As an addendum to my post on Halloween, here’s a little fantasy about what could happen to someone of our persuasion on the day after Halloween. And just so you know, the language mixing is totally on purpose. Just me being playful, as you’ve no doubt come to expect. Enjoy!
I made this caption for Tasha, who loves Halloween and has always said that her first experience with cross-dressing was for a Halloween party some years back; as a young adult, I might add, which is different from the way most of us come to the field. You all know Tasha. That’s only her most recent name, of course; she’s gone by many others over the years, and she burns through blogs (and DeviantArt accounts) the way most women go through shoes. I send her messages now and then, gently suggesting that she’s only hurting herself with these virtual purges—and that she’d be better off picking a nice name and making it her own, the way most of us do. That way we could all get to know her a little better as a person, and she could also claim ownership to the huge number of TG captions she’s given us over the years. I’ve always admired the energy she puts into her work, as well as her choice of pictures (for the most part) and the themes she so often returns to.
But I’d like to tell her that I understand. I really do. I’m scared too; we all are. Some a little, some a lot. We’re all conflicted. Sometimes we just want to shove this thing called cross-dressing away from us and never look back; other times we want to make it our whole life. Sometimes we purge, at other times we immerse ourselves in all that is feminine. That’s how this thing works, alas, in a society that both exalts and demeans all that is female, often at the same time. We all grow up with mixed messages ringing in our ears. What should we do? Run toward the light? Flee from the light? There’s no good answer, so we often do both; first one way, then the other.
So I get it, I really do. I’ve been there. In fact, I am there—right there in the trenches where the rest of the girls are hiding, poking our heads up from time to time to see what’s going on out in no-man’s-land. Maybe I’m a little less impulsive than Tasha, certainly a bit more experienced, but we’re all sisters of the cloth (satin, nylon, etc). But, also alas, there is no magic solution to the problem. We just have to hang in there and find a way to make our love of the feminine coexist with the rest of our lives. It might end up being a big part of a human life, or a small part, but for all of us it will exist—at least to some extent—in the twilight zone between the twin solar furnaces of male and female. And once you get used to it, the twilight zone is really not such a bad place to be. And you’re not alone. Just look around.