Upping the Auntie, excuse the pun

I never had myself down as a repressed individual. Possibly because I was so repressed that I’d gone out the far side of self-denial, but I’d like to think I wasn’t that easy to distract.

Where was I?

Ah yes, chasing the dragon. I’ve learned some very interesting things about myself since I started this blog so many, many days ago. Firstly, it’s very easy to share. Secondly, it’s very, very easy to share.

Like a doper seeking his next fix I’m trying to work out what to do with all the female hormones and urges racing around inside the cynical old shell that was, until this year, happy to plod on down towards the grave without ever looking carefully into the looking glass.

Hi, my name is Sarah and I’m a transaholic. It’s been four days since my last frock and I….just….need….more.

I’ll pull myself back from the precipice into drama-queendom and explain my master plan for my next rush of excitement. But first I need to explain the situation.

For *eons* Sarah, and the other named feminine personalities I have worn over the years, were my secret. I could talk to people, share emails, go drinking with friends, hug my lover, and all the time she sat behind my eyes, a twinkle that no-one knew about.

I wasn’t, nor am I, ashamed of her, it just didn’t make any sense to be out of the closet. The closet was warm, safe, pink, satin-y. You get the picture.

But then the secret was out, at least to my soul-mate. We talked at length, I explained Sarah’s origin and history, gave my other-half her super-secret membership badge and the rulebook (Rule one, tell no-one. Rule two, no knowing looks or smirks when we watch TV and a trans character comes up. Rule three, tell no-one).

It took two days for her to break rules one and three. It took her four minutes to break rule two but when you watch ‘Orange is the new Black’ you’re never too far from Laverne Cox.

She told her best friend, who is also one of my very few friends.

I don’t blame her and I couldn’t be that angry. She needed to vent and her friend would never tell anyone, so it was out with another super-secret membership badge and a discussion of the rules. I got to share a couple of my most tasteful pictures with our mutual friend, who gleefully told me that ‘you don’t ever do things by half, do you?’.

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It was the above picture which, if you knew me in real life, is about as far as you could possibly get from my drab look without starting to go around the globe and get closer.

That was February, three photo-shoots and lots of fixes ago.

So what about my master-plan?

Well, there’s a small female part of me, deep inside, who is a little bit resentful of my other half’s inability to, you know, keep my darkest and bestest secret safe. Granted, that small female part is very small and I try not to listen to her, but she talks incessantly.

So this Friday i’m meeting up with some of my oldest friends, downing a bottle of the best French Red Wine I can find and then….

I’m going to tell one of them about Sarah.

It does sound like a seriously daft idea. And it is. But I need to tell someone, to share. I could have gone my entire life not telling anyone, but I’m getting the urge to get my fix. And the only way I can see to do that, bar attempting to shave my legs which are already doing a very good impression of a juvenile pair of hedgehogs and chucking myself on a train to London again, is to bring my oldest and best friend into my circle of confidence.

I can’t be glib about it. I’m terrified, I was his best man, I’ve known him since I was 18, I see him rarely but when I do it’s like we have been apart for hours instead of months. When I’ve been down or needed something desperately, he’s always been the one to offer without being prompted. In return I’ve been there for him when he needed it. He’s the closest friend I’ve ever had or ever will have.

And I am utterly terrified. But it feels like something I need to do.

I’ve gone over it in my head and already rejected a number of scenarios. The ‘I’ve got a terrible secret, I’m having an affair’ followed by popping open Sarah’s laptop and showing him the wallpaper, which is me in my navy-blue polkadot ‘going out’ frock. And then joking ‘No, seriously, I’m not having an affair. That’s me dude. Surprise!’.

Nope, that’s not going to work.

The serious talk. Explaining the urges, what I do to address them. Calmly and rationally explaining in a level tone what I do.

Heh, after a bottle of red wine? If I get through the first sentence without cracking up I’d be amazed.

Not doing it at all. That sounds like a good option but hellfire, I *need* this. I need a friend to look at me, look at my pictures, and then look at me again without changing expression.

I need a male confidante. I need one of my friends to talk to about it. And I’ve just looked up he definition of Confidante – “a woman who is a trusted friend : a female confidant”. Ironic doesn’t begin to cover it.

