Ghost Girl (In the Machine)

Pinch yourself... it's not a dream! Look, real proof that I'm still alive!

I offer no apologies for my month-and-a-half-long absence, and yet that's exactly what brings me back to cobble together another soliloquy.  I'm beginning to see a sociological niche that's ripe for observation, you see, namely the online habits of the modern transgender soul-searcher.  For example, just recently I was granted the epiphany that I'm not the only one who pulls disappearing acts on the internet.

Look for yourself.  There are oodles of personal blogs out there that haven't received updates in months - years, even - which lately has made me curious to know why.  I could make a dozen guesses.  I could put together what I know about myself, and about people in general, and come up with the same thing that anyone else would:

• We're not all natural-born writers. In fact, coming up with something new to say on a frequently regular basis can become quite a chore, a mentally exhausting feat that we weren't actually prepared to embrace.

• The work we put into our blogs exceeds the reward.  None of us get paid to ramble on about our thoughts on gender, and even if we did we would certainly feel discouraged if people rarely or never responded.  Few people can literally inspire themselves to create.  Personally, what drives me to launch these missives into the webiverse is the hope of stirring up interactivity.  Without feedback, why bother?

• Eventually the thrill of baring our soul to the universe dwindles.  When you've sat on a mountain of repressed desires and stoppered a sea of bottles full of confusing, conflicting emotions, there's nothing like letting it all out.  The internet allows us to share our most secret selves in a [relatively] safe and [mostly] anonymous social environment.  But after the fourth reiteration concerning the reasons you started dressing as a child, or another pro/con argument listing the ways you'd come out to your family if you could just build up the nerve, the experience just tastes stale.  And, if we're honest, we miss the rush of probing the uncertain waters of ultimate freedom with our freshly-painted toes.  At this point, talk ≠ walk.

• The online transgender experience just isn't enough.  Face it, there's no substitute for getting out and about in a new dress, new heels, and a new hairstyle.  It's a straight-up fact that most of us are here because we have nowhere else to go.  Still, even fans of the Travel Channel get fed up with watching other people living their dream of seeing London, Paris or Australia, enough to get their asses off the couch and onto a plane.  After staring at hundreds of photos of other people having a good time, can you blame them?

What'd I miss?  I guess there's always plain boredom.  We as a species easily grow out of our new toys.  Speaking of human fallibility, laziness could also factor in.

Oh, and that most cunning demon that plagues the textual communicators of the world: writer's block!  Right now, some poor T-girl has rings under her eyes, trying to summon just the right words to express her limitless admiration for 50s style halter dresses.

It's so hard to write when "Lollipop" won't stop playing in your head.

As I mentioned, mere conjecture is the name of my game today.  I've seen plenty of abandoned blog sites and message board identities this past year, but when they're as scarce as they come I really don't have any way to ask them, "So where have you been?"

All that said... What's my excuse?

Summer vacation, darlings.  I've been off since early June.  And I don't go back to work until mid-August.  What with all the back-and-forth goings on that summer demands - beach, movies, friends, house cleaning, etc. - my time anywhere near a computer has been limited.  Also, the other lady of the house (snicker) also has time off, so I haven't been quite as "in touch" with my feminine identity as I'd like.  Anyway... hey! Now that I mention it, I've overlooked a really great reason people abandon the internet:

• They have a life.  Hey, it's been known to happen.

~HCP

Holli Cherise's Day Off

I don't know what floats the rest of your collective boats when you get a day (and the house) all to yourself, but as for me there is absolutely nothing equal to being able to wear whatever the hell I want. Sure, I can lay flat on my back and eat nacho cheese straight from the can, or play video games until I've worn down the Wii batteries, but as a cross-dresser I only want to wear myself out by wearing whatever goes with a hot pair of heels.

Typical, and that's no joke. If I had the place to myself for a month, I'd likely spend the entire time en femme.  True, I'd go berserk with depression and loneliness, but that's neither here nor there.  The point is opportunity.  And that's what I've seized today.

So far, my day can be described as follows:

• Leaned up from my comfy spot in bed to kiss Erica goodbye.  Off she went to work, and up I jumped to shower, shave, moisturize, and manicure.

• Threw on some frillies and a white Frederick's dressing robe, then stuck my head into the internet for an hour to see what was new.

 

• Stared at my lovely wardrobe, trying to decide what to start with.  Decided that it'd been ages since I tried most of these outfits on, and so initiated the process of modeling everything I own in front of the a mirror.  (I couldn't help it...!)

• Discoveries: a) some dresses I used to hate have now grown on me, b) some dresses just don't flatter my plain frame, and I have no idea why I've hung onto them for so long, c) I really, really need some sun on my arms and shoulders, b/c my face and neck look like they go on someone else's body, and d) it's almost 11:00! Why am I wasting time playing fashion show when there's so little time??

• Settled on a tight mauve crochet top (to go with the 5" heels) white tights, and a black suede mini. Did my hair up nice in a black bow scrunchie and adorned myself w/ a li'l bling.  Marched myself into the kitchen to paint my nails and have a bowl of cereal. (Hey, 11:00 a.m. is technically morning... breakfast still applies!)

• Sat down to write new blog for adoring fans.

Exciting, n'cest pas?  Well, mostly.  If I can push away all the more interesting alternatives: friends, a real manicure in a nail salon, a light lunch at a sidewalk cafe under an umbrella, movies, girl talk, shoe shopping...

