Tag Archives: make-over

Making a list, checking it more than twice

Keeping a secret can be tricky, not to mention at times downright tiring. I’ve kept many over the years though most are only temporarily withheld, like both of my wife’s pregnancies for instance. With them after several weeks you could eventually go ‘Ta da!’. My cross-dressing secret is not one of them and I’m guessing that’s the same for most folk with similar tranny tendencies. The fact that is so elicit adds to it for sure but I find it growing tiresome as I get older. You want to share it. There are open-minded people out there. I feel very fortunate  to count several amongst my friends. But who do you tell?


I made a provisional list in my mind around the time I confessed to my wife. Whilst some of the names came easily it soon became clear that it was simpler to compile a list of people I wouldn’t tell. I feel for me that’s a no-brainer, I’d place the majority of my family on that one. There is a part of me that would like to be able to confide in my sister but I happen to remember some previous conversations that she is rather down on trannies.

At present I have come out to a grand total of 10 people – no blood relations. I would consider all of them close friends. They are predominantly women so there’s only 3 of them who are men. In pondering my motives for this I concluded it’s partly so I can have conversations about style and fashion without being judged. I so want to join in these types of conversations because I feel like I’d be able to contribute to them and I’m a little sad that that’s one whole avenue of conversation that is blocked off. Where I work at present I am surrounded by women and I have no doubt this has somehow convinced me to open up a bit more on the subject, to a select few of course. I consider myself sufficiently close to a couple of ladies at work to invite them into this exclusive club. A club is exactly what it is and mine is indeed exclusive, though there are a few more people on the ‘pending’ list so we shall see.


The above picture is from during the week when I had an opportunity to dress but could not be bothered with make-up – but I don’t look too bad I think 😉

CD Dreams

Years ago, I read a very interesting William Burroughs book in which he recounted his dreams. In this book, ‘My Education: A Book of Dreams’ he described in murky detail his brain’s night time ramblings, neuroses, fears and a host of other odd situations. I thought I’d love to do that too! Around this time I was in my cannabis phase and my mind was ablaze with freaky and far out thoughts and my dreams were no exception. I endeavoured to make sure there was paper and a pen by my bedside so that as I awoke I could immediately scribble down whatever I could remember. I had this vain hope I’d have a bestseller on my hands. After a couple of weeks though it became clear that perhaps people shouldn’t be allowed to see what I’d dreamt about.

You may have guessed, the title of this blog may have given it away.

In amongst the usual dreams of teeth loss and journeys I embarked upon that never ended there were dreams that contained varying hints of transvestism. The gyst of one of the ones I wrote down was this: a new law had been passed at school. Everyone (including boys) had to wear skirts. I acquiesced to this with a certain amount of reluctance but as it was passed down from on high I had to.


Ah, cd dreams. I’m assuming every other cross-dresser has them. I know I do and sometimes it’s the trigger for another ‘session’. In fact I had one the other night. In this one, a band I was in was having photos taken for the front cover of our album. The band in question was a sort of hybrid of various bands I’ve been in over the years. A typical dream distortion. I ended up in a short but elegantly smart black dress and luscious long red hair for no discernable reason – and nobody minded. This is not so typical of my cd dreams. The ones I half remember from recent years do involve me really going for it in public and social situations and reactions are not too positive. I should point out too that for me it’s like a variation on the ‘suddenly naked’ dream. You know except that instead of being suddenly naked I’m suddenly en femme. There was a more subtle one the following night when I removed my socks in the dream and my toe nails were still painted (as they are right now). A dark blue colour, one of only 2 shades of polish I have. My Mum enquired after them but I claimed it was a remedy for athlete’s foot I was trying out. That was something I subconsciously borrowed from a film called ‘Just Like a Woman’. If you haven’t seen it it’s worth a look. One of the few films I’ve seen where the transvestite main character is portrayed sympathetically and isn’t played solely for laughs.

I do like my cd dreams on the whole, especially these days where I have began to gain a little acceptance and try to enjoy it without any of the attendant guilt or anxiety. I’d really like to hear examples of other people’s if they’d be willing to share!


One last thing, nothing to do with dreams at all. The onset of Easter has reminded me of something that may interest you. When I was younger I found an intriguing use for discarded Easter Egg packaging. I discovered it was possible to create fake boobs out of the clear plastic part that protected the egg. I think it was Cadbury in particular that had the best shape. It was already split in two for you so little or no trimming was needed. I often wonder if I was alone in this…


A wig and a song!

