The Thin Blue Line

As always, I left work tonight between 1 and 2am. I set the alarm, and clicked out to my car in my wedges, in our very dark parking lot. As I was pulling out of the lot, two cruisers went by very slowly. I pulled out behind them, and they then pulled into the next lot. I had an inkling what would follow: flashing blue and red lights in my rear view.

My first thought was to shed the shoes. I whipped 'em off and slipped on the boat shoes that I had right there at my feet. Mahogany pantyhose still visible, but potentially less embarrassing standing on the roadside. When he approached my window, the first officer immediately asked if I was putting on my shoes, and why I was driving without them. Couldn't think of a reason and told him so.

Suspicions aroused now, he looked over my license and registration, then asked if there was anything illegal in the car. I guffawed and said no. He asked if I would mind letting him take a look. Not at all, I said. So, I got out and walked back to the first cruiser and chatted with the second officer about my work, and why I was there so late, while #1 went through the car.

As I was chatting, I was relaxing a little. I knew the first guy was putting together what I had done, what with the heels on the passenger floor, and Newport-News catalogs, and a brassiere in a felt bag. I wasn't terribly worried about explaining the truth about me. I was actually thinking more about the very light lipstick and gloss I was wearing, and what impression that was making. Very self-conscious about that.

When the search was complete, they ran my license. I've never had so much as a speeding ticket, so that didn't worry me. I was very surprised that #1 said nothing about what he had found. I suppose they only cared about contraband, and strappy sandals are still legal. They sent me on my way.

I have been wearing heels and lipstick on my drive home for a couple months now. I have been known to wear the bra as well, stuffed with the socks that I'm obviously not using on my feet. I am very glad that I didn't have a bust when I got busted. That would have complicated things a lot, and made me quite embarrassed standing in the bright lights. This might be enough to slow my self-destructive risk-taking, at least for a while. This was only the second time I've ever been pulled over, and the adrenalin had me almost shaking. I'm glad they recognized my sobriety, didn't do a field test. Imagine trying to walk a straight line in three inch wedges with your eyes closed. I think I could do it, as I have mad skills in the heel department, but I'd rather not perform these feets(!) of daring-do in front of The Man.

Anyway, that was my exciting drive home tonight. Don't be like me...

Not a Game

I want to address some things said by Liz and Renee in their most recent comments.

Liz was concerned that Mrs. Leslie or myself would be confronting our dughter's new TG assistant. Nothing is further from our minds. We are not playing a parlor game of "Find the Tranny," though under other circumstances that could be fun for one of us. I would describe my wife as concerned about our daughter. She just wants reassurance that this woman is safe, something that would be true of any worker. In our discussions, she has never failed to use the proper pronouns, so I'm not seeing any overt disrespect, except perhaps some mention of clothing choices. That could happen with any woman. Yes, there is some latent prejudice, and that is unfortunate, but she has never dealt with anyone from this walk of life, except me.

I got to meet the assistant today, and yes, there is no doubt that she is TG. That said, she presents very well, and I imagine she passes well much of the time. She, Mrs. Leslie, and I talked for several minutes. My wife was very friendly with her, and did not treat her any differently than anyone else. That was encouraging. The assignment is only for two weeks, so I doubt they'll become BFFs, but Mrs. L is having her take my daughter around town to therapy and shopping as any worker would.

The unexpected part for me was my reaction. She was tall and thin and pretty, and I was overcome by envy and dysphoria. This young woman had the courage to go out and live my dream, and she is rocking it. I looked at her and couldn't imagine myself succeeding on that level. I've met a limited number of full-timers, but always in the big closet of the support group. This was someone working as her true self in the real world, and I was not free to hop around shouting, "Me, too!", or ask her questions. That was difficult for me, and I hope my attempts at "normal" conversation didn't come off as false or weird or forced. I was trying to maintain my role, when every part of me wanted to bond in sisterhood.

Anyway, all indications are that this woman will be successful. She has a better sense of direction, and reaching her by phone or text seems to be no problem, both big improvements over the previous worker. I think this will be very good for Mrs. Leslie, and for me.

