deficit.
Having plummeted through the basement, I catch glimpses of myself looking gaunt in reflective surfaces. I am eating with abandon. Between last night and this morning I polished off the extra deliciously greasy cheeseburger Dee packed for me when she kindly packed me up for the trip. I also finished the whole bag of gooey chocolate chip cookies the 12 year old resident baker made for me. I'm waiting for the cafeteria at the residence campus I am staying in to open to take on another load of calories and decided to update the blog for a reasonably productive use of time.
I was more reticent to leave home for a week than I thought I would be. Dee and I haven't been away from each-other much over the years, and now it's going to be an every other week thing. In my silly obsessive need to tank up on sensory overload before I left, I neglected the opportunity to spend some quality time with her and the kids and I regret that, as she knew I would.
My room is comfortable, spartan and lonely. I have no computer access from my room thanks to HP.*
*I dragged up here with me my HP desktop. It is cobbled together with duct-tape. I mean that literally I have bright pink duct tape holding a donor power supply to the outside of the poorly designed practically not maintainable case. The HP monitor didn't survive the journey. It won't turn on at all. I think the once clever HP engineers now spend all their time finding ways to make the power supplies in all their products fail on a schedule so they can sell you a new one. Like I would ever by HP again. Ive said it before, I own nothing but HP. I have two dead laptops, just jury-rigged the desktop, and now a monitor. Four out of four of my most recent HP purchases all developing similar issues is pretty telling. Before he messed up the Vietnam War, Robert McNamara developed a pretty similar program for General motors of planned obsolescence. The American car industry is still mistrusted by anyone with any engineering sense to this day. So long HP, I hope you enjoy spending the last of your ill gotten gains on all that expensive advertising in advance of your eventual collapse and restructuring.
Having plummeted through the basement, I catch glimpses of myself looking gaunt in reflective surfaces. I am eating with abandon. Between last night and this morning I polished off the extra deliciously greasy cheeseburger Dee packed for me when she kindly packed me up for the trip. I also finished the whole bag of gooey chocolate chip cookies the 12 year old resident baker made for me. I'm waiting for the cafeteria at the residence campus I am staying in to open to take on another load of calories and decided to update the blog for a reasonably productive use of time.
I was more reticent to leave home for a week than I thought I would be. Dee and I haven't been away from each-other much over the years, and now it's going to be an every other week thing. In my silly obsessive need to tank up on sensory overload before I left, I neglected the opportunity to spend some quality time with her and the kids and I regret that, as she knew I would.
My room is comfortable, spartan and lonely. I have no computer access from my room thanks to HP.*
*I dragged up here with me my HP desktop. It is cobbled together with duct-tape. I mean that literally I have bright pink duct tape holding a donor power supply to the outside of the poorly designed practically not maintainable case. The HP monitor didn't survive the journey. It won't turn on at all. I think the once clever HP engineers now spend all their time finding ways to make the power supplies in all their products fail on a schedule so they can sell you a new one. Like I would ever by HP again. Ive said it before, I own nothing but HP. I have two dead laptops, just jury-rigged the desktop, and now a monitor. Four out of four of my most recent HP purchases all developing similar issues is pretty telling. Before he messed up the Vietnam War, Robert McNamara developed a pretty similar program for General motors of planned obsolescence. The American car industry is still mistrusted by anyone with any engineering sense to this day. So long HP, I hope you enjoy spending the last of your ill gotten gains on all that expensive advertising in advance of your eventual collapse and restructuring.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Frottage
In my early sexual experience which of course for me was entirely male mode and hetero, I really enjoyed grinding against an eager girl's zipper. I had heard this called zipper grinding, or rubbing off at the time. Later I heard the term dry-humping which seemed an oxymoron. Plenty of humping, not so much dry.
In our explorations online, Dee and I have met some interesting people. One in particular is a friend of Dee's who is a lesbian and speaks in the vernacular of the culture. I have never really seen myself as a lesbian in a man's body as they say because there are cultural issues I don't share. I am gynophilic in much the same way, but biology, experiences and perspective is not the same. One of the terms Dee picked up was tribadism. Sometimes tongue in cheek miss-spelled in their community as tribalism which is what spell check wants me to change that to. Essentially it is a form of frottage, as in external touching or grinding. Against another's hand, their leg or in the case of two woman with some gymnastic effort, more intimate contact on contact.
