Fountains of Youth

The last couple of posts here have been pretty emotionally charged, at least to me. I could, and will over time add more observations on the process of learning to live with and share cross dressing with my wife, but I must tell you that living through these recent moments and handling the very live intimacy of it all it all has taken quite a little of the starch out of my blouse. I am pooped.

So, perhaps a return to previously scheduled blog programming is in order. Typically, I have tried to throw at least 3 blog bouquets over my shoulder each week. I like them to be different and have found in time that they are usually one of the following 3 types:

Profound – something heavy, bordering on ponderous, that attempts to get to the serious if not darker heart of human capability as revealed by gender issues
Pithy – something lighthearted, often analytical of an odd data set, or commentary on the pratfalls of the pretty life. and
Pantyhosed – "write about things you know and love" is the advice that any aspiring author gets. Well, I am a bit of a fiend for tights, so there we go.

Having done enough of the profound for my own good and yours these last couple of posts, let us move lightly on to pithy, and cast our smokey eyes over last weeks poll. I asked just how old our femme selves feel relative to our actual age.

I was moved to think about age, and cross dressings impact on our perception of age when I caught myself checking myself out in a mirror a couple of weeks ago. If I had made a pass at myself I would have been engaging in age-inappropriate dating behavior. Forgiving the slight puffiness about the eyes, there was a 20-something reflecting back - - - at least from a fashion sense perspective. Furthermore, I did not feel as though I was dressed too young.

It appears that I am not alone.

90% of us report feeling younger when adoptive of our feminine sides. More shockingly more than 40% or respondents (14 cheeky lasses) reported that the transformation routinely knocked 10 or more circling rings off our personal tree of life, at least for a little while. I will confess, that this is the crowd I run with.

None of our polls respondents indicated that the femme personae is even a minute older in feel than their actual age. Just under 10% indicated that the femme and the full-time or former male selves are more or less the same age, as felt from within.

I am not a youth worshipper. I welcome experience and am rather looking forward to having more of it. Many of the most challenging, charming and rewarding relationships I have are with people deep into their 70’s and 80’s, men and women both. All of us are capable, if their examples are true, of carrying brio, verve, and humor with us wherever we go, and for how ever many years. With good health, and even in the face of poor health, our outlooks are in large part matters of choice. Choosing a youthful outlook it seems is never a bad choice.

And so when the cross dresser chooses to give light and voice to the feminine self it seems right and proper that we should feel and express younger. Those of us who, like me, are part-time dressed, and more or less functional for the rest of our hours can and do leverage our relative lack of experience and can get younger in an instant. Nice fringe benefit with that fringed skirt.

Comments from friends who have transitioned are similar. People who emerge whole, in a new full time gender after GRS mostly embrace the new life with youthful vigor. The clock gets reset in a very profound way I suspect for these voyagers.

For either set of people, we are both driven at heart by a curiosity, and surely curiosity is a hallmark of youth.

And I must say now to the very special, and especially welcomed “natural born” genetic women who visit Voyages en Rose that you seem to be possessed of some of the same curiosity. It shows in your outlook expressed in your correspondence and comments and shows fully in your looks expressed in your photographs and avatars. Keep it up, and be assured that the people who matter will always find you to be beautiful, whatever age you are.

Whatever form your fountain of youth takes, slurp away with abandon.

The 14th Station of the Cross Dresser – Sharing with ones Spouse

Way back in February of this long, fast year, in a moment of insouciance I coined a phrase, cobbling together a ritual from my lapsed Catholic past, and my cross dressing habits of the present. The result, The Stations of the Cross Dresser was intended to identify a good handful of big moments, moments to mark and celebrate, and then, catch ones breath and move on the next inevitable and unavoidable challenge. These “stations” or milestones in the journey ranged from the easy and, I suppose, universal events like underdressing or making a purchase while in drab mode, all the way to the challenging, and not universal. Events like using a public restroom, and finally, sharing your life fully with ones spouse.

Sharing the truth with my wife was something that I had not done when I drafted my glib gamut of girly daring-do. The requirement weighed very heavily on my mind though. It took a full 46 years of living for me to fully accept it for myself. How can somebody else, who believes she knows you fully, and loves you nonetheless manage to not be shattered at the introduction of this new reality?

