It’s not that I wanted to . . .

blow my post-a-week challenge this early.  I didn’t really intend to blow it at all, but no crying over spilt milk, I suppose.  Well, with the pressure off (yeah, it was like really heavy pressure too) here I sit again at keyboard.  While I am otherwise covered by manly hair, I shaved my underarms yesterday because, well, I missed it looking clean and neat.  The paint is off the toenails.  The biggest nod to girly I’m giving these days (other than the frilly panties beneath)  is when I come home from a day in the suit, don my daisy duke jean shorts with the cuffs folded up short, my Clark’s sandals, bra, breast forms, maybe a cute necklace, and a T-shirt around the house.  She hates it, tries not to notice if she can help it.  But it feels so me and natural, hair and all, it’s always me inside and sometimes outside.  Saturday evening I dressed just this way most of the day (she went out with a friend in the afternoon), then after she came home and we had a nosh, I took a shower and shaved, donned pink lace panties, a skintight Billabong T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and rode the bike downtown to catch some music.  I came home before 11:00 to find her in bed already, snoring, so I put on some blue eye shadow, some pretty pink NYC lipstick to go with my freshly shaved face, and it really set me at ease.

Three weeks until a solo trip abroad to see a band.  She’s not going.  I have two concerts to attend.  One I will go in drab.  The second one, all by myself in a distant land where no one knows me, I’m trying to think about my wardrobe now.  Thinking my Sara Jessica Parkers, the Old Navy black dress, my breast forms, full makeup, not sure whether I’ll do a hairpiece, or trim and spike up my own, but Krystyna Marie will be stepping out one night only, but one night.

Anticipatory kisses – KM


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