I Must Be Up To No Good

My wife occasionally slips up and expresses some interest in my internal life. Sometimes curiosity, sometimes accusation.

Yesterday, she spoke with one of her friends about Second Life. I know next to nothing about it myself, and my wife knows even less. I have read on blogs by Jill and Veronique, and maybe Sharon (memory comes and goes), that it was very useful to them in learning some of the social skills involved in being female in our society.

The missus, though, sees danger in people portraying anyone other than their "real" selves online. She assumes that there is a sleazy element, people cruising for virtual sex, or molesters, or I don't know what. The point is that she is highly suspicious of people's motives in these circumstances. I think this extends beyond the internet into the real world. She sees me and my friends as being duplicitous, trying to fool others into believing we are something that we are not. I wonder if she is afraid of clowns.

I spend about three hours online after work most nights. While sharing her opinions on Second Life, she asked me if I was involved in Second Life late at night when I should be sleeping. I told her the general truth about my activities, that I'm writing and reading. Blogs and emails. She wants to believe that something scandalous is going on, I think. I guess some of the content I write and read might scandalize her, but she's an easy mark.

I wish that I didn't feel so compelled to sit at the computer so much. However, my "second life" as Leslie is largely nonexistent in the corporeal world. One evening a month, plus underdressing, is the full extent of Leslie outside the ether. My only room for expansion is online. And so, I tear myself away from the TV-typewriter with great reluctance each night, stepping away from the only place where I am me. It's the place that I feel most alive, and I long to return when I'm away.

I'm a Daisy!

More debriefing from therapy...

I don't recall how it came up, but my therapist, M, told me that she thinks of me as a daisy. This is not at all like the man who mistook his wife for a hat. Rather, she was pointing out that I bloom every year, that I present a smiling face to the world, that I'm not flashy or showy, but pretty nonetheless. My blooms stay fresh all season. I sit back and watch the world go by, not calling attention to myself, but still getting noticed by the sensitive types.

The roses of the world, on the other hand, are all show. Yeah, they're beautiful, but only for a fleeting while. Plus, they come with thorns. Flash and drama and a quick fade for their blooms. Nope, not for me. I want to endure.

I'm pretty sure this is my first experience being compared to a flower. Well, my wife might have thought of me as a narcissus, which is how she thinks of all men who dress as women.

Regular readers know that I'm a sucker for a metaphor. I guess my counselor knows that too.

Keep Your Sanity. Shave Your Legs.

Superb comments on the last one. Thanks, ladies!

Today was therapy, the bestest day of all. Not surprisingly, I was in a terrific mood. Therapy always makes me feel better, and hairless legs put me over the top.

My therapist, M, was very pleased that I took control of my body and did what I needed to do. I talked some about the difficulties I had coming to my decision, the hesistation, the fear of confrontation. The missus still hasn't said anything, and might not even realize yet. She has a session with her counselor later today (Thursday), and I was kinda hoping that she would see the changes right before she talks to a professional. I joked at my session that since I was the one that sent her over the edge and into counseling, the least she could do is to discuss me in her session.

I asked M to tell me about her impressions of me when I first came to her office almost two years ago. She said that she could see how desperate I was, that I was a very confused person, and deeply depressed. She says that I am clearly much happier now, that I smile a lot. She believes that my blog saved me, that it gave me an outlet to ponder my situation and think it through. She also credited my support group and the friends I've made through the group. I added her to the list, but she modestly demurred.

Also discussed was whether I've thought through what I might say if the hammer comes down at home. I have, and I practiced a bit of my argument with her. She gave a very constructive critique, and I have been steered in a whole 'nother direction. I was going to change the subject somewhat, but M argued that if she wants to talk about me, I should take advantage of that. Talk about controlling my own body. When she makes her standard point about how I should want to be attractive to my mate, I come back with my need to feel attractive. Ultimately, it comes down to a basic feminist tenet: It's my body, and I get final say on the subject.

My title today was M's verbatim advice via email six weeks ago. A little slow on the follow-through, perhaps, but I got it right eventually.

Lessons Learned

This entry is as much notes to self as infotainment, so don't shoot the blogger, she's writing the best she can.

Bit the bullet today. The deed is done, the die is cast, assorted cliches indicating finality. I am enjoying the fruits of my labor at this moment. My skirt feels incredible with bare legs. I can feel everything without that friction reducing layer. Bring on the friction!

Last winter, my first time shaving my legs, I shaved two or three times a week. Over four months, that's around fifty times. I got a better result today than any time last winter, even without a fresh blade. A little bit visualization, maybe, but also having a clue this time around. So, with truly minimal fanfare, What I Have Learned About Shaving Legs:

1) Don't go over the same patch twice without reapplying shaving creme. I learned this on my face about a month ago, as I went for closer and closer shaves. It's probably okay if you look like Charles Bronson, but that's not my goal.

