[Fashion] Strike a Prose…

If it wasn’t incredibly sexist I’d be describing my mindset under the lockdown as ‘completely off my tits’ right now. I thought I was handling it OK but turns out not really; every day is the same, wake up and for those too short seconds not remember about the situation. Then I remember and it collapses on me. At the moment I’m either floating through the day like a zombie, unable to get anything proactively done because every seems so damn pointless, or hurtling around the country roads of Herefordshire on a mountain bike, without a helmet. I’ve cycled 254 miles in the last 28 days so that pretty much describes how obsessive that is becoming.

Then off to bed and stare at Disney+ or Netflix until I drift off, where I have the worst stress dreams I’ve ever had. Then I wake up and it all repeats again.

So I’ve taken to posting a lot to social media and, if you’ve read my previous little snippets on timing and content, I’m getting a lot of feedback. Interestingly my Twitter account took off suddenly, after years of inactivity (probably because it prompted me to ‘go pro’ and pay and I couldn’t be arsed) whereas my Instagram has stalled out at 9400 followers. Either way, it’s not about the numbers. To me at the moment social media is my way of expressing Sarah, in fact the only way of expressing her.

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Pictured – the captions will make way more sense in context later on, but for now ‘Sir, about the dress code for this office job? 1940s unmarried woman, right?’

I tell a little lie. My craving has got so strong that I’ve had a couple of moments where it’s just been overpowering and I’ve done the full outfit ‘test run’, on with all the undergarments, self-tightening of the corset, the full works except makeup and wig. It’s not nor is it ever going to be a complete antidote to not being able to go the full mile, but it’s a start.

I also had a deliciously odd couple of moments. One of them was test-driving an outfit, if it could be called that, I have lined up for whenever my next session can occur. I have a lovely negligee set, a long pink satin nightie and a pink lace wrap. It’s very sexy, if I can say so myself, the kind of thing that Hollywood told us women would wear to bed in the 80s. And I tried it on and, yes, it was delightful to wear. But then I caught myself wanting to try something I’d never tried before; I imagined I was stripping for a companion.

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Pictured – like this but way less ‘you are paying for her time’-ish

Standing in that lovely stereotypical feminine pose of slightly crossed legs, arms held tightly and across my lower abdomen, I slipped the lace wrap gently from one shoulder and let it slide, assisted by gravity, off of my arm. Then the other side, while pivoting my upper body slightly to show my other shoulder. Then slipping both of the spaghetti straps of the nightie off of my shoulders I wriggled slowly like a snake and the satin slid gracefully down over my hips and pooled around my ankles.

See? That last bloody paragraph is why I am climbing the walls. I am literally oozing oestrogen in my urge to be feminine. It’s eye-openingly maddening.

The other odd moment was less overtly sexual but still entertainingly ‘Sarah’. As part of my efforts to distract myself I’ve got back into the PS4; I say back, which is disingenuous as I was playing a lot of the damn console before the world coughed, but what I mean is I’m playing more than one game. I got myself a very good golf game. Yeah, I know, annoying macho and all that crap, but the game allows a very high level of customisation of your customer, so my golfer, female of course, now looks like she stepped straight out of a 1980s pop video and onto the links, bright neon blue eye-shadow, full and very red lips, leopard print leggings, the works. Anyway, how does this relate to the trials and tribulations of Sarah in lockdown?

After about four hours of lurking in front of the screen thwocking golf balls at 4K rendered greens I turned off the PS4, fired up the laptop and ordered the most girlie golf outfit I could find. So, again when the world stops coughing, when the next session happens I have a glorious outfit to model – very short pink pleated skater skirt, tight pink lady’s golf/polo shirt, pink hat brim and white socks with frills. I tried the ensemble on in the bathroom to see how the outfit hung together and gave myself the giggles. Imagine Patsy from Absolutely Fabulous if she was dragged onto a golf course and you get the picture.

Anyway, I digress as always dear reader. The point of the blog title and the the sudden outpouring of stuff to Sarah’s various social media outlets is that in this time of isolation and lockdown both my she-libido (that internal pink itch that surfaces as the most inappropriate time, normally when out and about, that pictures Sarah in standard but wonderfully exciting female situations) and my urge to write (one of the most galling and frustrating things about a half-T-life in shadows combined with a creative urge is that I can’t enthuse about drab-me’s novels here without stepping out of the pink shadows) means that my posts have taken a deliciously literary turn.

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Pictured – ‘Jolene was halfway through writing “a slice of your delightful ass’ before she realised Daryl the trucker was making yet another move on her’

In English, the descriptions on the images I put up have started to take a life of their own.

Not that I was backward in coming up with amusing scenarios before, but now every picture has a glorious backstory that I, personally, find a bit of a turn-on.

My logic with all of this is a bit selfish – if I’ve gone to the length of putting on so much makeup I look like a fetish dream of a 16th century painter, squeezing my 51 year old body into the tightest of twenty-something fashion (or more normally the hourglass body shape favoured by the wonderful fashions of the forties and fifties) it feels like a waste and a cop-out to put it up with the tagline ‘IMG200010’. Takes a bit of the fun out of it.

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Pictured – IMG10644 or ‘Debbie smiled involuntarily as her husband’s camera clicked and the baby girl simultaneously kicked the inside of her swollen midrift’, you decide.