We saw an interesting video of such and we both found ti well motivating to say the least. I donned a pair of cheap pantyhose...(we call these floss)...and a sports bra just to give Dee something for leverage and well, tucked we went at it...quite interesting. They ended up later with a rather large hole strategically torn in them with her teeth, hence the term floss.
I am a bit unsure about what to do with these sort of experiences blog wise. Barbara herself is absent a lot lately from my life and out bedroom so there is a relevancy issue at times. In addition Barbara seems to be a time-warped me from an earlier time, and not that sexual usually, so to sexualize her here seems odd to me. The blog itself although it was meant mostly for me as a place to sort out my feelings, has become apparently a bit more than that with both regular visitors and the curious who want to know a bit more about what life is like for a straight married crossdresser. Although some of them come here hoping for "Hot SHe-male Pics!" and leave dissapointed, my sense is that plenty might be loved ones of a crossdresser or maybe a crossdresser who like I was less than a year ago confused as to what his dressing means to him and is seeking answers.
On the other hand, Dee and I have been highly sexual with each other and quite open about it in another aspect of our online life. We have become together sex-bloggers and although I mention in passing that I am also a crossdresser, since I am usually not dressed (or in femme mode mentally) during our adventures, the CD issues are only a footnote there.
I am only sure I am not starting a 4th "Hot Tranny Sex Blog" so perhaps I will just relate the relevant adventures here as they occur. It is weird though to fracture my writer's psyche to adjust the tone and timber of the writing to the euphemisms I employ on this blog, when I write raw, gritty filth on the other. Maybe that is appropriate though as the two sides of me are a bit different in the sensibilities.
Sometimes it is nice to slip into my femme mode as a respite from my too-urgent, too-driven, too-obsessive sexual urges as my male side experiences. I feel a little guilty though not letting Barbara be more free with her desires what ever they might be. She seems remarkably neutral on the subject.
In our explorations online, Dee and I have met some interesting people. One in particular is a friend of Dee's who is a lesbian and speaks in the vernacular of the culture. I have never really seen myself as a lesbian in a man's body as they say because there are cultural issues I don't share. I am gynophilic in much the same way, but biology, experiences and perspective is not the same. One of the terms Dee picked up was tribadism. Sometimes tongue in cheek miss-spelled in their community as tribalism which is what spell check wants me to change that to. Essentially it is a form of frottage, as in external touching or grinding. Against another's hand, their leg or in the case of two woman with some gymnastic effort, more intimate contact on contact.
We saw an interesting video of such and we both found ti well motivating to say the least. I donned a pair of cheap pantyhose...(we call these floss)...and a sports bra just to give Dee something for leverage and well, tucked we went at it...quite interesting. They ended up later with a rather large hole strategically torn in them with her teeth, hence the term floss.
I am a bit unsure about what to do with these sort of experiences blog wise. Barbara herself is absent a lot lately from my life and out bedroom so there is a relevancy issue at times. In addition Barbara seems to be a time-warped me from an earlier time, and not that sexual usually, so to sexualize her here seems odd to me. The blog itself although it was meant mostly for me as a place to sort out my feelings, has become apparently a bit more than that with both regular visitors and the curious who want to know a bit more about what life is like for a straight married crossdresser. Although some of them come here hoping for "Hot SHe-male Pics!" and leave dissapointed, my sense is that plenty might be loved ones of a crossdresser or maybe a crossdresser who like I was less than a year ago confused as to what his dressing means to him and is seeking answers.
On the other hand, Dee and I have been highly sexual with each other and quite open about it in another aspect of our online life. We have become together sex-bloggers and although I mention in passing that I am also a crossdresser, since I am usually not dressed (or in femme mode mentally) during our adventures, the CD issues are only a footnote there.
I am only sure I am not starting a 4th "Hot Tranny Sex Blog" so perhaps I will just relate the relevant adventures here as they occur. It is weird though to fracture my writer's psyche to adjust the tone and timber of the writing to the euphemisms I employ on this blog, when I write raw, gritty filth on the other. Maybe that is appropriate though as the two sides of me are a bit different in the sensibilities.
