transretrogurl

So, Sarah is pretty much offline at the moment due to a very, very annoying health thingy. Post the food poisoning (and I’m starting to suspect a bit of Long Covid as well) I developed a Sty on my lower eyelid, right eye. For those who have read this blog in the past you now I get issues there; a lifetime of computer-game playing has made me, well, ‘not blink right’ according to the optometrist. Basically when you play a game that requires fast responses you train yourself to blink very quickly. Twenty years of twitch gaming and I don’t completely close my eyes when I blink, and because it’s so fast the tear fluid doesn’t get spread around correctly.

Long story short, I get trouble with the glands in the eyelids, where the lashes come out. They get blocked up which leads to issues, and in the case of the sty, combined with being very run down (see food poisoning and covid for details on that one), it got a little infected. Basically I have an unsightly red swelling right at the corner of the eye and the Optometrist said *absolutely* no makeup on it until the thing stops being red. It’s been three weeks and she was talking about potentially up to three months before it subsides (worst case scenario).

Pictured – I told the Optometrist I was planning to ‘put some makeup on for Halloween’ and she said ‘don’t put any on the sty itself as they won’t play nicely together’. Rats.

I’d already had to postpone a retro session I had planned with the wonderful Cindy at BWBG and was ready to go this coming Monday, Halloween. But that has now been postponed until the damn thing goes away.

It’s a pain in the arse (well, pain in the eyelid but you get my drift). I’m yearning for a sesh, I have oodles of new and beautiful outfits to try (I have a lovely blouse/skirt combination from House of Foxy that is delightfully daytime 1940’s) and I’m stuck staring at a haggard, bearded mid-50’s male idiot in the mirror every day willing the lump to go away.

First world problem, I know, but it’s the irony and the delicious f*ck you of fate; really got an urge to 1940’s frock up, to the point of compulsion, and I physically can’t. That truly sucks. Anyway, can’t be helped, but that’s why there’s been no new looks for a while (since Goodwood actually).

Pictured – weirdly Goodwood feels like it was a dream, which is odd. I was definitely there. I think.

I’m spending a lot of time going over the huge archive of pictures and being grumpy. It’s also that time of year, days are drawing in, dark in the mornings. Chuck in train strikes that are doing my head in, a Government that seems obsessed in screwing up, energy prices that mean it’s terrifying to turn on a lightbulb and Putin sabre rattling and woohoo, wonderful times.

The only thing to do is close your eyes (ouch, dammit) take a deep breath, and think of something else. So let’s have some femm fun time for a bit, forget our troubles.

Messing about in the Boudoir

I’ve talked about tranny-tropes in the past; this isn’t meant to be an insult (and as it’s always pointed at myself I’d only be insulting me as well as everyone else) but there are certain looks that cross-dressers will gravitate to. It’s like a top trumps game, or for those of you under the age of 50 (engage hard Paddington stare) something like Pokemon.

I’ve dabbled in a number of those classic tropes; I’ve done the Bridal look, the Schoolgirl, the Street Walker, the timid housewife. For me it’s a case of wanting to experience all those looks; being honest I have a couple of fun fetishes going on inside my rattling skull and for me the real kink that gives me the warm chocolate-y feels is the classic retro housewife look, even typing that gives me the fuzzies. But I’ve never really been turned on, for want of a better phrase, by the lingerie look.

Pictured – Lingerie is excitingly uncomfortable…..

I’ve done a couple and being 100% honest they are so uncomfortable it’s amusing. Women’s bedroom wear was not designed for those with, well, external bits and pieces. Wearing a thong feels like someone is trying to gently cheese-wire me to death, there’s very little coverings to enable modesty and you feel so exposed. Which is the point, I think. Can’t see myself every sleeping in lingerie (and that’s not the point is it, for those with a dirty mind).

And there’s another thing as well; it’s impossible to not feel sexy when you have a revealing piece of lingerie on. It just ticks all those boxes and, at least for me, wakes up something a little feminine and delightfully feral inside. Wearing lingerie is a statement of intent; you want to look attractive and it’s fun to ask who you are trying to attract.

Pictured – well hung young men looking for a bit of rough and tumble with an older woman. Oh wait, what was the question? I appear to have lost my train of thought.

I’ve talked at length about the ‘fun’ of being asexual and I still stand by that; put a naked man and a woman in front of me and I’ll be asking where the coffee is; there’s no urge there at all. However, doll up in lingerie and I start to get, well, a little breathless.

Anyway, the point is that if I do a lingerie shoot and put those pictures up on Instagram and Twitter (which is now owned by Musk, not sure if that’s a good or bad thing as he’s….unpredictable at the best of times) they get a huge amount of interest. Dressing provocatively in female lingerie is definitely crossing that murky line between self satisfaction and invitation to rut. And that’s a lot of fun.

Pictured – and it’s way too easy to do *that* kind of pose when you’re dolled up in lingerie. Just sayin is all.

That Fraudy Feeling

Yeah, had to wait until a Friday to get that pun out, but this is something that is pretty close to my psyche all the time at the moment. Part of the condition some of us have is this disassociation with who we actually are; I spent the majority of my life dressing and acting masculine (or as masculine as I can be; I always thought I was pretty, well, butch but when asking, drunkenly, a trans friend of mine she laughed and told me I was a long way from masculine; granted it was because I am caring rather than out and out pinkness but still, ouch) whilst inside feeling like I was stuck between two worlds.