When I see a picture from other girls like me I love to read the caption. Unlike perhaps the majority of viewers, and I’m not knocking them because one-handed views of my pictures is pretty much why my Flickr views are crawling towards one hundred million, the counterpoint of a description makes the picture more real.

I want to hear about sore the poor waitress’s feet are in the picture where the model is wearing an authentic Diner Waitress. I want to know about the date when I see a girl sat at a table with a drink. The joy of this kind of prose is not only is it erotica in its own way, it weaves a delicious reality into the pictures.

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Pictured – she smiled gently over the glass at her date, happy that he had waited until after the dessert to suggest they adjourn to his hotel room for a ‘chat’

With me I tend to go above and beyond. I specifically use language to highlight the delightful emasculation in some of the pictures, which says something for my mental state, but as I have said a hundred times before I’m the world’s least sexist man, hopefully, except when it comes to all things Sarah. And then I’m allowed to be outrageously sexist and it’s self-abuse. Again, my mental state isn’t the most healthy when it comes to drab me and Sarah; in fact sometimes I am completely convinced he is jealous of her fun.

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Pictured – yeah, she gets all the fun. Vacuuming, washing up, cleaning, cooking. Oh wait…

But back to the captions. I think they give an extra degree of fun and eroticism to the pictures. Take an example I particularly like; I had a lovely blouse from Hell Bunny that I’ve used in a number of looks and shoot, a see through black one with a cherry print and a wonderfully over-sized Peter Pan collar. For one shoot Cindy at Boys will be Girls suggested trying trousers. See, for me that’s a bit of a no-no.

For a start I rarely do separates. I love the way a dress feels, that combination of feminine freedom and conversely the restrictive nature of a full skirt is just wonderful. And in my mind I associate trousers with masculinity.

But she’s always right when she has an inspiration for a look to try on me and we squeezed Sarah into a pair of seriously tight ‘mom’ jeans, tight because Cindy is obsessed with getting my aged, man-shaped fat deposits into a dress size two below that where breathing is just about acceptable, and partly because we were trying out some gorgeous silicon hip pads (bloody cold when you put them on, disturbingly real feeling when your body heat transfers and the shaping is lovely).

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Pictured – ‘always awkward when there’s a group of other parents and 75% of the dads have seen you naked one way or another. Always said to hubby that we should have attended swinger parties further from the home.’

And we did a shoot with a sensible ‘mom’ hairstyle as well, and immediately when I looked at the pictures I had the idea that this was one of those annoying Soccer-Moms, picking up her children from their practise in her husband’s Range Rover, dressed down but not if you know what I mean, the expensive jewellery, the stylish cut ‘casual’ blouse and perfectly done makeup designed to make her friends jealous and her friend’s husbands a little too eager to get her a coffee as they stand at the touch line watching the little brats kick a bag of air around.

See? Better than IMG10487.

I’m spending a lot more time on social media because, being honest, I hadn’t quite realised how much time I spend/spent travelling and working, and now all of my stuff is done from the ‘comfort’ of house-arrest the seven or so hours of travelling I was doing two to three times a week are just hours I can spend perusing images on Flickr, Instagram, Twitter, BirchPlace, Fetlife and the like.

Or wading through the murky depths of XHamster and Pornhub when I’m feeling particularly brutish. But on the whole I’m very much satisfied by reading the comments and captions on beautiful pictures. Basically the difference between erotica and pr0n I guess.

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Pictured – it’s a fine line, I’ll give you that…..

Anyway, my point, loose and all over the place as it is, is that my imagination is soaring at the moment in lockdown and the outlet I have is amusing and titillating people who are also surfing the social media sites for a break from the permanent Wednesday we seem to be having at the moment. Plus it’s a lot of fun to talk about the outcome of a first date Sarah had, whether her dress was too short and encouraged what her drunken companion got up to in the back of the taxi and at his hotel room.

See? Made you think.

Stay beautiful and sane, this period will end and we will all go back to being miserable about normal daily life as opposed to miserable about the lack of it. Be good to yourselves and, when you’re uploading a pic to the social media moshpit of your choice, add some fun words just for me.

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Pictured – IMG10255. You’re welcome. πŸ™‚

 

 

2 thoughts on “[Fashion] Strike a Prose…

  1. Another insightful and for me very pertinent too.
    Firstly though, can I say that I am really sorry that you are struggling with the lockdown. πŸ™
    And also, I completely understand why you are interacting and sharing to social media more, because that’s my normal. My opportunities for femininity are extremely rare. If I manage twice a year I’m doing well so my girly side inhabits the World Wide Web far more than the real one. And doing it that way is part of what helps keep me sane.
    I always enjoy reading your scenarios that you come up with for each picture. πŸ™‚ It sparks the ‘what if?’ part of the imagination. πŸ˜‰
    And I absolutely love the idea of you as a golfing girl! In my mind’s eye, I have already imagined how gorgeous you will look. 😁 May I suggest that you give some of the golfing slang that refers to ladies a look? It may help you when it comes to writing your stories. πŸ˜‰ XXX
    And in future I will try my best to write some fun words. Just for you. XXX

    Stay safe my fabulous friend. πŸ™‚ 😘

    Fi-Fi
    XXXXXXX

    Liked by 1 person

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