sick as a dog


With all my fraternizing last weekend (clean minds, please), visiting family and friends, missing valuable sleep, sleeping in other people’s houses (again, with the filth?), honey I picked up one good case of the ick.  So I worked from home today, really all day save for about two and one-half hours . . . oh, yes, I did.  Look, how often do I get to doll up for my own enjoyment, in the privacy of my own home when SO is away at her day job?  Rarely, and I really need to do this, especially to stay in practice, and to continue to refine my transformation process.  I will address that all with you in some detail at a later posting, because process it is.  Took a fresh razor to the entirety of my athletic legs again, tiptoe to stern (soccer games this week are off because the pitch has no grass, and they are a fright, so I have at least 10 days to grow more hair and avoid quite certain awkwardness and embarassment), and gave my face a shave so close it probably took the first layer of cells off – if I am going to go to the trouble of doing my face, I want it bald, toots.  I also shaved some of the from-under shrubbery, and interestingly enough, I applied some hair clippers with the 1/4″ attachment to my hairy forearms.  I found a tip on a CD forum somewhere, and it really does a fantastic job in de-emphasizing the furriness that is me.  You simply cannot tell that the hair has been shaved – it just looks so much less substantial, and not as dark.  I am fairly certain even if I was wearing short sleeves, I do not expect anyone would notice at all — it is very subtle, but so comforting because it actually worked as touted.  And honey, so easy to do.

And I worked from home, all decked in an assortment of ladies jeans (lovin the Goodwill thrift stores), boots, skirts and sweaters.  At first, I dressed for comfort, later, I did a complete makeup job on my face, donned my blonde wig, oh and this is new — I inserted my size 8 silicone mastectomy breast forms into my favorite bra, and . . . wowee.  All the weight I’ve taken off, and all the fitness workouts and active lifestyle I’ve adopted at my core as the way I want to live the rest of my life, it is so paying off in how, well, feminine and pretty and passable I can show when I put forth the effort at it that the average GG puts in getting ready to go out for say, a shopping trip.  About the forms, I’ve been anticipating purchasing them for about as long as I’ve known they were available, but as you might imagine, it was a big step for me to drop the paypal on them for real.  The size 8s are busty sitting atop a man’s abundant thoracic cage, they are slightly overfilled for a 40C, in fact they are advertised as suitable for a 40D.  With my growing-more-slender waist, tight butt, and shapely legs, the body is all there now in skintight jeans and a spandex-and-lace top, or a tight sweater.  They warm to your skin so that you no longer feel them as anything but a part of your anatomy . . . unh . . . delicious, so worth it (about $80 with shipping).  Look ’em up yourself on Ebay – sz 8 silicone breast forms.  Get the flat (not the concave) back, slightly tear-shaped 100% silicone forms for mastectomy patients (and crossdressers!).  Use the size of the bra you’d like to fill as your guide – sz 8 fits a 38DD, 40D, 42C, etc.  I thought I’d get smaller, but so glad I didn’t – these are I imagine the heft that my natural breasts would be (we’re a busty family, yeah I’d have big knockers if my body more closely matched, no other way to describe it, but the body that I feel was supposed to be mine).  Like I said, I don’t need anyone’s help feeling like a freak.

Big questions now, as I admire myself in the mirror one last time — is this how I was supposed to be?  Mom told me once that she was certain when she was carrying me that I was a girl, and that she even had a name picked out for me, Sandra/Sandy.  Hmm, now Sandy sounds maybe a little butch, right?  OK.  That so fits.  Mom was envisioning me as a daughter, her little girl, in the womb.  Mom and Dad may both have been praying, hoping against hope for a little girl.  Being devout Catholics, they may have said a novena or three down on their knees in church just willing it to be a girl.  So instead of a transgendered man who self-identifies as a cross-dresser, I may in fact be the lesbian or bisexual woman that I think I have inside me, in all but my chromosomes and genitalia.  Anyway, a huge digression.

I was hoping to do pics today, but I worked hard at my day job remotely from the end of the earth here at home, and ran out of time to prepare for that.

Kisses, everyone – yeah, we’re way deep tonight.  KM

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