The problem with being there, crossing that blurred gender line, is you start to feel a fraud on both sides of the divide. Even now, after hundreds of thousands of words in the blog, over 100 million hits on Flickr (and yes, I find that utterly amazing) and approaching 20k followers on Instagram I still feel like a fraud most of the time. Partly because I am not Sarah 24/7; nowhere near. I actually worked out I’ve spent about 15x the time I have as Sarah sat on trains going to work.

Pictured – and a lot more fun than sitting on a train as well.

But the point is I feel a fraud in both worlds. And the mentality of the society I grew up in, which is still there regardless of how much we think it’s progressive (it isn’t, there’s a horrible undercurrent of anti-trans going on in Government and the like at the moment which is deeply concerning to me) means that to be a ‘failure’ in either gender is some sort of shame exercise.

I hate this. I happen to think I make a good crossdresser but something is always at the back of my mind that I’m not; I can wake up one morning and look at some pictures and get a massive thrill because I see a complete woman in them. Other days I can look at exactly the same picture and instantly see male characteristics which really make me feel shame; it’s a mad situation and very much mirrored by the ups and downs in my mood at the moment (mostly downs to be honest).

It would be nice if there a confidence pill you could take (i.e. not four pints of beer) that would scrub that fraud feeling. A girl can wish, can’t she?

Pictured – I appear to have lost my broomstick

Filling the cupboard

Dammit, in the absence of being able to dress my cupboard, although my buying has radically slowed lately, is starting to get full of some gorgeous outfits. I’ve taken to not looking lately as it’s a tease, but it reminds me that I have a strange taste in clothing and some odd habits.

A lot of the outfits that I have done that were amazing were outfits that had been in the cupboard for *ages*. I bought them on a whim and persuaded myself they weren’t quite right; often I would have them ready for a session and the day or so before I’d see a stunning new dress on Vivien of Holloway’s site, or find a glorious maternity number on New Look, and the outfit would get bounced.

Pictured – this frock was in my closet for a long time before it made the cut. Kinda like Sarah being honest.

Amusingly a couple of my all time favourite looks were dresses that had been stuck, unwanted, in the cupboard for over a year. Maybe I should start to not listen to myself.

Anyway, I have some lovely outfits to wear at the next session, whenever this damn eye thing calms down. These include some adorable looks from Joanie Clothing who did a special with Dawn O’Porter – I really need to find a wig that matches her hairstyle as her look is pretty much dead on perfect.

And a touch of the feral

Lastly, I’ve been flirting with the hormones again. Yes, I know it’s daft, and I know it’s dangerous, but I had a box of 2mg Estrogen pills sat hidden in my side draw next to the bed and I felt, you know, it made sense to clean them up. So I took one a day for four weeks just to see what effect it had.

Well, even after messing about on and off for nine months these hit me like a train. Fuzziness in the head, very sore nipples (and noticeable breast growth, at least under the skin; definite mammary duct formation going on there). But again the biggest thing was the odd effect on attraction.

Pictured – to counter the feral-ness of this bit of the blog, here’s Soccer Mum Sarah.

Being honest, I have a strong drive to, well, self satisfy, and it comes on like an animal thing; it’s why I call it feral. I’ll get the urge and suddenly it’s like the intelligent bit in the brain has been overridden and I *must* sort it out before I can carry on doing real world stuff. It’s normally first thing in the morning and last thing at night, and I have a couple of iPads next to my bed just for this occasion.

One of them is the ‘Sarah’ one; I have all my pictures, my logon to Flickr, Instagram, Fetlife, Twitter (and OnlyFans, still debating whether or not to slam all the pictures on there for people to enjoy). The other is an older iPad that is strictly for the ‘dodgy’ sites. It’s configured without an Apple login to make it anonymous, and I use a VPN to mask where it comes from. I use that one when the feral urges are severe.

At the moment, and probably completely down to the rush of hormones, I can only enjoy myself when I watch ‘those types of videos’ by imagining myself as the receiver. The hormones have definitely switched the toggles in the brain, momentarily as when not under the warm rush of the feral urge I am completely agnostic sexually, to yearning for the male.

Pictured – the minute a hot guy walks by she looks. The effect is kinda like that…..

Well, I’m blaming the hormones. Either way fantasy-Sarah has been getting a lot of action recently, let’s just leave it at that. Add the frustration of not being able to dress and the overall ‘we’re all going to die’ feel of the world and I’m straying near to that precipice of ‘would it really be that bad if I had a session where I went for the full ‘porn star’ makeup look and then, you know, actually recreated some of the favourite videos from, say XHamster’.

Pictured – don’t tempt me, brain. We both know I’m a torn set of tights away from passion

In the old days just thinking that, as opposed to actually typing it, would leave me in serious catholic-guilt mode. Right now it just makes me smile. And think.

Anyway, apologies for scattered nature of the post, this one has been therapeutic for me which is nice. Given the state of the world, and my eye, it’s nice to let off steam.

Stay beautiful and try to find some fun amongst the angst.

Pictured – come to think of it, lingerie porn shoot. Not that far a step from previous ones. Cough.