"Please, ladies, no gang signs... just kidding, throw 'em up there."

Or how about instead I spend all that closet time picking out clothes for the weekend, tying my hair back, making myself up, packing a snack bag, then jumping into the car for a lazy weekend with friends who call me Holli because it's who I am?  Maybe getting some actual sun by somebody's pool, earning myself a cute little bikini line, giving in to peer pressure and getting my ears pierced.  Or letting them pick out a tattoo.

"You all said 'pirate skull' right? How does it look? Badass?"

Great.  Now I'm jealous of alternate universe Me.

Ah, but still... life is good. Even in small doses.

~HCP

Lovin' the Day

I never know if the sudden appearance of one of my posts brings new joy to your lives, but sometimes I get the sneaking suspicion that the space between new posts is a bit of a bother.  Or not.  I dunno, I don't get much feedback.  But I'm prepared to err on the side of love.

At any rate - Good news!  Last week I passed up the chance to take a much-needed mental health day away from my exhausting, thankless day job, then waded through several days worth of excellent reasons why I should have run when I had the chance.  All Friday, therefore, I'm collecting that personal raincheck.  And I'm girling it up by my sweet lonesome.

I've been anticipating a day like this for awhile.

I went shopping.

I added a little pink to my wardrobe, and a new pair of shoes to match.

And I've been harvesting a few ideas for some fresh new blogs.  So if you're one of the faithful (up to 8 official followers now!) or a brand new reader, watch this space.

See you in a few hours!

~HCP

Phallic Wars

   If I am to report faithfully on my life as a cross-dressing girlie-wannabe, I'll faithfully describe the marvelous contradictions that define me.  And if I make mention of contradictions, then inevitably I'll have to blog about something that garners tremendous love & hate, regarding my kaleidoscopic sexuality.  I'm so repulsed by this thing I'm even loathe to speak its name; yet I need it more than I care to admit, and I'm prone to committing acts of surrender, desperation, and even idiocy for its benefit.  If you haven't realized what I'm talking about by now, I'll summon the word which is anathema to me:

   Penis.

   Ugh.  I don't even know where to start.  Just reacting to the sight of it in text form repulses me.  I assure you, if my brain had bells attached to it that rang in accordance with how many scrambled emotions this subject evokes within me, I should be the Cathedral of Notre Dame.  I shall explain, and to make it relevant but clean, I'll include images such as this:

Intentional entendre.

   I'm very attached to my genitalia.  Ever since I was a child, curious of its purpose yet always taking the weird thing for granted, there has never been a problem.  It's always been very useful, what with the discharging of useless, harmful waste (most often at a time of my choosing).  When puberty arrived, it let me know how I could pay it back for all those years of benevolent service.  And when the time came, even Erica was taken in by its charms.

Though not enough to be enticed to wear this for me.
Or vice versa.

   For the most part, ours is a mutually beneficial relationship.

   (Note - just because I'm referring to it as though it were a character doesn't mean I've bestowed upon it a unique, wholly independent persona, nor do I ever hold conversations with it.  I'm simply saying it has its place, and I intend to never give it up.)

   Still, it vexes me... mainly because it so readily turns on me. It harbors an awareness of how much I wish I were a woman, and over the years it has managed to turn nearly every transgendered thought that crosses my mind into an erotic suggestion.  It totally digs the dual-gender lifestyle, always egging me on to push the limits of what I'm capable of to satisfy its ceaseless quest for sensual fulfillment.  I deny these requests, practically daily, because I don't believe in letting such a small percentage of my nervous system do the thinking for me.  If I were to let it have its way, I'd have long ago sold myself to a sex-centered identity and traded my freedom for numerous wild - albeit short-lived - pleasures.  All of this considered, it probably resents me.

I'm including this image just to mock it.

   Despite my attraction to perversity, I'm really such a prude.  Ever since the halcyon days of adolescence, my "mini-me" has been nearly starved for human contact - not because it never gets it, but because it's insatiable!  It carries the burden of belief that it's actually more important than other people seem to let on, thriving on the hope that one day someone (ideally Erica) realizes she can't get enough of it and devotes more time to its care and well-being.  The bounds of reality are no match for wishful thinking.

   It's a monster, I tell you.  Nearly everything about my personal character that makes up my "selfish" side can be traced to this stupid, single-minded, unflattering appendage.  God help me, most of the time I want everything that it wants, too.

   Speaking of monsters, I must opine that it's just awful to look at.  At any given time, it exists in one of three states, each perfectly pathetic: rigid, waxing, and deflated.  I sometimes feel I'm the only one who thinks none of these are anything to be proud of, although the former seems to award men a sense of accomplishment.  Unbelievable.  To paraphrase Stephen King: Is there anything that looks as silly and out of place as a dude with a full erection?  It looks more like a balloon animal than a symbol of sexual prowess.

The only thing more silly looking? TWO of them. Doing this.

   I should also mention that it's a terrible reminder of why it sucks to be male - like all good real estate, it lacks the three most vital qualities you need in a vulnerable hunk of anatomy: Location, Location, and Location.  Not only does it seriously hamper my ability to pretend it's not there (I hate how difficult it is to tuck and stay tucked!), but even when I'm not en femme, it's prone to all manner of physical confrontations, against which it has no hope of defense.  So thank you, Mother Nature, for a) replacing that which I most want with that which leaves me most susceptible to the elements, and b) punishing me for being born in this body... which, by the way, was also your decision (but at least I was spared from regular menstrual cramping, so I guess we're even).

