transretrogurl

Maybe it’s just because I’m tired at the moment, and seemed to have been exhausted for a long time, but it struck me, as I fired up Sarah’s laptop and went through her checklist – read her emails, check her Flickr responses and upload a couple of new poses, update her Facebook page, pop onto Amazon and buy her some more stay-up stockings, that somehow I’ve forgotten that Sarah is meant to be fun.

I’m prepping for the next session, just like I promised I wouldn’t, sorted out the train, purchased a couple of very cute outfits, started worrying about the shaven logistics, and I’ve just plain forgotten why she exists.

I was having an internal conversation with myself on the very hot Tube today and I was a little shocked, and to be honest a little dismayed, to find myself being very defensive.

“I’m not really trans.”

No idea how that came up, but I found myself trying to rationalise away the urges, to find a logical reason for drab me to want to be her.

Childhood upbringing. Abusive parents and a domineering mother. Shyness. An inability to communicate with the opposite sex, in fact anyone really. A lack of empathy.

Hell, I’m started to describe the makings of a sociopath.

And it struck me that somehow, after all the fun and experimentation, I’m suddenly in denial.

It’s not the first time. In the past my mind has gone through this cycle, normally before I purge and retreat into grey drabness for a couple of years. And I don’t want that, really. Partly because she has blossomed like a flower in the sun, a facet of myself that I truly am in love with, not in a daft narcissistic way (although there is an aspect of that), a part of me that is so unlike me, it feels like a different person.

And we’re back to denial.

“I’m not really trans.”

Well, here’s a message for you, drab me. Look at the photos. There’s a degree of comfort in the pictures, regardless of pose or outfit, which tells me, as an impartial observer ( cough, cough ) that it really indicates an acceptance. She looks at peace in herself.

Again with the third person.

So, aside from beating myself up like a good little Catholic (which I’m not, by the way), what am I trying to achieve?

To some extent it’s a self-destructive part of the personality. The fact I have no shame in the existence of Sarah now seems to be causing me shame. Yeah, that’s a bit meta.

So it’s time to draw a line in the sand.

I am a cross-dresser.

I love dressing as a woman. I love acting as a woman.

If I wasn’t 6ft 2in I’d probably spend a lot more time out and about as a woman.

“I’m not really trans.” – shut the hell up, Sarah. You own frocks. You have two Facebook accounts, his and hers. When you see a beautiful, stylish woman in London your first thought isn’t “I want to know her” but “How would I look in that outfit and shoes.”

I’m pretty sure I’m well into a mid-life crisis as Drab Me. And Sarah wants to have fun, regardless of the bi-polar tendencies of her male shell.

So I’m going to practice making it fun again.

So let’s start over.

My name is Sarah. I love corsets, wearing painted nails, tasting lipstick. I love Lindy Bop dresses, especially the Tea Frocks. I love high heels, love the way they make my legs look sexy, and the way they make my step more delicate. I love wigs, especially big hair ones. I love fancy dress, especially uniforms. I want to feel the breeze on my bare legs, my skirt flapping against my thighs. I want to hear *that* click, the sound of my heels on concrete. I want to go on a girl’s night out, have a giggle, have a flirt. I want someone to tell me I’m pretty. I want to dress as a stewardess. I want my own proper 1970s Nurse’s uniform. I want to try a feminine voice. I want to wear a wedding dress. I want someone to call me ‘miss’. I want to be a rock chick. I want to be a goth-girl. I want to clean a house while complete enfemme. I want to be a beautician for a day. I want someone to feed me a strawberry in a sensual way. I want to touch up my lipstick in a ladies bathroom. I want to dance in a ball gown. 

Now that’s how you rediscover fun.

Stay beautiful, you delightful creatures of the night. Oh yeah, I really want to be a female vampire. That would work…..