tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74190707281487556902024-03-21T20:18:34.636+00:00Living with the Other WomanTwo people in a three-way relationship, the perils and pleasures of life with a cross dresserPennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-2037654288663446682017-10-11T00:05:00.000+01:002017-10-11T08:41:39.871+01:00Fingernails little things aren't they, fingernails? Certainly nothing to get upset about. But for me fingernails seem to have become the straw that broke the camel's back.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's been going on for at least a year. Since my husband told me about his need to cross dress, and launched his new personality, I've accepted or adapted to a lot of things. I mourned his beard for a long time, but now can't imagine him unshaven. I'm less happy about his obsessive hair removal, as I don't enjoy stubbly skin, but it really isn't a big deal. But the huge, deal-breaking, thing that really hurts me deeply is fingernails. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't like long fingernails on women or men, full stop. They set my teeth on edge. And I definitely hate long, dirty, ragged, scratchy talons on him. So I tried to say so, calmly, and in a non judgemental fashion. This is over a year ago. I was ignored. I tried again, a bit more clearly. The message got through, but was rejected. Sometimes, in intimate moments, fingers went where fingers are usually welcome. There are places you don't want to be unexpectedly scratched by a ragged fingernail, and when that happened, I don't think it's surprising that I flinched. He reacted as if it was me to blame, making a fuss. He took to snatching his hand away with an exasperated expression if I held his hand and dared to look at his nails. He also took to holding his hands in such a way that I couldn't see the nails. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Eventually it all became too much, and I just broke down, sobbed uncontrollably, all the words of distress and fear about our relationship pouring out. His reaction? "I didn't know it meant so much to you." He didn't know because he had steadfastly refused to listen when I tried to be reasonable. Nails were cut. Peace was reestablished. Except that those nails grew again. I can't remember when we last had sex without me tensing up, fearing being scratched again by those hideous nails. The massive breakdown has happened several times now. Every time the tension builds up, my head goes into a spiral of horrible thoughts. I feel having his long tranny nails is more important to him than my peace of mind. It's not nice to feel you're so far down someone's priorities, below even their nails, especially when you feel you've made so many changes in your life for him and got used to so many weird things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The latest was today, after a fairly long calm spell, where I've felt I'm coping quite well. I didn't say anything when his nails raked me intimately yesterday, but this morning I snapped and it all came out again. He actually told me I was being abusive for shouting at him! I hadn't really shouted till he said that...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then he came up with his latest justification, that it's not really a cross-dressing thing at all, it's just carelessness, he forgets to cut his nails. I really didn't think about that much till later, when I remembered something he did a few months ago. Shortly after another of my breakdowns, we were at a meeting with a group of the "girls". He drew my attention to one of the younger attendees who sported long, nicely manicured nails and asked me what was wrong with them. My short answer was that they were fine, because they weren't attached to my husband. But seriously, if it's "just" carelessness and not the desire to be feminine, why on earth would he do that?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If a relationship can be killed by small things, then sometimes my fear is that mine is being eroded by a few millimetres of fingernail.</div>
Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-71184005599781002012017-03-04T21:35:00.000+00:002017-03-04T21:35:01.910+00:00Carpe diem, seize the dayAt the funeral of one of our Transmatters friends two weeks ago I reflected how fortunate we are to have attended very few funerals, though as we - and friends and family - age, that is unfortunately likely to change. However I didn't expect what happened this week. <br />
<br />
We were due to go out on Thursday for a curry with a group of fetish friends. Some we know a little, some very well. On Wednesday we were phoned by one of our closest friends, deeply shocked, to tell us the meal was cancelled. One of the organisers died that morning. Bad things happen but... she was 29, due to celebrate her 30th birthday with the group the next day. Her husband went to work that morning, she dropped off their young daughter at school and three hours later she was dead. We don't yet know the cause. I didn't yet know her well, but was looking forward to knowing her better in future, as she was such a sweet, bright young woman. Now she's gone, and her husband and child will never be the same again.<br />
<br />
Life is fragile, we truly don't know how much of it we have left. The only thing we can do is to live it, as fully and as truly to ourselves as we possibly can. Seize the day. Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-46989794464685705772017-02-21T21:35:00.000+00:002017-02-21T21:35:00.638+00:00Farewell to a true lady.We went to a funeral yesterday, and for the first time F went "dressed", a nerve-wracking experience for her. However, it seemed the right and appropriate thing to do. Paula was a truly amazing person, and though I had met Paul, it is in her cross-dressed finery I shall remember her. Her family knew about this aspect of her life, and the message went out that everyone would be welcome, and should dress however they wished. So Fiona was far from alone. A good number of the ladies from Transmatters attended and there were other trans women and cross dressers from Paula's social circle. Most of them dressed, though a few were in male mode, and all were made to feel comfortable and welcome by Paula's family.<br />
<br />