Everyone loses.

   I should also say that of all the male sex organs out there, mine is the least offensive... to me, at least.  That is to say, I also hate every single one of yours.  Seriously.  I don't want any part of seeing them, hearing about them, and above all I don't want any kind of physical contact with them.  I don't "do" porn, because inevitably a phallus will appear on screen, and if I were into porn then the scene introducing another guy's wood would be the LAST THING to get me in the mood, and the first thing to rob me of satisfaction.

   That said, I recognize that the phallus is one of the favorite components of the "feminine actuality" fantasy among the more libidinous members of the crossdreaming community. There's no denying that the penis is popular among a whole lot of us.  Fellatio is often employed as a grand symbol of womanhood, or even anal penetration, in subservience to a dominant partner or controller.  Whether or not any of us would actually do such a thing, it's nonetheless a popular fantasy.  Personally, I can see how the submissive factor in this scenario is somewhat appealing, but the legendary "quivering member" doesn't enhance my fascination with being a woman to this degree.  While I might fantasize about being required to grant an intrusive object access into my person, if the object in question is purplish, veiny and loosely wrapped in wrinkly skin, then I should rather eat hissing cockroaches than allow it to make berth in any orifice of mine.

I just killed your stiffy, didn't I?

   Before I wrap this up, I have one more complaint, and this takes issue with the word itself...

   Penis. Bleah.

   What a stupid sounding word.  As far as I'm concerned, those letters were strung together to keep people from taking their sexuality seriously.  It's a ridiculous word to say. It may well contribute to self-esteem issues.  And... and... it only rhymes with Venus. (Sorry, I have this thing about listing things in threes and I was reaching.)  And speaking of my favorite gender, could we get a different term other than "vagina?"  Seriously.  If I'd never heard the name before, this might almost make me scared to meet one... say, on a dark road winding through the forest at midnight. "Bewaaaare the VAGINA, foolish traveler!" [cue ominous howling]

grrrr...!

   *sigh* Anyway, in summary: I hate the penis, in name, concept, and appearance. Yours. Mine. Genitals overall, really. Unless they're being taken advantage of in their proper context: in the dark.

~HCP

Holli's Hiatus

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Where have you BEEN, girl?" ... But if you're not thinking that, then I'm not as popular as I thought I was, you just hurt my feelings, and now you have to make it up to me.  Contact me to get the link to my Amazon gift registry!*

Well, I've been off gallivanting around Florida on a family vacation for over a week, and it was fun and I'm so very happy someone else paid my way, since I wouldn't have gone otherwise.  But now I'm back.  From outer space.  So wipe that sad look from off your face!

I enjoyed a lovely spin around Disney World and the Harry Potter land at Islands of Adventure, and desperately wished I had an excuse to never come back.  I love, love, love Orlando; the only thing that would have made it better was if I could have spent the trip en femme.  But then that's why I have an imagination - if it's anything Walt Disney ever taught us, it's that nothing's possible without one.

Though he never mentioned the debilitating vertigo...

So, my anonymous fans, I'm back, and hopefully I'll get some worthwhile entries typed up and posted some time later this week.

Love  ~HCP


*Which I'll be happy to pass on as soon as I ever get around to creating one.

Free Form Fantasy pt. 3: Submission

If there's one thing I resent about being a crossdreamer, it's that during a lifetime of emulating women I've been forced to go it alone most of the time.  Lack of materials (clothing), resources (time, privacy, money) and experience (peer support/feedback/counseling) left me no alternative but to rely on my own limited intellect when it came to feeling out the territory.  A creative mind, like water, finds ways around obstacles in its path, even when it must deviate from it's intended course.  This is a recurring theme in nature.  In living organisms, we call it "survival instinct."

At some point, I responded to my pitiful lack of membership in a female society by seeking out women who might find the idea of dressing me as a woman appealing.  I won't try to pass this off as some personal checkpoint, since it never worked in the long run.  But that doesn't detract from the fact that submission to a woman with makeover mania has its own wing in my fantasy gallery.  I'm not alone, either.  Not at all.  A great many members of the crossdreaming culture have the same obsession, to varying degrees.

As I mentioned before, there are dozens of websites dedicated to crossdream fantasies, and in the dominance/submission category there are, again, recurring themes.  Shall I explore these now?  Yes, I shall, beginning on the "vanilla" side:

Friendly Fun For Everyone

I've already written about how Erica and Penny dressed me up as a woman for Halloween in college, and how they enjoyed the process of selecting my outfit, doing my hair, nails and makeup, and showing me off to our friends.  At the time, this was the ultimate wish fulfillment as far as I was concerned.  It definitely inspired a parade of bigger and better possible realities with which I'd learn to tantalize myself, but I would eventually understand that this was the best kind of crossdreaming fantasy, simply because it's the kind most likely to happen.

They're discussing whether to dress up Molly's cousin as a Goth chick,
a French maid, or a Disney princess.  Or, a combination of all three.

The younger the ladies, the more open they are to social perversity, especially in groups.  When this mindset encounters the concept of their gender opposites switching roles, their enthusiasm doubles.  I don't have the numbers to back me up, but I suspect the most frequent occurrence of boys acquiescing to feminine makeovers by their female friends and/or partners takes place during the late high school/early college years.  (Okay, this was how it happened for me, but the theory is sound!)

