Tag Archive | Cross-dressing

Quiet September

img_20160903_1936571It’s been quiet lately in Stefani’s world. I’ve been closing a lot these past few weeks, and I tend to dress after work, so opportunities to dress up have been few and far between. I had hoped to meet another friend of mine last Tuesday, another crossdresser in town, for dinner, but plans fell through. I was disappointed, of course, but I understood. I hope she’s feeling better now, and I pray we can reschedule soon.

My hair is getting longer now. In fact, it’s driving me crazy. I kind of want to get the clippers and buzz it off. It’s at that awkward stage when it’s not long enough to do anything with, but long enough to get in the way. It’ll be several more months before I can do anything with it, and maybe up to a year before it’s as long as I need it. I can’t wait!

Now that it’s getting cooler, I’m needing to start buying myself some winter outfits. I do have a few, but I need more. I also need to buy myself a couple of jackets, a leather one so I can look like a kick-ass bitch, and something a little more sophisticated.

A friend from work with whom I confided my secret is wanting to take me shopping. I have my usual partner that I go shopping, but another couldn’t hurt. She’s wanting to take me to Maurices, should our bonus checks from work be large enough. I’ve never been in there. I wonder what’s in there. I wonder if there’s anything I’d like.

It’s crazy how invested I’ve become in this. I’ve come along way from my purging days, where I’d buy a few things, hide them, then become disgusted with my perversity and throw everything away, only to have my compulsion force me back into the cycle. Now I’m trying to build as large a wardrobe as possible. I’m staring to shift gears and buy more comfortable articles, shorts and t-shirts. I’m wanting to buy some capris, but I do believe they’re out of season. Damn it!

I brought another person into my circle recently. Actually, I had my bestie tell her husband about me. She told me that he wasn’t all to surprised by it. I think he had suspected I was a little on the gay side, so me being transgender wasn’t too much of a shock. I’m not gay, by the way, not that it matters. I’ve come to the conclusion that as far as Stefani is concerned, I’m bi.

Hopefully I can dress up this weekend. I desperately need it. The only thing is that I have nowhere to go. Gone are the days when dressing up and hiding all day in my friend’s apartment was sufficient for me. Now I want to dress up and go out. I love being out in public. I’m just not in a place where I can do so comfortably.

 

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Pride

20160625_201925Amarillo celebrated Panhandle Pride as part of LGBT Pride month last Saturday, June 26. Sadly I didn’t go. I had to work all day, and by the time I did get off, the festivities were over. It’s convenient for me in that I can say I would have loved to have gone, but would I really have gone if I had the chance?

Don’t misunderstand me, I would have loved to have gone as Stefani, and tried to interact with other transgender people like me. The issue would have been outing myself. You know the dilemma, I’m sure. Had it been in a larger city, I don’t think the issue would have been as great. The larger the city, the larger the crowd, the easier it would have been to get lost in the crowd. In Amarillo, I don’t think I would have blended in as easily. That, and my manager and a co-worker had a booth. It would have been awkward, at least for me.

I did see the pictures that were posted, and I part of me longs for that freedom. I envy people how have that strength to be true to themselves. It’s a strength of character that I seem to be missing, though at times it makes itself known, more and more as of late. I suppose being Stef is a journey, and it isn’t one that’s easy to make.

At the very least, I wish I could have gone to 212 to celebrate at the club, but of course I had to open the next morning. There’s always something in the way. I’ll try to get out and hit the club again soon. It’s the closest thing I have to being out as I can manage. There’s some sense of freedom in the act of going out as me. Maybe it’s a start.

Road trip: June 2016

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At The Shops at Willow Bend in Plano, Texas. June 18, 2016.

Took another road trip down to see my friend, as I mentioned on my last post. I got out of work half past midnight, and I think it took at least another hour to wind down. After only napping about an hour and a half, I got up, got dressed, and drove down to the DFW area.