I neatly forestalled the urgency of sharing my truth by putting the truth telling at the very bottom of the list, Station # 14. I put some pretty daunting obstacles in front of me, knowing at least at some sub-conscious level that I was buying some breathing room. One by one though, I passed my stations, genuflected and moved more or less gracefully on to the next: make-up counters, wig salons, fitting rooms and the lot. I was beginning to run out of runway.

More importantly, I realized that the burdens of privacy and deceit that I was carrying with me always was getting in the way of my wife and I enjoying the full measure of joy that we carried together into our marriage over 14 years ago. Joy we deserve to have today, and hope to have for many more magical years ahead.

And so the moment came.

..........................

In 1972, legendary American Sportscaster Jim McKay advised his global audience of the horrifying news of a botched rescue mission in Munich and the violent death of the 9 remaining Israeli Olympic athletes/hostages with, what was to me then, and still is now a movingly simple and profound quote he attributed to his father:

“Rarely are our worst fears or greatest dreams realized”

I am happy beyond words to report that my worst fears were not realized. It is rather closer to the truth to suggest in fact that my greatest dreams have been realized. Those dreams have less to do with cross dressing than they have to do with things that are more important to me: respect, honesty, trust, openness, fidelity and happiness.

Having now cleared the air of the biggest impediment in my life to having those necessary things, I have a feeling of lightness, hope and joy that is difficult to describe in a single blog post, even for this wordy old thing.

As to my wife’s reaction, she is an idealist, and a highly liberal person. Without understating the difficulties, awkward moments, and adjustments that lay ahead of us, one quote stands out:

“I get to wear pants. I don’t see why men wearing a skirt should be such a big deal”.

Hard to argue that sort of logic I suppose. There is logic though, and then there is the fully attenuated, live-nerve-ending emotional world we live in. Figuring out how we will share our full selves with one another will be an ongoing challenge, difficult for all couples, and perhaps more difficult when a non-standard gender expression tendency is alive within the couples lives.

I did not arrive at the discussion with any bargaining chips or a list of personal requirements. I felt that my long dishonesty had traded any leverage I had away. I was honest about my belief that my cross dressing is something that is integral to me, that it reveals a part of my self that enables my view of the world and my place in it to be more complete, full and satisfying. So, how we share and what we share --- well that is all still yet to be determined.

I did not say this in so many words, but think that I inferred that the person revealed when I am able to access these feminine parts of my whole is a good person. A kind person. A sensitive person. Some of the fetters of deeply inbred, highly evolved masculinity often get in the way of a guys ability to express those beautiful and loving dimensions. I hope to be able to more freely tap into those senses and express them for my benefit, for the benefit of my wife, and for the benefit of everyone I am privileged to meet and interact with.

I do not believe that being able to tap into those qualities will unalterably change the “natural” and always easily expressed dimensions of my nearly full-time guy self. I am comfortable in pants, literally and figuratively. I have enjoyed many successes in this life. The vast majority of them as a guy untroubled by wardrobe conflict or a deeper wrestling match with my true nature.

The biggest success of my many successes though was winning the heart of my beautiful wife in the first magical place. That success was matched for me this weekend by being granted an opportunity to love fully, and to be loved fully by, that same wonderful person.

As I am.

Love

A Short Post a Long Time in the making

Dear Friends,

I have been busy thinking and writing this week, and not only for the blog. I have just finished drafting a condensed cross dressers autobiography. Autobiographies of course want an audience, and I have a special one. My wife.

We have some time set aside this afternoon. In fact, we organized things such that we both have the social decks cleared fully for the rest of the weekend. In December no less. No obligations, no contractors under-foot. A couple of beautiful dogs staring at us wondering why the hell we are not either going walkies or at the least scratching their bellies, and the only knocks on the door likely to come from Jehovahs Witnesses or other such vendors of salvation.

Well, all the salvation I require today can be found in honesty I suspect. I have owed my wife that honesty, in full measure, for as long as I have realized that cross dressing and my general explorations of my fuller self was simply not going to bloom, fall of the stem and die. As long as I have obscured this in my home, our shared home, I have made the home less loving than it deserves to be, than it needs to be to flourish and grow. There is stress in the life that my wife and I share, and perhaps some, perhaps much of it stems from my cross dressing.

I suspect though, that more of the stress, and friction, and heated moments are related to my lack of openness about it, the burden of carrying around a pretty big deceit.

So I will be sharing a well considered and honest couple of pages of notes, and then opening the floor up to questions this afternoon.

