all dressed up, nowheresville

This morning, I am blogging from bed via my Nokia N800 internet tablet. I wanted to put a thought or three down before I turn in. After being a member of Laura’s Playground for more than a year now, I observe that one of the most common reactions from girlfriends and spouses when their mate comes out to them as a cd’er is for the s.o. to ask if we are gay. For the record, I am straight, not homosexual. I have had two homosexual experiences in my life, which from the statistics is more than most men will admit to, even though Kinsey’s results show such (especially adolescent experiences)experiences to be typical throughout the population. My particular homosexual experiences were also incestuous, and they both occurred before I turned 18, so technically and legally speaking, I was not capable of consenting to either relationship, although the relationship with my brother was certainly voluntary and not forced upon me except perhaps in the sense that I looked up to my brother and perhaps he took advantage of my youth as well as the fact that he was maturing sexually sooner than I, him being a year older than I. My uncle is another story, however. He lured me with praise, special attention, gifts, he let me use his cameras (he was an amateur photographer) and the like, all the while ridiculing my brother so I would feel special. We went skinny-dipping together down at the creek behind our home, on the premise that he and his siblings used to do it all the time when they were young, and this was a right of passage. I swam in the nude, my young athletic body must have been tantalizing to him, as I tried to hide my erection underwater at first, and then as I quickly lost my inhibitions and allowed him to see my manhood. That was when he photographed me, and I posed for him as an artist’s subject. Later, he took me to a cast party for a play he was crewing on, enticed me with the beautiful Amanda, who as if scripted, teased and flirted with me as he fed me hard liquor, and got me so drunk I vomited by the side of the road on the way back to his rented townhouse where I would sleep with him that night. He is a pedophile who had done this before and I’m sure he has since, and I am a coward because I never told anyone about it until revealed it to my psychiatrist when I was 20. I am now 42.

More later, kisses-KM

Birthday reflections

Today is my birthday, #42 for those of you who are counting, which I have always shared with Dr. Martin Luther King, much to my delight over the years.  I have had, as many of you know, one hell of a year, at least emotionally speaking.  It started out badly, with the Staunton debacle — a case of being too high, too angry and bitter, and I managed to forever alter several friendships that I thought were lasting and loyal.  

The ugliness continued throughout the year, as my relationship with my wife deteriorated once she began to make it clear that she doesn’t respect me for a variety of reasons — primarily among these is my addiction to celebrating 420.  Look, I have a good job, a beautiful home out in a beautiful area in the country outside of town, some wonderful small animals I care for and share my space with.  If I’m a head, on my own time, outside of work, and in a way that does not interfere with my day job, if I keep my stuff picked up, if I meet my responsibilities at home, and in every other aspect of my life, then I feel if I choose to smoke, that’s my choice.  If I was a drinking man, and I wanted to take a drink, and it didn’t make me mean, or brooding, I’d feel the same way.  She doesn’t want to be around it at all, and I respect that by keeping it away from her, and mostly out of her sight.  But her feelings on the subject are strong, and she has branded me a loser, and someone not worthy of her respect.  More than that, I deserve harsh, unforgiving, inconsiderate, and disrespectful treatment by my spouse because I have this little addiction issue.  Things have reached a pretty serious level in my book, because I have found in recent weeks that I am losing interest in this woman I have spent the last 15 1/2 years of my life caring for, and loving – showing my love in so many ways, large and small, moreso than telling her how I feel about her.  I think once they lose respect for you, whether it’s your fault or not, it may not be possible to get that back.  Honestly, once the respect side of the equation is gone, I’m not sure anything can be done to restore the respect, and rebuild the relationship.  There’s a danger that the relationship will always be partially false, a lie we tell each other to rationalize remaining in the same house.  I think part of my emotional upheaval of this year has been dealing with the slow death of my marriage from the thousand cuts it has suffered this past year.  It’s affected my outlook on life, caused distractions in my work, and has led to my isolation, in large part, because I have lost a certain trust in people for all my tribulations.  If a spouse, my soul-mate, can lose respect for me, and breach trust, and if she looks at me the way she has expressed she does, is there any hope for a straightforward relationship with any acquaintance?  I’ve known my wife for nearly twenty years, and I have been married to her for 15.5 years — I am her best friend in the world, I know her better than anyone.  She thinks I’m a complete shithead cuz I dabble in the Kush in my downtime.

Being something of a narcissist, I probably spend too much time thinking about myself, and not thinking of others.  I think it can be difficult to strike an appropriate balance between looking out for one’s own interests and taking every opportunity to enjoy this one life with which we have been blessed, versus becoming introverted, and isolated from others, and losing sight of the undeniable fact that we are all members of the human family, interconnected by our suffering as much as we are our triumphs.

