transretrogurl

Extra Sarah points if you get that reference by the way….

Just over a month since the last post, and the main reason for not getting on here and spouting my usual level of femm-inspired randomness was the heat. Wow. Unlike the majority of people reading this I was alive during 1976 and all I remember, because I was eight and, you know, terrible childhood and all, was the swarm of ladybirds we had during the drought. It was biblical. This time in the two heatwaves we had I was just melting; I can’t do that kind of heat (more of that in a moment) and I get lethargic, listless and more to the point very sticky. I don’t sweat as much as I used to (another upside of shedding a lot of weight to be healthier/fit comfortably into a size 14 dress – those are the two excuses and which ‘me’ you know gets you one or t’other) but in that heat, as I sat in a baking room playing PS5 while my over-sized TV belted out heat at 5 or so degrees higher than the room, it was just unpleasant.

It’s the reason Sarah has to stay in her pink internal accommodations for the duration of the really hot months. I just can’t take layers of makeup on top of 30C+ temperatures, it’s just not fun. Plus shaving; don’t get me started. I’ve had laser on the chest and back which has worked wonders, but I still have to shave the arms, legs and face, and for some reason I just can’t shave well. I’ve tried electric shavers but they just seemed to highlight the stubble. Therefore every time I turn up for a dressing session I’m pretty much covered in pieces of toilet paper to stop the inevitable gushing of blood from various little ‘mishaps’.

I got off-track. The reason I’ve been quiet is that heat is just a leveller in terms of effort. However, because at my core I’m what could be called a nutter, I did do 80 miles of intense cycling right at the 33C+ temperature days; one day on, one day off, three days of hard cycling to see if it would kill me. It didn’t. Also didn’t help keeping cool, but if you’re going to be sweaty and uncomfortable you might as well be burning off weight as well.

So, I like these ‘chat’ format posts; it gives me a chance to wax kinda lyrically about a number of subjects at once without writing a novel, so I might stick to this format for a bit. So let’s get started…..

The Plague of ‘Why’

If you’re a crossdresser, a t-girl or wherever you lie on the spectrum of gender confusion if you are like me you spend an inordinate amount of time asking ‘why’. Why do I find women’s clothes so alluring? Why is it so easy for me to give up the testosterone soaked ‘man’ card. Why am I ‘broken’? Well, given the heat and the lack of being able to frock up my mind went there a lot of the last month or so and I had somewhat of an epiphany.

Why on earth do we ask ourselves ‘why’?

You don’t sit at home fretting about why you have blue eyes (if you have blue eyes like I do). You don’t sit at home worrying about ‘why’ you are right-handed (again, if you are, and you’re not sinister (complement!)). Yet I ask myself this question far too much and I shouldn’t.

There’s probably (almost definitely) a correlation between my poor upbringing, hormonal confusion blah blah but what does that matter. This thing is part of me, regardless of the times I’ve tried to deny it, put it away, play the standard bloke.

It comes down to culture and we are both fortunate and unfortunate to be where we are and when we are. Right now, in terms of the internet, social-media, face-enhancing apps, online clothes stores, online groups, it’s great to be trans-different. On the other side of the coin we live in a brittle society and in the wake of the various witch-hunts, some justified, some not, the trans community, and I am loathe to use that as the whole gamut of gender choices don’t really get on with each other, let alone the outside world, is starting to come under a lot of unwanted scrutiny and mis-directed anger.

We’re seeing a lot of violence towards trans people. It’s bottled up rage from Covid isolation, rising inflation, rising costs; people are angry and some issues are incredibly divisive. Take JK Rowling for instance; I live with a post-menopausal older woman who thinks the sun literally shines out of JK Rowlings puckered arse. She refuses to see the depths JK Rowling has sunk to in her hatred of the trans community. An example of this is that my other half classes herself as a feminist, and yet still fully supports things that JK Rowling says even when she (i.e. she that should not be named) is actively supporting and encouraging a hugely anti-feminist troll on Twitter as he makes horrific attacks on the trans community. My mind boggles, but that is what people are like at the moment.

Trans is an easy target. Going back to what I was talking about, on top of the rising hostility and anger towards the concept of being trans the majority of us who live on that in-between road spend too much time asking why we are broken because the world is saying we are broken.

Talking to myself a bit now but take a chill pill. There’s nothing wrong, morally, physically, hell mentally with wanting to express yourself in the trappings of a biological sex you weren’t born into. Absolutely nothing at all. People don’t get vilified for wearing clothes out of style.

I start to get a little cross (see previous comments on people being angry; I’m not immune) towards the bigots and loud mouths, JK Rowling especially, that feel that they can have an opinion on what I do, and that opinion has to be heard and acted upon. It’s called Fascism.

The least we can do is to not beat ourselves up, and a start is not to ask ‘why’. It’s a pointless, self-serving question that there’s no real answer to. And what would you do if you found out why what difference would it make?