Honestly, it wasn't hard to find girls in college who wanted access to my feminine side.  True, they didn't want so much access as I was willing to offer, but there were plenty of opportunities to make myself available.  If I was hanging out with some coeds in their dorm room, and my bare feet happened to be hanging off the bed while they were doing their nails, I ended up with a pedicure.  With my long hair, a casual evening of platonic conversation occasionally turned into "fun with curlers."  It was easy to get Penny & Erica to make me over for Halloween, because all I did was demonstrate how easy it would be, effectively giving them permission.  It was basically my idea, but they ran with it.

In short, this is the most common fantasy we 'dreamers have.  It a) involves the people we trust and look up to the most, b) provides a safe environment where risk of consequence rests at a minimum, and c) grants us the ability to openly enjoy ourselves.

Becoming "one of the girls" will also create a lasting bond.
Especially when blackmail photos are used as leverage.

Feminized Agenda

According to crossdream legend, there exists a kind of woman who not only demonstrates a marked curiosity in the average heterosexual male cross-dresser, but has also reached the point of wanting to help that special girl emerge from hiding... at all costs.  In fact, she takes particular pleasure in encouraging her transgendered friend to spend more time exploring her femininity.  Encouragement becomes insistence.  Insistence becomes relentless pressure, which eventually results in the crossdreamer losing touch with every semblance of her masculine gender and spending virtually every waking moment in the world this "sponsor" has helped her build.

Just pray your mentor has good taste.
Or at least watches "What Not To Wear."

This is a very popular fantasy, which I now believe begins to take shape right after a trans-girl realizes that even the most fun-loving girlfriend doesn't have any intention of playing fashion pimp to her femme beau, even on the occasional Halloween.  Wouldn't it be much nicer - and easier - to meet someone who actually wants us to act more like a woman?  Who gently but firmly leads us by the hand towards complete gender renovation?  Who removes our decision-making power so that we're effectively no longer responsible for any lifestyle changes, thus free from the guilt of shocking & hurting the other people in our lives?  This woman would likely be a distant cousin to the yetis of Nepal, since she too is often sighted but never proven to exist.  Ah, well, imagination certainly has benefits.

"Sometimes, me feel pretty too..."

Admittedly, I myself have entertained such lurid dreams, with the additional burden of a libido that has, since adolescence, formed permanent bonds of arousal with the sensation of wearing certain feminine attire - a combination of stimuli that renders me tirelessly attracted to the idea of being in someone's thrall when I'm en femme.  Thorough readers will recall Mallory, who I dated in high school, and how she enjoyed tormenting me with a devilish promise to make me over as a girl for Halloween, which I totally let her believe was akin to my worst nightmare so she'd keep wanting to do it (such a strange relationship, in hindsight).  This is the closest I've ever come to seeing my forced feminization fantasy come true, though it never happened.

The fantasy evolves further once the "dominant/submissive" element is introduced, leading the ever-searching crossdreamer to explore a variety of flavors that include bondage, hetero/homosexual experimentation, role playing, and body modification. Once again I admit that my imagination has ventured this far, but I remain inexperienced, and more than a little reluctant.

As you might have noticed by now, there are no examples of my personal fantasies regarding anything mentioned in this category.  My blog runneth over already, so I'll end on a short, sweet note... And I'm just gonna keep this part vanilla, if ya'll don't mind.

#1 on Holli's Super Girly Fun List: Just Being One of the Girls

~HCP

Free Form Fantasy pt. 2: Girlfriends

I was driving home from work today when I happened to get caught at a red light (as people do).  Usually I consider these moments extremely challenging to my [undiagnosed] ADD-ridden personality, but sometimes they can be opportunities in disguise.  Like when I looked to my left and happened to see a doppelganger.  Not mine, but that of the absolute best girlfriend I've ever had.  I fell prey to mixed feelings, sort of a cross between sick, sad and giddy.  Let me tell you all about her.

Let's call her Sara.

Sara and I met at an unlikely time when I was feeling lonely and desperate, longing to reach out to anyone who would be interested in knowing a transgendered person such as myself.  Perhaps I was reaching the point of ceasing to care who knew, consequences be damned, so long as I was able to finally express myself freely in the company of real, actual people.  As anything can happen to a girl in that state of mind, it was probably lucky I met Sara.

We often found ourselves in the same place at the same time, although neither of us had much reason to acknowledge the other.  In fact, we didn't even know each other.  It was the dawn of the Information Age, when email accounts were novelties and the internet was fairly innovative.  Some of us had discovered chat.  Behold! a "room" "full" of people all "talking" at once, where identities were easily concealed and experimental topics of conversation were bandied about with whimsical abandon.  At once, the most frightening and hilarious thing that could be said about the modern world was the sudden freedom we could all enjoy courtesy of sheer cyber-anonymity!

We met well, I like to think.  From the serial numbers that ran across the screen whenever I'd log in, she deduced that we lived in the same town, so she struck up a conversation.  I cheerfully admitted that I indeed shared her zip code, but balanced interest with caution - my chat identity was female, after all, and despite the privacy I enjoyed I was reluctant to inform my new "friends" that I wasn't exactly who I'd led them all to believe. Moreover, here was a person that much closer in proximity to where I lived - no immediate threat to having my cover blown, but there was now an element of danger to consider.

