I’m in a bolshy mood. There, said it. I watched the football last night, which was a very, very rare occasion (put it this way, I watch the Superbowl once a year and in the last 22 years I’ve seen 22 more Superbowl games than football games. I thought I’d wave the patriotic flag, see what all the fuss was about. Turns out not much has changed in the 22 years since i watched football – back then whatever team i was supporting would invariably lose, and it was the same last night.
And also it’s been a while since I was Sarah, and, because of the heat and as I mentioned in the last post my ability to sweat like it’s going out of fashion, I don’t have another session planned until mid August.
So I’m climbing the walls, as per usual. Spending too much time staring longingly at the 17,000 pictures I have of Sarah (yeah, that surprised me as well). Posting pictures whenever I get the buzz to Flickr (and, in another statistic that kinda blows my mind, I’ve just cracked 30 MILLION views of my pictures….. that’s just bloody surreal).
Pictured – 92,118 people have looked at this picture on Flickr. Some of them even without touching themselves.
Oh and yeah, Bitch-Finder General is a play on the title of a classic Hammer film.
I started thinking it’s been too long since my last ‘infrequently asked questions’ style blog post. Combine that with the fact, yes, that I’m feeling unusually horny towards Sarah (these blog posts will eventually either come up in a chat with a therapist or a defence attorney) and I thought I’d do a more ‘warts and all’ confessional style post.
This is going to be about the elephant in the room. At least, i’d call her an elephant but Sarah is very touchy about her weight (which makes sharing the body with ‘him’ problematic, because he likes cheese, beer, eating to excess, cheese, munchies…. and have I mentioned cheese?).
Pictured – Sarah squeezed into a size 16 frock, which is why she hates it when he eats cheese.
So I thought I’d ask myself the ten most direct and difficult questions I can, ones that have hung around my fore and mid brain for years, and answer them truthfully. Well, as truthfully as a girl starved for femm-time can…..
And these are all questions that I’ve asked myself on many, many occasions (except number 2, that would imply schizophrenia of the highest order).
So, in reverse order…..
10: Do you want to be a woman?
Nope. I like me, and me happens to genetically (just) be a bloke. I’ve grown accustomed to his face as the painfully passive aggressive song from My Fair Lady, which is a nice choice, goes. The odd thing is I don’t class myself as a man – I was a sensitive child in a shitty situation, and that, combined with oddities in my puberty, defined who I am on a gender level long before I thought I had a choice. But I yearn to be a woman, which is a completely different thing. Knowing I can never be one it’s like an Everest for me, something to throw myself against.
I’ll never have GRS and, probably, will never have hormones, although I have thought quite seriously about those at times. Not because I want to be a woman, but having talked to some lovely friends who are on hormones the effects are miraculous on your sense of well being. Turns out being a bloke in this generation/century is a stressful thing – we all have the drive to dominate and no longer really have wars to get that crap aggression out, so we’re all cycling the anger drain taking it out on others via social media. Have I contemplated hormones because I want to transition? No, I’ve contemplated hormones because I think a little more of her and a little less of him inside my head would make me a lovelier person.
But going back to the question, I actually feel a bit rotten when I consider what women have to put up with in our society. The lack of equal pay is a disgrace, the social pressures combined with being labelled the ‘weaker’ sex make some women very bitter, justifiably. I’m mildly ashamed that I like the fact I can be Sarah when I need to be, and be him when I want something from society. To be her full time would take away something that makes me me.
Pictured – a bastion of masculinity. Cough.
As I said to my other half in passing earlier in the week, being gender amorphous is a nice place to be right now.
9: Just what are you, a TV, a CD, a Tranny?
Labels are a huge problem in our society right now. Which ever one you pick just puts you in a group and it’s turning into bloody warfare right now. I hate the concept of labels – especially given my situation. Whichever one I pick would be wrong, and, from my perspective, they all seem a little demeaning. Crossdresser is too dry, TV is just posh Latin/German for crossdresser (literally). Tranny seems to have hateful connotations.
I refuse to be labelled. I’m me, be it Sarah, him, or whatever the hell I am in between the two. Some people thrive and are defined by the label, but that feels slightly off to me because I’ve seen, first hand, what labelling does to communities. It creates minorities.
Having watched the TERFs, or whatever the hell they call themselves, actively f*cking up London Pride and demanding the removal of T from LBGT I feel my point is proven. If you want a label, have one. I don’t want one. If you need to call me something, call me Sarah, that works a treat.
8: Why the obsession with the submissive female role?