Sometimes it is nice to slip into my femme mode as a respite from my too-urgent, too-driven, too-obsessive sexual urges as my male side experiences. I feel a little guilty though not letting Barbara be more free with her desires what ever they might be. She seems remarkably neutral on the subject.
Finally Starting My Manly Job!
Going to be a heavy equipment operator. I realize that there are even petite women employed in similar jobs, but it tickles my funny bone a bit to imagine up in that cab with my current gender awareness, and my return to my slender frame.
Along those lines, I have decided the only reason I gained weight over the years was a side effect of Prozac. I stopped taking it after years on it at about the same time I started consciously eating healthier and avoiding snacks. I slid right through the ground floor of my diet of 135 in to the basement of where I was when I got married 15 years ago. I was 124 yesterday. I have been eating larger meals, I am out of the habit of snacking/grazing between meals, but I may have to start. Hard to believe that a few months ago I was bulging out the sides of a size 14 skirt.
I have added real butter back into my diet, am drinking 2% milk, where I had even given up skim before, I eat red meat, pasta, bread. Its like old times when I couldn't gain weight. Seems odd now, because I thought the days when my metabolism would let me eat whatever I want were long gone.
I wonder if its all the sex?
Along those lines, I have decided the only reason I gained weight over the years was a side effect of Prozac. I stopped taking it after years on it at about the same time I started consciously eating healthier and avoiding snacks. I slid right through the ground floor of my diet of 135 in to the basement of where I was when I got married 15 years ago. I was 124 yesterday. I have been eating larger meals, I am out of the habit of snacking/grazing between meals, but I may have to start. Hard to believe that a few months ago I was bulging out the sides of a size 14 skirt.
I have added real butter back into my diet, am drinking 2% milk, where I had even given up skim before, I eat red meat, pasta, bread. Its like old times when I couldn't gain weight. Seems odd now, because I thought the days when my metabolism would let me eat whatever I want were long gone.
I wonder if its all the sex?
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Another Prom Dress, Another Dollar
The other day I "pre-ran" a thrift store. Blue tags were 50% off. That usually means that on Monday, blue tags are $1.
I didnt see much that interested me except for a Nehru jacket that I don't actually know if it was cut for a man or a woman. Obviously, I don't care; it fit well.
I lost my wallet the other day, so no ID, no debit card and no access to the $2 or so in it. I was out near the thrift store on Monday which is also near a bank that knows me by sight. I went in and they did remember me, and were willing to help me check my balance and get some cash. After checking the balance, I really didn't want to admit to them that I did want the $3.28 in there to go buy a new wardrobe, so I just left.
Combing through the car I found two quarters. four dimes, one nickel and a dozen pennies! I went to the thrift store and to my dismay it was green tags for a dollar. Trying to make the best of it I confirmed the Nehru was still there but at $14.99 that was a little out of my budget. I cruised the "better quality" racks looking for green. Very little there that wasn't obvious why someone would have passed on it. Then, The DRESS...
Size eight, strapless so my big bony shoulders don;t have to fight the dress size. Black, satin, cute buttons on the back and a white inset in a back pleat that Pepe le Pew would love.
I brought it home, took off my t-shirt and left my jeans and cowboy boots on under as I cooked lunch for Dee. She came home to a gender-fucked husband and a nice vegetable sautée with roast beef.
I didnt see much that interested me except for a Nehru jacket that I don't actually know if it was cut for a man or a woman. Obviously, I don't care; it fit well.
I lost my wallet the other day, so no ID, no debit card and no access to the $2 or so in it. I was out near the thrift store on Monday which is also near a bank that knows me by sight. I went in and they did remember me, and were willing to help me check my balance and get some cash. After checking the balance, I really didn't want to admit to them that I did want the $3.28 in there to go buy a new wardrobe, so I just left.
Combing through the car I found two quarters. four dimes, one nickel and a dozen pennies! I went to the thrift store and to my dismay it was green tags for a dollar. Trying to make the best of it I confirmed the Nehru was still there but at $14.99 that was a little out of my budget. I cruised the "better quality" racks looking for green. Very little there that wasn't obvious why someone would have passed on it. Then, The DRESS...
Size eight, strapless so my big bony shoulders don;t have to fight the dress size. Black, satin, cute buttons on the back and a white inset in a back pleat that Pepe le Pew would love.
