I don’t know whether everyone at some point feels like a failure to their parents, or if it’s just me and a phew other phreaks.  On the one hand quite successful in my chosen field, nice house, someone who used to be a sweet wife, self-supporting, comfortable with who I am, having few wants or needs in life that go unfulfilled.  But a transvestite agnostic who has produced no progeny, and who barely communicates with either parent, ah well that’s the stuff I know I’d be dreaming of for my children would that I would ever become a father.  Lay on top of that my daily weed smoking, tobacco dependency, barely in control alcoholism, and need I say fetish for painted toes and silicone breast forms.  Dad does not know I am a crossdresser.  Mom either.  I am not really close to my parents.  They have behaved generally in some very hurtful ways towards me over the years, and I see them differently now than I once did.  I was the good, obedient, striving-for-success while struggling with shyness and an active mind middle son.  I still am, they just forgot somewhere along the way.  They see me as they want to see me.  Is it possible to see someone objectively when you know them, and know their proclivities, and prejudices?  How can you tell a father you were molested by his brother, who he invited into our lives?  By his son, born of his own body?  How can you tell a mother that substances she ingested during pregnancy may have given life to someone like me, born as a girl in a boy’s body?

I know, too heavy for a Tuesday evening.

Attire:  nothing elaborate, underdressing with these satiny, but sorely oversized droopy unsupportive granny panties.  The red red still looks good on my toes.  That should make papa proud.

Kisses –



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