I’ve always loved the written word, and it’s only music I love more. That I have more or less mastered to the best of my ability. Words and their usage is still a developing area. They can create whole words from nothing – now that’s immensely powerful. My awe of them has led me to aspire to master them. That’s one of the reasons I decided to start a blog, outwith songs I always had some difficulty deciding what to actually write about. It became clear that I should write about what I know, which seems a partial contradiction as I don’t really know why I crossdress. There was a smal shard of of hope though that through writing it all down I could pick through it and examine the fragments.

The latest news in Anna’s world is the arrival of 2 new wigs. Since the great purge of 2010 I have been (mostly in vain) trying to find a suitable replacement red wig. This attempt I’ll admit was not an ecstatic success but the closest I’m probably going to get, hence why I greedily ordered 2 different types. A nice shoulder length strawberry blonde (read: ginger) one that brings back fond memories of a girl I used to sit next to in 3rd year maths. Only years later did I discover that she felt the same about me. To be wistful and harbour little regrets like this is inappropriate but I’m only human after all.


The other wig is a longer red one but the tone is more…crimson for want of a better description. It looks a bit more fake than the ginger one and kind of makes me look more than a little bit like a Pussycat Doll. The longest serving one, I cannot recall her name at the moment. But it sits nice and cascades beautifully over the sides of my face, past my shoulders creeping a little down my back.


I’ve only had a brief try out session with them as I inevitably reached for my brown one, that’s probably the one that’s the most ‘me’. Not a lot of opportunities just now as I am trying my best to be reasonable. There have been ill-feelings towards my habit of late in the house, partly due to the fact that I owned up to my wife about the breast forms I purchased. She can’t understand and I can empathise with that. Another thing was a song I wrote a few weeks ago that I called ‘All dressed up and nowhere to go’. I hadn’t intended to write a song celebrating the joys of transvestism – it just turned out that way. I was really pleased with it but upon hearing the finished article, on track 8 of my new album, she flipped! Understandably so, it is ever so easy to be self-absorbed in both my music and my crossdressing. I hastily rewrote it and called it ‘The Elephant’ but after a few days it was no longer hot topic so I shrugged and decided I’d get away with it. Not many people would probably hear it I thought – I’m not especially well known. Some of the people who know would get it, laugh perhaps, then move on. Other people who don’t know may not necessarily always pay attention to lyrics and if they do hopefully it’s tongue-in-cheek enough to not invite serious suspicion.

Here is the song in question, followed by a transcription of the lyrics…and pictures of me with short black hair;




I found a window in my Diary

time to myself is a finite luxury

shaved my legs and shaved my face

so bring on the satin – bring on the lace uh huh huh

I’ll draw the curtains and the blinds real tight

I don’t want anyone to see me tonight

you ask me why my heels are high

and why I can’t just be a guy?

Do my eyeliner with particular care

I’m getting better – now what should I wear?

the transformation is almost complete

I bet you didn’t think I could look this sweet uh huh huh!

Another choice now – redhead or brunette?

I’m going to be the hottest girl you never met

I’m very greatful and feel very blessed

to get to lounge around in my favourite dress




Boobies Update

I am very happy to report that I needn’t have worried about my imminent package – it arrived safely the same day I wrote my previous post. I was surprised about how heavy they were and how well they moved and felt. But by far the most amazing thing about them is that they aren’t exactly what I ordered. I had only ordered standard breast forms with a concave back. These bad boys came with detachable straps so that I can wear them sans bra.


It’s fair to say that I have been grinning ever since and cannot wait to wear them in context. I was only able to steal a small amount of time in the bathroom to try them out. I wore a blue sheer top to test them for under clothing shape, buoyancy and touchy feely. They passed with flying colours and I’m a little ashamed to admit I felt a powerful erotic charge from them. Even thinking about them just now makes me giddy with excitement. I read that they warm to your body temperature once you’ve had them on for a while. They are going to be so distracting, I won’t be able to stop touching them or lightly bouncing up and down!

I’m as giddy as a schoolgirl x

Betty & Boobies

One thing I’ve never done and harbour a mild desire to do is actually meet other cross-dressers. I’ve seen photos online of them meeting up so I know it happens. I’ve also read it in a book I got not long after I confessed to my wife. It was called ‘My Husband Betty’ and it was written under the pseudonym Helen Boyd by the wife of a cd in America. It seemed like a good idea at the time – I thought we could both read it and it could maybe put our minds at ease a little. Demystify it as it were. I elected to read it first as I have more opportunities to read than my wife who is often running around after our daughter and running a household. Also I felt I should vet it in some way as I had the feeling it may not do what I thought it would. It made for insightful and uncomfortable reading at times. Some of it didn’t really apply to me which I expected  as I guess the author was painting a very broad picture.