I brought it home, took off my t-shirt and left my jeans and cowboy boots on under as I cooked lunch for Dee. She came home to a gender-fucked husband and a nice vegetable sautée with roast beef.
In a Barbara State of Mind.
The other day, I was sitting in an nice custom tailored suite made from Saville row wool. I had my legs crossed subconsciously in Barbara mode. Dee and I were having a nice, easy conversation about things that in the past could have been tense. They weren't we even smiled about past behaviors and new openness.
Suddenly Dee said, "You are in Barbara mode!" I looked down at my legs and said, "Because of this?"
"No, but being in Barbara mode may have those sort of effects, I meant how open and approachable you are."
We talked at length about this, and why it is that Dee was so accepting of Barbara from the very first time we met. It is because Barbara shares with my male side the very best parts of me, the open quality that I use gruffness to hide and protect myself when in male mode.
Suddenly Dee said, "You are in Barbara mode!" I looked down at my legs and said, "Because of this?"
"No, but being in Barbara mode may have those sort of effects, I meant how open and approachable you are."
We talked at length about this, and why it is that Dee was so accepting of Barbara from the very first time we met. It is because Barbara shares with my male side the very best parts of me, the open quality that I use gruffness to hide and protect myself when in male mode.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Beginning the New Year at Peace.
This time last year I didn't know the word transgendered, and probably hadn't put on anything feminine for months. If I had, I would have felt guilty and confused and not at all wanted to know, "what it means."
A year later, I don't "know what it means," but if I feel the urge I dress up, giggle a little and feel just fine about myself. New Year's Eve I was in my closet, Literally but not figuratively. There is a whole rod of really nice quality menswear, all purchased for $1 apiece now that I am an avid shopper of thrift stores. None of that was there a year ago. I didn't own a suit that fit. This is just a byproduct of my femme shopping. I had 3 ball gowns and a few cocktail dresses to choose from, and no place to go.
I wanted to try some on so I did. Some were purchased in the middle of my weight loss, so they are now a little too big. good news if that Dee has dieted down in to them.
I was probably 175 lbs this time last year, I am now adding fat to my diet to try to get back UP to 135 from a nadir of 124. I can do so many things better at this weight than I could carrying around the extra bulk. I used to think I was more masculine when I developed a little fat reserve added to my former runner's 4% (or less) body fat frame. Now as I see the real differences in my frame from even a woman of my same dress size, I feel very masculine, which distresses me not at all. I feel fortunate to be able to embrace my feminine side without denigrating my male side.
I look forward to what this year brings in self discovery.
A year later, I don't "know what it means," but if I feel the urge I dress up, giggle a little and feel just fine about myself. New Year's Eve I was in my closet, Literally but not figuratively. There is a whole rod of really nice quality menswear, all purchased for $1 apiece now that I am an avid shopper of thrift stores. None of that was there a year ago. I didn't own a suit that fit. This is just a byproduct of my femme shopping. I had 3 ball gowns and a few cocktail dresses to choose from, and no place to go.
I wanted to try some on so I did. Some were purchased in the middle of my weight loss, so they are now a little too big. good news if that Dee has dieted down in to them.
I was probably 175 lbs this time last year, I am now adding fat to my diet to try to get back UP to 135 from a nadir of 124. I can do so many things better at this weight than I could carrying around the extra bulk. I used to think I was more masculine when I developed a little fat reserve added to my former runner's 4% (or less) body fat frame. Now as I see the real differences in my frame from even a woman of my same dress size, I feel very masculine, which distresses me not at all. I feel fortunate to be able to embrace my feminine side without denigrating my male side.
I look forward to what this year brings in self discovery.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Barbara Came Home Last Night!
Ever had a friend or family member gone for a long time and then picked them up at long last at the airport? You know you missed them, are eager to see them once again, but perhaps in their absence you haven't written or phoned like you had planned. Maybe you have fallen out of touch a bit.
You wait, now in the overcrowded holiday season packed converted 'waiting area' of the airport, never designed for the post security measures crowd. Then, at once, emotion floods. Your loved one is there. In the flesh, huggable, touchable, kissable.