In Which the Cosmos Leaves a Flaming Bag of Poo

Sometimes one just has to admire the way the universe works. Some delicious irony dribbled on us today (well, on Mrs. Leslie actually). First, a few facts to set things up.

I've written before about my oldest child, who has a fairly advanced case of autism. Late last year, we finally got approved for state Medicaid benefits. This includes a budget for certified assistants for my daughter, essentially giving us parents some respite. For the last five months or so, we have been fortunate to have an aide that had great rapport with our daughter, and was very pleasant to be around. That was balanced by a propensity for lateness, unannounced absences, undependable transportation, and difficulty reaching her. A mixed bag, to be sure, but we liked her. Then the agency that provided her found that she was turning in hours for days when she didn't make it in to work. That's a firing offense, and that's what happened.

So, we were left without an assistant. Today, we got a temporary replacement. Mrs. Leslie called to tell me that she believes that this young woman is transgendered. My wife wanted to know, firstly, whether I might know this young lady. I didn't know her by name or description, so I'm guessing she hasn't been coming to support meetings. No help there.

Then the real question, should this woman be trusted with my daughter's intimate care? The previous worker would sometimes assist with my daughter's showers, and with toileting. I explained to her that if this woman is transgendered and employed as a woman, then she is full time at the least, and probably on her way to more. If she does have a penis, she likely has no fondness for it, nor any desire to use it in any fashion. I tried to explain that she is living as a woman and thinks like one. A pervert is not going to go to these lengths to get access to vulnerable children.

Though it was a serious conversation, I had to hide my amusement that my wife was going to have to come to grips with the reality of the trans world. She is finally going to get acquainted with a real person living the life. She is too polite to reject this woman, so she will have to decide how to deal with her. There will be eggshells to walk on, and this will only be a couple weeks, but this has the potential to put a human face on my situation. I hope the young lady proves herself to be caring and responsible. I also hope that Mrs. Leslie learns a degree of empathy for a group that she has marginalized in the past.

Mysterious ways, indeed....

Something's Gotta Give

Absent for long enough now, I think I've got something to write about at last.

I went to therapy today (that's always good for a few paragraphs!). I didn't think I had much to talk about going in. Things have been a bit distant at home, but there's no overt tension between us. Dysphoria has been creeping in, and the need to dress more fully and often has come with it. I've been walking around with lipstick and lip gloss in my pocket for weeks, and using them often. And now, I am feeling depression coming around for a visit.

This morning, before my session, I was thinking hard about subject matter to share. I asked myself a question that hadn't occurred to me before. If Mrs. Leslie came to me and said that she wanted a divorce, how would I react? The answer surprised me. I waver constantly on the divorce issue, but when presented in reverse, the answer was obvious. I would quietly agree to it while clicking my heels inside my head.

I have no clue what freedom looks like, but my heart is crying for it. There have been good times, but I have wanted out for so long. I am fine with splitting, but apparently I have a problem with initiating it. Have I mentioned before that I'm a bit submissive? Conflict averse? Mild as oatmeal? Yeah, I thought I had.

Deep down, I know what I want. What I lack is the courage and fortitude to pursue it. This gives me something to work on, I suppose. In the meantime, focusing on this has made me sadder as the day wore on.

I also mentioned to my therapist how little sleep I've been getting. It's not that I can't sleep, it's that I can't make myself go to bed. My whole Leslie life is in this corner on the computer, and I keep staying up later and later, not wanting to leave it, even for blessed sleep. I am a zombie much of the day, and it is reaching critical mass. My therapist told me that I won't last long without crashing and burning. She's right, but I'm not sure how to get a handle on it. This is my most alert time of day, as feeling alive gets the adrenaline and endorphins going. Then I daydream about napping at work. Something's gotta give.

Free Range Thoughts

Not a lot has been going on, but I have several smaller things to share, so let's pack it all into one big post. Long silences tend to make folks worry about me anyway.

I had therapy last week. I believe that I am now prepared to go the divorce route if it comes to that. I am fine with staying as well, but I guess I have an ultimatum if I need it. It all feels like emotional blackmail, even just speculating about it. Still, as a dedicated realist, I have visualized the worst case scenario and believe that I have what it takes to confront it. We have been kind of distant the last week, with one exception.