I was particularly intrigued by the concept of ‘girl substitution’. I didn’t have a girlfriend until my late teens and I think I may have done that on and off for a while prior to that. What I mean is that in the absence of a girlfriend I effectively created my own – though I didn’t get to spend as much time with her as I’d have liked. I read the whole book in a matter of days, even the bits that I didn’t think I needed to. My wife made a start on it but it seemed to make her uncomfortable. What must have been going through her mind? She may have wondered how much I have played it down for her. She would only read it when I was nearby. I don’t suppose it helped that ‘Betty’, the husband in the book, actually began to transition some time after the book was published and that is the subject of another tome entitled ‘She’s not the man I married’. Suffice to say my wife never got past the first couple of chapters and where I thought there’d be frank and adult discussion there was nothing. At that point for perhaps selfish reasons it made me wish I’d told her a lot earlier. We could have went shopping together without the kids (as there would have been none then) and I could have dressed more about the house with ease and without anxiety and that bastard guilt. I do try not to dwell on these things so I can live in the now. Everyone’s allowed a harmless bit of introspection now and then I think. I can look back and see there are stages I have gone through and every so often the ante gets upped. I liken it to when I got into Pink Floyd and eventually had all the albums and a healthy stack of bootlegs. From one CD grew a whole collection. I don’t suppose meeting with others is on the cards any time soon.



The next landmark will definitely be the breast forms I ordered off Amazon last week, they’re a C cup if you’re interested. I cannot wait to get my grubby little hands on them. I’ve been looking for the package every night this week when I’ve arrived home. I really can’t wait to put them in place in a nice bra with a freshly shaved chest. I don’t think I can fully rest till they’re here, they’re probably the riskiest thing I’ve ever ordered. Wigs, corsets and underwear ain’t got nothing on these bad boys. It’s a new company that’s selling them and they don’t have a rating yet so I really hope I’m not their first mistake.


Stepping Out

There are certain pictures I took around 2006/2007 that still stand as being favourites. I was lucky that at that time I had a day off during the week and when I wasn’t doing musical explorations I was exploring my feminine side. I practised my make-up as well as that was something I had only dabbled in a little bit before. These days I use very little make-up and tend to go for a more natural look. Usually just foundation, lipstick, eye-liner and mascara (rarely use eye-shadow). I tend to favour liquid eye-liner done in the winged style and only on my top lid. A nod to those classy sixties ladies you always see in old photos like Catherine Denueve. I don’t have a definitive bra size though they mostly seem to be C cups. Most of my bras are cast off’s, having only ever bought one myself, an attractive blue and pink lacey one with matching thong. I love thongs! I’m one for ‘tucking’ and a nice tight thong usually keeps ‘him’ in place. I’ve always tucked. I know not everyone does – I wonder if that guy from ‘The Silence of the Lambs’ put them off! I always thought it completes the look, erasing the last vestiges of masculinity (after shaving of course). It is possible to hide the testicles as well by literally manoeuvring them back up from whence they originated. Really sorry to put that image in your mind but I promised myself I was going to be as frank as possible here. ImageGrrrrrrr! ImageOne day I’ll perfect the art of smiling Going outside dressed is another area that’s interesting to me. I’m sure it’s one of the things that most cross-dressers really desire to do. To be able to walk about freely, feel the wind on your legs and under your skirt, the click of your heels on the pavement. It’s brilliant – though terrifying at the same time. In the last year I’ve gone out for a walk late at night around 6 times, and with each sojourn have grown more courageous and spent longer wondering. I don’t go far, around the block usually but I’ve varied my route each time. No subsequent jaunt can ever match that first one for sheer excitement. I had been out once before when I was younger but if you recall that didn’t end or begin well. This time I had keys with me! When the door closed I felt so alive. I was wearing a random top, scarf, pleated black skirt (a la Zooey Deschanel – above the knee obviously), black tights (80 denier) and brown knee high boots. I didn’t have a bag to complete the look sadly so I had to make do with one of my man bags turned the other way. I was only out for about 15 minutes but it was a massive adrenaline rush, especially when I hit a main road. I passed a couple waiting for a bus and instantly wondered if they’d sussed me. I’d like to think that as I passed the man stole another look as my skirt swished from side to side with the swagger that my heeled boots gave me. I was cautious to brush my hair more forward than usual, just incase anyone got too close a look. I know I can’t fool everybody. I find it really weird that I should think that – I don’t fancy men in the slightest but the idea of male attention just adds an extra frisson. It’s one of the odder quirks of this whole thing though it’s not an overriding desire. I would have no intention of fulfilling that one. I don’t actively seek males out, though they’re invariably a hazard online. Some of them are sweet and some of them are downright pushy. Image Image As I write I have entered a period where it is getting harder to grab some femme time. I’m not totally fazed by this as it makes it all the more special when it does happen. But I still long for it and am even starting to calculate when this next opportunity may arise. What I particularly like is when I get an evening –  a rarity indeed. My wife and kids periodically stay over at her mother and father’s and that’s probably my favourite time. I always think of cross-dressing as a night time activity, under the cover of darkness. Though day time is fine, my imperfections are less evident by lamplight and the cathode (well, LED these days) glow. I might watch a film or catch up online, nothing sinister. Maybe a little spot of housework. Every now and then catching my reflection and getting a little thrill from it. Who is this mysterious woman staring back at me? Truth is it’s just me, she’s no different. I never gave her a name for years and the only reason I did was so I could set up a My Space profile. ‘Secret Poet’ was a title from my notebook that seemed to fit – my secret self. I’ve never considered changing it as I’ve no real need to and I’m too used to it now. I’m often interested how other ‘girls’ got their names and have asked on numerous occasions. Much like I also find it interesting how couples met. I always like those stories. They vary so wildly sometimes. The origins of femme names are no different. Like I said at the beginning I named myself after a Page 3 girl  – I think she’s moved on now. The particular picture I seen her in was an incredible feast for the eyes. It was a classic pin-up style shoot and all the regulars of the day were done up in period make-up and vintage looking undergarments. Anna was the only one showing her posterior to any degree and I do love a posterior! White thong and suspenders set it off nicely but needn’t have been there. I always remember that image while the other ones have all faded from memory. I think it was for the Sun 2006 calendar. ImageGood night! x