I must tell you that while I have some fluttering nerves about it all, I am more possessed of a tranquil resolve. I can almost taste the relief that comes from unburdening. I am not under-estimating the potential for negative, emotional, and hurt outcomes from this disclosure. But I am convinced that non-disclosure is putting us on a track to the similar and perhaps bigger hurts.

It is time. Past time. This is my duty.

I do promise to update you with news. I hope you will forgive me if it takes a little while. I really have no instrumentation available to me that would helpfully indicate that clear skies are “x” miles ahead on bearing “y”. Similar with comment moderation. Love you all dearly, but my focus will be rightly elsewhere for the forseeable future.

Do wish me a little luck though, and think a nice thought in your busy weekend friends. And again, let me thank you for visiting. Finding an outlet here at Voyages en Rose for my thoughts has really helped me get to this necessary day. Looking forward to sharing new days with you all sometime soon.

Petra

Petra’s Pantyhose Parade – New Heights

Over the course of the last year I have made a regular passion of reviewing and ranking standard issue, natural-waist, sheer tights. I am at a bit of an impasse though you see. I have started to run out of new product to review. O, I know, I am missing Falke, and Mantoux and Fogal and too many to mention, but these delights are simply not falling off the shelves here locally. Come the new year, I mean to do a little more shopping online. Just for now though, little brown packages tied up with string are not amongst my favorite things.

I have accumulated a fair number of tights of a different class in my many shopping sorties this year. High-Waisted Super Slimming Pantyhose. Not your standard issue control top sheers, no ma’am. They might be better described this way:

Two garments, dear to the hearts of lingerie enthusiasts everywhere, girdle and stockings, have been shot at each other, as though from opposite ends of a lycra-rich super-collider, super-conductor. The hybrid that survived and glows in the still steaming wreckage is, to me, the peanut butter and chocolate, the champagne and popcorn (ed. no fooling, a great match, try it) of modern era, non-retro foundation garments.

When I run these rib-cage ticklers through the Petra’s Pantyhose Parade scoring algorithm though, something simply does not work. I suppose that like anything shot through a super-conducting super-collider, they elude the generally agreed upon laws of physics. At the same time, they do though have an enormous impact on the known laws of physiques,and that piques my interest, meriting the creation of a new class of hosiery, and a new math to evaluate them with. Some opening notes on this planned series are tendered here today.

What qualifies them in? Quite simple really: If you can pull them up to your bra-line without voiding the manufacturers warranty, they are in!

Why wear them? Well, for starters, admire the picture on the right. I simply could not understand the person who would not want at least to try them on. Male, female, straight, not, soldier, sailor, tinker, tailor, I mean, people, please…

Why else? Because, like Everest, they are there.

For those of you not yet convinced, would a handful of feature, advantage, benefit statements work? Let us try.

Slimming is good.
Smooth surfaces beneath clingy garments are good, and
If quality hosiery feels good, then more of it must feel better, no?

The defense rests.

The prosecution will of course point out the following:

More hosiery means more money.
When nature calls, you must be prepared for a little grappling, and
Gravity always gets its way. Anything not nailed or glued in place will slide down a tad.

Well, no pain, no gain says I, so its time for a high stepping parade. Here are the contestants, in no particular order: the L’eggs Silken Mist Waist Cinching Shaper, the L’eggs Profiles Waist Smoother Toner, the Assets by Sara Blakely Perfect Pantyhose High Waist, the Spanx All The Way Up! High-Waisted Full-Length Pantyhose, the Ann Taylor Sheer High Waist Control Top Tights (pictured at left), and the Donna Karan Body Perfect Waist Embrace Sheer Pantyhose. I may stumble upon one or two more of this class on my travels. If I am missing any obvious candidates that you, esteemed reader, believe should be under this lasses glasses, just drop me a line. Can’t find the Wolfords anywhere, and lord I have tried. If you know where I can find a medium in black, I am willing to trade my collection of rare Barbara Feldon memorabilia for them. A second mortgage is not absolutley out of the question either I suppose.

The criteria that they will be judged on goes as follows. Price will be a factor, yes, but less of a factor than in my standard sheers formula. Compression and smoothing is what these garments promise, and so I will hold them to their own standards (do they preen and prune and nip and tuck us well?). Gravity fighting (do they stay up or do they go inner tube at the waist?). Feel, to the leg, the body, and the hand (do you want to wear them?). Beauty on the leg (naturallement, would you be proud of their appearance, and look like a slimmed down million dollars?). And finally, judges prerogative – a random Petra Value that will express my delight or consternation about …. well I don’t know quite yet. We both will soon though.

