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Rachel de Blanc 's Entries

105 blogs
  • 16 Sep 2009
    I didn't think that you could change your status here. You can. I did. I'm very happy because the shoe fits.. Now to walk.
    730 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • I didn't think that you could change your status here. You can. I did. I'm very happy because the shoe fits.. Now to walk.
    Sep 16, 2009 730
  • 15 Sep 2009
    A holiday, time out of the office and removed from the computer, and an opportunity to limit the time I spend browsing on TWeb. Returning, I set myself a goal, to not visit TWeb during office hours, to focus on work, to avoid feminine drifting. A week passes and I hold my nerve but I visit briefly from home. All still here, familiar names, rituals and emotions. Day 8, I glance during office hours and it’s difficult to retain focus. Day 9, lunchtime it’s miserable and wet outside, grey with autumnal overtones. I type in my password and embrace the moment. Something familiar, reassuring and necessary. I must contribute something, anything. Hello again, and thank you for being here. x
    642 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • A holiday, time out of the office and removed from the computer, and an opportunity to limit the time I spend browsing on TWeb. Returning, I set myself a goal, to not visit TWeb during office hours, to focus on work, to avoid feminine drifting. A week passes and I hold my nerve but I visit briefly from home. All still here, familiar names, rituals and emotions. Day 8, I glance during office hours and it’s difficult to retain focus. Day 9, lunchtime it’s miserable and wet outside, grey with autumnal overtones. I type in my password and embrace the moment. Something familiar, reassuring and necessary. I must contribute something, anything. Hello again, and thank you for being here. x
    Sep 15, 2009 642
  • 12 Aug 2009
    The weather here (London) has thrown a sticky grey duvet over the city leaving us all scuttling around chasing the gaps and hopping into patches of sunlight for respite. Normal life is becalmed, because those who can have gone away and those who must have taken their children with them. It feels like a minority are sitting at desks, trying to ignore the fact that perhaps we might be more productive if we were actually on holiday. I am fortunate, because at the end of the month, a short break beckons. The dilemma, is what to do between now and then, and who to be? There are familiar and friendly names on this site, and it feels that the people that the names belong to, are growing and moving forward. I’m conscious that I’m not. My name exists and reappears here - too often perhaps, but the person who employs it doesn’t inhabit it enough to wear it out. There’s possibly a woman going to waste. I think I need to change something, and I need to do it soon, because I feel like a voyeur here now. I visit, I read, I occasionally add something that’s often quite vague, then I leave; but I don’t feel that I really join. It still clammy and a bit oppressive as I type. It’s not raining though, so perhaps there is some summer left in the tank, still the opportunity for lazy afternoons, daisy chains and freckled noses.
    653 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • The weather here (London) has thrown a sticky grey duvet over the city leaving us all scuttling around chasing the gaps and hopping into patches of sunlight for respite. Normal life is becalmed, because those who can have gone away and those who must have taken their children with them. It feels like a minority are sitting at desks, trying to ignore the fact that perhaps we might be more productive if we were actually on holiday. I am fortunate, because at the end of the month, a short break beckons. The dilemma, is what to do between now and then, and who to be? There are familiar and friendly names on this site, and it feels that the people that the names belong to, are growing and moving forward. I’m conscious that I’m not. My name exists and reappears here - too often perhaps, but the person who employs it doesn’t inhabit it enough to wear it out. There’s possibly a woman going to waste. I think I need to change something, and I need to do it soon, because I feel like a voyeur here now. I visit, I read, I occasionally add something that’s often quite vague, then I leave; but I don’t feel that I really join. It still clammy and a bit oppressive as I type. It’s not raining though, so perhaps there is some summer left in the tank, still the opportunity for lazy afternoons, daisy chains and freckled noses.
    Aug 12, 2009 653
  • 27 Jul 2009
    My recent contributions to Tranny-Web have, I notice, been a little obscure. I’d just like to say that this is an unintentional flourishing of obscure and incoherent rambling. I suspect that it’s also a bit irritating to read.. This place, just encourages me to communicate in a looser, airier, more lyrical manner. I don’t sit here swinging daisies chains around my neck, but I don’t feel obliged to sternly reproach others, pronounce with force, or jockey for position. It just feels quite comfortable to ‘speak’ this way. It’s my voice but it’s not the way I speak.
    604 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • My recent contributions to Tranny-Web have, I notice, been a little obscure. I’d just like to say that this is an unintentional flourishing of obscure and incoherent rambling. I suspect that it’s also a bit irritating to read.. This place, just encourages me to communicate in a looser, airier, more lyrical manner. I don’t sit here swinging daisies chains around my neck, but I don’t feel obliged to sternly reproach others, pronounce with force, or jockey for position. It just feels quite comfortable to ‘speak’ this way. It’s my voice but it’s not the way I speak.