The service was conducted by a vicar, a brief affair with two hymns, prayers, and a eulogy presumably put together from what he had been told by the family. We heard about Paul as a good son, his work, his line dancing... and precisely nothing about his being gay and his achievements as a cross dresser. A self-taught seamstress Paula made and wore fantastic exuberant costumes, parading on the catwalk and winning competitions. There was a mention that Paul belonged to "various social groups", where he made good friends. This was as close as the vicar got to referencing a huge part of Paul's life and personality. The vicar stood wordless as the curtain drew around the coffin to the strains of "Somewhere over the Rainbow", easily the most moving part of the ceremony, and the closest it came to really reflecting who Paul was. I have no idea if he was religious, but for me it confirmed that organised Christianity cannot cope with gayness, let alone with cross dressing. I kept imagining what a joyous and appropriate ceremony it would have been if conducted by a humanist officiant. <br />
<br />
At the wake in a local pub Paula's t-girl friends mixed with her family, and there was no awkwardness at all. We were surprised to learn that though they knew about "Paula", none of the family had ever seen "her", so phones were fished out of handbags and photos shown. When we left the thanks for coming seemed warm and genuine. I think the Transmatters girls did Paula proud. <br />
<br />
As I do after every funeral (thankfully few) that I attend, I come away vowing to leave instructions for my own "do" when it happens. As an atheist I'm pretty sure my nearest and dearest wouldn't lay on anything involving religion, but that's rather negative. I'd like to leave instructions for something positive that truly reflected my life, and all my social circle. But I'm not sure my family is ready to cope with a funeral where many of the mourners' outfits are worn by men in "little black dresses" and the rest come in leather, pvc and rubber!Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-16531555028797402512017-02-13T22:01:00.000+00:002017-02-13T22:01:59.158+00:00Transmatters ventures out.Weve been attending a support and social group, Transmatters, for a few years now. They are very welcoming of me as a Significant Other, though recently one of the ladies confessed that when we first went along she didn't know what to make of our relationship, and thought we might be sisters! Fiona was delighted, I was less amused.<br />
<br />
The group has gone through a bit of an upheaval, losing its venue at the Wolverhampton LGBT centre when it shut down rather abruptly. Thanks to the sterling efforts of Norma and a few other stalwarts, we found a new "home" at the lovely Wild Bites café where the lovely couple who run it make everyone very welcome. They do however have a home to go to, and a young daughter who has a bedtime, so after 9pm some of the girls go home, shedding their female selves, and some move on to a local pub. <br />
<br />
The group varies considerably. Some are trans, so that is how they face the world every day. Those who cross dress some of the time include several who have the confidence to shop and socialise while dressed. Others however are very worried indeed about being noticed, and perhaps encountering mockery or hostility. If you haven't been in that position (and I only witness it second hand), you can have no idea how hard it can be to walk into a new environment. The consequence has been that for a long time we've been going to a pub where everyone feels safe. Unfortunately that pub is totally charisma free and is cursed with very loud karaoke. Conversation is limited to shouting at your immediate neighbour over the decibels. There has long been a desire to try somewhere else, and the obvious venue was The Lych Gate, a proper, old-fashioned pub that already hosts a fetish munch, and is a local for some of our trans members, so seemed like a good bet.<br />
<br />
Last week, we finally overcame fear and inertia. The wonderful Norma made an initial foray, spoke to the landlady and was reassured we would be welcomed, and at 9pm, grouped together for mutual support, off we went. It was a bit of a shock to find the place packed. They were unexpectedly hosting a large group of Norwegians waiting for transport, but the lovely landlady suggested we use the function room and we had it to ourselves. Privacy, no loud music, real ale and even one of the shyest members of the group ventured to the bar and came to no harm. We could converse properly, and I for one really enjoyed that. Most of the customers took no notice, with the biggest reaction being the odd raised eyebrow. At closing time the landlady popped up to the room to say how welcome were, thank us for coming and say how jealous she was of some of the legs on display!<br />
<br />
So major progress has been made for this little group. Let's hope that in future this account will be seen as a quaint curiosity, from the bad old days when some people thought a man dressing in "women's" clothes was a bad thing.Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-85207550576230290382017-02-04T00:24:00.001+00:002017-02-04T00:24:28.523+00:00Just when I thought things were fine...... I've had another wobble.<br />
<br />
We were packing for a few days away. Having dressed for a couple of events over the previous week, F had said he wasn't taking "Fiona" away, nothing to dress in. Frankly, I was glad as I enjoy a rest from Fiona every now and then.<br />
<br />
Our holiday accommodation was a bit special to say the least, a tiny mock Greek temple in a secluded spot overlooking a lake in woodland, and I was feeling the urge to dress up a bit myself. I had pulled a white lacy dress from the wardrobe and was thinking in terms of Vestal Virgin, team it up with a white satin corset, float around barefoot, get a few pictures. Ok, I'm hardly a delicate young thing, more the kind of matronly vestal beloved by Frankie Howerd, but hey, a girl can have a bit of fun.<br />
<br />
Enter F, who spotted me holding the dress. "If you're taking that, I want to pack Fiona". <br />
<br />
