I’m a little high tonight, began to push the plant into flowering cycle by cutting the light back to 12 hours. Hope not to shock the old dear, but my patience grew thin. So earlier this evening, after changing from my work garb (and before I belatedly celebrated 420) I make my first appearance before the wife tonight wearing my Clark’s sandals, Mojo Mauve Maybelline’d toes (a terrible color for me, need some Planet Pink, soon – keeping the toes!!!) a-showing, stretch Guess jean slit-front miniskirt, my Paramore 42DD bra with my size 8 forms riding high, and a white a-shirt. She looks at me, disgust clearly shows in her face and she turns away.
“Sweetie, I have to be able to come home and be comfortable,” I say. No response at all.
She’s locked in on the television – again. Worse since I bought the plasma, which I really bought so we could watch the Olympics and the FIFA World Cup in ’10. Now she has Idol, The Voice, a bunch of crime shows on Investigation Discovery channel, stuff every night of the week. She totally shuts me out with it.
So I’m dressed all night, got ready for bed still dressed, writing here now dressed in the Femme Spa. I decide to go outside to catch a buzz, she’s in bed already, so I’m out of my Clark’s, and into some black suede 3″ heels, off with the a-shirt (a little trashy, but sometimes appropriately so!) and into a sleek, black spandex Champion workout tank top. It wicks sweat, it shows off how flat my stomach is becoming.
We have a lot of privacy, neighbors are buffered pretty well, and except for the stars and the moonlight, it is pitch dark out here in the country. So I tiptoe carefully outside in my sporty getup, and lightly, not quite expertly yet, in heels up the stone steps to the terraced garden that takes up the remainder of the backyard. I’m standing alone, under the moonlight in a cloudless sky, stars shining out above. I shaved my underarms, chest including the areola, stomach and down to my bikini line this morning, included my shoulders and the small of my back as well. Except for my once lovely bare legs, which are growing furrier by the hour as I let them go, I feel and look girly, and free in the outdoors: this is about my only “out” time I allow myself for the time being. If I cannot pass in the dark to myself, well I don’t know where I’d get the confidence to go shopping in the daylight. And it is simply addictive. I finish my smoke, and step confidently down the stairs, one by one when I look back, and notice my shadow sliding down each tread behind me as I descend. I look closely, and it’s the shapely shadow of a mildly busty, but otherwise fit, athletic woman. I enjoy the moment, not a bit of it in any discomfort. I am comfortable in my own, male skin. I get a lot of enjoyment out of this body I have. Yet I have another, perhaps even the more intriguing side to me that I do not fully understand. Certainly not its origin, let alone what it means for me over the long haul. But I am happy to explore it, indulge it, but I think it is critical for me to express my femininity. Now that I know I have it within me, why would I want to keep it locked away? I am here to live, and to do that, it has to be better than just bearable, or hard to bear. We have so little time as it is. Why would I wish for more unhappiness?
OK, now I have to run outside and do it again, one more time, then I promise – off to bed — it is a school night!!
Kisses – KM