Resolved, Rinse, Repeat

I have never been, dear friends much of a New Years Resolution type. Like many, I have made easy promises about cold hard things that melted away at the first heat. My track record over the years, if I am to be honest was zero for whatever. Not wanting to reinforce that tradition of failure, some years ago I resolved to resolve no more. Here, finally, was a promise that I could keep. I lightly entered the next 15 or so new years without dragging burdensome profanity, drinking, or career track baggage with me.

I managed nonetheless to attain a reasonable position of comfort and accomplishment, and in some senses, a lavish life without these annual commitments. Clearly I was on the right track, and clearly something had to be changed.

And so last year, newly intoxicated by my acceptance of “Petra”, I resolved again. Publicly in fact. Long time readers may remember a post from 31 Dec of 08 wherein I promised 2 things.

I resolve to keep at this (ed. blogging). I want to be a better writer, and Petra surely has much to write about.

Done, and to my thinking, done well. I have posted, since that pledge, 100+ mini-essays on diverse topics here on Voyages en Rose. I have figured out the discipline of placing butt in a chair and getting the thoughts sorted into words. I do believe that the quality is good, the voice is original, and your response as an audience for my writing has been particularly gratifying. Next:

I resolve to share this (ed. cross dressing) in some way, slowly, and respectfully with my wife. I know she wants my happiness, but this is a very, very big ask.

Again, done, a bullet dodged, a bomb diffused. And possibilities of growing love and happiness exist again in the home I share with the principal miracle in my overblessed life. Top that.

A pretty good year measured against my promises. I should take my winnings off the table and go back to the happy no-years resolution posture of prior years, but fool that I am, it is time to double down.

First, on the writing. I am going to take it more seriously. I take much joy from the work of writing, and a have great inheritance of experience to plunder. Most of that experience has little or nothing to do with the what I write about here. The sugar and spice is nice, yes, but there is more to life than all that. I am going to write in my own name and in the open. There I will lose the lovely anonymity that Voyages en Rose provides. New challenges and consequences no doubt. Looking forward to them.

This will represent a loss of voice for Petra, and that is likely, certain in fact, to be registered here with a less productive year on Voyages en Rose. This anticipation ties closely to my other big resolution.

It is my hope to normalize my cross dressing this year. Cross dressing has been so much, too much on my mind for the last 12 months plus. It has taken cycles from parts or my life that truly require and deserve attention. I don’t regret a moment of the time I have spent blogging, corresponding, checking analytics, and pondering new purchases, but I simply cannot sustain this near obsessive level of attention to the life en femme.

I believe that I have been too occupied with this part of my life because it was hidden from my wife. Lots of steam in that tightly shut pressure cooker. The lid, loose now, the heat lower, the broth is off the boil. There are other dishes to prepare. Some of them have to do with money. I could have made a lot more of the stuff in 2009. Money is not everything, but at heart, money does represent choice. I like choice and it is time to give myself more of them. Therefore, my paying work will get some of the displaced energy.

More importantly, I plan to use the freed up time and mental cycles to be a better husband to my wife. We do need to carefully figure out exactly how we share our home and lives with Petra together, and that is a big, complex and sensitive undertaking. Taken in the big picture though, these matters are small beans. We have much to plan for and achieve together, and most of these things have little to do with gender expression and much to do with humanity, love and hope. The big stuff, dear friends.

Wish us luck. And for you, my wishes are exactly the same for you as they were one year ago today:

I wish you all a completely happy new year. Whatever makes you peaceful, tranquil, curious and young, I hope you find in abundance.

Thanks for visiting. See you soon.

A look back in Angora

Just moments ago I ran into a creative wall and hit the pause button on my efforts to create a suitable wrap up post for the end of an eventful 2009. One wants to kindly pat the ass of the old year as it totters out the door, and embrace the new one with warmth and anticipation as she sashays in. This process involves, for me, a quick reflective flight back through much of what I have written over the past year.

On balance I am very happy with the yield of my labors in the Voyages en Rose garden. Moreover, I have been really encouraged by the comments and contributions that many of you have spread around here. To stretch the garden metaphor, you have helped fertilize things quite nicely, thank you. To fully snap the metaphor, I will now pull five blooms from the past years yield for your consideration. I think they represent the full spectrum of colors I write with, and document the tides, high, low and in between of what has been for me a remarkable year.