The drive wasn’t too bad at first. I had been having car trouble for a while. My water pump was giving me trouble, as well as my a/c. I replaced the water pump last Wednesday, having to take a sick day. I though I fixed my a/c, but alas no. There’s a leak that refuses to be found. I drove the entire six hours without air conditioning, which was one of the reasons I wanted to start early.

I drove with my windows open, which did a number on my wig. Also, I’ve been to self-conscious about the whole bathroom debacle that I limited my water intake so that I wouldn’t have to pee. So, I was in my car the whole time, not taking time to get out and stretch. It was hot, and I think by the time I got to Sherman it became a problem. I started having heart palpitations, and I fought a panic attack the remainder of the way.

By the time I got to my friend Amy’s house, all I wanted was to strip my sweat soaked clothes. I felt hot and constricted, though my friend said I looked nice. I had to walk around a bit, and she had to throw her dogs outside so that I could cool off and have my episode run its course, which it did. I undressed, and we went to Plano and had lunch at The Cheesecake Factory. I would have loved to have gone as Stef.

It wasn’t until Saturday that I had a chance to explore a little as Stef. Since her husband was home, and he doesn’t know, I went to another friend’s place to change, and her husband has not issues with transgender people. So I changed, and both Tyler and Amy remarked how jealous they were of me, which I rather enjoyed. Then Amy and I set forth on our adventure

Our original plan was to go to the Dallas Museum of Art, but it was too late. Then we thought about going to the movies. We ended up going to The Shops at Willow Bend, a mall in Plano. We walked a bit, but since I had lost my belt, we decided to leave and head on over to Target so that I could buy one. From there we thought about going to the movies, but Amy had a client coming over to pick up a dog from her dog sitting service, so we decided to head home.

Having no time and no other recourse, I changed in the car, which isn’t an easy feat in metroplex traffic. I wonder what the other drivers thought about that, lol. But I was prepared for such an eventuality, and I had the necessary wipes and towels to take off my make up and nail polish. By the time we got back to the house, Stef was folded neatly in a bag, which made me sad.

I didn’t have a chance to dress again, and I didn’t want to suffer another scorching trip back home on Monday, so that’s all the Stef time I had. I’m hoping to take another trip soon, and stay in a hotel in Dallas. I want to go to the clubs, maybe see the sights, and take more pictures.

I had fun being out in public, though I did catch a few stares from other women. Amy said they were probably jealous of how I looked, and as much as I would love to believe that, I think I stuck out like a sore thumb. I obviously don’t pass, but I’m also crazily self-conscious. I did my best to enjoy myself and not let my own doubts bring me down.

A few related thoughts

11753914_10204790725275108_568390893_nI decided to buy a new wig a few weeks ago, but I haven’t had the chance to try it on. I’m still not ready to go to an actual wig shop and have one fitted, so like I did with my last wig, I bought it online. I was please with my last wig except that it was so long it quickly became unmanageable. It became a rat’s nest in the back and I decided it was best to retire it and buy a new, shorter one.

I’m hoping that I’ll have a chance to dress up on Monday. I didn’t take advantage of my last opportunity to dress up because I just wasn’t up for it. I was a bit lazy and the time needed to transform myself didn’t help. I would have had maybe an hour to enjoy being dressed before having to get undressed. I want a few hours at least. The last time I did become Stefani lasted all day, and it was wonderful.

I’m actually looking forward to dressing up, doing my nails, and just hanging out. I started a diet for 2016, which isn’t much of a diet as it is a change of a sort. I had been in the habit of eating fast food everyday for lunch, and I decided that I needed to start taking my lunch with me instead. I’ve managed to lose a few pounds, but I’m not satisfied. I’m around 190 now. I want to get to at least 170. I’m going to add exercises soon as well.

What I want is to look a little more like Stefani and less like Steven. I understand that I may not pass 100%, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to look as feminine as possible. I think that’s been my problem with motivation lately. I’m not happy with how I look, or how I feel. I look in the mirror and I see a fat middle-aged man staring back. It’s hard to make myself look or feel sexy.