Which is exactly what I didn't want. The dress was shoved back in the wardrobe and I returned to packing jeans and other prosaic stuff. But I got more and more angry and upset and some time later F found me in floods of tears, and was subjected to a tirade of anger and upset. Not surprisingly, he didn't pack any Fiona stuff, and in the end I did pack the outfit and after a few days cooling off I wore it and we had a lot of fun.<br />
<br />
But I'm still not sure he understands what upset me so badly, even though I tried to tell him. I married a man, knowing nothing about the cross dressing. It really hurts that every time I look at something nice for me, want to wear something feminine, his immediate response is along the lines of how he would look in it, wanting to dress up himself, or generally some other "tranny" reaction. He feels more like a rival than a husband. I want a "normal" male reaction. I want him to fancy me, enjoy how I look, want to take me out as my husband. I don't want a sister, a female partner, someone to dress up and be girly with or for that matter a feminine rival. That's not what I signed up to when, all unknowing, I married him over thirty years ago. I don't require a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal, just someone quietly manly who will appreciate me as a woman. I've made space in my life for his "different" other self, but if it's going to displace what I had, and crowd out my needs I really think that's unfair.<br />
<br />
Have I made a mistake, not drawing a firmer line as to what is acceptable? It feels as if the more I give, the less space there is for me and what I need from our marriage.Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-4236339445439676912017-01-27T20:13:00.000+00:002017-01-27T20:13:53.010+00:00Tits do not the Woman make!Heck, was it really March 2016 when I last posted? My excuse is that I retired in April, and retirement really is incredibly busy. After a while, you can't think where to pick up the thread again, but last night, at a meeting of Transmatters a couple of the ladies said how much they enjoyed the blog, so I owe it to them to get started again.<br />
<br />
Over Christmas I had quite a scare. A small lump near my armpit proved of no interest to the medical profession, but while being checked out a mammogram and ultrasound revealed "a mass" in one breast. Such a sinister sounding expression! I had a biopsy, which wasn't too bad apart from some spectacular bruising, but the worst part was the two-week wait for the result, longer than usual because of the New Year holiday. It was clear, I'm relieved to say, but having a fertile imagination, I had a lot of sleepless nights, imagining every possible worst-case scenario. Other women are much less fortunate than I. A lady I know is currently enduring chemotherapy to shrink a tumour prior to a double mastectomy. As it happens her other half is trans, and this amazing lady has drawn comfort from knowing that her partner doesn't need boobs to be a woman. And she's right. I've now spent almost five years socialising with cross-dressers and trans ladies, and all shades between, and if it's taught me one thing, it's that femininity is not what's between your legs or on your chest, it's what lies between your ears. Which makes it easier to understand that there are plenty of people who are somewhere on a sliding scale between male and female. Many of my trans friends are far more "feminine" than some cis gendered women I know.<br />
<br />
For myself, I knew that neither my husband or my lover are so shallow that the loss of a breast, had it come to it, would make them love me any less, but I realised it would have affected how I felt about myself, and my confidence to offer my body for our mutual enjoyment. I know they both love my breasts a lot! Who knows what the future brings, but for now I'm intact, healthy and more determined than ever to enjoy life.Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-30166040083222119392016-03-17T23:02:00.001+00:002016-03-17T23:03:38.384+00:00Birmingham Belles, afterthoughts<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've been asked a few questions about how the night out went and for my thoughts on how my dressing "en homme" for the night affected the dynamic between me and Fiona. Could both partners dressing restore equilibrium between the partners? Thanks for the idea Alexandra, here goes.<br /><br />We had teamed up with another couple to share an apartment, so after a meal we all completed our outfits. I'd searched for tips on the Internet and did a subtle make up job, darkening and thickening eyebrows and shading under cheekbones and along the jawline to make my jaw more square. I'd thought about the socks in underpants trick, but the trousers were snug to say the least, and there was no room for extra padding. Toilet trips were going to be tricky enough!</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Before going out we naturally had a photo call. I'd been wondering about body language, but not really come up with any specific ideas. So it was interesting that just putting on the clothes made me feel different. I was gratified when the others commented I'd got the mannerisms right. Maybe it was the shoes, maybe those underpants, but I felt I stood differently, held my hands differently. I felt more solid. Whatever, it worked, and I'm convinced I got served faster at the various bars we went to. And I normally pride myself on effective </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">body language when it comes to being served in pubs. The interaction with Fiona was interesting and at times quite funny. All evening I very happily gave up my seat to the "little lady" who was very grateful to take the weight off her high heels. I offered her my elbow, which felt quite natural, but had to give her tuition in how to hold it, so presumably it didn't come naturally to her. Doors were the funniest, as both Fiona and Sorcha are thoroughly trained to give way to ladies, so when I tried to hold the door for them, we found ourselves doing a little who goes first dance.