From oldest to youngest, here is a fast clatter through 2009:

From 27 February “Big, Subtle Victories” wherein your correspondent comments on a Freudian non-slip, and the comfortable embrace of my cross dressed life.

From 13 March, A Cross Dressers Hiatus, the first time in my life that I had been paying full enough attention to my habit, to see it wash away from me. The first time too that I knew I would be comfortable when the tide came back in.

From August 11, Veronica vs. Betty, Stockings vs. Pantyhose. Here, I took a diversion from my typical reviews of tights to generalize on the allure of sheers, in their many forms. This sort of stuff tends to get my poetic juices running.

From 26 October, Cross Dressing Canvas, a real stretch of my mental silly putty, but in hindsight, not a bad attempt at understand dressing in general and cross dressing specifically as an artistic undertaking.

From 21 November, The Stations of the Cross Dresser – The Brassiere Fitting, in which your quivering correspondent does some straight reportage from behind the lines of a fine lingerie shop.

I will pay tribute to Mrs. Bellejambes here by mentioning that her 2 favorites were my poetic efforts here and here. This came as a surprise to me, and a challenge I suppose. Perhaps the creation of a the odd couplet will help keep this odd couple young and fresh.

I am now going to self-medicate, a 375 ml dose of a decent Argentine Malbec, in the hope that I can rise tomorrow to the challenge of thanking you for properly for your visits this past year, and setting expectations for the next.

Happy New Years Eve Eve.

Petra’s Pantyhose Parade – High Waist Sheer Elimination Tourney

Long promised, overdue, derailed by the holidays and the fluff ‘twixt my ears, I am today getting around to fulfilling an editorial promise made on 10 December in a post you might review here while your nails dry.

In America, we are but weeks away from the culmination of the Collegiate basketball season and so I thought to stage a mini-tourney of tights in a bracketed format to help get you in practice for March Madness with my own brand of Sheer Madness. The sheer part is easy, and I expect that my madness will be fully confirmed by the time I publish the concluding post sometime in late January. The tournament runs through 3 preliminary rounds, after which Gold, Silver and Bronze medals will be handed out. A virtual set of steak knives and flowers to the plucky also-rans.

This week our Ivy League Competitors, Ann Taylor and Donna Karan go sandal-toe-to-sandal-toe in our first high-pressure, low-denier slim-fest. Next week, it’s the SCC (Sara’s Corporate Conference) featuring an epic intra-brand battle of the bulge between marquee brand Spanx, and her value priced sibling, Assets by Sara Blakely. We will wrap it all up with NCAA (Nice, Cheap, All-American) Division 2 upstarts and crowd favorites L’eggs whose Silken Mist and Profiles entries have garnered no small amount of pre-tournament prattle and buzz. Got your pom-poms and popcorn and pomegranite martinis ready? Lets have at it, shall we?

Round 1: The Ivy League.

Donna Karan and Ann Taylor truly are the Vassar and Wellesley of the tournament, sleek, polished, refined and ready to gobble up an inheritance of any magnitude.

AT strides onto the court with The Perfect Sheer Modern High Waist Control Top available online or in stores at a retail price of $25.00. They are very true to the size chart, and this I do not mind telling you will come as a bit of a surprise once you have pulled them out of the package. They are the tiniest little things, positively elfin and cute beyond words. They look to have the same dimensions as a dressy little infants one-sey that you might see at a baby shower if the soon-to-be-born was expected to require evening wear in between feedings. The 23% Spandex content provides all the stretch required to hoist them high, up and over knees, hips, waist and well north of this Adam’s rib to rest comfortably just below the bra line.

The slimming thoughout the panty portion is provided solely by the high elastic content, as is the position of the panty top. The good news is that this simple approach to figure fixing leaves clean lines beneath your outfit. The bad news is that there is really nothing for the garment to find purchase on and cling to. You can expect a gradual loss of altitude over the course of the evening, but in fairness, the loss is evenly distributed and does not create an unsightly spare tire about the waist line.