But being serious, it feels like the time. I’m not going to come out to the world in general, at least not yet, but I need to share with someone I respect and someone I can trust.

So stay beautiful, sweeties, and wish me a lot of luck.

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3 thoughts on “Upping the Auntie, excuse the pun

  1. It took two days for her to break rules one and three. It took her four minutes to break rule two but when you watch ‘Orange is the new Black’ you’re never too far from Laverne Cox.

    😀 i know it’s not funny, but it’s also pretty damn funny.

    that is a bold move you have planned, but one i entirely sympathize with. i am busting to come out to someone (besides my therapist and disapproving wife). i don’t really have any close ‘analog’ friends per se, save for my best friend from college, who was the best man at my wedding. i haven’t seen him in ages, and it’s been years since we’ve talked, but when we’ve chatted off and on over the years it always seems like we pick up where we left off. over the past year, i’ve thought more than once about getting in touch and telling him about my new ‘hobby’, seeking that acceptance without judgment from someone who knows me very, very well.

    if you’re planning to do it with pictures, i think you get extra points for degree of difficulty. on the other hand, you could use them to your advantage. without any preface, you could just ask ‘can i show you something?’, and then let the picture speak for itself (you could also add ‘so, this is me…’). i wouldn’t lead with the banana picture. 😉

    well now you’ve got me thinking it may be time to reach out to my college buddy, and at some point slip a link to my flickr photos into an email. i think it would blow his damn mind, but i’m pretty sure he’d be cool with it. and if not, it’s not like we talk that much these days anyway.

    best of luck, though, really! i am 100% behind you. i’ll send you my number, you can call or text me if you need a shot of encouragement when the moment arrives.

    buona fortuna!

    ~ summer

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Telling people and talking about it is great, especially after years of keeping it in. It’s not a crazy idea and I’ll bet you’ve a pretty good idea of who you’ll tell and who you won’t. Even that may surprise you though, it did to me. A fair amount of my work colleagues know now and even my sister! I never thought I’d tell her…she thinks it’s hilarious (in the nicest most possible sense only a sibling can muster) xxx

    Liked by 1 person

  3. If you need a matter-of-fact, no BS way of coming out to a friend, consider the following.

    I decided to come out to my father on my 46th birthday because he and my second stepmother were planning to visit me a couple of months later, and I was tired of hiding an important part of my life and giving up valuable Stephanie time on my day off from work. I live in Houston, Texas, and my father lived a thousand miles away in Denver, Colorado. The plan was from them to fly to Louisiana to celebrate his brother’s golden wedding anniversary, drive a rental car to Houston and see me, then fly back. I could have continued hiding my TG life, but I was finally comfortable with my femme self and weary of living in stealth.

    My 46th birthday happened to fall on a Sunday, and I knew that they would telephone me that afternoon or evening. After the birthday greetings, I asked my father if his offer for me to discuss anything at anytime still held. [Perhaps you have a similar agreement with your friend.] He said yes. I said, “What I have to say is nothing new, but it is something I wish to share and no longer hide. I am transgender.” Silence. “Have you ever heard that term before?” No. I explained that I worked as a male but spent the rest of my life as a girl. Most of my shopping and errands and all of my social life, church, concerts, movies, and other interactions were done with me dressed as a woman head to toe, and I was accepted as such by most people. He said he was surprised and didn’t really understand it, but he still loved me regardless.

    I told him that when he visited me, I would be dressed as Stephanie and that I looked much like my mother. When he saw me, he agreed. My stepmother said I looked very nice, and she was the one who asked me the pronoun question and what to call me. Rather than go out to dinner, I cooked supper for them, and they also got to meet my rather flamboyant TS girlfriend I had at the time. My current, ultra-ladylike, TG girlfriend would be more to their liking. As things turned out, I went full-time about six months later. It was good to finally clear the air about my darkest secret. Much of my adult life was hidden in the shadows. I couldn’t very well tell them about getting stoned, fucking girls, most of what I did in the Army, technical details of the integrated circuits I built, and they weren’t interested in my rock music, model trains, or leftist politics. With so many subjects off-limits, I wasn’t about to tell them that their son was really their daughter. Not until I was ready.

    Liked by 1 person

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