transretrogurl

For some reason November just flew by. Suddenly it’s December, the shops are full of Xmas stuff, every third track on ClassicFM is a bleedin Carol and I’m looking at my calendar just trying to work out just where the last six or so weeks have gone.

In terms of Sarah stuff it’s been a little bit of a dry period. Quite literally. See, the anti-depressants which, on the whole, are making my life way less anxiety ridden, have a couple of side-effects that together are making life interesting/incredibly annoying.

Pictured – yeah, it’s a philosophy post, so fun pictures time. ‘Rudolf’s Girlfriend’

First one is any form of sex drive I had has gone. Well, not quite true; I do get, err, excited, but ‘relieving’ oneself seems almost impossible. It’s known side-effect of the pills (warning – you may become a Eunuch) but still, it’s an odd one to experience. The thing is that the pills have removed any inhibitions; when I went out and about in Manchester by myself I had absolutely zero fear, in the old days just stepping out of the safety of a dressing studio would have my head completely over-thinking everything. Now it’s easy and, to my surprise, very exciting.

The other side-effect is just a pain in the arse. Citalopram makes you dry; you wake up with a dry mouth, and it reduces the moisture in the old eyes. For those who have followed this blog, you’ll know I have issues with eyes anyway; vision is perfect but thirty years of computer games has turned me into a non-blinking monster, which has caused the glands that release tears to be a little less efficient than they need to be.

Pictured – Office wear from an early session

This is where it gets hilariously silly. So, Citalopram also gives you the weirdest dreams; I don’t have anxiety in the day any more but every night I have a different anxiety dream, and some are majorly out there. Interestingly before the pills I never ever dreamed of cross-dressing. Now every second or so dream (and they happen every night, along with insomnia. Go figure) has an essence of cross-dressing in it. But I digress – lots of dreams = lots of REM sleep. REM is rapid eye movement….

So the pills make your eyes dry. And then send them backward and forward all the time while you sleep. It’s like sandpaper. Consequently I am waking up every morning faintly confused (especially after a good frock-full anxiety dream like standing in the centre of London in full bridal ensemble and not being able to find my phone) and feeling like my eyes are full of hair.

So November was hectic, odd and mildly irritating. To add to all the fun I had a session planned with Cinders. A week before I had to take my car to the garage for a service; it had been making an occasional squeaking noise when I turned the wheel all the way to the right, so I asked them to look at it – they couldn’t find anything so, hey ho, assumed it was fine. Set off driving to London, got fifteen miles from the house and the car started to scream at me. Which was, to say the least, disconcerting. It was also absolutely chucking it down with rain so I had to bail, drive home, grumpy, postpone the session, move the hotel.

Pictured – “Mummy’s Christmas day frock”. Cheesy dress from Amazon, combined with petticoat and apron. Et voila, Xmas day tottie

This week it gets even more intense – I am planning to hit Manchester for a night-out/Xmas drinkie session with the great Patti Baston. Thing is, it’s on the same day as I have to drop my car in; I was planning to drive. I get back on Saturday and then need to drive to London on Sunday for the rescheduled (and last of the year) Cinder’s session. Meaning I have to yomp to the station from the garage, backpack and luggage with my entire outfit for Friday night (I have a glorious leopard-print tight dress and my pink leather jacket, proper ironic girl/mistake-able for prostitute look) to the station, ride the rails, come back on Saturday, yomp back from the station to the garage, get the car, hope beyond hope it’s fixed and then drive to London the next day.

In the old days this level of insanity would have me sleepless and worried beyond belief. Now, courtesy of the pills, I am not that worried but scratching constantly at a right eye that is bloodshot on one side. Ahhh, Citalopram.

Pictured – Tartan Xmas dress (2020)

Anyway, the advent and absorption of the anti-depressants (which I can heartily recommend) has given me more time to think, and interestingly, to relax. I am at a point now where I have done most of the things I set myself targets to do, both in my professional life and in the more fun life of Sarah. In terms of midlife crisis I think I’ve gone beyond; the point now is to set more targets.

Before the pills I would go through periods of ‘that’s it, I’m done’ with Sarah. We all do, people like us who have these feelings. In the old days I’d absolutely purge; I went a long, long time without even considering dressing and when I look back that was the absolutely worst time of my life. At the time I couldn’t put my finger on why but looking back it’s utterly obvious. In pretending to not be who I am I was strangling the real me. I put on tonnes of weight, I drank massively – my other half reminded me a couple of days ago that when I used to drink with her before we got together, I’d be the one who always bought the next round, and a round consisted of a drink for everyone and a BOTTLE of wine for me. And that’s not exaggerating.

Pictured – Husband’s Xmas work-do, a bit of eye-candy to make his co-workers jealous (2021 Xmas look)

The consequence of not embracing the real side of me made me, literally, mentally and physically unwell. I can pretend I was just ‘an alcoholic’ but that is not the truth. I was choosing to drown myself rather than embrace the urges.

And back then the urges were different than they are today. When I think about having a dressing session it’s ‘what dress would I love to wear?’. Back then it was ‘what makes me look feminine’ but not in a good way; there was a lot of unresolved self-hate.

A lot of us have this and don’t realise it. A lot of the classic tranny-tropes aren’t about looking sexy, they are about being demeaned in a feminine way. It’s about a loss of control, both intentional and in a submissive way. And for some people that is the rush; for me it definitely used to be that.

Pictured – with Mrs.Claus at home dressed like this, is it any surprise Santa wants to get all his work done in a night?

But as I have got older and allowed myself to accept some definite truths it has genuinely changed. I don’t want to ‘pass’, I don’t want to be humiliated. It’s not about what other’s think of me anymore. And that’s a huge thing to realise.

I had a period where I was terrified, for a number of reasons, about being found out. Partly it was because I had some security clearances that were very hard to get hold of, and partly it was because I was embarrassed by what I thought people would think. It was a vicious cycle; I wanted to wear the most outrageous, the most restrictive stuff but on the other side I was mortified at what people would think.

Over the last seven years (and wow, how did it become seven years!!!!) my experience and desires have changed, radically. It could be down to getting older, it could be down to experimenting with hormones (which I shouldn’t do but again, I am 100% comfortable with them), but my needs and urges have turned inward. It’s not that I don’t care what people think, it’s that I no longer assume what people will think.

Pictured – Femme Fatale Xmas look (2022)

I also think it’s a generational thing. I talk a lot to millennials and their world-view, which I think is naive but that’s because I grew up in a terribly paranoid time, is delightful. They genuinely don’t see gender, race, tribes the way we were brought up to. And, courtesy of the pills/hormones/age(!!!) I’m starting to think the way they do.

Anyway, I’m aware this has become somewhat of a mind dump – long story short I plan to do some radical new things in the new year. Still doing the sessions, still doing the retro. But I want to experiment, to taste new tastes.

So, this weekend will be a big one. I’ll write it up as soon as I am back, with lots of pictures.

Before I go though, I ticked off another bucket-list item in the last month. Someone contacted me and asked me if I’d consent to my pictures being used as a cover-girl and an article in an Amateur Crossdressers physical magazine. Utterly flattered, I said yes. And they did.

Pictured – yes, it’s a real magazine. Colour me delightfully exploited.

I bought a copy off of Amazon. Going to be honest, I’ve never been so paranoid about receiving a parcel (Amazon has a tendency to rip packaging), but it arrived complete. And yes, massive thrill at seeing myself on the front of a spank-mag. As they say, result….

So, stay beautiful, enjoy December and get planning for 2024.

Pictured – see, I went an entire post without expressing my love and need to be a domesticated housewife. Oh wait, damn.