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />It was a very sociable evening, with lots of others in the group straggled out around the pubs. F wandered off to find people to chat to, and I suspect was much less worried about leaving "Guy" behind than had I been Me. However, that might have been because I had our friends for company. I did feel I had just as much fun as F, where at some events I do feel a bit like the support crew, but that could be the particular event rather than me being dressed differently. It was certainly a lot of fun, something I will do again, but as a means of partners regaining equilibrium with their tranny husbands I'm not so sure. For me it was fun, but no more. I'm well aware that no matter how much fun it is; for F and the other cross dressers I know well enough to understand a little, there is a much deeper need or drive behind it all, that I simply don't feel. I would be interested to get to know a female to male cross dresser (rather than a trans man) but they seem to be very rare. I would love to know if the modern trend for women to wear trousers anyway is satisfying enough, or whether it really is much rarer for women to feel that drive. Most historic f to m dressing appears to be for social reasons, giving the woman independence to do things forbidden to her, such as run a business, fight in a war or be Pope (allegedly).</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
Anyway, I can say it was an interesting and enjoyable night out in spite of the very loud music, and I even survived the toilet trips!<br />
<a name='more'></a>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-31831302315755422152016-02-22T23:53:00.001+00:002016-02-22T23:53:59.596+00:00Birmingham Belles - a spot of gender tourism<div>A good friend, Alexandra Putney, uses the term gender tourism in her excellent blog (Alexandra'sPalace). She's talking about the cross dressing end of the spectrum, in contrast to those who transition. Well last Saturday I finally did a bit of tourism myself.</div><div><br></div><div>Birmingham Belles is a bi-monthly social event where a large group of cross dressers, admirers and a smattering of significant others tour a number of venues in Birmingham's gay village, socialising, having a few drinks and holding shouted conversations over some very loud music.</div><div><br></div><div>We went with another couple, all of us new to this event. F and S had planned their party frocks, and somehow L and I hatched the plan of doing some cross dressing of our own. I've had a slight itch to try out male mode for some time, and this was my chance. L is a totally different size to her husband, so raided charity shops, finding a very fetching suit. At least S's tie was a good fit. F and I are quite similar, at least in height and shoe size, so every expense was spared. Admittedly the suit trousers were so snug that there was no space to fit a pair of socks down the trunks I had borrowed, but then again, I don't think F would get into them easily. It's been a while since he wore the suit. It came from the long defunct C&A store, and I found a visa slip from 1989 in one pocket, the kind they used to physically swipe through a machine to take an impression with a to and fro "ca-chunk" noise. The shoes however were heaven. Comfort! It was great not spending an evening out trying to find places to sit down to spare my toes, and I came over all gentlemanly, giving up my seat to my "little woman".</div><div><br></div><div>F tells me I was scarily realistic, which is gratifying. I worked on the body language and had looked up how to subtly masculinise my face with a touch of makeup. I chose to use female toilets (I've been warned about male facilities) and had a comic moment as I emerged from one. A woman entering did a double take and turned to check the symbol on the door, thinking she'd walked into the Gents. It was only for a moment, but it was rather fun to think I'd "passed". F says I need to add "convincing" to my TVChix profile.</div><div><br></div><div>I had been mildly concerned in case our cross dressing party felt we were mocking them, but an initial discussion in a TVChix forum had been supportive, and we had nothing but good reactions. In fact I think the "girls" chatted to me more readily in male mode than when I go along as supportive wife.</div><div><br></div><div>The village is incredibly lively, packed with sweet young things drinking and dancing the night away. I expect it was the booze, but a surprising number of girls were keen to kiss me. Well, it would have been rude to refuse! The four of us are hardly young things and it showed, as we tried to avoid the louder venues. If we repeat the experience, and I think we will, we may wait for warmer weather, so that retreating to pub gardens and smoking areas away from the music won't be such a frigid experience. F and S certainly had stamina, and could have gone on longer, but we "chaps" faded earlier, and in the end dragged the "girls" back to our apartment by 2.30am. We looked out over the city, witness to the ongoing citywide party and marvelling at the energy and the sheer numbers of all those people.</div><div><br></div><div>So it seems I've got the first stamp in my tranny passport. I think I've developed a taste for a bit more tourism. But before the next time, I really must find looser trousers!</div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-83414100849302501532016-02-13T22:11:00.000+00:002016-02-13T22:11:38.950+00:00Turning the tables.This is advance warning to the people of Birmingham. Next weekend I will accompany F to "Birmingham Belles", which seems to be a tranny pub crawl. A group of cross dressers in their Saturday night best, marauding round whichever pubs, clubs and bars in Birmingham take their fancy. We're going with another couple and L and I, the two female significant others, have hatched the idea that we too will cross dress. Yes folks, I'm going to suit up, stuff a pair of socks down my undies (that's a thought, should it be y-fronts?) and spend an evening seeing how the other side lives. Luckily I'm a very similar size to F, so I have the run of his male wardrobe. Which is actually rather limited, but I've snaffled his suit, a snazzy hat and only tie. And the real high point of the whole thing? I get to spend the night in comfortable shoes! I love stilettos, but they don't love my poor arthritic old feet, so sensible footwear is heaven. The only remaining question is, which toilets to use? En femme F uses the ladies. Do I pack my She-wee and head for the gents? Suggestions welcome...Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-41779634680787046852016-02-09T00:11:00.004+00:002016-02-09T22:59:06.203+00:00Hell"Why this is hell, nor am I ever out of it. Thinkst thou that I who looked upon the face of God and tasted the eternal joys of heaven am not tormented with ten thousand hells in being thus deprived of everlasting bliss?"<br />