2) Looooong strokes are best (that's what she said). Cut long, even swaths to get cleaner results and less razor burn.

3) Witch Hazel applied liberally (I do everything liberally!) immediately after leaving the tub. My legs didn't get angry at all, and I did a lot of scraping.

4) Last winter, I depended a lot on sight to detect missed areas. This did not work well. I have learned to find the remnants by sense of touch now, and the improvement was remarkable.

Anyway, useful info to me. I hope you got something out of it as well. Wednesday is therapy day, though I can't imagine having much to complain about now, unless the missus starts in on me when I come to bed. I wish she could enjoy this sensation with me.

Enough Already

The wait is over. I know that my hesitation has been driving some folks to distraction. The time has come. My wife is taking my boy on an overnight field trip Monday/Tuesday, so I'll have the house to myself when the girls are at school. The clearcutting will occur one of those two days.

Saturday night, my wife and I had a little tryst. I think she already sensed that I'd done some work on my legs. She may even have thought that I'd shaven them once. She said nothing about it, and it didn't get in the way at all. A splendid time was had by all. She gave no hint of upset, and it didn't take her out of the game, so I have to conclude that it won't be a dealbreaker to finish the job. That's a big leap, to be sure, but anyone who has read me for any time knows that I act on impulse frequently, or at least with minimal information. Why should this be any different?

Act now, pay later, I always say. If bridges have been burned, you'll be the first to know.

Girdling My Loins

Stupid observation #34: Wearing a girdle makes your walk more feminine.

This week, I've added an item to my everyday underdressing. Can you guess? A girdle! How'd'ya know?

I've had a longline girdle in my possession for decades. (It was procured from my mother's drawer in my teen years, and probably dates from the early sixties. No, I'm not proud of myself, and no, I'm not gonna return it.) It lives in a box under my dresser with several pairs of panties and sundry scanties. It hasn't seen much action since the fetish aspect of all this disappeared about two years ago. But a light bulb went off with the arrival of much cooler weather, and a new ensemble was born.

I've been consciously working on a feminine walk for almost two years. I break into it when I'm alone, or at least think I am. It's very much a work in progress, and would look like a parody to the untranned eye. (pun intended) The addition of the girdle beneath my boy duds has made my gait much more natural and, I think, feminine. It's actually an effort not to have a womanly walk in its friendly confines. Delightful! In addition, it is excellent for controlling the naughty bits.

Speaking of controlling my naughty bits, the wife doesn't seem to have noticed the crew cut on my legs yet. She did ask me on the phone last night if I had anything I wanted to tell her, and that sometimes means that she wants me to come clean about something. But she was with the kids on her end of the line, so I don't think she would have been inviting a conversation on that topic. We've shared the bed twice now in my current state, and I would think that it feels a little stubbly, yet no comments or accusations. Could she be keeping an epiphany to herself? If you knew her, you'd say that it's not bloody likely. Long-lived outrage would be a sounder bet, so I don't think she's caught up with my antics just yet.

Point of Unlikely Return

"The thing that disturbs you is only the sound of the low spark of high-heeled boys."
Traffic

It's not a full commitment yet, but I won't be able to hide my intent now. Today I trimmed those leg hairs to within a quarter inch of their lives. The missus will pick up on this quickly, as her T-dar is on full alert. I don't intend to hide it from her. Frankly, she just needs to talk to her therapist about why she is so determined to control this aspect of my being. I gave her eight months of hair, and I'm ready for my follicular sabbatical.

I suppose that I wouldn't necessarily have to follow up with a razor now, but, in truth, she'll hate this as much as she would smooth legs. The razor will make one of us happy anyway.

I still think an epilator would be the way to go, but since I have been raising my voice repeatedly about practicing some austerity as a household, I hardly think that I can spend $50-100 on myself just now. That's just inviting howls of hypocrisy. Gotta practice what I preach, right? It was all I could do today to stop myself from taking advantage of the last day of BOGO at Payless. So many temptations, so little time (and money).

Having trimmed my leg hair, I can now take off my glasses and almost see again what my bare legs look like. In a word, blurry. Ah, but nearly hairless.

Naked Gams Ahead!

Okay, so I've reached critical mass. Some of you already realized that, I think, so I might be the last to know. GD is threatening to capsize my little boat.

What I need is some information from my many sisters. I want to epilate. Melissa (a sweetheart) has recommended the Emjoi Emagine, a dual head monster in the $100 range. I'm sure it is a tool to be reckoned with (that's what she said!), but that's a lot of cabbage when I'm not sure I can endure it.