Pictured: Neither one of us, although
I do admire Penelope Garcia's style.

Sara and I enjoyed finding each other whenever we logged in, and after awhile the only reason I visited that chat room was to maximize the chances of having a conversation with her.  We shared the same sense of humor, and our differences strengthened our respect for one another.  She seemed to value the connection we shared (no pun intended) and made me feel like more of a person when we "spoke."  But because nothing good ever lasts, it wasn't much longer before Sara got tired of the whole chat scene.

ISN'T THIS SUCH A WASTE OF TIME? she asked one day, then suggested that we should abandon chatting to give real life another chance, and resume our friendship.

In person.

I panicked.  For obvious reasons.  I convinced myself that any hope for a positive outcome should remain dim, but that I was honor bound to tell her the truth - I wasn't actually a woman, Holli wasn't my real name, and the only thing I regretted was that I foresaw our friendship coming to an abrupt end.  And that's what I did.

OH MY GOD, she typed when I had finished explaining myself and the situation.  Exactly twelve seconds passed, during which I forgot to breathe and began to list the ways I hated myself.  But then on my screen appeared:  THAT EXPLAINS SO MUCH.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN? If I wasn't using a keyboard, there'd've been a stammer.  My heart was a trip hammer in a bone cage.

NUH UH, NO WAY. WE'RE GOING TO CONTINUE THIS CONVERSATION IN PERSON.

And that was how I met the real Sara, although it would be awhile before she met the real Holli.  I remember actually feeling stupid, for the first time in my life, that I wasn't meeting somebody en femme.  There I stood in a small town coffee shop foyer, wearing a gray hoodie and a day-old layer of grizzle on my chin.  A complete fraud.  The antithesis of who I'd claimed to be...

As opposed to Sara, who was even more wonderful than I could have imagined.  I won't even try to describe her, but she left two impressions on me.  One was a pang of deep regret that I would probably never be able to date her on account of what she now knew about me, and the other was that it didn't really matter, because I was now outed before this amazing new friend and she hadn't slapped me in the face on account off my deception, turned on her heel and stormed off.  Instead, she proved curious about how I came to be and where this new relationship would take us. "I've been excited about having a new girlfriend with whom I have so much in common," she professed over coffee, "and I intend to meet her."

My stomach did double flips, but before we could get to the point of mutual admiration I had to fill in the rest of the blanks about myself.  Once I started, I couldn't stop.  Every detail about my past, my gender variances and various other vulnerabilities came spilling out.  Everything was on the table.  She could have swept it all up into her arms and used them to her advantage, or tossed it all away like garbage, if she was the kind of person to do so.  Instead, at the end of my ramblings, she took me by the hands and said, "Well, dear, I'm happy to tell you that you're no longer in this alone.  Just let me know when you're ready to introduce yourself properly!"

........

...I can practically hear you asking why I've stopped the story.  "Is there more?" you ask, teeth gritting in anticipation.  And the answer is "Yes."  Also, "No."  You see, the entire account you've just read is a bit of ruthless fiction.  I could go on, but there's really no end to it, nor is it the only version.  If this somehow frustrates you, annoys you, or makes you wish you hadn't wasted all that time for nothing, then... welcome to my ongoing chagrin.  For this is but a sample of the sublime fantasies that spring up whenever inspiration appears in the pleasing form of a woman, triggering the deep longing I have for feminine interaction.  My mind invariably goes to the realm of possibilities, where I smoothly construct "what if" scenarios that appease my unrequited desire to be one of the girls.  In the end it's all a fabrication, because my social circles have never expanded into the strata where there are women who enjoy the company of crossdreamers like me.  And yet it's one of the things for which I've wished most consistently.  Drat it all.

Incidentally, there is one grain of truth to my wonderment in that, somewhere in the world, a woman named Sara actually exists.  Under the alias "Suede" (she enjoyed fashion & it was her favorite material) she met me on the internet when I was in college, and we did wind up discussing gender, sexuality, and sexual orientation on a regular basis.  She lived very close to me at the time, in Baltimore, and offered to have me visit so we could explore my feminine proclivities together.  Alas, I was certain I could never find the way by myself as I've always been cursed with a terrible sense of direction... but that was a flimsy excuse, covering up the more reasonable fear of having to explain my absence to my girlfriend, Erica (if we were even dating at the time; long story).

I have a terrific imagination.  Sometimes I think it's out to get me.  As we shall soon see, next time...

~HCP

Free Form Fantasy pt. 1: Clothes

In my last entry, I dropped a hint to ya'll that maybe I'd toss up my own personal fantasies as examples of what I'm talking about, vis-à-vis the four categories of where crossdreaming fantasies tend to fall.  Not only am I terribly shy about doing this, but I'm also terribly eager.  So in light of my contradictory impulses, please feel free to share your own in the comments, if you please, so I don't die of stage fright... er, blog fright. (?)