<br />
Mephistopheles, in Marlowe's "Dr Faustus". Hell is tasting something wonderful and having it taken away.Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-53793856561734102862016-01-31T22:57:00.002+00:002016-01-31T22:57:20.817+00:00Scars<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” Hunter S. Thompson</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
This is one of my favourite quotations, it's how I want to complete my life. But it's not just the body that gets bumped and scuffed with use; living fully makes it's mark on the psyche too. Experiences, both good and bad, change and shape us. I've had my heart broken recently, and not for the first time. I doubt it will be the last. But loss is the price we pay for love, and I wouldn't give up any of the love I've had in my life so far.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've recently come across another quotation that speaks to me:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Mending.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When a treasured piece of pottery gets broken in Japan, the cracks are mended with a special glue that has been mixed together with powdered gold. The cracks are deliberately made a feature of thanks to this art, which is known as kintsugi or "golden joinery". The piece becomes unique, and arguably more beautiful."</div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
I like that image, and I'm visualising myself as that piece of pottery, no longer pristine, unmarked by life, but with the damage sustained along the way making me better, more interesting, maybe even more beautiful.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Then again, maybe I'm just cracked!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
😉</div>
<br />Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-73848251573722647032016-01-16T00:29:00.001+00:002016-01-16T00:29:41.691+00:00I fucking hate "Brief Encounter".Yes it's a great film, one of the classics but I always disliked how it ends, and now I hate it. Two people who are deeply in love and meant for each other do the noble thing and walk away, back to their marriage<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">s. They give up personal happiness to do the right thing.</span><div><div><div><br></div><div>I thought that was awful, but I also thought it rather dated, that with modern attitudes to marriage as no longer necessarily a lifetime commitment sensible people would not act that way. Now I know better. We spent a little time with N just before Christmas, and if anything it was better than ever, a naughty kinky time for the three of us, but also loving and intimate. It was a horrible shock to get the message he sent on New Year's Day. He has agonised, but wants to make a go of it with P, the lady who refuses to share him, so has broken off all contact with me. Reading between the lines I think he also feels going further could endanger my relationship with F, and he's too honourable to take that risk. </div><div><br></div><div>We may watch Brief Encounter and find it noble and romantic and all that, but I promise you, we don't want to live it for real. I can and do love two men, and I could juggle the complexities that causes. There were problems but it enriched my life. Now, with one of them taken away, I have a huge empty place in my heart. Call me selfish, call me stupid, but my second unsought love caught me unawares and I cannot switch off my feelings, and don't really want to. The alternative is to be numb, not really fully alive and I wouldn't choose that. </div><div><br></div><div>I will endure, I will learn to carry on with normal life, and I will hope things change. It's ignoble of me, but I think there is more wrong between N and P than my existence. Time will tell.</div><div><br></div><div>I love you F, I love you N. I wish this wasn't so hard.</div></div></div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-77614218988554725792015-12-15T19:35:00.001+00:002015-12-15T19:35:42.373+00:00It's turning me deaf...If you've followed me this far in my journey, you won't be surprised to know that there are both pluses and minuses to being married to a cross dresser. Some of the downsides are quite unexpected, and one of them is that It's endangering my hearing.<div><br></div><div>We now regularly attend an enjoyable social get together called Transmatters in Wolverhampton. The local LGBT centre provides the venue and we have a cuppa, cake and a chat. At closing time, some of the braver souls carry on to a pub. And that's the problem. Most of the group aren't very confident of going out, so we have to find a place that is TV friendly. Which boils down to the nearby gay club. On Thursday. Which is karaoke night. Which I could just about tolerate if it wasn't so damn loud when they turn the music up at 10pm. T<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">he place is almost empty, the group of about 10 of us form the majority of people there, and we are mostly not very keen on trying to talk by yelling in our neighbour's ear. Last week it was so loud I could feel my internal organs vibrating in time to the beat and my ears were ringing. Within 20 minutes of the volume going up all of our group had left, leaving an almost deserted pub. It really is time to try starting a splinter group to find somewhere civilised. </span></div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-7901404793087607292015-11-14T17:03:00.001+00:002015-11-14T17:03:14.092+00:00Colliding worlds...Two little incidents occurred this week. I've occasionally wondered if and when our kink and vanilla lives would overlap, and this week it happened.