Does anyone else out there in blogworld have a favorite model that they'd recommend? Leave a comment, or send an email if you prefer. I'd like to order something in the next couple days. I think I can bear another weekend as a bear, but it ain't gonna be fun.

A Fork in the Road

Have you reached the point
where you must choose,
between what you've lost
and what you stand to lose?
"High Time" Michael Penn

Now my beloved Reds are truly and completely done for the year. Can bare legs be far behind?

There are hard choices coming. I unequivocably know that I must follow through and remove the hair. I think about it all the time. I get goose bumps imagining it. Whispering in the back of my head, though, is a voice that reminds me of the unrest this will cause in the home. I've seen it firsthand and I'm not thrilled to be crossing that threshold again. Will my wife tolerate it or might she consider it the last straw? We're getting on very well currently, and this need of mine will surely ruin that. I have no desire to hurt her with this, but it seems unavoidable. She won't soften her heart about this, and I don't see myself walking away from the razor.

Which is more important, my wholeness or the health of my marriage? History tells me it really is an "either/or" question. After four months of leg shaving last winter, the missus was at the end of her rope. She couldn't bear being around my uncovered legs. I slept in lounge pants all winter. I know it's not her choice to make, but she does get to choose how she reacts to it. She's made it very clear that it's a nonstarter for her. Does being myself have to be selfish? Quite possibly.

I'm trying to hold off a bit longer, but I'm beginning to feel a bit manic. I'm accustomed to the occasional anxiety attack, and I live with gender dysphoria much of the time. Mania, though, is unusual for me. I'm feeling less inhibited, and inhibition has been a way of life for me. I don't drink because I don't like to feel out of control. Yet, that's increasingly the way I feel. I could easily set aside my inhibitions and go out for a drive around the city in a skirt and heels, male self intact above the waist. Is there a worse social choice than presenting half male, half female in public? What would a police stop result in? I don't think I would do it, but the ability to visualize it so clearly and not to fear it is not normal for me. I'm feeling a lot like I did two winters ago when GID began overtaking me, though without the depression, at least for now. I did lots of risky things then, completely disregarding clear thinking and sound judgement.

Living in limbo isn't going to work for me. Wherever these intense feelings come from, they aren't going to go away unheard and unanswered. They demand my attention. I'd like to find a way to present my needs in a way that would make it tolerable to the wife. What that would look like is anyone's guess.

Earnest Ramblings

Not sure what my aim is here, so I'll just dive in.

In anticipation of therapy sessions for both of us this week, I made a point of talking to the missus about our status. She was very surprised and sorry that I had been left depressed and worried by our late night "hating it all" chat of three weeks ago. She confirmed my recent suspicion that the lack of affection was a symptom of her own stress. I guess she shared this with her therapist, because she later told me that she had been reminded to check in with her husband from time to time. I'm often confronted with the fact that I'm not on her radar at all. I don't mind being down the list a bit, but I do want to be on the list.

I had a lovely appointment with my counselor. She recently let her office help go in order to trim costs, so I feel freer now to be myself in her office. This means l dress in something that femmes up nicely by changing into heels and maybe adding a little lipstick. I am much more relaxed and communicative like this. She is always encouraging, despite the fact that I surely look ridiculous with my balding pate. Yes, half-assed is better than none.

We talked extensively about my trials on the marriage front and fighting the depression that results. She was a little surprised that I haven't shaved my legs yet. Still a bit early, but I am SO ready. Perhaps it feels more real now, but it's not causing me distress the way it did in the late summer. I know that my legs will be bare soon, and that knowledge is enough for now.

I'm still trying to decide how to approach the spouse on this. I know you've all read the entirety of my blog(!), but just in case, a little background. In fall 2007, and again in April 2008, I announced my intention to denude my legs. Both times, massive conflict ensued, and I backed down. Just call me Khruschev. In November of last year, I decided that I must follow my heart. I made a decision to shave my legs, without notification. I jumped into the deep end with no lifeguard on duty, and I swam. The result was the happiest winter I can remember. My true self finally got a chance to blossom. Of course, the repercussions were extensive, and intimate contact had pretty well disappeared by the third month. She tried to deal with it, but ultimately had to pull back. I guess I can expect more of the same this time around, except without the trying.

Last year's deal, my suggestion, was to be bare for four months, and hirsute for the eight warm months. I waited for a counter proposal which never came, so I did what I said I would. I've given the missus no indication that the deal has been rescinded, but she seems to holding out hope. If she wants to propose something other than abstaining completely from being myself, I'll listen. There will be no signed contracts this time, for certain.

I trimmed the hair way back yesterday, but the blade will have to wait a few more weeks. Still might get an epilator. I'm totally stoked, dude! The nearness of the goal is making the dysphoria fade. Good riddance.