"At least they are not stripper shoes"

My wife explained as she justified her choice of shoes to wear to church this morning.

I just brought a couple (three?) crates of sexy shoes (hers and mine) from home #1 to where we are actually living the very cramped home #2 in the country. (Her home town.)

She made a selections and queried my approval. I gave it but added that they were "little slutty for _______ (small town)"

She smiled, said : " Thats the idea, help bring the town into the 21st century." adding that " At least they aren't quite stripper shoes!"

Technically she doesn't own any stripper shoes.

But I do!

Manly Depilacion

Many crossdressers have a strong desire to denude their bodies of hair as we associate furry with not looking feminine. Most of us are to a greater or lesser extent closeted and worry that the absence of hair will make us look too "femme" and people will KNOW.

On crossdresser forums the subject comes up many times, such as, "If I shave, how quick will it go back to "normal" and will anybody notice in the meanwhile?

The answers of course are , "much sooner than you want" as any born woman could tell you, and "nobody notices."

For example I shaved my arms a month ago on a whim, and oddly the next day a guy did notice and asked me, "Did you shave your arms?" (He is remarkably nearsighted so things in his close field of vision are blown up high res for him.) I did the smart thing without thinking about it and just said "Yes, I did." and remarked on his uncanny vision.

He said, "I did that once and couldn't stand it, because it got so itchy as it started to grow back."

We worry for nothing. He is neither gay, nor (I assume) a crossdresser.

Last night the the equipment I was assigned to operate had Sirius (which is a rarity). Actual working Sirius (even rarer still) . Rarest of rare was that for some reason this one didn't have "objectionbal" channels blocked.

So I had blue comedy, sexy smut, and some things of interest to trannies, i.e. Cosmo, and the GLBT channel. (although typically we are thrown in there as an after thought initial and only mentioned in passing and then only gay drag performers.

So I listened anyway.

On a gay radio program with a gay male host and a female lesbian host, they went to commercial and a female voice came on advertising the latest and greatest in male hair removal grooming aids. They extolled its many virtues including how "girls shouldn't have all the cool gadgets for hair removal" and that this one had rugged manly styling of its case.

Keep in mind they are advertising this to gay guys (who really actually for the most part have no interest in looking femme or those that do.) Why then, does the stereo-type of fem guy equals gay guy persist?

I was laughing out loud as I sat, a rugged heterosexual in an immense piece of equipment 24 feet off the ground, wearing girls "boy-cut" jeans covering my partially smooth legs. I had just that morning before I went to bed started the arduous process of self-waxing.

I have never known a woman to go through the pain and awkward gyrations involved with self-inflicted leg waxing, but the box seemed to imply they do.

Would it work better if they had some well-muscled gay dude on the box?

My quanderay over sexuality and crossdressing.

I am well aware that there is an ardent following of tranny porn afficiandos. I have run accross such things in my porn-y travels over the years, prior to my realization that I myself fit into that general genre, and was at most time somewhat disturbed, occaisonally fascinated.

I recall the first time I saw some and found it arousing, then conflicting. It was a short video clip I downloaded using a file sharing service. In it a handsome man is making out with an attractive woman, fondling her breasts next to a bed. As the camera pans back, you realize there is another woman on the bed and she is sucking the first woman's cock. Oops. was not at all sure what to make of my reaction. Now I would be a bit more openminded about the whole thing. Kind of wished I had that clip, so hastilly deleted.

Barbara was formed in my mind (but without a name) in very early pre-pubescent days and therefore doesnt have a very well fleshed out (pardon the pun) sense of sexuality, healthy or otherwise. This has been good in some ways because it has allowed me to explore the transgendered issues aside from any sexual context.

I can;t see this bloig ever turning into a tranny porn site, but there is a part of me that is intrigued with the idea of doing some. If I ever do, I suspect I will submit such to other random sites or start another (5th) blog fro such purpose. Funny to consider that I may have to resort to some sort of disguise to protect my female persona as she has developed.

The other day, Dee expressed interest in taking some raunchy Barbara poses. (No, don't write in asking to see them, as I am 200 miles away - it didnt happen.) One of the problems with this idea is that as far as I know the vast majority of tranny-fanciers are straight men. (No, I don;' get that either.) As I seem to be devoutly gyno-phyllic, that makes for a bit of a mismatch between performer and fans.