On the other hand, clothes are the easiest things to talk about.  And do I fantasize about clothes?  What a dumb question.  Let's not even dignify it with a response.  But what I will do is go straight to the source, back about twelve years ago when I first began journaling my impressions of being a closeted cross-dresser.  I was inspired to write about the seasons and how each of them invoked unique moods which influenced my fashion sense.  Just reading over it makes me all wistfully giddy and stuff:

"Autumn, naturally, reminds me of the falling temperatures and the changing of colors. Words like "brisk" and "crisp" serve as delectable onomatopoeia that conjure feelings of warmth and coziness, the smell of burning fires and cooking food.  There is an air of domesticity, but also of curling up in comfortable surroundings and being protected in that refuge of solitude.  Autumn is suggestive of leisurely activity, passive attention to surroundings and dreaming of the future when things will change back again.

 "Ideally, I can picture dressing in tights, a sweater and knee-length skirt, low heels and letting my hair down so it can blow (in all scenarios, I would have at least shoulder length hair).  I would like going shopping, but not at the malls.  I would prefer a quiet little town with a lot of history where the leaves litter the sidewalks and local stores are run by quiet people who leave you to your business unless you actually want to buy something.  Just to walk silently through the streets and enjoy the freedom would be my planned afternoon, return home and make dinner, kick off my heels and watch a movie under a blanket.

"Winter arrives, very cold and bleak in the country, but very bright, busy and colorful in the city.  A sharp edge hangs in the air, almost difficult to breathe but invigorating, as if the oxygen were somehow purer.  Bodies are challenged to keep up with the rigors of walking against the wind, letting each gust wash against faces and rub their cheeks red.  As winters can sometimes feel lonely, to be near other people can be refreshing and exciting.  There is much eating and celebrating, and decorations adorn our homes to compensate for the dreary landscape.  Snow and ice falls, decorating the world as well.

"Dinner and the theater!  I am close to D.C. where there is the Kennedy Center and other displays of high art.  The day would be spent getting dressed in something beautiful and elegant.  My hair would be put up in curls, my face made fresh and clean, and the outfit stunning and sensational: a long dress, snug, warm and long sleeved, possibly black but not red, and definitely gold jewelry & strappy heels.  There would be a play or musical, and dinner afterward at a nice restaurant.  Then wind the evening down with some music and conversation.  The entire evening would be filled with the noises of a cold, bustling metropolis, unaware of me but full of welcome cheer.

"Spring, symbol of rebirth and new life awaken the world after its long sleep.  Colors begin to bloom.  We notice once more that the skies were always blue.  The air smells sweet, almost perfumed.  Blossoms decorate the trees and land with a fine veil, like lace.  Green grass is greener, new leaves are rich with vital water, and rain falls everywhere to add sustenance.  Life is fragile - a cold snap could freeze the new leaves and break them off - but all life remains patient and sure that it will survive.  The world is admired for its splendor, similar to autumn when we appreciate the beauty for which life was sacrified.  Now life is returned, a promise made every year.

"I know I would love to be dressed in pureness.  My outfit would be comprised of soft colors, pink, white, subdued purple... any of these would go well together.  A low neck top or dress with a short loose skirt, pink nails, straight hair caught behind a head band to hang over my shoulders except for the wisps that I curl into bangs, white hose if my outfit contains white, otherwise nude (or none).  Either ankle strap sandals or leather heels, simple jewelry.  Since I would love to revel in my attractive and vulnerable state, someplace very public would be ideal.  A place to spend time in the open might be a large historic town or some other vast space with many attractions to visit.  A daytime tour of the area could be fun (and relatively safe).  A light lunch in an outdoor cafe, followed by the trip home before nightfall.  In the evening, before heading home, perhaps some shopping and (if I was brave) trying on some clothes... shoes, outfits, perfume samples, etc.

"Summer is simultaneously active and lazy.  There is an either/or state of being... either we are lounging or we are doing a lot at once.  Days can be filled with visiting places all day long and getting tired, or watching television all day with nothing else in mind.  The sun is indifferent, but the weather may be baking one day and then light and breezy the next.  Sunlight changes the very colors of our bodies, like skin and hair.  Trees are full of rich, green leaves and the skies are dotted with thick puffy clouds.  This is nature showing everything it's got.  Movie theaters burst with new releases, stores sell all the new products they can.  Carnivals spring up in vacant lots overnight.  It's the most convenient time to get as much done as we can, even though summer seems to be the shortest season
 of all.

"The wilder side of my feminine nature emerges.  if I go out, I'm dressing up nice.  Similar to my winter ideal, this would be a good time to show off, not in the same elegant way but sexy and daring.  Heels are too high, the skirt is too short, and the perfume is sweet.  Long nails, sensual makeup, full hair and a tight top.  I'd spend the day being lazy... doing my nails and hair, watching TV.  Later I want to get out with the girls, be beautiful just for myself and have as much fun in a night as I can.  Eating out, movies, shopping, all local entertainment.  Of course, there are places to go by car, concerts, beach boardwalks, etc.  The best thing about a summer fling?  Endless possibilities."

...Mm!!  Now I'm all bothered.  Hopefully I didn't drag you down with me.  (No pun intended, darlings.)

I'm being a bit minimalist in these descriptions.  I mean, I have all kinds of different favorite kinds of clothes - stockings with seams up the back, suede skirts, hoop earrings, just to name a few - but this was only to show you how it starts: very small.

Next blog - going public.

~HCP

All In Your Head

As a psych minor, I enjoy when people talk about their dreams.  The more unusual the better.  It's fun to analyze.  Our dreams are certainly fascinating, like crinkled up road maps to the worlds of our being, which you have to smooth out if you hope to make any sense of them.  Depending on how well I know the dreamer, I'm usually pretty good at it.  On the other hand, sometimes I have no idea what to think when I'm staring into my own tapestry of patchwork thoughts. Ahh, trees, to where didst thy forest disappear?