Such was the case last night. I was posting away on a site. It has a GBLT area. I saw a couple of posts by a young transperson, and Barbara's heart when out to her. Just like that I was back. Tender heart, vulnerable, feeling lovely. No clothing, no make-up, no wig for the transformation, I just was. I nearly cried. I am a bit teary right about it now. I have been trying to get back to Barbara for sometime without success. I waxed my legs, she didn't appear. I bought some femme items I could feel her hovering near us at the thrift store, but she stayed just out reach. I went on to www.crossdressers.com
and re-connected with treasured friends there. I felt their warmth and welcome. But not Barbara.
I thought for a while with the new open communication that Dee and I have had with each other especially sexually lately that perhaps Barbara was all a dream, or a device, or a temporary blessing to get us through some tough times. I wondered if I was somehow a fraud. A dude in a dress acting out a kink just for a cheap sexual thrill.
I sit here, tears rolling down my cheeks, happy and soft. As Barbara. Still not playing dress-up, but I could. Dee just said its a shame we are broke. It would be a great time to go shopping. (Barbara is a bit looser with the purse strings.)
This morning I logged into my email and say a sweet note from my (Barbara's) big sister Paige. I've not said much about her in my blog, but despite the fact that my male side is older, Paige will always be my big sister. She so kindly led the teenage, giddy, scared, Barbara by the hand carefully out of the closet and into the beautiful light of day. Thanks, Paige, I've missed you also.
I have always met good friends in my travels. I have another adoptive big sister that seems to serve as a substitute for my actual sister that, sadly I am estranged from. Jessica seems to serve as sister to both my male side and my female side and helps me to connect with the authentic me no matter where I am on any given day on my own personal trangendered sliding scale. Thanks for the overburdened ear, Jessica.
And of course Dee is there through it all. When my gender repression probably erupts out as male irritability, when I am feeling pretty, when I am feeling silly, when I am dead sexy. Love you Dee.
With Love,
Barbara
You wait, now in the overcrowded holiday season packed converted 'waiting area' of the airport, never designed for the post security measures crowd. Then, at once, emotion floods. Your loved one is there. In the flesh, huggable, touchable, kissable.
Such was the case last night. I was posting away on a site. It has a GBLT area. I saw a couple of posts by a young transperson, and Barbara's heart when out to her. Just like that I was back. Tender heart, vulnerable, feeling lovely. No clothing, no make-up, no wig for the transformation, I just was. I nearly cried. I am a bit teary right about it now. I have been trying to get back to Barbara for sometime without success. I waxed my legs, she didn't appear. I bought some femme items I could feel her hovering near us at the thrift store, but she stayed just out reach. I went on to www.crossdressers.com
and re-connected with treasured friends there. I felt their warmth and welcome. But not Barbara.
I thought for a while with the new open communication that Dee and I have had with each other especially sexually lately that perhaps Barbara was all a dream, or a device, or a temporary blessing to get us through some tough times. I wondered if I was somehow a fraud. A dude in a dress acting out a kink just for a cheap sexual thrill.
I sit here, tears rolling down my cheeks, happy and soft. As Barbara. Still not playing dress-up, but I could. Dee just said its a shame we are broke. It would be a great time to go shopping. (Barbara is a bit looser with the purse strings.)
This morning I logged into my email and say a sweet note from my (Barbara's) big sister Paige. I've not said much about her in my blog, but despite the fact that my male side is older, Paige will always be my big sister. She so kindly led the teenage, giddy, scared, Barbara by the hand carefully out of the closet and into the beautiful light of day. Thanks, Paige, I've missed you also.
I have always met good friends in my travels. I have another adoptive big sister that seems to serve as a substitute for my actual sister that, sadly I am estranged from. Jessica seems to serve as sister to both my male side and my female side and helps me to connect with the authentic me no matter where I am on any given day on my own personal trangendered sliding scale. Thanks for the overburdened ear, Jessica.
And of course Dee is there through it all. When my gender repression probably erupts out as male irritability, when I am feeling pretty, when I am feeling silly, when I am dead sexy. Love you Dee.
With Love,
Barbara
Thursday, December 20, 2007
The Care and Maintenance of Barbara
I have neglected the blog here as my few regular readers may have noticed. This is more an indicator of my neglect of my entire Barbara persona than lack of interest in writing or blogging in general.
