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Rachel de Blanc 's Entries

103 blogs
  • 11 Jan 2019
    I know it’s automated, but the receipt of a Happy Birthday email from GenderSociety still feels lovely. Thank you and
    113 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • I know it’s automated, but the receipt of a Happy Birthday email from GenderSociety still feels lovely. Thank you and
    Jan 11, 2019 113
  • 16 Aug 2018
    Hey Tomorrow we move home. I am surrounded by the clutter of life. The wardrobes that I have hidden within are now dismantled, gone. The attic is empty and devoid of carefully packaged garment boxes. Nooks and crannies capable of discretion are exposed and swept bare. The tiled bathroom remains, the place where the relaxed and released expression of a woman has been displayed most graphically. The ceramic counterpane of a softer self. Miss will miss this place. It was here that I first photographed and dared share Rachel with others, from here that I first opened up and understood what I am. As I haven't walked out fully dressed ever, there is anxiety, frustration and loneliness here too. Time to go now. Rachel x
    247 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hey Tomorrow we move home. I am surrounded by the clutter of life. The wardrobes that I have hidden within are now dismantled, gone. The attic is empty and devoid of carefully packaged garment boxes. Nooks and crannies capable of discretion are exposed and swept bare. The tiled bathroom remains, the place where the relaxed and released expression of a woman has been displayed most graphically. The ceramic counterpane of a softer self. Miss will miss this place. It was here that I first photographed and dared share Rachel with others, from here that I first opened up and understood what I am. As I haven't walked out fully dressed ever, there is anxiety, frustration and loneliness here too. Time to go now. Rachel x
    Aug 16, 2018 247
  • 06 Dec 2017
    Hi At the end of my local park stand a gaggle of rather forlorn recycling bins. There are beyond the railings and so turn their backs upon the park (or Fields) and gape open-mouthed towards a main road. I've no idea how frequently they are attended to. No kerb crawling is allowed here due to the double yellow-lines, so if you are to engage with them you cannot flirt so you must - in full view, walk up to them. Standing in their midst is a large metal bin, as tough as nails. But if you get it to open up it's softer inside as it houses the memories of once loved clothes now discarded or readied for re-use. All of my clothes and shoes now lie in there, still. A more diminutive bin half a mile away, clearly marked 'Rubbish', contains my wig and all of my make-up. Correction, these are not mine anymore and will most probably not be anothers, their time is spent. They are tousled, teased, twinkled and tipped. So that's it then, easy really wasn't it? I was once transsexual but now I'm not. Why didn't someone tell me it was that straightforward? The relief of disposing of those deceitful artefacts is extreme; extremely short. I return home cleansed and the post has delivered two of my wife's January magazines - and it's the 6th December!. I can't look because the plastic protects them. These are mid-winter editions with post Christmas issues, they will encourage new-beginnings, healthiness and a respite from over-indulgence. Well, I suspect they may. But I have just purged, I'm setting the agenda, I am indeed now self-evidently a woman ahead of the curve..! Now here's the rub. I'm actually a woman lacking curves and now clothes and make-up too. The recycling bins might stand forlornly, but they are a resilient bunch. You can't just charm your way in, hassle them and hope they give you something for nothing. They're not charitable that way and if you give, you're spent. Let me return to a favourite reflection of mine, that of the elliptical trajectory that I travel upon. Today I suspect I have been at the outer reaches, beyond the railings. I have disposed of the largest hoard yet and so this ellipse may be the most significantly sized one I've travelled upon. If I have just commenced a return orbit then I may be in for some significant G-Force in the coming weeks or months.  Chilly winter without clothing, perhaps I need something in order to wrap up..? Rachel x
    320 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi At the end of my local park stand a gaggle of rather forlorn recycling bins. There are beyond the railings and so turn their backs upon the park (or Fields) and gape open-mouthed towards a main road. I've no idea how frequently they are attended to. No kerb crawling is allowed here due to the double yellow-lines, so if you are to engage with them you cannot flirt so you must - in full view, walk up to them. Standing in their midst is a large metal bin, as tough as nails. But if you get it to open up it's softer inside as it houses the memories of once loved clothes now discarded or readied for re-use. All of my clothes and shoes now lie in there, still. A more diminutive bin half a mile away, clearly marked 'Rubbish', contains my wig and all of my make-up. Correction, these are not mine anymore and will most probably not be anothers, their time is spent. They are tousled, teased, twinkled and tipped. So that's it then, easy really wasn't it? I was once transsexual but now I'm not. Why didn't