Daydreams also interest me.  Fantasies are rife with symbolism, and typically a lot more straightforward than our chaotic subconscious - thus, easier to decrypt.  So when it comes to the things I like to imagine in the car or during a long stretch of mind-killing boredom, I'm most confident about what I'm getting at.

As a crossdreamer, I'm all too experienced in the art of fantasy craft.  I've been at it since the single digits of youth and I don't seem to show any signs of growing tired of it.  There has been an evolution, of sorts, and I'd love to regale you with some of my truly dizzying transformation scenarios (and perhaps I will, eventually), but I've got something slightly more encompassing in mind.  I've been using my knack for analysis on the general basis of crossdreaming fantasies, you see, and I'd like to get some of this down before I forget I even cared that much to begin with.

As it stands, I've browsed the sugar-sweet haze of the fondest of cross-feminine wishes and I've discerned the common threads that connect them in the most telling of ways. Let's see, what shall we start with...?

Clothes

Yep, it's a gimme.  Duh!  Of course, one of the first things a crossdreamer begins to fantasize about is the wearing of clothes.  We saw the women we wished we could be, noting first off how uniquely & expressively feminine their apparel makes them, how their choice of fashion seemed to accentuate the way they felt as women... ohh, yes, just the first stop on a long train ride into Girl World! At this point, it wouldn't be long before we next started envying their hair, their nails, the way they got to wear makeup and jewelry and have pierced ears.

"Wait, what?  I can't dress like that?  Walk like that, talk like that, do any of those things because of the way I was born?  Wow, SO not fair!!!"  But them's social rules, and to fight them you'd have to break them.  With the line drawn thusly and you choosing sides, life becomes so much more difficult - no matter which side you pick!  Become an outcast among your family and friends, or live in quiet desperation.

If only someone loved you for you.  If only there were someone who liked the feminine you...

Accomplices

If only... that girl - the one who likes to wear skirts a lot, and does her bangs in this cute way you've envied ever since she walked into the same class you've been taking together - if only she knew how badly you wanted to be female.  If anyone could teach you how to look your best and put together dynamite outfits and go shopping with you, it'd be someone like her.  And if you didn't think she'd shriek and make a disgusted face and embarrass you in front of everyone after you managed to find the guts to tell her, you both could be friends for life!  Girlfriends, even... maybe?

Ah, well.  Turns out, even the broadest of female minds aren't as interested in our feminine side as we'd like them to be.  Sure, they can be all for gender equality, freedom of expression, tolerance, etc. but unless you're already friends with a lady, in whom you're comfortable confiding, that smart, charismatic fashionista you admire so much isn't usually interested in a relationship with a crossdreamer.  No sense getting all indignant, since after all it is a free country, right?  She's just not that into youuu...'re appreciation for high heeled shoes.

"Well, okay. Then what if I tell my closest girl friends about who I am inside?  Maybe they'll be interested in getting to know me better that way!"  That could work.  Then again, it might blow up in your face, alienating someone who you thought you could trust and sending ripples of awkward emotions in all directions.  But whatever, it's still a dream worth having: girlfriends who share their years of experience with you, coaxing the shy little debutante that you are out of her boy-shell, forming a bond that never feels quite complete unless Little Miss You comes out to play once in awhile. *happy sigh!*

Coercion

The next inevitable phase, and the darker side of "Accomplices."  For some of us (yes, I include myself), this is where we settle for hoping that if we can't get society to accept us as cross-gendered "peers," then they'll appreciate the idea of having us play the part of women against our will.  A bit backwards, I know, but bear with me.

Part of being a woman, from the male perspective, includes degrees of submission.  This is not to say that we trans-people think of women as weak and fragile, bending to the whims of a male-dominated culture... oh, anything but!  Even so - and I'm only going to repeat what I've heard - most women like it that way.  They like being taken care of and having a variety of decisions made on their behalf.  The majority of the ladies in my social circles claim to enjoy take-charge kind of guys.  It's a major turn-on for many women.

Apart from them stand those of us among the gender-variant, who pick up on that submissive vibe and, indulgently, focus on it to the point of training themselves to be not only super-subservient in their feminine persona but also becoming sexually attracted to the idea of being subjugated.  This would seem to oppose the true spirit of feminism, but again, we're at a stage where desperation, social frustration and sexual repression collide at the developmental intersection.

So if you're sure that everyone would just totally freak the hell out if they knew about your secret wardrobe and your desire to step into the role of woman now and again, the only way you're going to get what you want is if someone else gets the same idea - "Wouldn't it be fun if we dressed you as a girl??"

It can happen.  It does happen.

Halloween is a great time for girlfriends to get the mad glint in their eye that says, "My lover, I think it's time you were treated to a fashion makeover."  Consider the fabled Dare (or better yet, the hastily placed Bet!), a spoken contract into that a crossdreamer might enter which, if played right, can place them directly into a binding obligation to allow one or more lady friends to pretty them up to heart's content.