The leg is a pretty, matte sheer that I would guess to be in the 15-20 denier range, so dressy yes, attractive by all means, but not really red carpet ready. The run resistant weave does show a tell-tale horizontal thread, but clearly you are on friendly terms with anyone close enough to notice that level of detail. It is good that run resistant durability is built in at $25.00 a throw, but Ann's durability comes at the price of a little elastic heat. They feel better to the hand then they do to the leg, not really wicking heat and moisture away very effectively.

Team DK takes the court with the Body Perfect Collection Waist Embrace Perfect Sheer, evenly matched from a price perspective at $24.00, but ready to outclass Team Taylor right from the tip off. The art direction of the packaging is alluring, and the feel of the garment is nothing short of superb even before the long delicate climb in and up. The 90% nylon shaping panty portion has a polished silken feel, and is buttressed by a reinforcing midriff panel and some extra determined butt lifting hydraulics in the back field. The rear half of the high waistband is augmented with silicon grip, and the front half by a clever, subtle bra clasp mechanism. This is a structural slimmer, not simply a an elastic one. Once on, they stay in place. I do advise you to avoid environments where nervous impulse drinking urges may strike. I imagine it is easier to suit up for a space walk than to disrobe for a call of nature in these. All beauty at a price though correct?

And the beauty really shows in the leg. 10 denier sheer to my practiced guess, 12 tops, delicate, light catching and faintly glimmering sheers, there is no room in my social circle that the DK’s would be outclassed in. Even with the high (23%) Spandex content, there is a cling and glide about the leg that is cool and comforting, and to the hand, luxurious as leggings get. Appearance and feel that rivals the very best of the premier European hosiery vendors at a very competitive price.

Ivy League performance all the way. Our clear-cut conference winner, Donna Karan moves on to the playoff round, assured of a spot in the Final Sheer Three.

2 up, 1 down, 4 to go. Stay tuned here for the Spanx tip off.

The Night Before Cross Dress

‘Twas some weeks before Christmas, and up in the attic
Were blouses and dresses which, if found, would cause static.
And wigs too, and padding and heels at their highest
And short skirts for bold girls, not the girl who is shy-est.

This bounty of pretty, to me a delight
Was a source too of upset that I hoped to set right
My too private wardrobe did enjoin me with grief
And for long months I puzzled, in pursuit of relief.

So temptingly close, six small steps up the stairs
Duck down here, mind your step, look beyond those old chairs
You’d see wires and boxes, old tools and detritus
Squint there now, beyond them, all the things that delight us

In the cold, and the dark, and on hangers, not shoulders
Dresses not loved and worn, well they wither and molder
But molder they must long as I do not share
With my wife, who might find this all too much to bear.

Having married a man, a chap dressed in a Tux
Who took to things manly like water to ducks
And who took loving pledges, religious and civil
But now wants to walk with a different hip swivel

You know news of this sort would confuse and confound
The smart and the strong and the frail and the sound,
And my proud wife, she made of such sterling stuff
Might say, and quite fairly, that enough is enough.

And I for our home, for our love, for my vows
Would purge and would promise no more dressing, no-how
And shut off desires in the wool dyed so true
For feelings and fabrics more pink and less blue.

Feelings deeper than surface, more profound than reflexive
My feelings of kinship for the woman’s perspective
I would try to disarm, to discard, and suppress
And live on with less me, and with more of my stress.

But the stress is not mine, as you know, its all shared
And unfairly with loved ones, with the people I care
To see happy, delighted, at ease and in love
And so last week, dead frightened, my push came to shove.

My story I told, (in prose form, not in verse)
A confessional letter that for better or worse
Told truths too long buried about the whole me:
Mix up 3 cups of man, add a fresh dash of “she” .

There are moments dear friends that you pray will go right
That moment, now past, I’m relieved and you might
Think me lucky in general, and most blessed by a wife
Who said, “thanks love, for sharing, lets get on with our life”.

Now panties and stockings and girdles and tights,
And jungle print tunics and tall boots that beam bright
And blouses that button from the left, not the right
Are now folded and hung in a room warm with light.

Our stockings are hung too, by chimney and belt
My favorites, more flimsy than the red ones of felt,
And I wish for you friends, with my heart, that you might,
Enjoy Christmas today, and each day, a good night.