It led to some interesting discussions and apparently some homo-erotic musing/dreaming/fantasizing on her part. Even though that doesnt seem to be my thing, it was hot to hear how into the fantasy she was. Without losing the relatively work-friendly fell of this blog, I will say it involved a series of scenarios where she and "Barbara" interacted with another crossdresser. In her version Barbara was a much more active and giving participant than I myself can ever actually imagine her being in such a scene. I think in such a scene Barbara would be much more of a pillow queen. Funny, though. If Barbara were ever to be invited to an actual lesbian scene, she would be far from a pillow queen there. Rambling here, kind of random musing about this lately.

A year later...

Not sure what I want to write here so this is starting out as a place holder. It was the first week of may 2007 when I bought my first fem item and admitted it was for myself. (It was a pair of clear-heeled stripper shoes.) My awakening started when I read a post in an online forum that pointed out that a bi-sexual girl and a crossdressing guy could be a good fit. I knew my wife had some bi-tendancies so, it rang some bells and made me connect some seemingly dissassociated crossdressing events in my life.

I wanted to post about some of the differences in myself, my wife, our marriage, and our online lives that came about all because of that post I read. I'll think about it and edit this later.

Challenges in eating healthy.

I had a rare day off today as I have been working insane amounts of overtime. I was in camp rather than in the field for lunchtime so I headed to the mess hall. I have mentioned before that our chefs apparently learned to cook in the oil fields and don't spare the butter.

Today's menu? I decided to skip the rice, beef stew with phyllo (sp) sheet topping, and the canned veg-all. The baked tillapia, roasted new potatoes, and green beens sounded healthy. Not so it seems. The tillapia was apparently dipped in melted butter and dredged in bread crumbs. Tasty, but not particularly lo-cal. The green beans? Cooked in bacon grease with chopped bacon thrown in for good measure. The potatoes drizzled with melted butter naturally. I really should peek in the back and see if Paula Deen is back there doling out the butter by the pound.

I decided to add a salad. The "healthy" choice was a full-fat version of a house Italian. I decided some field expedient tranny diet dressing was in order. I squeezed some lemon wedges intended for their heavily sweetened iced tea over the salad first. Then I dusted it with Splenda and a little salt and pepper. Tasty and virtually no calories. I am going to have to start cooking in my room or risk plumping out of the juniors department range.

I am now about 10 lbs OVER my drivers licence weight having come up here about 4 months ago 10 lbs light. Not the right direction to go if I want to wriggle into some of those dresses in the new post-prom-ball-gown-thrift-store-season.

Engineered Dimensions.

I was in engineer mode today whilst operating my equipment. Imagining again if I were en femme. I got to thinking about breast forms (which I don't have...Barbara is in my mind kind of a sporty flat chested gall, but forms would balance out my manly shoulders a bit......)

I devised a method for sculpting breasts, and making a mold and then casting...Probably wont ever get around to it but I had the methodology figured. So the question is since I was in engineering mode, thats typically (for me) my male side, so was I in Barbara mode, or perhaps nicely integrated?

Gender Divisions and Expectations.

So it finally happened. My youngest boy that I have written about previously, wondering if like father like son he has any trans issues, has been indoctrinated by society about what is appropriate garb for a male.

In my last visit home, I was relaxing in a post coitus fog, when Dee reached for a bottle of a very summery-orange nail polish. This particular shade wasn't one I would have thought to pick, nor probably her. It came courtesy of a good friend who sent his stash when he decided he didn't want to dress anymore. She cradled a foot in her lap and began carefully applying the polish. It looked good, I thouhgt especially later when she pulled out my Charlotte Russe gold strappy sandal heels and placed them on my feet. We actually ended up getting pretty kinky with both the painted toes and the shoe it self. I don't think that Charlotte had devised them as either a marital aid or a workable paddle, but they did suit both purposes well, but I digress here.

I was down in the kitchen kneading some bread dough barefoot, when the boy happened to notice. Mind you, this is the same boy that DELIGHTS in wearing mom's (really mine) heels and his sisters dresses and a wig. "That's GROSS!!!!" he announced, pointing to my coppery orange toes.

"What?" I patiently and and innocently asked.

"Your toes!" he exclaimed. "They have fingernail polish on them! That's for girls!" he proclaimed and began in a singsong voice to ask.."Do you want to be a girl?"

"Who says polish is only for girls?" I ask.

"It just is." The nine-year-old persisted "Girls wear that."

The eleven year old tomboy who has been quietly talked to about teasing her brother shen he wears heels or a wig, surprised me by jumping in.