Saturday, Mrs. Leslie surprised me with a romantic candlelight dinner! Given our present tensions, I was not expecting such an effort. She made broccoli garlic fettucine with a nice salad, a Cafe Grande for me and a bottle of wine for her. And brownies! A great meal, but I was left wondering about the why. Did she sense that I am pulling away? Did her therapist suggest it? Does she really want to keep me? I sometimes get the sense that I'm being strung along. My boy has one more year of private school, and I have wondered if I will be cut loose after that. Cynical? Paranoid? Correct on both counts.

My underdressing is escalating. Even with the warmer weather, my usual pantyhose are being supplemented with frequent camisoles and occasional bras. Oh, and lipstick when I can manage it. I think it speaks to my unsettled mind, and the constant stress of playing at being happily married (and male). I hope to spend some time cropping body hair Friday and perhaps epilating around my ankles. I take my sanity where I can get it. I'm back to wearing skirts at the computer at night, and the leg hair just looks ghastly. A trim is in order.

At work today, two co-workers began to talk with me about encounters with trans folks. Lucky me! They relayed someone else's tale of an "it" at an Indigo Girls concert, that left the guy guessing all night. There were other stories as well. I just had to quietly take it in. I'm very fond of one of these fellows, and part of me wants to give him a pass, chalk it up to stupidity. Just guys bonding by dehumanizing strangers. Yet, it makes me wonder about transitioning in my current workplace--not that I have plans, but, again, visualization. If people I know and like are going to respond this way, what of the ones I don't really know or don't like?


Last week, my order from Payless arrived. I took advantage of BOGO and a 20% off coupon for my birth month of April. How could I say no to a perfect storm like that? I am wearing the wedge seen to the left as I type. I think I have finally found the black sandal that I have been seeking in this pair of shoes. In addition, I got the black patent slings seen at right. These are a wee bit tight, but I have a thing for slings, and I will learn to deal with it. I modeled the wedge for my therapist last time, and I will make a point to take the slings next week. A girl cannot have too many pairs of black shoes.

That's all the news that fits. Maybe I'll have that difficult discussion with my wife one of these days.

The Next Stage

"Why should I cry for you?
Why would you want me to?
What would it mean to say
I loved you in my fashion?"
"Why Should I Cry For You" by Sting

So tell me, what stage of mourning comes after anger and denial? I think I am coming out of the denial stage regarding the slow death of my marriage. I think many of you have realized for some time that I have been in denial about the true state of my relationship. For the last week, I've slowly come to a new place. Much of this was spurred by comments from Sophie B and Calie and Tina, who noted that the common ground I share with Mrs. L could be the stuff of a platonic friendship quite easily. And then Liz, the Sonora Sage, cinched it.

My marriage is essentially best friends with benefits. It is largely a passionless affair, with the occasional steamy booty call. In this day and age, one can have this sort of relationship with or without a marriage license. The kids complicate things (understatement!), and give us our main reason for being together this long. Seeing things this way makes me less inclined to cling to all this like a life raft.

Mrs. Leslie has therapy Wednesday, so, as so often happens, she was trying to shoehorn an important conversation into the last minutes before her session. There wasn't even enough time to start the talk, but after the request, I decided to start writing down the things I need to share with her. Here's what I have:

I've burned you twice. What is your motivation to stay? When I tell you who and what I am, you can barely hide your disgust. Why stay if you hate the truth?

I still love you. I'm still attracted to you. Yet, increasingly, I feel that we are best friends with benefits. There is physical passion intermittently, but the emotional attachment seems gone, replaced by a mutual fondness, at least when we're avoiding the elephant in the room. We enjoy one another's company. Is that enough, ultimately?

I think we're both unhappy with the status quo, but we each think it needs to move in opposite directions.

That's just some ideas and thoughts thrown together, and I am unlikely to give it to her in written form anyway, as that has backfired on me multiple times. I think I can deliver this face to face.

I feel like I'm ready to let go now, without despair or gnashing of teeth. The thought of leaving doesn't upset me terribly. Disappointment, sure. Nothing will get done quickly anyway, so there is plenty of time to contemplate further. Still, I think I have taken the first step toward independence, maybe the hardest one, letting go emotionally.