Do you ever find yourself in the position of longing for things you will never, ever obtain no matter how long you hold your breath or stretch your fingers with fervent yearning? Chances are good. It's a common trait in human beings, wanting what we can't have, breaking our necks to reverse the polarity of truth embedded in our predicament. Some of us are realistic and choose to settle. Others damn the torpedoes and go for broke, accepting any and all casualties in the melee kicked up by our unruly defiance.
I'm somewhere in the middle, when it comes to being Holli. You'll hear me say again and again that I won't risk social stability just to pursue the hedonistic lifestyle of a transgendered debutante, but the choice comes with a burden. I try not to upset the lifestyle I've chosen to preserve, but obliviously hold out hope for finding myself in the happy swirl of girlie euphoria I can only imagine must exist out there somewhere. Like, for instance, I've been daydreaming a little list of all the things I wish I could experience en femme, but are as accessible as the moon and stars. I'll start on the "Awww, Is That the World's Smallest Violin I Hear?" end of the spectrum and work my way toward "Awww, Honey, It'll Be Okay."
This one starts at the top because, well, I actually have outstanding hair! It's dark blonde, shoulder length, and straight. It tucks behind one ear in the cutest way, and waves gently as it falls, giving the meek suggestion of natural curl when it rolls past my neck, as if begging to be done up in rollers. From here we see the root (ha!) of my hair issues - I can't ever do anything with it besides, like, have it washed. Sure, I've experimented with hair ties, head bands, clips, assorted scrunchies, but sadly I boast no ability to braid my own locks, may never experience the luxury of surrendering to a professional stylist, and probably won't ever get around to experimenting with bangs, perms, or hair color (I've wondered how I might look as a redhead). I imagine it's very hard to explain to coworkers why you chose to go with auburn highlights and sport twin ponytails in playful red-and-white polka dot hair twists. Although obviously I would be wearing them to go with my outfit. Duh.
Anyone can grow their nails out. Anyone can even file them into innocuous, petite little edges, if they take time to master the ancient tools known as the Clippers and the File. You can even gloss 'em in clear polish. People probably won't notice. Well, women will. Definitely will, actually. So never mind about being able to keep a set of classy kitten claws, much less polish them, if you don't want to draw curious looks. Unless your job entitles you to wear gloves all day, every day. As a modern closeted CD, I can dare myself to buy a few bottles of splashy color at the local Target, but giving myself a nice nail finish only to have to rub it all off at the end of an "open closet" session is such a senseless waste. I've never had more than two days to enjoy a set of fresh, shiny red nails. It's too much work for too little reward. Like working retail.
This one falls in line with what I lament about #8. Putting on makeup for the space of a few hours just for the sake of "being as girly as I wanna" is simply deflating when you go to take it off, thinking of how long you spent trying to make it look just right. Makeup serves multiple purposes, not the least of which for CDs is to pass as their feminine selves in public. Get it? In public. It's a terrible catch 22: When women put on makeup before leaving the house, they're accentuating their features to make a good impression; stay-at-home cross-dressers, though they want to emulate women, can't get past the front door. And even if I choose to settle for private self-makeovers, there's not enough time in my schedule to justify paying the big bucks for a set of makeup that'll just dry up between glamour sessions. Anyway, I'm such an amateur when it comes to makeup I shouldn't leave the house without professional assistance.
6. Hairless Bod
It goes without saying, being married challenges most of the freedoms I enjoy in terms of transgender activities, but one of the biggest perks of marital partnership - sex - tends to dictate the rules more than any other. Erica doesn't want to rub up against another pair of silky smooth legs under the covers. Therefore, I'm expressly not permitted to shave down from ears to ankles lest I suffer a prolonged bout of abstinence. Since I'm not a very hairy person, I'm not unaware that it could be worse. Still...know what I hate? Hair. Wouldn't it be just horrible for me to accidentally fall chest deep into a vat of Nair and be defollicled for life?? (Oh, the sweet, sweet horror...!)
