Documenting and it’s Perils

In my formative years I ventured outside a few times – in broad daylight! I didn’t go far you understand but I would never dream of doing that these days. That came to a halt when one night my mother and sister were out for a couple of hours and I managed to lock myself out. I was around 16 I think. So caught up in maintaining a feminine air and lost in all the excitement. All of that vanished the moment the Yale lock snapped shut behind me. That noise will haunt me forever. It was night so I had darkness on my side and I knew I had a couple of hours before anyone returned. Panic set in and I crept round to the back of the house. When I got to the back door I removed my long black wig and all my other clothing except for the tights (it was Winter after all!). I sat on the step and feverishly began to formulate a story. The one I came up with was not exactly watertight but it was the best I could do – I decided that I had gone to take rubbish to the bin and locked myself out. I counted on the fact that I had kept the house mostly in darkness so that when they did return I could tell my tale and shoot inside very very fast. Indeed that’s exactly what happened and it was never mentioned or brought up again. I always wonder what happened to the skirt I was wearing that night, it was long and black with square buttons going up the front. I can’t remember what top I wore for some reason, usually I’ve a good memory for clothes. It is very odd to sit and recall these things and to be writing it all down. More memories rise to the surface of particular dressing times. Clothing that I really liked that I no longer have. Some of them probably wouldn’t fit me now anyway nor fit in with my current style. Social media was definitely a turning point and one that led to me developing my style and becoming ‘executive’. My habit at that time had been locked away but was beginning to call to me again. I had become tired of ignoring it and denying myself so I began to accrue a new collection which included a decent quality wig for once – a short blonde one. I thought I’d give blonde a try, everyone does at some point. Around then (2005) I had a male My Space and it occurred to me that if I set up a female one I could finally get a chance to talk to other TVs and make new friends, compare stories, that type of thing. I duly set about taking some pictures which were just ‘selfies’ on my little Fuji digital camera. It was a basic model without a timer function on it. I’d never photographed my female self for posterity before and it was a learning process I believe I’m still in just now. Especially hard when you’re just outstretching your arm in order to capture yourself. I favour the full body shot, need to get the legs in there (and if at all possible the heels too). My tranny forebears must have been so relieved when digital technology came along. I’d hate to have had to take those kind of pictures along to get developed. Now you can take as many as the memory card will allow and be spared a certain amount of embarrassment, especially if doing this… or this or this or this I spoke to some really nice people online, in and out of character, though it never got so personal as to exchange real names or anything like that. There were plenty of ‘nutters’ as well however. Real deviant types propositioning you and the like. Some of the conversations were amusing, it was best to view them that way and not let them disturb you too much. It got to me initially and did lead to me deleting and remaking my profile a few times. The last one I did may even still be out there somewhere. Some months later we got a new camera and this one had a timer function – 2 seconds or 10 seconds? An odd choice. I choose 10 but it can be too long to hold or strike a pose. You can become distracted or move at the last second and spoil it like this… Not long after that I discovered ebay and before long I was looking at wigs and other things (underwear, nice dresses etc). I got the most gorgeous auburn wig for £30. I loved that wig. It’s in a landfill now probably. I didn’t look after it properly anyway. I didn’t realise you could wash them which is something that I now try to keep on top of. I loved being a redhead most, it seemed to open up more wardrobe possibilities. It may be something to do with the fact that I’ve always had a particular fondness for them. One of my favourite crossdressers from those My Space days was a redhead, she was called Aubrey Frost. I sometimes wonder where she is now (sigh). If you Google Image her you can see what I mean.

Purging and Progressing

I find it interesting how far I’ve come in terms of style and appearance. It was really around 2005 that I began to take it seriously enough to actually get a proper wig and a decent wardrobe. This short blonde wig doesn’t really suit me but I had it for a while and it was good practice.

  

Until then there were countless cycles of of scavenging folk’s cast off clothes and substandard hair…

…and there were the purges. Sad things that they are, within them lie many regrets. I can think of so many items over the years I foolishly relinquished in the hope that I could stop it all. No clothes – no urge. Problem solved. I always remember the one I did in 2010 because it involved my favourite auburn wig.

The box behind me in the picture is where Anna hid for a few years stowed at the bottom of my wardrobe.

  

Try as I might I’ve been unable to find a satisfactory replacement for that one but I live in hope. I have come close. If you’re going to have a purge I suggest not getting rid of everything because it is inevitable that you’ll begin another. If it’s inside of you it will always remain a part of you. I haven’t done it again since but I guess that’s because I went and made myself official.

I have no sexual attachment to dressing which I understand some people have, for me it is not a fetish. It certainly had the potential to early on as I feel sure I remember enjoying my first orgasm during one of these early sessions. I wonder if anyone else  can recall such an event. I can’t be chronologically specific as time has smudged the details but I do know this to be so. Standard masturbation intercepted in time and I suppose I was saved.

As I write, more memories slink forth. I recall with a mixture of shame and delight opportunistically trying on an aunt’s white wedding lingerie – stockings, suspenders and all. I wasn’t caught! How lucky was that? I must have been around 12 or 13 at that point and it was the most amazing feeling. The gentle tugging of the stockings as I walked, their soft and fresh caress of the shape of my legs. I could have worn them all day was it not for the all too present threat of discovery. I peeled them off, neatly folded them and put them back from whence they came.

Discovery is not cool. I have been so lucky over the years with only a couple of close calls to my name. There’s no doubt however it adds to the excitement, much like people who have sex outdoors and in public places.

Next time I’ll maybe recount one of those experiences, until then here’s another suggestive gem from the archives x