Image courtesy of Katie over at the always worth a visit Knickers Lingerie Blog. Happy Holidays to everyone!

The Other Woman - Part 2. Out with a hall pass

Ed. For fashionably latecomers, this post is the conclusion of the story commenced in “The Other Woman” just a few days ago.

After saying "see you a little later" to the true beauty of my home the other night, I slid into the car and headed out into the night. Driving en femme is always special of course – adjusting to the feel of heels on the pedals, the electric touch of tights on more closed legs, elbows in, arms held just lower, the seatbelt seated differently across the augmented bust.

And O, yeah, the hair blown errantly and adhering to ones newly glossed lips. I love the challenges, but honestly they sometimes stack up too fast and furious. All happiness at a price I suppose.

In any event, I was off to meet with an unknown number of card and purse carrying CD/TG guild members at a nearby gay bar welcoming of all-sorts. Mrs. Bellejambes did volunteer to come along with me but, not really knowing the crowd, I thought it prudent to do my reconnaissance as a solo mission. It is important to me that each threshold we cross together is done well, and that we avoid mis-steps along the way as much as possible. I took a few minutes to browse cosmetics at a Walgreens in order to get my hips operating correctly, bring the heart rate down a small scooch and etc., took a couple of deep breaths and strode into the smoky confines of The Stage Door.

It was pretty easy to spot my sorority, front and center at the bar, as they are. I said hello to Heather, the outreach director for Atlanta’s Tri-Ess CD support group, and Rebecca, full-timer and bravely transitioning girl in town from the reddest county in a very red state. A few other introductions, Joanne in a pretty red dress with her loving wife, Cindy, Nikki with the 6” black pumps, and exchanges of hello’s with a few others whose faces I remember but whose names elude me mostly. I have a pretty easy way with conversation but am hopeless with names dear friends.

Heather had to call it an early night, but took the time to ensure that I knew that Mrs. B and myself were most welcomed to lean on Tri-Ess for whatever support and fellowship we want, and I must say that that is a nice coupon to have in the purse for the right time. Bless you Heather.

I am happy to report that the evening was about as normal as nights out get. I shot a little inept pool with Leslie, she of the complexion of a 40 year old who confessed to being a grandparent of 9, social security eligible, and a mere 4 years into fully womanly life after tackling GRS in her late 50’s. Her pool is less inept than mine, with a rather intimidating display of bank shots, massées and décolletage which she unleashed to easily kick my amply padded butt around the table.

It was a relief, after that crushing defeat, then to talk about high availability, mission critical EDI and other computing matters with Joanne. The IT business would be so much more sexy if all the part time geek girls could dress without career consequence it seems to me.

Demographically, the crowd tilted a little silver. Even in my late 40’s I was at the young end of the spectrum. No real surprises or issues with that to me – just an observation. I suppose that many of us are capable of putting up a pretty good fight, and forestalling the embrace of the truth until we hit some level of maturity that can only come with experience, and for me, lots of it.

Some of the hi-jinx did go a little to the young and green side of the age continuum, too young at moments for my tastes. There was a certain amount of flashing and friendly feels copped here and there (not by me, or of me thankfully). I am fully with St. John Lennon in believing “whatever gets you through the night, it’s all right, its all right”, but I am a bit of a reserved prude, at least about my own comportment. Its not that I have inhibitions so much as I just don’t get all tingly about exhibitions. The universe however says Ohmmmmm, and I try my best to hum along.

I took my leave before being tempted by the cocktail of no return with warm hugs, light handshakes and happily, no high-fives, to arrive quietly at home a little after mid-night. I was reminded of an old girlfriends complaints about smoky places (my own apartment I think, back then). Women with long hair are Vapor Velcro. Even with my own retarded sense of smell, I could tell I was a tad rank, which takes some of the gloss off a ground breaking night.

There is the slow, mindful and decorous unbuttoning and hanging of garments, the doffing of shoes and wig, the careful peeling of nails and lashes, and the good scrub of the old mug. Sad moments, or perhaps not sad, just a little wistful. And privileged moments too. And then, there in the mirror blinking back at you, yourself thinking … “where did that woman go...?”

Well, she went home. To climb quietly into a warm and slumbering bed.