Hate to show my age (it’s 54 in a couple of months, I feel menopausal) but as you get older the ‘things were better when I were a lad/lass’ really starts to creep in big time. What people don’t realise is that it is your mind playing tricks; well, not playing tricks as such, your memory works in a rather interesting way that people aren’t aware of.
Your whole emotional response system works in such a way as to provide contextual feelings to make your existence easier/not so deadly. In prehistoric times the memory was purely for ‘go here eat stuff’ and ‘big cat fangs bad’. Now we live in, cough, an enlightened time our memory plays tricks on us to try and make day-to-day existence easy. Long story short, the memory will hide stuff that is detrimental and promote stuff that makes you feel good; as you get older you get a lot of happy flashbacks and, because memory cells degrade over time (not actually true but I’ll get to that in a second) your memory becomes increasingly selective and rose-tinted as you get older.
Pictured – also, having 32000 pictures helps to keep the memory very rose-tinted.
A complete aside, and bear with me as Winter makes my head a little odd and often not only changes the tracks in my mind’s train but just derails the whole bloody thing), memory cells do not degrade. No cells actually degrade, cells die, and when cells die they are recreated by the body from the DNA definition stored there. As you get older the ‘protective wiring’ on the DNA code (called telomeres) get worn off; every time you recreate a cell it loses a bit at the end, when you are born (and young) the concept of stem cells allow for fresh cells with complete DNA+telomeres. When you get older the cells have lost the telomeres and start to lose components of the DNA itself, leading to all manner of fun and frolics.
So why the half-arsed biology/philosophy at the start of a blog about *gorgeous* frocks? Because in the middle of Winter, with its cold temperatures, dark mornings and evenings, it’s way too easy to disappear into the cosy warmth of memories, even if those memories are old or young.
Pictured – talking about gorgeous frocks…..
To go back to what I was saying; when I was younger the winters seemed more fun. Maybe it’s just getting older, maybe it’s messing with hormones, maybe it’s life choices (more in a mo) but winters seem much harder for me nowadays. I find it hard to motivate, hence the period between blogs.
On top of that I decided to mix it all up massively in drab-world. I’ve been doing the same job for 10 years; I do it very well, if I may say so myself, but it’s not my idea of an ideal job. Ten years ago I was an expert in my field and had reached that point where I was just cruising along, enjoying the feeling of knowing it all. And I decided to derail it and do something completely different, something I had always disliked. I went from being a pure coal-face software engineer to working as a technical resource for salepeople at a vendor. Not just any vendor, the best and most brilliant vendor, but a vendor none the less. After ten years of rocking that I’d reached the same place as before and to be honest it was also starting to have an effect on Sarah. I was comfortably numb, doing the same things over and over again, no surprises, no challenges. Pocket the wages, buy dresses, spend most of my working time thinking of what silliness I’d get up to at my next session.
Then late last year I woke up one morning and thought ‘I need to change again or it is going to be like this every day until my body wears out’.
Don’t worry, this isn’t a ‘I’ve seen the light, I’m no longer a gender-confused man-girl’. If anything I’m more Sarah than I was before. This is just one of those moments where you flush the old you and dig around in the closet full of dresses for a new you.
Pictured – of course, the new you might be one with a 1970’s taste in midi-dresses and sandals. The joy of retro obsession.
So I’ve taken a new job, same place, completely different role. And that’s a hell of a lot of stress to heap on oneself, especially in the Winter months. I started last week and it’s a brilliant role, a dream job, and I feel the creative juices starting to flow again.
Amusingly I actually started the new role on the 3rd January for one day, and then had to take the rest of the week off because, TAH DAH, I actually managed to get to Cindy’s for my first session in eight months.
That was also a tonne of stress; I’d convinced myself, due to the stagnancy of the job blah blah blah that I’d lost the Sarah touch. I’d done a couple of sessions with the brilliant Patti in Manchester and the looks were amazing but I kinda felt inside that that was a ‘new’ Sarah. In fact, as I’m doing more sessions this year in Manchester, I might think of giving myself a new name for ‘Manchester Sarah’. Sarah was a creation of Cindy’s and the looks, styles and poses we do there are a different kind of me.
Pictured – something tells me ‘Manchester Sarah’ might be one of those promiscuous girls…..
So, as the creative juices are flowing I thought I’d do a quick ‘chat’ post on the session and some other vaguely naughty stuff before starting my (new) work day.
Winter is tough; piling a new job on top, a visit to Cindy’s thinking I’d lost the ability to *be* Sarah, ongoing annoying cosmetic issues (the bloody sty is *still* here) and the unending darkness, cold and miserable rain of December and January and you need to find ways to cheer yourself up. In my case I’m planning my year of Sarah, including some fun stuff I’ve not done before.
The Prodigal Housewife Returns
I can’t describe how nervous I was going back to Cindy’s. Circumstances had made it so I couldn’t get there for the longest period since I started, and that includes when the government told me to stay at home and be drab during Covid. I’d run out of money a bit, had health issues (Covid from a trip to Ireland, the sty) and it had all added up to make me feel that fate was kicking me in the (shrinking) nads every time I wanted a little relaxing Sarah time.
Pictured – of course, for most red-blooded males a ‘relaxing time’ wouldn’t involve becoming ‘pink PVC barbie’ doll
After a pleasant (and food-a-riffic) Xmas I drove into London on the 4th January and parked up at Cinders. The session was on the 5th but I have started driving down the night before, going out for some beers, then crashing unconscious at the hotel, which gives me a chance to get up early and have a clean shave so I show up with the minimum of stubble.