Kettle of worms my friend, a true kettle of worms. I love playing the submissive role, where the keyword there is playing. It’s just genuine fun to be the housewife, the maid, the submissive. It ticks my boxes.
Now, we could stray off into what BDSM is, inferiority complexes, inbuilt self hatred and the like, but it misses the point. For me it’s a fetish, and if you don’t have one in your life you are seriously missing out. A fetish is something that gives you that luscious dark fuzzy warm feeling of joy that you know, deep in your heart, is a little kinky.
Pictured – pure Sarah kinkiness.
That’s why the fantasy of forced-feminization is so big in the T community. It’s a thrill to feel dis-empowered, especially in the gender race. Problem I have is that I could never pretend to be forced – show me a wig and a flattering 1940s frock and I’m your girl with no need for pressure.
When I’m dressed completely as a housewife I literally just want to hug myself until I cry. That’s what a fetish does to you, and damn it, it’s wonderful.
And you know what? I wouldn’t change it for the world. It harms no one, it makes me happy, and being happy is a nice way to go through life. Just because for me it entails a sensible wig, apron and an urge to write kinky captions for my photos doesn’t make it wrong.
7: Why did you (and still do) lie to your friends and family?
Society, plain and simple. If I thought my friends and family (outside of my other half and best friend) would understand, I’d tell them. But they won’t, because they can’t.
You can’t force your world view on someone else. They just won’t get it. And the odd thing is, and I may have said this before, the subterfuge is sometimes a big part of what makes this so enjoyable. I love the fact I can stand on the Tube looking like a half-crazed miserable Viking, getting shifty side-looks from suited businessman as they head to work, and know inside that, for instance, a couple of weeks ago I was tottering along the streets of Vauxhall in a figure hugging PVC high collar dress and seriously f*ck-me heels. I like knowing that, and I like the fact that others do not.
Pictured – we both know those self-same businessmen would in all probabilities pay her for sex. Just saying.
But back to family and friends. They have a vision of what I am, and I’m comfortable with that. I’m cantankerous, I’m cynical, I’m naturally rugged (he says modestly), and knowing that in actuality I’m seriously pink and floral on the inside would probably break their brains. And I don’t want to do that to them.
For many, many years I was terrified (and thrilled) at the idea of anyone knowing my secret. It takes a long time for that kind of mental scab to heal, and sometimes they never do. So, baring stupid reveals, I won’t be telling them.
But I could. And that is what makes it live-able for me.
6: Do you feel less of a man or ashamed at what you do?
Define man. I am non-violent, honourable, steadfast, generous. I’ve never hit a woman, nor will I. I’ve never been cruel to animals. I pay my taxes. I recycle, I protest injustices when I see them.
Why does choosing to wear a dress, make-up, perfume and all the lovely things that make Sarah Sarah make me less of a ‘man’.
I will admit to shame for a long, long time, but that was purely from the mixed and frankly sexist and mysogynistic period of society I grew up in. In the seventies all the kids called each other ‘poof’, ‘queer’, ‘faggot’, and in that atmosphere the slightest thought of being different would generate terrible shame. And that sticks with you.
Pictured – call her a poof and she will scratch your eyes out.
For a long time I felt broken, less of a man, ashamed. And then, literally one day, it just hit me that I was empathising with people who had no empathy. I was ranking myself against their values and their sexuality. And what’s so damn funny about it all now is that it really appears that the majority of adults in the 1970s, especially in Britain, were absolutely perverted in every way possible. The hypocrisy was and is just bloody stunning.
And when I realised that it was like a weight had lifted off of my padded shoulders.
So no, absolutely not. Hate to get flag-wavey, especially after moaning about labels earlier, but I have a lot of pride in who I am as a person. As a woman. As a man. As both.
5: Are you a pervert?
I haven’t had sex since 2009. I really have nothing to be perverted from.
Also, anyone bandying around the phrase pervert is often seriously repressed themselves, and it comes back to world-views. I have a personal philosophy on all this – whatever you want to do to yourself that causes absolutely no harm to anyone else isn’t perversion. We’re all adults here.
4: Don’t you think you’re being very sexist?
Ahh, good question. When it comes to Sarah, absolutely. I put her in the worst sexist situations, demeaning outfits, vacuous poses, the works. But is it sexism when you’re effectively both sexes?
I work for a company that has some seriously strict policies on gender behaviour, designed to protect everyone in the company. I had to sit through a lecture on how I, as a man, was the worst when it came to treating women, and I was, I’ll admit it, genuinely offended by that.
