Daylight - Part 1

Great stories typically have all the “once upon a time” and “happily ever after” elements in them. I am going to apologize up front for cheating you out of both. To add to that, this might be far from a great story too. With all of those cautions made, let me remind you my friends that its not too late for you to stop reading.

Alas we are still here together. So catch a breath and join me.

The missing parts will emerge and merge future posts. For the “once upon a time” elements I do plan on spelunking the darker recesses of my memory for my dressing differently hows and whys in future posts. And, with a little luck and openness and honesty, the “happily ever after” story, complete with a nice swell of violins and etc won’t be too far off either…

So here in the middle part, we start with the young adult years. Much of the dressing was more associated with what Catholic priests might delicately refer to as “self abuse”. Very abbreviated and shall we say vigorous encounters with the demanding mistress of the feminine wardrobe. I did not get out much, and was pretty certain to be enjoying a smoke and generally tidying up not too long after starting.

On a handful of daring occasions I lured myself out and into the arms of transformation specialists. The angels I met with here typically enjoyed a sideline interest in the “forced” part of the feminization, and this agreed with my needs at the time. In younger, less complete years I was happy to have a behavioral accomplice. If there was some coercion in the act, then I was not fully responsible.

So, some happy years later, never having taken full responsibility (ownership?) of my feelings, I fell thunderously in love. The sort of love that makes you forget O so much. This epic event resulted in a marriage that thrives yet today. Hooray for us! Not too long into it, with my feminine underthings long since purged, and a whole new wardrobe in close proximity, old urges returned.

Of course this was not to be discussed and frankly, it scared the crap out of me.

I suspect that I did what a good many do. Try to dress vicariously. When we shopped, I would gently steer us into a Victoria’s Secret and try to upgrade the general sexiness of the top drawer. Birthdays and anniversaries might occasion the purchase of an entirely uncomfortable pieces of corsetry or an unwearable garter/stocking set.

And yet the Silky Siren would not stop whispering my name.

My wife worked at the time for a company run by a lovely woman who threw a great party and loved to laugh. We were about the same age and so shared stories about nightclubs and the music we lived by in earlier years. From these discussions, and knowing that she was then living in the almost definitionally bent nation of England at the time, I just knew she was a kinky thing.

And so for the bridal shower at her house a kink was introduced… “Honey, this is way too, too much to ask, but it would really help out at the shower this weekend if you would. .. well how do I say this? Could you wear a dress?”

I encourage everyone to start playing poker early in life. Mastering your facial expressions is a key survival skill. I play reasonably well.

“Well I don’t know, but if you think it will keep you in the good books, well I am all about helping out…”

Daylight. Proof of the existence of a benign and perhaps fashion-forward force in the universe with my happiness and well being somewhere in their consideration set.

And now dear friends, begging your patience, and with 2 things in mind, I am hitting the pause button.

1. I try to keep blogposts under 800 words. And there is just no way for me to do all of this justice in a single reach into the memory, and
2. Serial story telling is a time honored tradition after all.

These days, my writing, like my dressing, is a little less furious and driven then it was in younger days. I savor both, and prefer that they are not being a preamble to .... well ..., to self abuse. Just nice, warm learnings. But I will return to the lead up to the party, the evening itself, and its educational and lamentable aftermath over the next couple of days.

I have an actual living to make in the meantime. Thanks for listening.