Back next week with the first edition

Queens, Knaves and other Cross Dressing cards.

Today’s post is addressed to all visitors of course, but is especially intended for the growing number of Voyages en Rose followers of the natural born woman variety.

When we of the CD/TG inclination explore our wants and investigate our desires, I think it is safe to say that our first big hurdle is self-acceptance. When we find out that we are not alone, well that is helpful. My one year of blogging and lurking around online has been therapeutic to the max. I am OK with me, and on the whole, greatly comforted by the smarts and sensitivity exhibited by my sorority mates. Or sisters. Hmmm. Never mind. Never was much with pro-nouns.

For me, (and I suspect I am not alone in this either), the next group of people whose acceptance we would seek are the important women in our lives. There are a whole host of reasons that this can be a difficult and dangerous bridge to cross. I won’t recapitulate the particulars here today, but I have to say that I have not tottered fully across that bridge. Yet.

I am preparing to though.

As I prepare for this ...( words fail me) event, I wanted to pay you a little tribute, by way of thanks for your happy, non-judgmental acceptance of me here. It helps me to “normalize” my cross dressing. Ladies, as individuals and as a special group, you have my respect. Respect is important. It is the core theme of this post.

Perhaps you have been exposed to gender bending in nightclub settings. Remember the be-wigged and bombshell breasted drag queen at the microphone, lip synching Half Breed or some other syrupy musical tribute to the mighty Cher? That was not me.

But for a straight guy, I have seen a fair amount of this class of cabaret over the years. At the peak of her game, the dedicated gender illusionist is something to be admired. For contemporary theatrical female impersonation, I would single out for positive notice, the statuesque RuPaul (pictured right, photo credit to Albert Sanchez). Respect for performance craft is displayed in RuPauls’ work, and to my thinking, a sincere respect for women too. Those traits are borne of self respect. Self respect is a precondition for anything of value. So, a tip of the Tiara to RuPaul and the select few (or perhaps countless) who approach their own transformations from that place of respect.

All too often though, Cinderella’s step-sister, the Drag Queen is more spectacle than spectacular. Knavish behavior is seen often under the spotlights. Something catty, something demeaning gets brought to the ball. Traits are exaggerated, the walk, the hands, the hips. Colors are unnatural, the hair, the cheeks, the lips. Body parts and prosthesis are poured in and pressed up, the boobs, the butt, and god help us, the bulge. Often there is skill in the craft, but not much evidence of respect for the fairer sex. It sometimes approaches and passes mean-ness. Mean people are not known for self respect and I suspect that this is a reason that this sort of show gets old for me awfully quickly.

Drag performance does have its uses though I suppose. The weaponized, inflated and slightly distorted parody of femininity is satire, and satire does make us think. The drag artist forces men and women both, (but mostly men) to challenge their own feelings about what is attractive, if only for a few gin soaked moments. This too is a healthy and periodically life changing challenge to orthodoxies. The performer of course has the experience, the microphone, the spot light and therefore all the power too, and often spends it mercilessly on defenseless amateurs in the audience. Again, a nice challenge to typical power structures.

Drag performance pre-dates Shakespeare and perhaps goes back in time through Classical Greek drama and, for all I can surmise, may have taken it's first pre-historic, hip-sprocketed baby steps after supper one night around the fire in front of the Caves of Altamira. I am not knocking the tradition. There is room in the world for a little over-the-top spectacle. The the women I know and love are able to stand a little lampooning, and able to enjoy a laugh at their own expense. Furthermore, if someone is able to make a living not swindling widows and orphans, well, who am I to complain?

The larger than life performing Gender Illusionist is designed and presented in such a way that they cannot be ignored. I, however do want to be ignored. I mean to say that when out, en femme, in the big wide world with my somewhat bigger hips on, I aim to blend in, to disappear, to not illicit undue attention. To, as much as possible, just be one of the girls. I suspect that too is the objective of regular visitors here who share my inclinations.

I remain as hopeless baffled in my attempts to understand what “real” women want at any time as I have since puberty. But I remain dedicated to figuring you out as well as a guy can. And so to you natural women, I say:

… I appreciate your acceptance. I hope to have your respect. On those occasions when I have the privelege to unearth, explore and present my undeniable feminine facets, I truly aim to respectfully represent the beauty that I see in you everywhere, and especially close to home, every day.

You have helped me see that I can cross the bridge in front of me. Thank you.