I grew up in a household with a seriously manipulative and passive aggressive female figure. As such it was literally beaten into me to be respectful to women and, luckily, I didn’t go the other way and become a sexist asshole. I treat everyone the same, regardless of gender. In fact I’ll put it another way, I treat everyone the way I want to treated myself.
But when it comes to Sarah a lot of my repressed male sexism does seep out. I kinda think it’s a good thing, an avenue to exercise the rampant hormones that the dangling sack between my legs thinks is a good idea to pump into my system (even after said sack has been repeatedly squeezed, tucked, hidden…. by now I’m thinking it might be damaged beyond repair). And also it’s part of the fetish. i love the idea of Sarah being told to stay at home all day, taking the sexist submissive role. It doesn’t mean I promote sexism – far from it, the world would be a better place if everyone could be treated the way they want.
Pictured – nothing to do with my point at all, I just love this picture.
But that’s an interesting point. Is it sexism when the person being treated that way wants to be treated that way? I’ve worked with some stunning women who have, after a drink or two, told me how they secretly love the attention they get when they dress provocatively around the low-brow male type. So it’s a minefield.
To answer the question, ask Sarah….
3: What if your friends/co-workers find out about your ‘little hobby’?
For a long time in my life this was my worst nightmare. What would I do? Would I kill myself to avoid the shame of looking in their eyes and seeing disgust or pity? How could I function in my job, where I have the best of reputations for what I do, if my co-workers knew that he was Sarah?
It was actually slightly worse for me for a long time. I was in the military where there are a lot of gender-confused people, and homosexuals, who are petrified of being found out. During my stint in the armed services and then in the security services I was constantly paranoid about being found out. The mad thing is that if I’d just told them, it would have been noted, and then nothing else would happen. It was worse to not tell them, because that could have led to blackmail, but when you’re terrified about something like that rationality is not your first point of call.
But over the last four or so years my opinion has changed. Not to the ‘sing it from the rooftops, Sarah is alive!’ kind of level, but now I know if I made a mistake or someone found out, I’d be absolutely comfortable to come out into the light. I just don’t want to at the moment. If I have the choice. 🙂
2: Have you been intimate with a man?
Oddly enough, given the plethora of sexually charged pictures I have of Sarah, no. Nearest I got to it was holding my best friend’s hand for an evening in Wayout, an episode that wasn’t the best of ideas.
For the record I have had a grand and oddly satisfying total of three sexual partners in my entire life. As I’ve mentioned before he is asexual, which means I just don’t get it when it comes to sex. I have no urges as him at all nowadays, all of my sexual sparks are driven by looking at pictures of Sarah.
But I’m not a Saint….
Pictured – very much not a saint…
1: Are you gay?
Ahh, the eternal question. My mother, in one of her particularly spiteful moments, asked that to me when I was 16 because I hadn’t had a girlfriend. Back then I was offended at the question in a pubescent kind of way, because the culture of the time made even the concept of homosexuality seem terrible. Hellfire, it wasn’t that long before that it was still an offence in the UK. The government killed one of the finest minds of all time because of the draconian rules on homosexuality (Alan Turing, a story that still makes me ashamed to have ever worked with the Government).
But what does it mean nowadays? We’re lucky to live in a time when people are starting to get sensible, although there will always be screamers who decry anything they feel is outside of their comfort zone of normality (and I’d love to see their fantasies as I guarantee the loudest shouters are the most sexually confused, or just ignorant, on the inside).
I keep pressing the point that he is asexual. That he hasn’t had intercourse of any kind since the heady days of 2009. And that’s completely true.
But when Sarah come along, it changes. Have I considered having sex with a man as Sarah? Hell yes. All the time. Never acted on it, because it is that last boundary, that last no-no. But Sarah for me is the ultimate in femininity, and part of that femininity is being attractive to, attracted by, and sexually available for a man. There, I said it. It’s part and parcel of the Sarah experience – when fully made-up, smelling delightfully of perfume, tottering on heels, my mind does go to that place. What would it be like to be held by someone who desired you? To give yourself, as the definition of a woman, to a man for his pleasure. For both of your pleasures.
Pictured – Gay? Whatever on earth gave you that impression?
Sarah is an incurable romantic and, to be honest, in a room full of admirers I think the bright light of reality would show through. But it’s a nice thought, gay or not.
So, does that make me gay? Who knows nowadays. It’s just a label – I’d prefer it if we just treated Sarah as Sarah, him as him. Or even better, Sarah as him and him as Sarah.
So there you go, honesty in all it’s warty goodness. Stay true to yourselves, you beautiful people, and always remember that honesty is the best policy when talking to your multiple personalities…..
Pictured – half him, half Sarah, all lovely…….