I can make split-second decisions when under pressure, yet can’t decide on a single dress with six months notice….

Let’s lighten the mood. I’m planning to do something bucket-list very soon that is both immensely exciting and incredibly scary, but I’ve reached the point where I want to strike it off the list. I’m going to go to a very famous retro event with a friend, and both of us (she is full time trans) will be going in full 1940’s femme mode.

Even writing that last paragraph gives the butterflies in my stomach moths to play with. I’m genuinely excited; we (well, almost all her work) have arrange make-up-artists, proper retro wigs, hotel, chauffeur, full hospitality (and it’s very expensive, squeee), the works. Literally all I have to do is pick a frock for the event.

And suddenly I understand why women take so long to get ready. I literally can’t choose.

I’ve bought a lovely red and white polkadot swing dress from Collectif, but that needs a petticoat and I’m not 100% sure I could function as an actual human being for eight hours in public sitting in a cake.

I’ve got a beautiful 1940’s frock that I have modelled a lot, a green number that I fell in love a while ago, but it’s slightly too big since the weight loss.

I’ve bought a brand new tea dress from the wonderful Vivien of Holloway and that would be perfect; it has pockets (for perfume and mobile phone, in that feminine order of importance).

But I’m still umming and ahhing about what to wear. I’ve bought a delightful handbag, a pair of proper 1940’s Mary Jane style heels (which should be comfy, finger’s crossed). I’ve got all the essentials, tights, an umbrella if it rains, retro sunglasses, the complete works.

Yet I still can’t decide on the frock. Something tells me I am going to rack up to the hotel with a huge bag full of options and not sleep the night before.

Still, got to be done, if only the once….

Appearing to OnlyFanny about

So this is an interesting one and I’m looking for some audience participation on this – I created an OnlyFans page about three months ago, went through the very painful process of getting myself verified (multiple attempts to take a picture with an ID in my hand were bounced because I have lost a lot of weight/look even more miserable than normal in my official passport photo/take terrible selfies of ‘him’.

The purpose behind having an OnlyFans is not what you would think. I have a stupid amount of pictures, and I’m saying that quite proudly because I over-do everything I try. Somewhere in the realm of 60,000 individual photos of Sarah in countless different outfits, poses and looks. For my Instagram I have just passed 2000 posts and I’ve barely scraped the top of the barrel.

I wanted to have somewhere where I could just put everything and the idea of using OnlyFans also opens the option to, well, share some of the more fun (r.e. erotic/naughty/insanely hot) pictures and looks I have done. I put up some on Fetlife which is a lovely place to do that; the members are self-policing and pleasant, everyone is respectful and they understand that a fetish is a fetish.

I really can’t imagine putting up a staged shot of Sarah ‘after the date is over’ on Instagram. I’d get banned (they are good shots though, copious use of a lube that looks suspiciously like ejaculate and a sense of humour/imagination and there are some pictures that make even the inner perv blush).

But what I want to know is if people think that’s a good idea. I don’t need money, I work very hard and have a career that has taken me thirty years to reach peak income, no kids, no hobbies other than Sarah that chew into my disposable income. But having a pay-to-view site for the whole set of my material including the naughty seems a good option.

Genuinely interested in people’s thoughts, positive, negative – leave a comment please. I have literally made no effort on the OnlyFans site at all other than getting verified because I’m in two minds about it; but a source of revenue would give me the internal justification (which I don’t need but we all know that nagging voice inside; see ‘why’ for more bitching on that note) to dress more. Win win.

Plus 60k of photos sitting quietly on a number of hard disks is no fun. They need to be out there.

A follow-up on the feral fantasies because, well, why not

I was pleasantly surprised that the majority reaction to my frank and open statements about really, really, REALLY wanting Sarah/me to engage in that type of sexual activity for which the phrase ‘don’t talk with your mouth full, dear’ was invented, was positive. It took of lot of effort to write that post, partly because there was a little me inside my head mortified I was committing those thought to virtual ink, and partly because there was another more feral monster inside telling me to be more graphic – go figure).

I have come off of the hormones for a bit. I’m not really feeling an effect at the moment, other than the tender bits, and I don’t think I’m in a mental place right now for it. My plan is to do a couple of bucket list things (see earlier about the frock), then take stock at the end of the year about my future. I may go and see a doctor, explain the situation and my personal medication, let him tell me off (because he will) and then go from there. Or I may stay the way I am, age disgracefully, carry on doing what I’m doing until the urge wears off. Either way I’m just going to enjoy where I am rather than fretting about where I could be.

My fantasies are still running unchecked and that’s a lot of fun. Especially first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Maybe I shouldn’t be posting to Fetlife et al first thing in the morning when I’m, well, ‘hot’ is a good word, but it makes the posts more fun.

Stay beautiful and stop asking why, it really helps.