It seems to have started when I realized that I was constrained by circumstances outside of myself from maintaining Barbara's smooth legs. In male mode its the thing I would notice first so naturally it is one f the things that defines Barbara. Seems silly given that I went decades without really wanting to shave, that I would feel angst at all about it. I think though that crossdressing is a progressive condition. The more involved your preparations are for transforming yourself get the higher the bar is set. Once I saw myself in a skirt, mere pantyhose wasn't going to suffice. Add another layer of a wig and make-up and tasteful clothes, and that becomes the point where I feel like Barbara. I still like the soft satiny feel of a nice pair of panties but that is a comfort to my male side, not really anymore a step towards feeling en femme as it was in the past.
As I said in a previous post realizing how much I missed smooth legs scared me a little. If I miss it is important. If so I have to re-evaluate in my heart and mind where it is I fit in on the spectrum of wants, needs and behaviors that is described as "being trans-gendered". I like to believe that I am a fetishist. Why than the angst at doing without that that I did nicely without for so long in the past? Why is is such a comfort. Why is it less and less of a sexual thrill, while maintaining its allure in indescribable ways? And most un-answerable, what does any of this mean now and especially in the future. If I dress more will I be sated or demand ever-more?
Tonight I was going through my closet sorting a bit. I have skirts that I purchased after I had lose 20 lbs and a couple of sizes that are now much to big. This one skirt is cute and I never really ever wore it. It is a size 12 wrap-around reversible skirt. green plaid on one side a green floral print on the other. Even the label is cleverly reversible. I wrapped it around me and tucked it in to itself. (The skirt! not well the other!) I wore it as I surfed the net and spent some time on an adult site that my wife and I have been enjoying together as of late. It felt nice to be so, and it seemed silly I don;t dress just for emotional comfort. Whether that sates me or raises my desire to dress more shouldn't be the criterion for whether I dress or to what degree.
As I vacillate about these issues I can feel Barbara slipping away, and it makes me sad.Best evidence of this is the fact that I can't get her out of third person.
It seems to have started when I realized that I was constrained by circumstances outside of myself from maintaining Barbara's smooth legs. In male mode its the thing I would notice first so naturally it is one f the things that defines Barbara. Seems silly given that I went decades without really wanting to shave, that I would feel angst at all about it. I think though that crossdressing is a progressive condition. The more involved your preparations are for transforming yourself get the higher the bar is set. Once I saw myself in a skirt, mere pantyhose wasn't going to suffice. Add another layer of a wig and make-up and tasteful clothes, and that becomes the point where I feel like Barbara. I still like the soft satiny feel of a nice pair of panties but that is a comfort to my male side, not really anymore a step towards feeling en femme as it was in the past.
As I said in a previous post realizing how much I missed smooth legs scared me a little. If I miss it is important. If so I have to re-evaluate in my heart and mind where it is I fit in on the spectrum of wants, needs and behaviors that is described as "being trans-gendered". I like to believe that I am a fetishist. Why than the angst at doing without that that I did nicely without for so long in the past? Why is is such a comfort. Why is it less and less of a sexual thrill, while maintaining its allure in indescribable ways? And most un-answerable, what does any of this mean now and especially in the future. If I dress more will I be sated or demand ever-more?
Tonight I was going through my closet sorting a bit. I have skirts that I purchased after I had lose 20 lbs and a couple of sizes that are now much to big. This one skirt is cute and I never really ever wore it. It is a size 12 wrap-around reversible skirt. green plaid on one side a green floral print on the other. Even the label is cleverly reversible. I wrapped it around me and tucked it in to itself. (The skirt! not well the other!) I wore it as I surfed the net and spent some time on an adult site that my wife and I have been enjoying together as of late. It felt nice to be so, and it seemed silly I don;t dress just for emotional comfort. Whether that sates me or raises my desire to dress more shouldn't be the criterion for whether I dress or to what degree.
As I vacillate about these issues I can feel Barbara slipping away, and it makes me sad.Best evidence of this is the fact that I can't get her out of third person.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Big Brother in Heels.
The boy came into our room and without pre-amble grabbed a pair of heels from the closet door. This time, apparently in a more conservative mood, got a pair that actually WAS my wife's. He usually prefers mine as they are a little more camp.
