I wasn’t going to post this in the light of what happened in Florida early in the week, but then I realised that the only thing I should do is to post. I’d write a blog about my thoughts around the whole ISIL/terrorism/lack of peace in our time but life is too short and too precious to allow the actions of people, and I use that term under duress, who lack the respect for other people’s basic human rights, to taint the life we have.
It was a terrible, unforgivable tragedy and I feel an anger and rage deep inside that, if I let it bubble to the surface, would make me less of the person I am. Unlike the monsters that do these kind of acts I will not let hatred taint my love of the world. I have spent a large proportion of my drab life dealing with this kind of hatred, and hatred begets hatred. The only way to deal is to share the love. I say it at the end of this blog post but I’ll say it here as well – hug someone you love right now, put some warmth back into the world……
Man, I have *such* a Sarah-itch at the moment, and that gets me thinking about a number of things. How to shave my legs without ending up looking like I have suddenly got Measles, the logistics of getting into London at rush-hour with a duffle-bag full of cute clothes and getting across said capital city without giggling too much, staring into the mirror and wondering how a bloke who cares absolutely minimally for appearance gets obsessed with spots in advance of a photo-shoot, you know, all the usuals.
I’ve organised another session very quickly after the last one, partly because I feel the hand of time on my shoulder, and partly because when I leave it for a long time between sessions I get too much time to think about it.
There’s a lot of fun in thinking about dressing up, but if you’re not careful, and you’re like me, your thoughts tend to end up going a little beyond just ‘what will I buy for Sarah’ and into what I call ‘The Twilight Zone’.
‘The Twilight Zone’, as well as being *the* best sci-fi anthology series of all time, bar none, is that zone in my head where sexuality gets a little blurred. I have a good imagination, and when you have the capability and resources to have a fun time with a photoshoot your imagination starts to go a bit ‘what if’.
To me it’s roles. It can’t be just about the clothes, the outward appearance. I want the full works, going deep into Sarah and letting her have some fun.
So what do I mean by role?
To me femininity isn’t just a look, a smell, a feel. It’s a mindset. If you’re going to take the plunge and look feminine what about taking it further? Why not act as well as dress?
But why does it mean so much to me?
Well, therein lies a conundrum. To be honest I think it’s the idea of emasculation. The removal of all things masculine, the surrendering to the feminine urges, the realisation that I can no longer claim to be a red-blooded male.
Which is madness, of course. Sarah is the personification of a feminine aspect of my personality. Even claiming to be a red-blooded male while in the corner of the editor page Sarah looks at me from her wrapping of a green polka-dot tea-dress, seems a little, err, misguided. In fact, talking about her in the third person is just another mechanism of guilt but hell, a girl has to have her flaws.
Whatever it is and wherever it comes from, the idea of giving myself to a role is a deliciously dark fantasy that I enjoy immensely in the dark voids between dressing sessions.
I’m reasonably lucky in that I have no guilt around my sexuality. I boast that I’m hetero, but that just feels like lip-service. It’s more that when I am in drab-mode I’m nearer to asexual. I appreciate feminine beauty, I love my other-half, but I have no compulsion to copulate. Never wanted kids, never lusted after any girls. So I don’t fear homosexuality in the way that normal males seem to. In addition I’ve never contemplated a homosexual relationship.
And neither has Sarah. And Sarah *is* a woman. And that’s the interesting part.
When dressed I have no attraction to men, *but*, and it’s a big but, Sarah does crave the role.
There’s a part of Sarah that wants to flirt. That wants to feel arms around her, that wants to be treated the way I, in drab-mode, thinks a woman would want to be treated by a man. It is as if having a male partner is the ultimate fashion accessory, a mirror that shows Sarah to be even more feminine in comparison.
And hence the roles.
I utterly love dressing as a housewife. Period. I was obsessed with the movie ‘The Stepford Wives’ because it was a role being forced onto a person. So I channel that, like a giggling kid. I want the exaggerated house-femininity, the dresses. I’d like nothing more than to spend all day cleaning, cooking, being something I can *never* be in real-life because of pre-determined physical gender.
And rather than limiting I find it utterly freeing. It’s a thrill to be dressed as the woman of the house, to obsess about the tasks I would need to do.
Maybe that’s my fetish. I read an article once that said that a lot of transvestites love the idea of enforced femininity, the loss of control and the emasculation. In fact the article went on to say that it’s a form of Sadomasochism.
But that’s not how it is for me. I want to give up the stresses, the pressures, the mantle of masculinity that I have to carry every day, if only once in a while. And so part of Sarah’s sessions are always about being a married woman.
So, in the periods between dressing when the urge and the itch rises and falls I’ve considered going above and beyond. Perhaps hiring a male escort for the day for posing and pictures or, in dark and delicious moments, spilling my secret to a close friend I can trust and persuading him to pose and behave as my husband for a day.
But it never goes beyond that, an idle thought, because it would never be as good as I think it could be. For a start I tend to be gregarious, and putting a man into the equation would end up in one of two ways. Either I’d drop the Sarah personality completely and just end up being drab-in-a-dress, joking in the way I do to hide my insecurities. This happened the one and only time I went out dressed, combined with my insatiable urge for wine. Or….
Well, the or is the issue here. What if Sarah came forward, completely took over? Could I trust myself not to submit to her need to fulfil the role? I’m not sure, and that’s another conundrum.
Twenty years ago I’d be appalled internally at the direction of those thoughts. Now I’m middle aged and in classic middle-aged crisis mode I’ve bought the sports-car, contemplated the tattoo, pondered where and what I’ve done with my life.
And here’s another conundrum for you. I think I’m physically attracted to Sarah. Which is both wonderful and bitter-sweet. And maybe just a little insane.
So, I’ll leave you with that. I have a couple of days until my next session, I have cute dresses hanging in my closet ready for Sarah to enjoy, and a beautifully quirky storm in my soul to sit and watch.
Stay beautiful sweeties, hug the ones you love as life is short and you’ll never be here again.
Oh, and if the mood takes you? Be a princess. Always be a princess 🙂