Also, let us not forget the submissive crossdreamer's ultimate dream: Domination.  Believe it or not, there are real, actual people roaming this world who thoroughly enjoy feminizing and controlling people like us.  Herein lies the potential for a win/win scenario.  But... is it worth it?  To trade freedom for the privilege of having a relationship with someone who takes advantage of our every feminine desire and enforces our complete devotion to it?  To many crossdreamers, it certainly is.  Doms, however, aren't what you call "dime a dozen."  They're a special kind of person, and rare enough that they have no use for the myriad desperate cross-dressers throwing themselves at their feet.  That's right, as fantastic as this situation might be it requires ultimate dedication and sacrifice, which kind of defeats the purpose of a fantasy when you can't snap out of it any time you want.  Or... well, I guess that's the point, isn't it?  A fantasy that never ends, whether you want it to or not!?

Anyway, the longer we search the more we learn of the scarcity of people who want to see us en femme.  It's depressing.  Most of us are dreamers, however, and we're not prone to giving up.  So we tune the channels of our imagination to more fanciful stations, giving up on reality altogether and letting our hearts run free...

Magical Mystery

"Screw waiting around for my girlfriend to dress me up in her clothes and make me go with her friends to the movies!  If I had three wishes from a magic lamp, I wouldn't have to wait..."

Eventually, the fantasy/sci-fi lover in all of us takes the helm of our daydreams, wielding a map with definite borders, which we then sail right over into the bright, yawning sky of impossibility.  Maybe this is a euphemism for "settling" but... whatever.  Since we're waiting around thinking of ways for the ridiculously unlikely to occur, we may as well step on the gas.  Twists of fate, wishing wells, gypsy curses, wizard spells.  Well, damn, let's throw a little pretend science in there, what say?  What if I got hit by an alien ray that amplifies my bosoms, makes all my boy hair fall out, and raises my voice into a tremulous womanly pitch?  Or... Oh! How about I wake up one day and my wife and I have swapped physical genders?  Yeah, baby!  If I'm going to live the life of desperation, it'll be TO THE HILT.**

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

/big breath/  Alrighty, then.  That's the way I see it.  I do enjoy breaking things down and categorizing them according to characteristics, so this has been fun and enlightening for me.  Hopefully you got something out of it.

For my next post, I'll toss up several examples of my own fantasies, correlating to the subjects listed above.  Feel free to follow my lead.

~HCP

* come on, don't try to pretend this doesn't actually happen
** eventually, this may lead to voluntary cosplay, a valid form of expression in certain circles where cross-dressing is commonplace, perhaps ultimately a back door one might take which leads to the kind of peace we're all looking for (but don't quote me)

Two Minds of the Same Whole Part of the Half

Altogether now: belly laugh!  That's right, I'm a slacker.  But what's most important is that I was right about being a slacker.  I called it!  "Won't last until February," I said.  However, I was going to give myself a little more credit than "Won't even make it to 2012."

Ever the optimist... ever the renegotiator...

I'm coming atcha tonight in the seclusion of my comfy basement.  The ever-loving spouse is spending the night an hour and a half away from here and will return again tomorrow.  And so despite the dozens of other way more important things I have to do, I'm going to type up a little bit of news out of Holli World.  Even though, honestly, I really don't want to.  I'm tired, sleepy even, a bit distracted, and I seem to be having trouble putting everything I actually have to say in cohesive order.  But if not now, when?

Sooooo... Sunday night.  Yes.  Erica and I had, officially, the most horrible conversation about my gender issues ever.  It wasn't loud, nor did it in any way resemble an argument.  There was a bit of a return to the subject of my long hair and how it was "driving a wedge" into our marriage, and "What do you hope to gain?" or "What do you think is going to happen if you wait around long enough, some sign from heaven, or whatever?"  And what I wanted to say was all of the stuff I wrote down in my last segment.  Well, some of it sort of got said.  A few main ideas.  Not in so many words.

To tell the truth, it could have gone better.  We talked about how each of us is dealing with some pretty severe emotional needs issues right now, prompting me to mutter, "I'm having a hard time deciding which one of us needs therapy the most."  Soon after, I made an attempt to sum up my feelings about what I believe I need.  The effect was diminished by the subtle undertones of "crazy" that I'd let creep in...

I told Erica that I believed I had two genders - one physical body, but two genders (important distinction there) - and that a part of me is emotionally starved - my feminine ego - because it receives no love.  I then made mention of such phenomena as genetic chimeras, made a bit of a philosophical pass on the topic of souls ("Would it be possible for two souls to reside in a single body?") and concluded that sometimes I wonder if part of me was really supposed to be someone else entirely.

After all of this was said, after a bit of silence, she replied, "I think you win. You definitely need the therapy more than me."

"By that, do you mean 'That's a lot more that he's going through than I ever would have expected,'" I asked, "or do you mean, "He's absolutely insane and needs professional help'?"

"Yes," she said.

It was meant to be a joke... she later told me.  Unfortunately, friends, Erica's jokes don't always hit home.  For those close moments that followed, it looked like she'd lost all faith in me, or the possibility of seeing this through to a rational conclusion.  I could have sworn I actually heard a string snap, like something big suspended overhead had just lost an important element of support.  It's as close as I've ever been to being stunned silent.

Maybe I'll get to the rest of that well-worded epiphany of mine some other time.  Sooner would be better than later, but I've been all about nailing the timing.  I trust that it will work out in the end. Like my sister-in-law loves to say, "It'll be alright in the end; it's not alright, so it's not the end."

Ever the optimist... ever the sucker...

~HCP