new old profile cast rings reviews linkers random notes email layout host

� 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

Shopping
7:38 a.m. -- 2008-07-15

Yesterday, I was shopping online at Figleaves... as you do.

I'm not hugely impressed with the styles that exist right now. They're either incredibly utilitarian, or ridiculously impractical. I have nothing against underwear that's really only for the bedroom, but that wasn't what I was after. And aren't there some truly horrid ladies' briefs around at the moment? Hipsters that present a shapeless horizontal stripe in some garish pattern, translucent lace things that do nothing but show off your pubic hair... and somebody seems to have decreed that any set of matching items that includes a nice bra should require you to buy a really cheap-looking thong.

Anyway, I digress. Long story short, I eventually found a nice bra and pants set, and ordered.

Only it wasn't for me.

I was shopping for a present for Victoria.

No reason. Just because.

It was only after I'd clicked the 'submit' button to complete the ordering process that I realised I hadn't looked for anything for myself. Despite the greatly-increased amount of time that I have spent thinking about cross-dressing and related issues while writing these entries in recent weeks, it simply didn't occur to me. Spending three quarters of an hour looking at nice girlies in lingerie, I never once thought about buying myself something.

In fact, I checked my order history. I have bought things from Figleaves three times this year... and never anything for myself. Always gifts for Vicky (on whom, I have to say, they look a whole lot better).

What does this signify, I wonder? If we characterise cross-dressing as an addiction, a disease or a mental illness, I think we'd have to say that I'm getting a bit better.

previous - next

|