<div><br></div><div>Visiting a town some way from home we found a pleasant cafe to shelter from the rain and warm up. We'd been birdwatching, so were sporting our extremely non-fetish drab green coat and binoculars look. But I always wear my subtle Wyred Slave collar, and someone in the know might notice the Story of O ring on my index finger. However, it was me who noticed that our waitress was wearing a black ribbon choker with a heart shaped padlock at her throat. I hesitated to say anything, but as she took our order quietly complimented her on the lock. She looked slightly surprised, smiled and thanked me. Returning with our lunch she asked if my collar was Wyred Slave (well spotted) and the three of us had a quiet conversation about events and such. I left with her fetlife name, and now have a new friend on my list, how gratifying.</div><div><br></div><div>The second thing happened at work. My job involves meeting many members of the public, but on Friday it was the young woman being interviewed by a colleague who looked familiar. I'd popped round to help him with a question, remembered the attractive face but assumed that at some time I'd interviewed her myself, and made a comment to the effect that I'd met her before. Returning home, a message in my fetlife inbox reminded me that our previous contacts had been social rather than professional! I've never been good with names, and we now have so many different social lives, that keeping track of them all is a challenge. So if any of you know me in the flesh, don't be surprised should you bump into me if you detect a frozen "rabbit in the headlights" look, as I'll be frantically trying to work out if the last time I met you it was across a desk, in a pub or naked at a party!</div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-73776545601042707662015-10-10T23:30:00.001+01:002015-10-10T23:30:13.212+01:00Is cross dressing kinky?<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">By now you know that Fiona and I have a kinky side. As well as having lots of real life friends on the kinky scene we belong to a fetish website. It's a good way of keeping in touch with people we know, events we might like to attend and following discussions on various aspects of the lifestyle.</span></div><div><br></div><div>It's become apparent through some of these discussions that lots of fet people don't understand cross dressing. That's not surprising, there are so many aspects to kink that there will always be something new to learn about. However, some discussions become markedly acrimonious, and recently one that related to cross dressing did exactly that.</div><div><br></div><div>It all started with the "rules" for a particular munch. In case you don't know, a munch is a social get together of kinky people, often in a pub or other social venue where there's no kinky activity, just a lot of conversation which ranges across the normal things most people chat about but also includes frank talk about kink and kinky events. These events are often a little surreptitious. They happen in public venues where management and other people in the place aren't aware that there's a bunch of perverts nattering in a corner. The munch in question was just such an event, it was in a pub and "normal" people, possibly even (shock, horror) children might be nearby. The idea is that the group shouldn't stand out, so the organiser, as is usual, posted a dress code. Wording of dress codes varies, but generally boils down to "no fetish gear", or everyday clothing only. Most people understand it, and understands the need not to stand out from other pub goers.</div><div><br></div><div>Unfortunately the event organiser for this munch got into an acrimonious war of words by specifying no cross dressing. The discussion tried to draw a distinction between people who are Trans and those who are "only" cross dressers. In a public situation how do you tell the difference without asking some very intrusive personal questions? But much of the argument boiled down to the assumption of some people that cross dressing is a kink. In which case, at an event where dressing in a fetish way is forbidden, cross dressing isn't allowed. So much offence was taken and so badly did the arguments go that the whole debacle led to the discontinuing of that particular munch.</div><div><br></div><div>This had me thinking about cross dressing and kink. Is cross dressing in itself kinky? It seems a lot of people on the fet scene assume so, but I think they are wrong. Transgender people know from a very early age that they were born in the wrong body and no sensible person would think that is kinky. I've spoken to cross dressers, including Fiona, and read accounts of their feelings. While they don't feel they are living in the wrong body, they do have a very real, deep seated need to cross dress that is not particularly sexual. I know that in most cases that need to dress exists from a very young age, long before the child reaches sexual awareness and that denying the need often leads to severe difficulty including depressive illness. I mix with men who cross dress in two different but overlapping social situations, the fetish world and the social world of transsexuals and transvestites. I've met cross dressers who are happily active at fet events and I've met others who have no interest in it and just want a place to dress and socialise. Maybe by some definitions that is kinky in itself, but personally I think not. But I'm only seeing this from my particular angle. I'd love to know what other people think...</div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-8794529282423911582015-10-02T21:10:00.001+01:002015-10-02T21:10:59.570+01:00An unseen bereavement<div>Almost three years ago someone I loved so much I would have killed to defend them died. It's a common enough event in most lives, but usually we have the support and love of family and friends to get us through. Not for me, because this wasn't a "real" death. My husband didn't die, our lives carried on, those around us didn't know anything had changed. The "death" was the loss of the man I thought I knew. Suddenly, with the revelation of his need to cross dress I was no longer living with the man I fell in love with. In a way I was widowed, though still living with him. Nobody around me knew. Had I been really widowed family, friends and colleagues would have rallied round, there are "normal" processes we go through which help us adjust. People make allowances when we have bad days, when we aren't coping. Instead I was faced with mourning the very real loss of someone I loved, while adjusting to living with the "new" person he had become and trying desperately hard to maintain a "business as normal" front to the world.