someone tell me it was that straightforward? The relief of disposing of those deceitful artefacts is extreme; extremely short. I return home cleansed and the post has delivered two of my wife's January magazines - and it's the 6th December!. I can't look because the plastic protects them. These are mid-winter editions with post Christmas issues, they will encourage new-beginnings, healthiness and a respite from over-indulgence. Well, I suspect they may. But I have just purged, I'm setting the agenda, I am indeed now self-evidently a woman ahead of the curve..! Now here's the rub. I'm actually a woman lacking curves and now clothes and make-up too. The recycling bins might stand forlornly, but they are a resilient bunch. You can't just charm your way in, hassle them and hope they give you something for nothing. They're not charitable that way and if you give, you're spent. Let me return to a favourite reflection of mine, that of the elliptical trajectory that I travel upon. Today I suspect I have been at the outer reaches, beyond the railings. I have disposed of the largest hoard yet and so this ellipse may be the most significantly sized one I've travelled upon. If I have just commenced a return orbit then I may be in for some significant G-Force in the coming weeks or months.  Chilly winter without clothing, perhaps I need something in order to wrap up..? Rachel x
    Dec 06, 2017 320
  • 11 Nov 2017
    Hello It's been a long, long time since I contributed something here. I'm not talking years but I'm talking months and for a site that requires contributions from the community that's too long. So with apologies to Lucy, Crissie, Katie for the lack of 'giving'..I hope you are all OK - I mean that's the most important thing, right? The day-to-day getting by and feeling fine. I've seen this year's John Lewis Christmas ad, and lets be honest, it's not so good is it? But it won't stop Father Christmas now will it? I have received a barrage of pre-Christmas email from retailers who are desperate to convince me that sparkling is essential, whether eyebrows, tops, skirts of frankly my pussy if it would just be there. Three days into January it will all be about abstinence, purity and cleanliness - I mean, come on, that's not a great deal of value from flickering shimmeriness is it!? I haven't dressed-up for a while and I feel the pressure building. Not in my crotch but in the brain. For readers in the closet, do you also have tell-tale signs when the Dysphoria is beginning to peak, advance warnings and yearnings to dash into Zara at lunchtime. My brain still reacts with the the belief that if I succumb to masculine desire lines all will be OK. So I have a new bike (it's actually very nice and could be easily described as unisex) but I evidently didn't purchase a women's geometry from the women's department. It's black, technical and taut. It's lovely thing and I'm reading the paraphernalia that it encourages, magazines and web-based retailer for all things athletic, but whilst I do I yearn for layers of loose Cashmere, a facial and a new pair of boots. I spotted a woman on the tube on Wednesday with a hair-cut I would dye for. A cropped page-boy, short but quickly translating from weight and length to a light and feathery neckline. More length above the ears teased forward into a pre-emptive eccentric pair of bangs, pointed around the ears with a swept forehead, and bottle-blonde.. I have an appointment at my local salon tomorrow - of if I could only dare to ask for that cut, an absolutely certain way of directing my colleagues attention towards me at forthcoming Christmas parties, especially if I but some of that sparkly, stuff I mentioned earlier. It's quite on Gender Society and I'm unable to access on my iPhone. I hope that the site approaches the New Year with confidence and that all who visit here appreciate what it can provide, which is an avenue for whitening lost souls to share and gently provoke. Catch up soon, keep sparkling and don't be let down by the Monsters under the bed. Rachel x
    330 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hello It's been a long, long time since I contributed something here. I'm not talking years but I'm talking months and for a site that requires contributions from the community that's too long. So with apologies to Lucy, Crissie, Katie for the lack of 'giving'..I hope you are all OK - I mean that's the most important thing, right? The day-to-day getting by and feeling fine. I've seen this year's John Lewis Christmas ad, and lets be honest, it's not so good is it? But it won't stop Father Christmas now will it? I have received a barrage of pre-Christmas email from retailers who are desperate to convince me that sparkling is essential, whether eyebrows, tops, skirts of frankly my pussy if it would just be there. Three days into January it will all be about abstinence, purity and cleanliness - I mean, come on, that's not a great deal of value from flickering shimmeriness is it!? I haven't dressed-up for a while and I feel the pressure building. Not in my crotch but in the brain. For readers in the closet, do you also have tell-tale signs when the Dysphoria is beginning to peak, advance warnings and yearnings to dash into Zara at lunchtime. My brain still reacts with the the belief that if I succumb to masculine desire lines all will be OK. So I have a new bike (it's actually very nice and could be easily described as unisex) but