I know I’m the only one who can change that, and I mean to. I put in for a vacation in early March and I’m hoping for at least a couple of quality days as Stefani. A friend in the metroplex wants to take me shopping, and I would love to feel secure enough in myself to confidently go out. I think I’m getting a panic attack just thinking about it!

In all reality, this part of me is that hardest for me to accept. I’ve gotten better in that I acknowledge that Stefani exists and I allow her to come out. I know she’s ready to head outside and become part of the living world, but I’m vain enough to want to look good while doing it.

 

Creepers

20151017_202814The one thing that still boggles my mind is the persistence and the abject perversity of the male gender, and as I live as a man most of the time, I find this repellent. I don’t know how women deal with it on a daily basis! If I’ve ever crossed that line from cordial to creepy, I apologize. I still struggle at times with how to deal with it. My male ego never has had to put up with this level of sliminess, and I know I’ve barely grazed the crazy.

I guess I should tell the story. I have a Flickr account where I post all my photos. Most are in good taste, but there are a few that cross the line a bit. I don’t post nudes or anything too risque, but I do try to look good and hopefully sexy, and by the comments I get, I do. Some of the comments are innocent enough, and some are a little distasteful. I can deal. I appreciate the validation and it’s a tremendous boost to the ego.

But there was one guy that seemed determined to push the envelope. He made it a practice to like most of my pictures, but it was his comments that began to creep me out. At first it was the innocent “beautiful” but that quickly devolved to sexual innuendos and blatant harassment. The final straw, at least for him, was when he started commenting what he wanted me to wear in bed with him.

I may have thanked him a couple of times in the beginning, but I never truly engaged him in actual conversation. Something about the way he commented prevented me from it. Sometimes people give off vibes, even from across the virtual wasteland of the internet. He definitely gave off creeper vibes. He felt stalkerish. I blocked him.

I know it’s to be expected, but I suppose I was ill-prepared for it. As a man, I’m invisible, I’m rarely bothered by anyone, and no one has ever complimented me on my looks, other than older, matronly types. Young single women can’t be bothered with a weirdo like me, and they don’t know about Stefani! Imagine the amount of rejection I’d get then!

But as Stefani I’m not ignored. I post a picture and it’s liked by dozens, if not hundreds of people, mostly on Facebook. I’m bombarded with friend requests, most that I delete if it’s from a man, and I get more than my fair share of messages. I sometimes respond, but again I ignore most if they come from men. I try to reply to other transgender and ciswomen, but I’m such a horrible conversationalist. I should try harder.

I know the ultimate solution is to delete everything and pretend I don’t exist. That’s not a viable option. I enjoy having an outlet where I can express my feminine side. I enjoy the attention, for the most part, and I deal with the negative aspects a best I can. I have to say that I do admire those who have transitioned are have begun to transition. I don’t know how you deal, but you have my respect. For you women who have dealt with it your whole life, I’ve grown to have a new found respect for you, too, and I haven’t even lived the worst of it, yet!

Accepting myself

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Being silly – being me! Stefani Lara 2015

I’m surprised at myself for having the courage(?) to actually post pictures of myself, namely my face, for all to see. I’ve hidden myself behind closed doors for years, even going so far as to deny myself the simple act of personal acceptance. I tried to pretend I wasn’t a crossdresser, even though I knew in my heart that was who I truly was. I’m accepting it now, in this very public forum. I’m a boy who loves to wear girls clothes! Sometime I feel as though I’m truly a girl at heart.

There’s still some confusion for me. The Christian Right would love to hear me say that. “He’s just confused!” I know what I am. I know who I am. Sometimes I lack the ability to define exactly that because I’ve repressed my true self for too long. I’ve lied about it for so long that the lie became a mask, one that I had forgotten I wore. The mask has slipped enough that I can question the person peering back at me in the mirror.