5. Shapely Bod
It takes a short lifetime to realize that women everywhere hate their bodies. Even the super models. Most girls are never really satisfied (content, at best, with what they've got), and so in this respect I enjoy the self-satisfaction of sharing this trait with them. However... My shoulders are a bit too wide. My calves - ugh! - are muscular, as are my arms. Actually, in comparison to most guys, they're thin and girlish, but next to women they're too contoured. Who knows, really, because I've never been the subject of a critique in the proper context. Yet women don't need an outside opinion to absolutely know what's wrong with them. Like, you couldn't convince me that my lack of hips isn't a big deal. I just need one more inch, maybe two - stupid bones just don't JUT! - but that's not where my body fat grows. Tough luck, Miss Holli. Counting my blessings, though, you cannot even tell if I have an Adam's apple. Hooray for Mom's side of the gene pool!
4. Vocal Versatility
I have an okay voice. It's not deep, it's not light. It may well even be uninteresting. I do notice people have the tendency to talk over me in the middle of sentences, as if I wasn't even speaking. But then these people tend to have strong voices. I could say things with weightier inflection, but then I'd end up being labeled "abrasive," or asked what it is I'm angry about all the time. Also, I'd probably make myself hoarse. Lighter it is, then. Only I'd prefer if I could remove the thin huskiness and replace it with something a little more lilting and dulcet. While it's true I can put my wife to sleep by the sound of my voice (not a compliment, if you're thinking it), would it be so bad if I could sound less like a phone sex operator with a head cold? And no, I can neither afford the time nor money to take diction lessons. Why? Do you know a guy?
3. Pierced Ears
Ohhhh, would I love to have my ears pierced. I'm so serious. I've coveted the feminine prerogative to wear earrings since before I tried on my first pair of high heels. I can't hold back - I'm talking, a whole chest full of different kinds of earrings I'd wear. I love hoops. I'm crazy for danglers. Since I'm dreaming, give me two in each ear, one for studs and pearls, and the other for personality. Earrings, earrings, earrings...oh, I could just scream. But Erica says no. I was only kidding when I said I'd go for it...except she knew I wasn't. Duh. *sigh* But if I could, I would dive head first into Claire's. *double sigh*
2. Lingerie (Well, not just lingerie)
To clarify, I do possess a small set of hand-me-over lingerie (read: rescued from Erica's donation or disposal bags), and a few purchased items. Not much to work with, but they do the job of filling out my pretend bosoms and granting me the pleasure of lounging around like a wanton princess, trapped in her tall tower but at least gifted with the advantage of luxury. My favorite ensembles usually include the garter/stocking option. I'm already getting flushed just writing this, because these clothes are unmistakable in their purpose. ...Hold on, this is exactly the problem!! Why am I getting dressed for sex when there's absolutely zero sex waiting for me at the end of the process? Don't pretend those garters aren't hard to attach. I went to all the trouble, so dammit I want... ah...hum... *blushing*...I guess what I'm trying to say is, it'd be nice to... finish this sentence on your own? A-hem. Anyway, this is only the second-to-last in the category of "things I can't have." Of course, the most sought after aspect of transcendental femininity is:
Before you even start in on the practicality of silicone cups or some ingenious method you read about in a TG magazine - birdseed or liquid gel or water balloons or whatever - let's put this in perspective: boobs are squishy, sensitive, heavy enough to affect your center of gravity, and non-detachable. When I say I want breasts, I don't mean I want to emulate the feel of them. I mean, "I wish my chest would spontaneously begin to swell with benign fatty tissue, gradually forming a new pair of amply-sized, globular parts of anatomy that require support from a specially crafted garment to prevent discomfort by providing lift and separation, and demonstrate sensitivity to cold and subtle physical contact." Lots of women would say I'm crazy. "They're such a pain! You don't know what it's like!" Sure, sure. But then again, I voluntarily strap myself into a set of 4" heels for the fun of it, when the bulk of modern women's liberators denounces them for foot killers. I appreciate a lot of sensations that most women condemn, yet I don't experience them as often as it might take to convince me they're a burden. I may not want to make the total, completely legal leap from male to female, but a set of melons sounds like the perfect excuse to do on a regular basis what I've been trying to accomplish for 30+ years. I'm perfectly willing to accept a set of these particular twins into our home. "Sorry honey... it's not like I can return 'em with a receipt!"