I evidently didn't purchase a women's geometry from the women's department. It's black, technical and taut. It's lovely thing and I'm reading the paraphernalia that it encourages, magazines and web-based retailer for all things athletic, but whilst I do I yearn for layers of loose Cashmere, a facial and a new pair of boots. I spotted a woman on the tube on Wednesday with a hair-cut I would dye for. A cropped page-boy, short but quickly translating from weight and length to a light and feathery neckline. More length above the ears teased forward into a pre-emptive eccentric pair of bangs, pointed around the ears with a swept forehead, and bottle-blonde.. I have an appointment at my local salon tomorrow - of if I could only dare to ask for that cut, an absolutely certain way of directing my colleagues attention towards me at forthcoming Christmas parties, especially if I but some of that sparkly, stuff I mentioned earlier. It's quite on Gender Society and I'm unable to access on my iPhone. I hope that the site approaches the New Year with confidence and that all who visit here appreciate what it can provide, which is an avenue for whitening lost souls to share and gently provoke. Catch up soon, keep sparkling and don't be let down by the Monsters under the bed. Rachel x
    Nov 11, 2017 330
  • 17 Aug 2017
    NB: Short Blog I have a favourite sound. The lightweight, hollow click clack of polished brittle plastic, disorderly and increasingly dusty and fingerprint-marked. Held in soft fabrics, the contents often are chaotic and lack space, so when fingers scuttle through the clatter resonates and sound spalls out. The timpani of temptation has a shimmery aroma and when the zip or clasp is opened this bursts out and tingles the nostrils. The tempting sound encourages delving and invites you in. The sound of a make-up bag of course, undeniably feminine and provocative. Demanding, emphatic, delicate, temporary. One of my favourite sounds. What might yours be? Rachel 
    324 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • NB: Short Blog I have a favourite sound. The lightweight, hollow click clack of polished brittle plastic, disorderly and increasingly dusty and fingerprint-marked. Held in soft fabrics, the contents often are chaotic and lack space, so when fingers scuttle through the clatter resonates and sound spalls out. The timpani of temptation has a shimmery aroma and when the zip or clasp is opened this bursts out and tingles the nostrils. The tempting sound encourages delving and invites you in. The sound of a make-up bag of course, undeniably feminine and provocative. Demanding, emphatic, delicate, temporary. One of my favourite sounds. What might yours be? Rachel 
    Aug 17, 2017 324
  • 15 Aug 2017
    Hi I owe gratitude to Morrissey the author of the song 'Oscillate Wildly' - it's only polite to acknowledge those from whom you steal. I would say that I am now a constant woman. This perhaps hasn't always been the case and is worthy of a separate conversation, but that is what I am. The need to physically engage with my gender to prove and exhibit it isn't and cannot be constant though, and so I oscillate wildly. When I can secure those moments I focus upon their arrival and use the time available intensively, almost to the exclusion of everything else. When the moment passes I mournfully pack things away and skulk back into ordinary life and depression's shadow follows me occasionally. I think my orbit is becoming more pronounced, the swings more exaggerated. This is also true in my apparent gender. I find myself pursuing somewhat random masculine traits. Not binge drinking and a game of darts for goodness sake, but the pursuit of physical activity, one off purchases, lad's stuff. But the interest in the masculine bias diminishes very rapidly, these are not purchases that are profound and necessary, they are typically superficial and vapid. When I oscillate and orbit back into my own woman's world I find sanctity, objectiveness calmness and ease. The need here is becoming more exaggerated too. Gently plucked eyebrows, cautious body shaving, longer hair all knowingly coutoured - this is becoming tricker, endures longer. Counselling has commenced with the possibility of Hormones on the horizon, this circle is getting larger and the pull is getting stronger. I oscillate wildly but the person on the ride is a woman and whilst she may not speak for part of the orbit, she ain't going to go quietly. Rachel x      
    291 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi I owe gratitude to Morrissey the author of the song 'Oscillate Wildly' - it's only polite to acknowledge those from whom you steal. I would say that I am now a constant woman. This perhaps hasn't always been the case and is worthy of a separate conversation, but that is what I am. The need to physically engage with my gender to prove and exhibit it isn't and cannot be constant though, and so I oscillate wildly. When I can secure those moments I focus upon their arrival and use the time available intensively, almost to the exclusion of everything else. When the moment passes I mournfully pack things away and skulk back into ordinary life and depression's shadow follows me occasionally. I think my orbit is becoming more pronounced, the swings more exaggerated. This is also true in my apparent gender. I find myself pursuing somewhat random masculine traits. Not binge drinking and a game