“Who are you?”

“What are you?”

“Are you real?

“Am I?”

I have eschewed definitions for so long, labels being a construct of a society bent on establishing societal norms. But I have come to realized that norms are not inherently evil. There are niceties to preserve, common decency to uphold. What’s missing is respect. We have become too partisan, attacking those who don’t agree with us. We’ve lost the ability to respect one another, even when we don’t agree. Especially when we don’t agree.

The time has come to define myself, though who I choose to define myself will remain fluid for some time. I’m a crossdresser. That’s simple enough. I’m straight. I’m attracted to women, though I do have flirtations with curiosity about my sexuality. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to go out with a man. I’m not ready to say yes to that. I may never be.

I’m divorced, my ex-wife unable to accept this part of me. I will never accept as a condition of a relationship, a denial of this part of me, one that I’ve come to realize is essential to my happiness, and indeed, my survival. I would rather remain alone that accept a conditional love. No thank you. Not again.

This is me accepting myself and showing my face to the world. Yes, I remain in my ways closeted to those in my life, especially my family. I’m terrified of having them find out my secret. I terrified that I would be disowned, ostracized for the sin of honest about who I am. I envy you who have had the courage to present themselves fully to their parents, family, and friends. One day I may join you, but I’m not ready. For now, this simple corner of the web will suffice. Soon, I’ll start to go out in public. I feel the urge to walk freely. I did so once, ages ago, and I will again.

For now, I’m content to experiment with my look. I can’t wait to buy another outfit and take another round of pictures to post. I’m grateful to have a friend who knows how to shop, and who has helped me find my size. I’m pleased with my progress, I look forward for the future.

This is me, and I’m starting to love me again.

Expecting Miracles

I just bought my first wig. I found one on Amazon the other day, on sale, with a great consumer rating. I’m not expecting angels to sing when I get it in, nor do I expect it to work miracles. It’s only one small piece of the puzzle, one I’m learning to put together to transform myself from an ugly duckling to a swan.

Years ago, when I first started to crossdress, I actually grew out my hair. I loved it, and I didn’t have to worry about my hair. I could curl it sometimes, but most of the time I left it down. I cut it all off about ten years ago, hoping to start to fit in at work and maybe move up the corporate ladder. That worked out great, may I add.

I’ve considered growing it back out, but a nearly forty-year-old man with long hair is looked down upon. In business, he’s not taken seriously. It’s sad, but it’s the truth. There are certain social expectations in regards to gender, appearance, and the like. We can rail against it, but there are norms to consider, and though many are trying to change them, I’m happy to play along, at least to a point.

I don’t feel the need for the world to accommodate itself on my behalf. That, I realize, is partly a function of my personality. I’m best if left to myself, and I am not the type that seeks to change society. All I ask is that I’m given all the respect due to me. That’s it. I know there are those who are incapable of giving that kind of respect, and that’s a shame, but I can only be true to who I am. I’m not a warrior. I’m not a fighter. I’m simply me, an artist trying to realize the truest representation of who I am.

Which brings me back to the beginning, and the wig that’s due to arrive early next week. I hope it doesn’t look too cheap, but it probably will, and that’s okay. I’m not expecting it to last a lifetime, just long enough to get used to the idea of wearing a wig. I’ll have to save up to buy myself a quality wig in the near future, and when I do, I’ll have to find a brick and mortar shop, one that is TG-friendly, to fit one correctly.

Along with that, I need to relearn to do my make-up, build up a wardrobe, and learn to be at ease in my skin. Right now, all I see is a near middle-aged man staring back at me when I try to transform into me. There’s a skill in becoming who I’m supposed to be, an art in transmuting what I am into what I’m supposed to be, and it’s one that I’m working to gain. I hope to have that piece of the puzzle in on Monday. While I profess that I’m not expecting miracles, and I have to admit that I’m praying for one. I really want to be beautiful again, like I once felt I was over ten years ago.