I found myself this past year becoming more isolated, more introverted, and feeling more and more often like it’s barely worth the energy to resist choosing a path that leads to something close to a hermitic life, with minimal contact with others beyond the polite, arms-length “acquaintanceship” that we most often share with our work colleagues.  You see, it takes energy, commitment, and desire to participate in a group activity, to go out and spend time with other people, to make small talk, to go out to lunch with the fellas from the office, to visit a family member.  I find myself spending more and more time alone — alone in my own thoughts, doing things that I alone enjoy, much more so than being with others.

As far as I know, my wife is ignorant of my cross-dressing.  I’ve kept it secret, hidden it from her as best I can.  Occasionally, I’ll wash my panties and other dress-up clothes in the washing machine at home, and I’ve accidentally left the settings on “delicate” for washer and dryer.  She’s probably noticed, but has not, as far as I know, figured out why I washed a delicate load while she was out.

 

The greatest blessing this year has been P’s trips to Danville, Virginia once per month to get her hair done at her favorite salon, and to visit with and dine out with her friends back there.  I usually jet out of work close to 5:00pm (unusual for me), and skedaddle my ass back home for a few hours of dressing, makeup practice, and luxuriating in my feminineness.  While I had questioned her about the need to travel 180 miles round trip every month to go to a hairdresser that she thinks does a “decent”, but not bang-up job on her ‘do, I’ve come to enjoy (even long for) her scheduled absence, and I hope she never changes hairdressers . . .

So, with that and with my constant nagging concern about the impact of the gyrations of the global economic mess on my IRA account investments, you have the lions’ share of my problems in this life.  Not too long a list of the bitch for 42 year, eh?  Well, we haven’t yet talked about my mother and father, so there will be more to discuss on this topic later.

 

Birthday kisses,

KM

Like my life, but fabulous.

Things have gotten off to a bang already this year, with a significant escalation of the Israel-Palestine situation in Gaza, with the Israelis clamping down hard on the Gaza territory’s inhabitants, and asserting a ground and air offensive against Hamas members, who continue to lob rockets against random targets in Israel proper.  OK, so we’ve been doing this shit now for 60+ years – when is it going to end?  Do not the sons and daughters of Israel and Palestine equally wish for a peaceful and secure place to live and work?  Are they not willing to compromise to achieve this goal?  Is one inch of that blood-drenched soil worth another life taken in violence?  Enough.  Enough bickering, and blood-letting, enough eye-for-an-eye.  You’re all making me sick, to watch you carry on like this – killing women and children, and innocents.  For shame.

I’m still sleeping in the guest bedroom, BTW, if you were curious.

On the plus side, I was able to do some Goodwill shopping over the holidays, and brought home an armload of dresses, skirts, blouses and such, that I spent more than an hour trying on at our local boutique.  I was poking around the ladies’ clothing rack for so long the checker thought I worked there.  Once home, I measured them for a more flattering hemline (just above the knee!), and commenced to cutting, and preparing to hem them at their now more appropriate length.  Wifey got a cute little bracelet from Ma and Pa that she assures me she will never wear – so when I get the chance, that baby is mine, cute cat charm and all — yayy!

Shopping while in Asheville yielded a few more cute items, including my first garter belt and back-seamed thigh highs – OMG, cute!!!  I have a story to tell about my shopping trip to Asheville, that includes a big ”did she/didn’t she?” – just a teaser, I’ll get to it later, promise.

One habit I’ve been luxuriating in more often these days is wearing women’s lingerie beneath my clothing, whether lacy panties underneath my business suit, or boy shorts and a camisole underneath a sweatshirt and jeans.  It feels so smooth and sexy as I carry on my days activities, and I’m reminded every time I visit the facilities that I’m secretly enjoying a special day, when I permit myself the luxury.  I have hidden these indulgences from my wife, as I know she would not understand or condone, or even tolerate.  Hell, she thinks I’m a freak and a nutcase without her knowing that I have a secret fantasy life — like my life, but FABULOUS — that involves me tucking my private parts into too-tight foundation garments, strapping on a bra, climbing into stockings and heels, and a pretty dress, and going down to the rainbow club to hang out with people who, when they see me dressed as a sexy woman, don’t make me feel like as much of a freak as all the straight people I spend my working days with who were flabbergasted when I pierced my left ear last fall at age 41.  I guess if I ever really want a divorce, I could spring all that on her, and she would be out of Dodge before sundown.  Imagine her face as I come strutting downstairs in 3″ heels, stockings, short skirt, silk blouse, a stuffed bra, my blonde wig, some of her jewelry I’ve “borrowed”, made up, and all primed and ready for an evening of clubbing with the other LGBs and transgenders like myself.  Not her kind of gig, for sure, but something I dream about doing again, soon(!)

Kisses – KM

Wishing you a beautiful year