of darts for goodness sake, but the pursuit of physical activity, one off purchases, lad's stuff. But the interest in the masculine bias diminishes very rapidly, these are not purchases that are profound and necessary, they are typically superficial and vapid. When I oscillate and orbit back into my own woman's world I find sanctity, objectiveness calmness and ease. The need here is becoming more exaggerated too. Gently plucked eyebrows, cautious body shaving, longer hair all knowingly coutoured - this is becoming tricker, endures longer. Counselling has commenced with the possibility of Hormones on the horizon, this circle is getting larger and the pull is getting stronger. I oscillate wildly but the person on the ride is a woman and whilst she may not speak for part of the orbit, she ain't going to go quietly. Rachel x      
    Aug 15, 2017 291
  • 05 Aug 2017
    Hey, I am again dressed, nothing glamorous just ordinary clothes, but this is the third consequtive night. Nothing commonplace about this occurance, as it may not repeat itself for a while and so every moment should be a relaxed treasure. Sorry about last night's post. When I read through this morning the fuel (It was a meek Cabarnet Sauvignon) was evident and frankly during the day the headache that built up during the morning was a reminder enough of what I had typed. Not that I regret the content, but it did all spill out quite quickly didn't it, like an ultra-thin 5p shopping bag with too many contents, I feel I let rip and let it all go. No escaping no picking up the pieces and pretending it didn't, doesn't or may not happen after that.. Thank you to Traci (Dear Traci) for a lovely heartfelt comment in return. I stretch out my arms across the pond and hug for a brief moment.. I have wondered about changing my name. My pseudonym which I have become accustomed to, has an artificiality about it that rings more of a drag queen (no offence girls) and less of the woman that I have ackowledge I am. Helen Blackwell may sound like a District Nurse to some who may be familiar with BBC Drama's set in working-class middle England, but it is painfully bland, grounded and oh so honest. Hmmn, but perhaps Rachel it should remain for now. Drabness - the outward appearance at least will return tomorrow. Have a lovely weekend all. Rachel x  
    340 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hey, I am again dressed, nothing glamorous just ordinary clothes, but this is the third consequtive night. Nothing commonplace about this occurance, as it may not repeat itself for a while and so every moment should be a relaxed treasure. Sorry about last night's post. When I read through this morning the fuel (It was a meek Cabarnet Sauvignon) was evident and frankly during the day the headache that built up during the morning was a reminder enough of what I had typed. Not that I regret the content, but it did all spill out quite quickly didn't it, like an ultra-thin 5p shopping bag with too many contents, I feel I let rip and let it all go. No escaping no picking up the pieces and pretending it didn't, doesn't or may not happen after that.. Thank you to Traci (Dear Traci) for a lovely heartfelt comment in return. I stretch out my arms across the pond and hug for a brief moment.. I have wondered about changing my name. My pseudonym which I have become accustomed to, has an artificiality about it that rings more of a drag queen (no offence girls) and less of the woman that I have ackowledge I am. Helen Blackwell may sound like a District Nurse to some who may be familiar with BBC Drama's set in working-class middle England, but it is painfully bland, grounded and oh so honest. Hmmn, but perhaps Rachel it should remain for now. Drabness - the outward appearance at least will return tomorrow. Have a lovely weekend all. Rachel x  
    Aug 05, 2017 340
  • 04 Aug 2017
    Hi. Firstly, please don't be alarmed by what you are about to read. This is a passage and I will move on from it. Rachel is fine, indeed she feels affirmed, looks great and doesnt' want to go anywhere. Richard on the other hand (there, I've said it, a big bloomin step) is in a real state. He is emasculated, ripped apart and half the woman he could be because he's a faltering man who spends the majority of his time in a state of disregard and disillusionment. Rachel is the dominant partner, the life and the soul the pace the vibrant tick-tock, the dreamer the aspirational poet the confident confidant and the fashionable dare I say sexual being that possesses soul and life. Richard is charming but spent, lacking in self-confidence retreating into a reclusive haf life where he looks at his male peers doesn't understand them or wish to be like them and so falls behind in the chiff-chaff battering of the egotistical bluffing that dominates his working environment. Rachel can see through all of this because she thinks clearly. Her self-confidence enables her to determine a path through the day but this only charts a route towards a dreamland, a pertpetual state of support that is beyond reach and so this perceivable and yet unachieved state mocks, taunts and screws into her other half's day. Rachel it must be said, has drunk two thirds of a bottle of wine. She's not drunk and alarming as a result, but she is fluid, open expressive and communicative. She strapped up and tucked away, wearing new skinny jeans with bosoms that yearn to be real and borrowed perfume. Her wardrobe - which is growing and now resides in the loft - I have a stash, I have a stash, is contemporary and purchased in person. Her make-up is now her own and her composition is better formed, more articuate and understood than it has ever been.  