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� In this diary, I record my life as a transvestite. Perhaps it will help somebody else, who finds their lifestyle doesn't quite match that endorsed by the 'tranny mafia'. Well, I've been there... and survived. The debriefing starts here.

�loves: All kinds of stuff that society thinks I shouldn't.

�hates: Microsoft. Obviously.

�reads:
secret-motel
artgnome
enfinblue
stepfordtart
ten-oclock
boombasticat
lawliiet
annanotbob
fifidellabon
my-serenade

Lynn Jones
Becky
Samantha

Losing your Sparkle
8:10 a.m. -- 2008-07-14

If you have ever had flying lessons, your instructor probably kicked things off with a stern warning:

'There are old pilots and there are bold pilots. There are, however, no old, bold pilots.'

What, you're getting flying lessons from a transvestite now? No. (Well... maybe. Interesting niche market! No. Stop it.) But it could equally be said, 'There are old transvestites and there are bold transvestites. There are, however, no old, bold transvestites.'

Actually, that's not quite right. Some of us are quite wrinkly... but there remains the Mystery of the Disappearing Tranny. Lots of transvestites have observed how new people tentatively emerge onto the scene, gain confidence, become major activists, attend all the events in the tranny social calendar... and then somehow lose interest.

I concur. Certainly, none of the people I knew back in the nineties are still active within the community. In fact, where are they?

Do they suffer some dreadful experience that causes them to suppress any thought of cross-dressing thereafter? Are they being killed in murders that go unreported? Is a secret government death squad going around, recycling them into biofuel? Or... could it be that tranny-ness is a phase that these people have just grown out of?

One of the major events in the transvestite's social calendar has just been and gone. Sparkle is described as 'The National Transgendered Celebration'... and no doubt a good time was had by many. Many of the leading ladies of the UK tranny scene didn't go, however. Some say it's all come to feel terribly 'worthy', rather than fun. Some say it's expensive, and times are hard. Some say Late June is no time to be wearing corsetry, a wig, and lots of makeup...

I'm not criticising. I wasn't there either. I only mention this in order to illustrate how people seem to find cross-dressing less important, after a while. They would once have jumped at the chance to be part of a big, joyful tribe... where for the rest of the year, theirs is (for many) a cloak-and-dagger subculture.

Regular readers will have been introduced to the concept of tranny heroin; an addiction that causes the cross-dresser to chase the next 'high', always finding it necessary to do a little more. It begins with 'the first time I told anybody' and progresses through 'the first time somebody else saw me dressed', via 'the first time I went out as ________' and on through 'first time out in daylight'... and so on.

Seeking new experiences is what makes us human, but you have to recognise that unless you're going to start adding things like 'first time I bungie-jumped in my latex French maid's uniform'... you're going to eventually run out of firsts. And once you're immune to tranny heroin, what are you left with?

You're left making excuses as to why you can't be bothered to dress up, or go out, or whatever. And a little while after that, people find that your website returns a '404: not found' error message... and the mayfly existence of another tranny has come to an end.

What a strange world, where everybody makes such a fuss about this collection of non-conformists. In reality, all you have to do is leave them to it for five years, and they'll never bother you again. They disappear!

Nobody is quite sure why this is. I'm hoping it's not because all the trannies who have gone before me have been whacked...?

Actually, I'm probably freaky enough, without adding paranoia to the mix. Let's not go there.

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