</div><div><br></div><div>The effort nearly broke me. I fell apart - more than once. I cried, sometimes long into the night. Sometimes I concealed that from him, because I knew how much he was hurt that he had done this to me. Sometimes I let him see, because I couldn't conceal it and needed him to know how much I was hurting. I had no one else to lean on. </div><div><br></div><div>It's hard and confusing to think that the person I mourn never really existed. "He" was the front he constructed to protect himself from a world which judges and doesn't accept people who are different. It's made me question the nature of love. Do we all fall in love with an illusion, the person we imagine we are with? </div><div><br></div><div>Like a real death, you learn to carry on, find that life is still good and has meaning. You move on, value the good things you have. But when you really loved someone so deeply, you never, ever forget that loss. </div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-13464235310069418992015-07-18T21:43:00.002+01:002015-07-18T21:43:54.729+01:00Hello Estonia!I'm fascinated by the stats of where this blog is read. My biggest numbers used to be the UK but now it has been overtaken by USA. I get quite a few readers from Russia, Canada and European countries, but what really intrigues me is the places I get small numbers of hits from. Peru is a favourite, as are Chile, Turkey and South Korea but this week I've added one hit from Estonia! I wonder who you all are? Are you cross dressers, significant others or just curious about the title of my blog? I wish I'd started keeping a list when I began the blog, as the countries with really small numbers disappear from my stats. Hello, wherever you are, thanks for reading, and if you have the time I'd love to hear a little feedback.Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-74807748378502335122015-07-04T07:38:00.001+01:002015-07-04T07:38:12.298+01:00FriendsLast weekend I lost one friend and gained another. The circumstances made me think about the friendships I now have.<div><br></div><div>Firstly the loss. After much thought I "unfriended" a former work colleague on Facebook. She repeatedly shared posts from Britain First, a thoroughly nasty right wing political organisation. They are very good at manipulating people into innocently propagating their material, so for a long time I just responded with links to explanatory articles. Later I posted a general status saying I intended removing friends who still shared these posts. When yet another piece of right wing propaganda popped up I made my decision. This lady is either too stupid to understand, or really does share these distasteful views, so she is no longer my "friend".</div><div><br></div><div>The friend I gained I met at a fetish event. He wasn't playing, as he had promised his wife not to, but we had a very pleasant conversation and later became friends on an alternative kinky social site, Fetlife. He appears humorous and intelligent, and he writes well. We may meet occasionally at future events.</div><div><br></div><div>This change reflects changes in my life over the last few years. My social circle has expanded to encompass a range of "different" people, while the superficial relationships I had with colleagues and other acquaintances have dwindled, leaving a core of real old friends. In the kinky, alternative community I've found so many folk who understand themselves, take a real joy in exploring new experiences and in sharing their pleasure with others. I've found the place in the world where I feel at home. My life and my friendships are richer as a result.</div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-55339927650966804682015-03-18T20:09:00.001+00:002015-03-18T20:09:58.569+00:00Only skin deepBeing a cross dresser's other half can put you into some unusual social situations. We go out occasionally to tv events, usually get togethers in pubs or bars. When that happens I'm often either the only Significant Other or one of just two or three. I was contributing to an online discussion recently about first experiences of going out, and remembered how I often felt rather superfluous because the "girls" didn't talk to me. In fact they seemed very wary of me. It took me till now to realise a possible explanation. No matter that they are presenting as female, under the clothing they are a group of men, and I'm turning up as the partner of a man. Had we all been dressed according to conventional mores talking to me in front of my partner could be seen as muscling in, hitting on me. So perhaps their reluctance to chat was based on old fashioned politeness.<div><br></div><div>Whatever the explanation, it soon wore off and now I happily have long and interesting conversations while Fiona is chatting elsewhere in the group.</div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-70552485144542340762015-02-25T17:54:00.001+00:002015-03-04T23:30:22.298+00:00Growing upCis gendered women grow up over a number of decades, and our style develops with age. We pass through our teens, twenties and beyond and what we wear changes as we age. Which of us doesn't have a photo or two of our teenage self that makes us cringe? What we though "hot" at the time usually doesn't wear well. My personal embarrassing phase involves platform shoes, Nana Mouskouri style specs and hugely baggy green and white flares, though a brief flirtation with hotpants makes me blush too.<div><br></div><div>The repressed cross dresser emerges from the closet, perhaps in their 40s or 50s and sometimes embarks on a process of accelerated growing up. It's quite natural to want to catch up with all those lovely things they looked at with envy from the male side of the fence, so some "looks" aren't age appropriate and are more optimistic than realistic. I don't think Fiona made many big mistakes during this process. Right from the start I've been impressed by the care she takes over her appearance and proud that she looks so good, but she is highly critical of herself. Over the last three years she's gone through the sort of development that cis women take three decades to achieve. The result is a number of outfits in her wardrobe that won't be coming out again, and a steady maturing into a look more appropriate to a grown woman. And not a dowdy one by any means, she dresses attractively and in a way that makes me proud to be with her, and which certainly draws admiration from others.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-88957311696618491712015-02-04T23:40:00.000+00:002015-02-04T23:40:12.896+00:00What to wear?Here's a question life didn't prepare me for.<br />