She has taken photos (again!) but cannot launch them into the world because Gender Society's photo albums are not currently yielding and have turned their back. She has considered walking out into the night, a trip around the block for the first time, but dare not. Riots have happened here recently, so better not start another. Rachel / Richard needs help in truth. There are people here that I call friends and whose shoulders I would like to burst into tears upon. If you are capable of this support do let me know, I can travel for this. Rachel isn't a selfish b***h (although this reads otherwise, infact I know she's grateful, expressive forgiving and empathetic. Any help provided would be returned with earnest and heartfelt thanks. Rachel could become a friend for life, Richard too. If you are reading this and have yet to come out and broach the reality of who you really are, then I hope that this gives you the momentum to move forward and not be like this in the future. If you are reading this having come out, transitioned even, then I hope it provides you with a momentunm to reflect and to celebrate what you are now, how far you have travelled and what you now are not. I said at the beginning not to be alarmed. I am and we are but that it our challenge to deal with. I should copy this post and send it to my Gender Therapist with the headline, 'Transition Required, Bridging Hormones to commence ASAP.' I am a woman and like a moth I flutter lively in the artificial environment of the evening. By day I am flat, still and prone to easy disintegration. Thank you for reading, and oh do write a blog or too because it's easier than you think to find peace through a passage or two. Take care Rachel x  
    386 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi. Firstly, please don't be alarmed by what you are about to read. This is a passage and I will move on from it. Rachel is fine, indeed she feels affirmed, looks great and doesnt' want to go anywhere. Richard on the other hand (there, I've said it, a big bloomin step) is in a real state. He is emasculated, ripped apart and half the woman he could be because he's a faltering man who spends the majority of his time in a state of disregard and disillusionment. Rachel is the dominant partner, the life and the soul the pace the vibrant tick-tock, the dreamer the aspirational poet the confident confidant and the fashionable dare I say sexual being that possesses soul and life. Richard is charming but spent, lacking in self-confidence retreating into a reclusive haf life where he looks at his male peers doesn't understand them or wish to be like them and so falls behind in the chiff-chaff battering of the egotistical bluffing that dominates his working environment. Rachel can see through all of this because she thinks clearly. Her self-confidence enables her to determine a path through the day but this only charts a route towards a dreamland, a pertpetual state of support that is beyond reach and so this perceivable and yet unachieved state mocks, taunts and screws into her other half's day. Rachel it must be said, has drunk two thirds of a bottle of wine. She's not drunk and alarming as a result, but she is fluid, open expressive and communicative. She strapped up and tucked away, wearing new skinny jeans with bosoms that yearn to be real and borrowed perfume. Her wardrobe - which is growing and now resides in the loft - I have a stash, I have a stash, is contemporary and purchased in person. Her make-up is now her own and her composition is better formed, more articuate and understood than it has ever been.  She has taken photos (again!) but cannot launch them into the world because Gender Society's photo albums are not currently yielding and have turned their back. She has considered walking out into the night, a trip around the block for the first time, but dare not. Riots have happened here recently, so better not start another. Rachel / Richard needs help in truth. There are people here that I call friends and whose shoulders I would like to burst into tears upon. If you are capable of this support do let me know, I can travel for this. Rachel isn't a selfish b***h (although this reads otherwise, infact I know she's grateful, expressive forgiving and empathetic. Any help provided would be returned with earnest and heartfelt thanks. Rachel could become a friend for life, Richard too. If you are reading this and have yet to come out and broach the reality of who you really are, then I hope that this gives you the momentum to move forward and not be like this in the future. If you are reading this having come out, transitioned even, then I hope it provides you with a momentunm to reflect and to celebrate what you are now, how far you have travelled and what you now are not. I said at the beginning not to be alarmed. I am and we are but that it our challenge to deal with. I should copy this post and send it to my Gender Therapist with the headline, 'Transition Required, Bridging Hormones to commence ASAP.' I am a woman and like a moth I flutter lively in the artificial environment of the evening. By day I am flat, still and prone to easy disintegration. Thank you for reading, and oh do write a blog or too because it's easier than you think to find peace through a passage or two. Take care Rachel x  
