transretrogurl

It occurs to me that my blog has, err, taking somewhat of an ’emo’ turn lately, mostly due to massive influxes of adrenaline and fear (going out) and, to be honest, kinda over-doing the fun-time a bit.

So, let’s lighten it up a little. This entry will be the first of a number of entries where I pick a couple of *my* favourite pictures and explain just what the hell I was doing/thinking when I had them done.

Firstly, and it pains me to say this (not really), I am not taking credit for the styling and photography. Those are both the wonderful remit and skills of Cindy at Boys will be Girls. She’s my saviour, without her I’d be just one more desperate bearded confused individual. She’s opened my eyes (and closed them due to the weight of the lashes) to just what can be done with the leather satchel and massively-bagged eyes that make up my face. She’s a wonder – if you get a chance have a session with her. I’m still stunned every time I look at the photos – I can’t believe that is me smiling back from them.

Enough gushing, kudos and love to Cindy.

So I want to provide a couple of photos per blog-entry and go into a lot of depth around what was going on, what I was thinking and why I love the pictures. Plus it gives me impetus to do some more before I get too old.

I’ve always had no time for models. I thought they were over-paid mannequins. And most are. *But* having done a number of sessions I can attest to the fact that you use muscles that men *never* use in normal life. I like to think I’m vaguely fit, even though I abused my bod with alcohol and ‘trying to avoid the temptation of dressing by piling on weight and approaching a size 20+ frock-limit’, but wow – your hips get some kind of workout doing a lot of these poses.

Amusingly I’ve had to stop a couple of sessions lately because I was literally cramping up. Of course, squeezing a size 10 male foot into a hot pink size 8 four-inch heeled shoe didn’t help but hellfire, pink heels are one hell of a turn on.

Anyway, on with the show……

1: Being a ditzy-blonde for a change

Where to start with this one? This was so radically different from anything I and done before. For a start, I never thought blonde hair worked for me. I’m a natural brunette and my complexion doesn’t lend itself to be highlighted by blonde hair, but this worked for me for a number of reasons.

Boobs. Nails. The sight of the stocking-tops. White heels – when I was growing up that was a real sign of a loose woman. The cute little bow-necklace. The pink and white collared frock.

All of these things are a big turn on for me. And therein lies the main reason for the majority of photos I love – I genuinely and physically find the woman in the picture attractive.

It has to be noted that when I do these photoshoots there’s a full-length mirror in the room so I can see what I am doing and how I am looking. And I find myself sexually attracted to the person I see in the mirror (which raises a huge amount of psychological questions, but hey, lets just call it visual-masterbation and let it go sit with the other large amount of elephants in the room. Most of which are wearing tutus. I don’t judge.).

I’ve never really found the blondes of the 50s attractive. Monroe was cute, especially in ‘Some Like it Hot’, but to be honest I never really watch that film to see her, if you know what I mean. Looking like a 50s wanna-be starlet, someone who looks like she may have done a little more for the chance for stardom, if you get what I mean, is particularly fun and kinky.

This was the first real look that was so radically different to anything I’d done before that I was literally blown away by the results. I can physically remember keeping the pose in the picture while Cindy knelt down next to me and showed me the pictures on the little screen of her camera, and I had to do a lot of mental exercises right then not to introduce a distinctly non-feminine bulge into the next set of shots. And that’s a lot of fun, to be honest.

For you fashion watchers, that’s a Hell Bunny 1940s land-girl dress, lovely texture – feels like satin when you are wearing it and the reaction between the dress and stockings is like wearing chocolate. Delicious.

Here’s the frock on eBay for anyone who wants to get one – I highly recommend it for a summer frock. http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/like/222059000546?lpid=122&chn=ps&var=520920185084&googleloc=9045888&poi=&campaignid=628893806&device=c&adgroupid=28312585266&rlsatarget=pla-184497839346&adtype=pla&crdt=0

2: Delighting in the misogynistic stylings of an old 1970s film

The Stepford Wives. First time I ever saw that film I couldn’t get over the dark pleasure I had thinking about *being* one of the robotic, programmed women. On the surface, and deeper as well, amongst the tight frills and long flowing frocks,  it’s a dark film with a subtle and nasty undertone of dominance, but hell, I’m a biological male so just put it down as ‘taking one for the team’ when it comes to helping the feminists out.

Anyway, I *love* this style. There was something utterly kinky about trying to button up a tea dress with long, red, painted nails, that ticked all of my long-held and dark fantasies about being a Stepford Wife.

The dress was a joy to wear and, and the sound you hear is the last plaintive cry of my deep rooted masculinity, this is the kind of dress I could spend all day wearing. It feels like you should be hoovering, cooking, cleaning. It has that domestic feel to it.

Again, staring at the mirror I could see all of my unresolved housewife fantasies crystallising into reality. Tottering around a kitchen, fighting the nails in order to make a cup of tea or, more likely, pour a little glass of wine. Flicking on the television and sitting there, hands neatly folded into my lap, watching ‘Loose Women’.

I’ve talked (at great length) about the fantasy of domestication that a lot of T-Girls seem to have, and I’m no different. This is the kind of outfit that I’d *love” to have a picture with a male model done with, to counterpoint the masculinity and the feminine role.

Yeah, for some of us ‘Stepford Wife’ could be a religion.

3: ‘Housekeeping!’

Where to start? This is actually the third dress of this style I’ve purchased. I love this outfit so much it hurts, because it is a proper housekeeping uniform. This was made for a woman to wear while she worked in a hotel, waiting on people. It’s practical, it’s delightful in the way it holds you, and it’s utterly emasculating.

I have always been unfailingly polite to waitresses and hotel maids, because they have a pretty sh*tty existence. You are asked to wear a uniform, which instantly crushes any individualism and marks you as almost a lower caste. It is, especially in England, a class-based objectification.

And I love wearing it. It’s like the last removal of any vestige of masculinity, wrapping yourself in a woman’s uniform.

As one of my friends pointed out, she needs a proper maid’s cap, and working in those heels would cause her serious pain after a short period of cleaning, but wow.

For me this is probably the pinnacle of fetish-dressing. It’s all about giving up all rights and claims to masculinity, and there’s a part of me that revels in seeing her dressed like this. This is probably my naughty outlet. And one of my favourite pictures, by a long way.

For others who want to feel just how delicious this outfit is, you can buy it from http://www.simonjersey.com/hospitality/housekeeping/dresses/definitive-dress-with-apron-black-10.html

Ahh, that’s better.

Stay beautiful, you wonderful creatures….