<br />
When your other half spends an evening transforming himself into herself and invests lots of time and effort in looking rather special what on earth do you wear yourself?<br />
<br />
The answer I've come up with is, it depends. Sometimes I'm in the mood to dress up too, and I may redo my makeup, spend a little time putting together a special outfit and enjoy being girly. On other occasions I'll stick with my usual casual hanging round the house gear, something cosy and comforting. Of course if we're venturing out together then dressing well is essential for both of us and on one occasion in December we both went to a fetish event in cheongsams and "oriental" makeup. That was fun!<br />
<br />
Tonight F has dressed for the first time in ages, as he's been ill and not in the mood and I discovere I'd missed dressing up too. While I didnt spend a lot of time, I did put on a girly dress and leggings. That feels better!Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-85372926396343150682015-01-31T17:21:00.002+00:002015-01-31T17:21:27.751+00:00Many lovesI have recently published this in a slightly altered form elsewhere...<br />
<br />
If we are lucky, we have a lot of love in our lives. We love two parents, our siblings, children, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews and probably a number of very special friends. The more we love, the more we are capable of loving. So why does society place such restrictions on romantic love? We are expected to love just one person to the exclusion of all others. Perhaps if one such relationship ends it's acceptable to find another love, but even then there's the assumption that one particular relationship should be "it", the one-and-only and anything else must fall short.<br />
<br />
What utter nonsense! I've had the huge good fortune to fall in love a second time, and this has not detracted from my first love one iota, quite the opposite. My capacity to love has easily encompassed two very special people, and my life is enriched as a result. It's not always easy, but that's logistics and outside factors, not our capacity to love and cherish one another. Because society judges differently my second relationship has to remain hidden from families and our vanilla friends. That saddens me, as I want to celebrate how lucky I am and how special this feels. So today I'm sharing this with you in the hope you will understand and be glad for me. May you too have the good fortune to live lives filled with love.Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-42640020095386031272015-01-18T22:02:00.001+00:002015-01-18T22:02:40.151+00:00So proudI am so proud of Fiona today. We are regular attendees at the Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar and today they held their annual Fetish Fashion Awards event, where representatives of various events all across the Midlands paraded in their finery, competing to be best dressed. <br />
<br />
Fiona had been selected to represent an event we attend but has been quite ill for several days. Antibiotics are starting to work, but it was touch and go if she would get there. In the end she did, but I couldn't tell how much of the shaking was nerves and how much was illness. In spite of that, when her turn came, there she was, up on stage strutting her stuff in a gorgeous cheongsam, flirting with the compere and the crowd, smiling and waving in the best show-must-go-on tradition. She didn't win, and tonight she's exhausted so it's early to bed to rest, but to me she was the star and the winner. I'd never have guessed that my reserved, shy husband could have such a gutsy brave woman inside him. You rock darling!Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-30870293444914728402014-12-04T19:34:00.000+00:002014-12-04T19:34:21.230+00:00Sometimes...Life hurts, terribly. Sometimes I'm very lonely. This is one of those times and not knowing when things might change is so painful, almost unbearable, but I have to bear it. I need a huge hug.Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7419070728148755690.post-70790692701717005092014-12-03T20:57:00.001+00:002014-12-03T20:57:03.345+00:00The only tranny at the discoA few weeks ago someone sold us tickets to a 1970s disco. It was a fundraiser for SANDS - Safe Ageing, No Discrimination, a charity supporting older members of the LGBT community as when need care. <br />
<br />
Normally F in male mode wouldn't dream of going to a disco, but it was a good cause and Fiona loves to dance. We thought that given the cause it was supporting F could safely attend dressed. We bought our tickets, in the process outing F to the friend who sold them. She didn't turn a hair. Then followed a fortnight of anxious debate as F dithered whether to go. The disco was in a town where some of her colleagues live, what if we bumped into anyone? After much thought and worry she decided so what, and off we went (after the usual 2 plus hours dressing process)<br />
<br />
It was a lively night, in which we utterly failed to buy anything in the charity auction. Not surprisingly there were lots of openly gay people in attendance, but F was initially dismayed to be the only cross dresser there. "People keep clocking me" she muttered through gritted teeth. However, that's all they did, it was a very relaxed crowd and fairly quickly F relaxed too, which allowed me to do the same. The disco started and in no time at all we were out on the dance floor. I'd forgotten what great music we had in the 70s. For only the third time in our 30 years of marriage I danced with my husband. It's a pity on each occasion it's needed F to be en femme to do so as she's a great mover, but we both had a brilliant time. My poor aged feet and knees didn't appreciate me strutting my stuff in heels, but it was worth it. I think we may be venturing out to suitable events in future!<br />
<br />
Pennywifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621591641467204205noreply@blogger.com0