He slung a long Tigger-like toy around his neck like a mink stole. He attached anther stuffed animal to his forehead using a large rubber band. He clomped and posed and generally had fun.
He was trying to attract the attention of the toddler. My wife asked him if he is playing the sister or is he just the big brother in heels? Without hesitation he said, the big brother in heels. Its just fun, as it should be.
He is so getting his own pair of heels for Christmas. We already bought them on dollar day, they are tiny like size 5 probably, but with a 3-4 inch heel. So that they are available but not obvious they are going to be tucked into a dress-up box we have been working on including a nice waiters jacket, a gangster suit, and various hats, Halloween masks, and just maybe a ball gown..:)
He slung a long Tigger-like toy around his neck like a mink stole. He attached anther stuffed animal to his forehead using a large rubber band. He clomped and posed and generally had fun.
He was trying to attract the attention of the toddler. My wife asked him if he is playing the sister or is he just the big brother in heels? Without hesitation he said, the big brother in heels. Its just fun, as it should be.
He is so getting his own pair of heels for Christmas. We already bought them on dollar day, they are tiny like size 5 probably, but with a 3-4 inch heel. So that they are available but not obvious they are going to be tucked into a dress-up box we have been working on including a nice waiters jacket, a gangster suit, and various hats, Halloween masks, and just maybe a ball gown..:)
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Well hirsute didn't survive the day.
The plan was to take some tasteful manly pictured, before I got around to shaving. The potential babysitters were gone, so we didn't get around to that. I didn't think I was feeling a really strong urge to denude. I figured I would wait until we had a Barbara photo shoot to shave or wax so I'd be as smooth as possible.As things wound down around here I decided, that I'd rather wax than shave and it can be a several session process to get from Sasquatch to smooth and lovely mode. I started with the parts I could reach, my shins and knees, a little of my calves and parts of my thighs. I tried a little of my belly myself. ALWAYS a mistake to try that yourself. Do NOT try this at home, kids. I had Dee help me rip those out, and cajoled her into helping a few more areas. Once I started and could see actual legs for the forest I wanted it all gone. I finally like I usually do gave up and shaved the rest. I left some of the back of my legs for another session.
Spotted one of Dee's nighties on the back of the bathroom door and slipped it on...feels nice to be relatively smooth again. Had to reduce pic size here or you'd see my still partially hairy knees. :)
Went to a thrift store again today...
Bought nothing femme unless you count the Calvin Klein button fly jeans for my manly photo-shoot. I got a pair of Justin Western boots for $7 too. Dee made me pass on a genuine Stetson for $24 not because of price but because it was the official authorized version of by Burt Reynold's in the acclaimed Smokey and the Bandit
Speaking of, I didn't have occasion to outrun any Smokeys on my last trip. I managed a leisurely 75 mph average speed over a distance of 435 miles. Which is pretty impressive if you saw the construction zones, the times I really did slow down through hall the small towns and the no-passing crawls. I never went over 120 miles per hour as I told a nice old lady at the clinic that mentioned she thought I drove a little too fast.The boots were nice and fit well. I wrote about them and the Justin Roper's I found for Dee one night of dumpster diving on my diving blog here.
It wasn't that I wasn't feeling femme at all its just that Barbara has a pretty extensive wardrobe that I haven't been able to wear all of yet, let alone out somewhere.
At one thrift store Dee refused to use the dressing rooms because they had curtains instead of actual lockable doors. I picked a stall to try on the jeans, and noticed a red sparkly medium sized cocktail dress. How fun I thought. At $24 I wasn't going to buy it, but maybe to try on. I sat and was taking off my boots when an older lady stuck her head in my stall and said, "Oh, sorry!" with a blush. Imagine her chagrin if I had been halfway into that cocktail dress. I placed my boots near the front to signal that a manly man was gettin' disrobe-ed in thar'. No one bothered me while I tried on the dress. (It did fit OK but I am not so into the 80's shoulder pads look). Jeans fit, and rather than hassle with changing back I pulled on my boots and transfered my pocket litter to my new jeans. I paid for my old jeans again on the way out making my new ones free, and my old ones cost about $3 total.Since I am STILL under 130 despite eating country-style at my sister-in- law's on my trip, I had some greasy and delicious fish and chips for dinner. All in all a good day.
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