"What does it matter?" she asked "It's just paint."

She went on to mention without being hateful about it the times he has crossdressed and that its fun and that clothes don't mean anything. She pointed out that Scotts wear kilts. This last was interesting since I don't recall any of us pointing that out to her in any prior conversations.

I saw a bit of recognition in her eyes that she knew this was more than paint, but its hard to tell if I was projecting. Interesting how ingrained these gender roles are in our society. I doubt he and his friends have ever had a conversation about what is and isn't acceptable for a guy to wear, and I know that conversation never took place in our home, yet there the bias is.

I am back at the residence campus where I live with 500 other men, mostly pretty rough and rugged manly macho types in appearance anyway. I left the polish on. It contrasts nicely with my blue shower shoes.

My Trannydar may be a little overly sensitive...

Today there was a training class for 140 people. Usually I see everyone in hard hats, ball caps, baggy coats and ugly safety vests.

Today I saw more of peoples personalities a bit. Women who I had never seen in makeup wore some, guys who usually don't, shaved. I saw a guy with long hair with some really weird red almost parachute pants but with chains and mesh pockets and odd details like that, almost biker leathers but bright red?

So he turned and I caught a glimpse of sparse chin scruff. really no more than you see on a teenage boy trying out his first month without shaving since he started shaving the few he has...

He turned and I thought no more about him until later when we were settled in our seats. She turned a bit and her chin was hidden and all I saw was well cared for skin, plucked eyebrows in a definite fem arch, and long hair. I was convinced in an instant that she was a transgendered person. My only puzzle was is she a natal born male taking some hormones that are retarding hair growth or is he a natal born female taking the early doses of T to gain some masculine traits...

Either way, this person did androgyny better than anyone I have seen in a while..

Perplexing....

Today I was in Barbara mode again and I wonder if that had any impact on a really weird incident today.

This project I am involved with is huge, there are hundreds of operators on various pieces of equipment. I'd guess about 1/3 are women, and of those there are a few, though certainly not the majority that would have elicited wolf whistles from construction workers a couple of decades ago. This sort of behavior isn't tolerated of course, but you hear flirtatious tones going both ways on the radio at times.

I arrived at a destination to do a job and backed in slightly before another operator. As they started to back alongside me, the individual who had control of that section of the project called out to the person following me and said to give me enough room to pull out. (They had, but it was just a safety concern because of size, proximity, weight, height, soft material below, etc. Better safe than sorry.) I thought nothing at the time of it since such instructions are routine. My impression was that the operator beside me was also male. The person calling out the warning said "Move over a bit and leave 123 enough room so he can pull out when he is done." Now, the he could have been referring generically, and is usually how we speak of the combo of a piece of equipment and its driver. Like as in , "Oh, go on around the 456, he is locked down." even if the operator is a woman.

So as I was leaving, with my piece of equipment between the man running the equipment managing that area and the second operator, he came out on his deck and waved, and raised his shirt with a grin in the universal, "show me you tits" international sign language. As Barbara, I went ahead and gave him a grin back and a wave and drove off shaking my head. I had actually thought of bringing a wig and wearing it under my hard hat. In this case though my military looking high and tight hair style was mostly hidden by the hard hat as would a woman's hai with her hair tucked up as many do. Wen you add tinted safety glasses, my small frame, thin arms, and whatever body language I was giving off by my posture, you can see how he could make the mistake.

I had no interest in correcting him as such an incident would both embarrass him, and provide fodder for those that might want to in good fun take a poke at my perceived manliness. I took an operator break thereafter and sashayed off my truck and called Dee to tell her about it. With a wan smile on my face, I decided to continue the "act". I doubt he could gain much of an impression from the several hundred yards away I was but it gave me a grin to keep it up. I walked more or less normally but with arms loose by my side, palms a bit forward. I let a little swing in my hips, careful not to get carried away with it since that is a skill I just don;t seem to have a natural knack for. When I want to walk like a girl, I just unlearn all the rigid ways I learned to hold my body to "walk like a man". I did a bit of a Donna Reed in reverse gliding up the stairs to my cab, and motored away.

All in all it was interesting.

It reminded me of the day I was feeling "Barbara-ish" and gave the fey wave to the girl in the cab adjacent to me. At the time when she waved back similarly, I didn't think she in anyway would have assumed I was a girl too, but now I wonder.

Barbara has been visiting.

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

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?