    Aug 04, 2017 386
  • 01 Jun 2017
    Thought for today. Dressing; Elastoplast for the Soul. A little shopping, new sandals and a top. Genes happy. Rachel x
    332 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Thought for today. Dressing; Elastoplast for the Soul. A little shopping, new sandals and a top. Genes happy. Rachel x
    Jun 01, 2017 332
  • 13 May 2017
    Hi. I am visiting my parents who are now distant from home and feel further away than ever as they age, but we are still close. As an opportunist and whilst they are out I do something that I haven't done for possibly thirty years, I look into my mother's wardobe.. Don't be alarmed, no Vera Batty moments (foreign users please excuse my regional references) because I was only on the hunt for one garment, that Sixties black dress that I first wore in the late seventies. I can remember the silk lining and its embroidered texture, it was quite a firm material, shaped and I recall the difficulties of doing up the rear zip and the effervescent tingling sensations running cursing through me as I was re-shaped, awoken and stimulated by the messages that it sent me. It was of course not there when I looked, but I suspect that it may still be stored away, in the attic in a musty box of memories. I think it was a special dress for my Mum, and I suspect that if she were aware that it were my first dress, then it would be even more important too. I also drove to my old school today. It was a little tired and of course smaller than I remembered - in the manner that everything shrinks as you accumulate a lifetime of experience. Moments spent there have flickered through my head throughout the day. I was a popular and having 'finished' with a girlfriend in lower sixth momentarily became a prospective 'catch' just when sexual opportunities were first upon the horizon. Ignorant and perhaps slightly bemused by the messages my brain was sending my hormones - and in no way as well informed as a contemporary web educated teenager is, I recall being asked by a prospective suitor, 'Are you Gay?'. Sensitive, artistic male souls were in short supply in sports mad South Wales at this time so my detachment from the marauding scrum must have marked me out as being different. 'No, I'm not!' I responded, before failing to confirm my sentence with the statement, 'But I want to be a girl'. Always there, never spoken.. Kids today are so fortunate to have the information that the twenty-first century makes available, because that means that their parents are also more informed too. Ultimately she caught me of course, my Mum; lipstick and make-up in the bathroom. If I were to tell her all now I suspect that she'd be the one caught out, but if that black dress were in the attic I'm also certain that she'd let me have it. Rachel x
    342 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi. I am visiting my parents who are now distant from home and feel further away than ever as they age, but we are still close. As an opportunist and whilst they are out I do something that I haven't done for possibly thirty years, I look into my mother's wardobe.. Don't be alarmed, no Vera Batty moments (foreign users please excuse my regional references) because I was only on the hunt for one garment, that Sixties black dress that I first wore in the late seventies. I can remember the silk lining and its embroidered texture, it was quite a firm material, shaped and I recall the difficulties of doing up the rear zip and the effervescent tingling sensations running cursing through me as I was re-shaped, awoken and stimulated by the messages that it sent me. It was of course not there when I looked, but I suspect that it may still be stored away, in the attic in a musty box of memories. I think it was a special dress for my Mum, and I suspect that if she were aware that it were my first dress, then it would be even more important too. I also drove to my old school today. It was a little tired and of course smaller than I remembered - in the manner that everything shrinks as you accumulate a lifetime of experience. Moments spent there have flickered through my head throughout the day. I was a popular and having 'finished' with a girlfriend in lower sixth momentarily became a prospective 'catch' just when sexual opportunities were first upon the horizon. Ignorant and perhaps slightly bemused by the messages my brain was sending my hormones - and in no way as well informed as a contemporary web educated teenager is, I recall being asked by a prospective suitor, 'Are you Gay?'. Sensitive, artistic male souls were in short supply in sports mad South Wales at this time so my detachment from the marauding scrum must have marked me out as being different. 'No, I'm not!' I responded, before failing to confirm my sentence with the statement, 'But I want to be a girl'. Always there, never spoken.. Kids today are so fortunate to have the information that the twenty-first century makes available, because that means that their parents are also more informed too. Ultimately she caught me of course, my Mum; lipstick and make-up in the bathroom. If I were to tell her all now I suspect that she'd be the one caught out, but if that black dress were in the attic I'm also certain that she'd let me have it. Rachel x
    May 13, 2017 342