The irony of shaving is that even though I’m miles away from your stereotypical bloke I literally start sprouting stubble the moment I shave. The sooner before a session I shave the better the pictures, although occasionally this leads to showing up at the makeover service covered in little bits of red toilet paper as I tend to get over-enthusiastic. The shaving is the last chore I need to do before becoming Sarah and I’m always hurrying myself up, which is the last thing you want to do when you are holding a sharp piece of metal next to delicate areas of your face (for me it’s that tiny bit under the nose and the edges of the lips, I’m forever slicing into those like I’m carving ham).
Pictured – makeup can cover a lot of scars 🙂
Anyway, after a pretty uneventful drive into London (it was sooo empty on the streets and in the pubs) I sauntered over to the Tower Bridge Arms, a BrewDog owned establishment, for a couple of beers and a couple of pages of a good sci-fi book. Cindy was with a client until 20:00 and I always like to pop in and socialise as the drab-idiot if I can as she is a great friend.
As always the conversation was too much fun to finish and I ended up leaving her place at 3:00am. Self-destructive, moi? After three hours of sleep I groggily shaved and checked out, grabbed a coffee from the Tower of London Starbucks and trudged through the cold air for a day of Sarah fun.
So, I had planned a session for Halloween to do some fun costumes and that got cancelled because of the sty (time flies and feels like a thousand years during Winter, this sty has been here for three months now) and as a surprise Cindy had bought some proper retro wigs from a fabulous Etsy store (go google ‘wigs in the city etsy’, it’s brilliant). I bought some retro frocks that had been hanging sadly in my cupboard for a long time and down to work we got.
Pictured – off to the beach 1955; a wonderful friend bought the whole ensemble for me, we combined it with one of the new wigs and et voila.
Yeah, I’ve gained a little weight; I felt that my weight last year got a little too low and close to the ‘teenage girl eating disorder’ level which is sad for teenage girls and possibly more dangerous for obsessive compulsive 50+ crossdressers. So I set myself a target weight of 80kilos; I’m running a half-marathon in April for Cats Protection so I’ll be trimming up again, but I felt a little podgy. Lots of sucking in (pardon the mild perversion) for the session.
We did a starter frock, a darling swing dress from Collectif with a carousel print, and then we started to play with the new retro frocks. Cindy had three; a femme-fatale blonde curly one, a Marilyn one and a fully ‘Irish Lass’ long red curly one. They were all sublime and so much fun; so much fun in fact that the first thing I did when I got home (after 3.5 hours drive with eyes stinging from makeup remover) was buy myself a 1950’s updo wig; my next session will have a proper 1950’s dutiful housewife making an appearance).
Pictured – I’m just a good Irish catholic lass at heart
The looks were so much fun to do; it felt though, even after an absence of eight months, we had been together the week before. It restored my confidence, even though, like any good woman, I felt a little fat.
I have another session already booked for the start of March, and I’m back off to Manchester mid-February for some ‘other Sarah’ fun; these are the things that get me through the Winter.
Oh, and Cindy has air-con in her photo cabin so I no longer have to avoid doing sessions when the country is on fire. Result….
Post-Session Full On Fetish Explosion
I’d also forgotten what happens to my mind after a session. I’ve talked about it before; I get a rush of emotions, a rush of hormones and my lizard brain takes over. The day after I got back I could feel the wave starting; those other urges bubbling to the surface.
I don’t know if it’s down to tinkering with hormones, reaching a certain age or the after-effects of a session, but for a week or so after I get really ‘girl horny’. I wake up from dreams where I have been made love to; I had one dream where I was literally gulping down ejaculate when I came to. It’s brutally feral and something I’ve never had before in my life; I’ve never been into sex, it’s always been the last thing on my mind.
Pictured – ‘gulping down ejaculate’. I think I need a cute picture of a 1940’s school mistress to bring it back to normality.
But after a session my mind spirals. And it’s not just the physical yearnings; I find myself fantasising what it would really be like to get up, put on a flowing dress and a petticoat, face full of makeup, style my hair, cook my husband’s breakfast, kiss him as he goes off to work, clean the house, watch Loose Women, read a fashion magazine, start the tea, kiss the husband when he comes home, feed him, cuddle in front of the television, head to bed, make love.
It’s like someone else is taking control of my mind. I used to think I was possessed by a long dead 1940’s/1950’s frustrated housewife but it’s just my fetish getting out of control; when I have a session I *see* the woman I could be.
I also occasionally dream of winning the lottery, buying a house, making it completely 1950’s, finding a like-minded (but male) person and living the housewife life full time. It’s a wonderful fantasy and I’ve talked about those before; when times get stressful and you have to fade out for a bit it’s great to have somewhere to go where your mind can think of situations that give you immense pleasure but you can’t really achieve.
This after-effect from a session normally lasts a week or so and is one hell of a ride. The dreams start to subside and go back to the normal ‘I can’t find my train, I’m late for my meeting’ type. But I still wake up once in a while with a taste on my tongue….
Anyway, as you can see from that last segment, I’m still riding the wave…..
Stay beautiful and do what you need to do to make it through the Winter months; Spring is on its way with all the wonderful flowing floral frocks that brings.
Pictured – got a light sweetie? Just buried my last husband, he was 89 and very rich and I absolutely didn’t kill him….