Dear friends and odd followers of these Voyages may agree and not take offense if I suggest that even the most well adjusted cross dresser has moments of what we shall lightly call agony. If not agony, then at least self doubt and a desire for more simplicity or openness about our habits.
I have had a bit of this mixed in recently with the other agonies associated with my previously documented flood. The threat of more drenching now seems past, and putting everything back where it was seems now do-able, if not for Thanksgiving, then at least for Christmas time. With some extra labor, at the expense of dressing and blogging time, I have got my professional life back on track and under control. So perhaps now is a fine time to blog about the other stuff. Therapeutics as the sign says.
Autumn weather is upon us, and we even frosted in Georgia earlier this week which helps sharpen the senses. We now have perfect weather to get into clingy things head-to-toe and go walkabout en femme. Halloween is just around the corner too. Thoughts of public devilment and the general free pass for kink that 31 October implies bubble up. The stores are packed with beautiful clothes, and the whole knits / tights / boots theme showing in so many windows caters nicely (in my view) to the cross dressing community's fashion limits. Lastly, retail sales being weak owing to general economic issues, there are lots of steals and deals to be had for the girl on a budget.
And there I was at the start of the week with my wardrobe, wigs, and all-too-necessary padding literally buried beneath an avalanche of mattresses, duvets, pillows, futons, and a few closets worth of off-season clothing.
Put the lure of the season together with all the tools of my trade being oh so tantalizingly out of reach, add a month of unscheduled Drabbatical, and well, its crazy-making.
Yesterday I took steps to address the imbalance. Mrs. B had some client visits far enough out of town that I had time to act. It was a hell of a labor, but I managed to extricate the Petra-gear from the fiendish prison beneath all the flotsam. Or jetsam. I can never tell the two apart. Anyhow, I scraped a knuckle and hyperventilated but was able to take comfort in simply reintroducing myself to my darling things.
Minus the make-up I went full-Petra, and spent upwards of 6 hours dressed. My walk is still good, and the heels felt golden. My posture, upright and seated still adjusts quite nicely to feminine standards. Combing out the wig, shaking the long hair free, and feeling the tingle on my neck and shoulders was just as natural as breathing. And the breathing, a few electric moments after I pulled the zip up on my dress became calm, deep and comforting.
I took a couple of breaks for wardrobe changes but otherwise kept my productivity up on the project I am managing just now. Late in the day, I calmly drabbed down, and stored things away more accessibly in the attic.
Today, on a little bit of a roll, I took on a little shopping therapy. Ann Taylor was 60% off on a dress that I have been lusting after (pictured at right). Ann is normally out of my price league, but I simply could not resist treating myself. Fits like a glove. Not entirely sure when I will take my new friend out for a day on the town, but knowing its there, waiting, patiently for the right day helps settle my mind just that little bit more.
Thanks for the notes of concern and good wishes over these odd and trying weeks. Those notes have helped settle my mind and keep the potential for madness at bay. Nice to know you are there too.
More or less regular publication schedule resumes next week.
Happy dressing, and everything else.