Anna isn’t my real name. It’s a girl’s name I chose pretty much at random – from a Page 3 girl as I recall. You see I’m a man that for some undefined reason derives considerable pleasure in transforming himself into a woman. This change is entirely on the surface and does not extend to my mind, I am basically just a man in a dress. It’s a hobby – an odd one perhaps – but through years of practice I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it.

Below are two examples from two different periods in time.

2005 and 2013



I can’t be certain for exactly how long I have been doing it. I have a rather vivid memory from sometime in the mid-80’s of trying on a pair of my mother’s heels. It’s fair to say I was hooked instantly. I’m sure my story from then on is similar to everyone else’s, raiding the washing basket for clothes, trying out different things and building up a sense of style and self. Though I feel I should point out early on that I do not desire to become a woman. This is important though makes more difficult to explain or justify (even to myself) why I do it. I just really enjoy the process and especially enjoy the end result.

Cross-dressing is the biggest secret I’ve ever kept and I indeed managed to to hide it successfully for many years. It pales my other secrets into comparison, such as they are. I would love not to hide it but I feel most people are not ready for that bombshell. I did eventually decide to confide in my wife but I’ll admit it was mainly so that she didn’t find out in some other unfortunate way. There was always the possibility no matter how careful or diligent I may think myself. She was genuinely surprised! I had been mulling it over and building up to confessing for a week or so but I still felt sick the moment the words left my mouth. I told her I’d try my best to answer any questions she had about it as I was not sure where to begin. Amongst her major concerns were ‘was I gay?’ and ‘do I want to become a woman?’. I assured her it was a most emphatic negative on both counts but I suppose even then her fears and worries may never fully be at rest.

I contrived to arrange a meeting of sorts, my wife had offered to give me a make-up lesson. I accepted and one night a while later when my little girl was in bed she set to work. I learnt about moisturising but to be honest I didn’t learn anything else. After this I really wanted to get dressed up to show her how seriously I take my look. I donned my smartest (and I’ll admit my most low-cut) black top, black pleated skirt (above the knee of course), black tights and my black 4 inch heels. I was a vision in black, very existential! She had the good grace to say I had nice legs but it must have a little difficult to deal with. Effectively I feel that I was threatening her femininity and since then she begun to wear more skirts. At Christmas that year she bought me a top as a little extra present. It’s a bit like something that Florence Welch would wear so I like it (though haven’t worked it into a definitive outfit yet I’m afraid). I do appreciate the gesture and she also bought me a little black stretchy skirt last year. It’s one of my favourites because it’s quite comfy and a little bit sexy. It certainly makes me more confident about buying her clothes now, especially dresses. We’re certainly more likely to talk about fashion these days but I can’t be certain if this has brought us closer or not. I hope it has as it was one of the main motivations behind my confession.

My wife calls it my ‘thing’ and sometimes it’s my ‘habit’. It’s not in her mind as often as it’s in mine so she can be taken aback when it’s remembered. If I’ve been left alone for a few hours when she’s out and I’m clean shaven upon her return I’m likely to be asked if I’ve done my thing. Very astute. It is often the case, as much as I try not to do it as regularly. Sometimes she’ll ask what I was wearing and I sheepishly oblige with a description. I like it when she’s curious.

Here are a couple of other pictures from the last year, both dresses belonged to my wife and I acquired them during a clear-out of her wardrobe.