    Jul 27, 2009 604
  • 16 Jul 2009
    Insufficient daylight hours to while away playfully Limitless demands on professional time to a dress correctly Toe-dipping into other-worldly correspondence feeling more like peek-a-boo Vogue visions ripped at breakfast table interludes Multiple person disorderly demands that she and he shake hands on it Who’s it to be who’s it to be who is to be today today again tomorrow? Duplicity splits and runs for cover, totters, stumbles remains under cover Simply saying they can only be Wringing life to the full Grab and Snatch
    607 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Insufficient daylight hours to while away playfully Limitless demands on professional time to a dress correctly Toe-dipping into other-worldly correspondence feeling more like peek-a-boo Vogue visions ripped at breakfast table interludes Multiple person disorderly demands that she and he shake hands on it Who’s it to be who’s it to be who is to be today today again tomorrow? Duplicity splits and runs for cover, totters, stumbles remains under cover Simply saying they can only be Wringing life to the full Grab and Snatch
    Jul 16, 2009 607
  • 14 Jun 2009
    What follows is a true story. So she had the time to bathe, to pamper and to try on new clothes and make-up. A whole weekend to unwind, to re-discover. A pair of soft sensuous warm breasts were sadly lacking. An idea, she thought. I’ll make some. Or rather, I’ll make some bread. So, having risen in the bowl, the bread mixture was sub-divided and carefully wrapped in cling-film. Nestling onto her chest, her bosom was warm, soft and giving. She dressed and relaxed. Cossetted in a warm and dark (black bra) environment, the yeast decided that this girl wasn’t quite ample enough. Her new dress became tighter and began to stretch. The thin fabric pulled as her breasts swelled. In a strop she clasped her arms around her breasts and gently squeezed. Air was exhausted and her bosom immediately reduced in size. A further gentle caress split the cling film and immediately – no hanging around for hormones to kick in here, her breasts and her torso became one. One rather gooey mess that is. The toast the following morning was a little hard, as all of the previous night’s expansion had exhausted the poor yeast. She couldn’t help smiling as she ate her breakfast in silence. Obviously, you can make your own minds up as to who this silly girl was. But I can confirm that strong white bread flour provided her with the most realistic sensation beneath her bra.
    632 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • What follows is a true story. So she had the time to bathe, to pamper and to try on new clothes and make-up. A whole weekend to unwind, to re-discover. A pair of soft sensuous warm breasts were sadly lacking. An idea, she thought. I’ll make some. Or rather, I’ll make some bread. So, having risen in the bowl, the bread mixture was sub-divided and carefully wrapped in cling-film. Nestling onto her chest, her bosom was warm, soft and giving. She dressed and relaxed. Cossetted in a warm and dark (black bra) environment, the yeast decided that this girl wasn’t quite ample enough. Her new dress became tighter and began to stretch. The thin fabric pulled as her breasts swelled. In a strop she clasped her arms around her breasts and gently squeezed. Air was exhausted and her bosom immediately reduced in size. A further gentle caress split the cling film and immediately – no hanging around for hormones to kick in here, her breasts and her torso became one. One rather gooey mess that is. The toast the following morning was a little hard, as all of the previous night’s expansion had exhausted the poor yeast. She couldn’t help smiling as she ate her breakfast in silence. Obviously, you can make your own minds up as to who this silly girl was. But I can confirm that strong white bread flour provided her with the most realistic sensation beneath her bra.
    Jun 14, 2009 632
  • 01 Jun 2009
    Bit of a rubbishy day at work today.. Would just love to meet up with a group of girls, kick off our heels / put on our heels and get entertainingly gossipingly and frivolously giggly over a couple of bottles of wine. I know that alcohol isn’t the answer – particularly on a Monday evening, but what the heck!
    563 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Bit of a rubbishy day at work today.. Would just love to meet up with a group of girls, kick off our heels / put on our heels and get entertainingly gossipingly and frivolously giggly over a couple of bottles of wine. I know that alcohol isn’t the answer – particularly on a Monday evening, but what the heck!
    Jun 01, 2009 563
  • 28 May 2009
    A few things pre-date my desire to be female. The years 0 – 5 and supporting Manchester United. I am dealing with lots of uncertainties at present, but I am confident that in 5, 10, 20 years time I will remain a Manchester United supporter. So this morning I am a bit glum. Football is not life, it’s much more important than that. There are female supporters of course, but football remains an ostensibly male pursuit. Ampitheatres of testosterone and bellowing chorus. I wonder how Rachel would react upon the terraces?
    553 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • A few things pre-date my desire to be female. The years 0 – 5 and supporting Manchester United. I am dealing with lots of uncertainties at present, but I am confident that in 5, 10, 20 years time I will remain a Manchester United supporter. So this morning I am a bit glum. Football is not life, it’s much more important than that. There are female supporters of course, but football remains an ostensibly male pursuit. Ampitheatres of testosterone and bellowing chorus. I wonder how Rachel would react upon the terraces?
    May 28, 2009 553
  • 08 May 2009
    It strikes me that the number of bloggers is diminishing. I’ve no statistic to back this up, it’s just a hunch. Is this because light-filled summer evenings discourage you away from your laptop, or has blogging becoming an historic activity, should we all be twittering now?
    547 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • It strikes me that the number of bloggers is diminishing. I’ve no statistic to back this up, it’s just a hunch. Is this because light-filled summer evenings discourage you away from your laptop, or has blogging becoming an historic activity, should we all be twittering now?
    May 08, 2009 547
  • 28 Apr 2009
    There is something oddly reassuring about witnessing another person who is unusual in some respect. It reminds us that within this corporate, openly surveyed and statistically analysed world in which we live, there are still individuals who are unstructured, irrational, independent and singular. Their non-conformity should embolden the rest of us. During the weekend I witnessed an individual act of heroism or perhaps, sadly, a person who is suffering. (In truth I originally commenced that sentence intent upon using the word ‘mental’ in some capacity, but realised I no longer understand how to employ it). She, I’m unaware whether she was pre or post-op, was cycling along a sunny north London street, wearing a pink vest top and a safety helmet. The garb protected her from physical impact and invited intrusive stares simultaneously. This confident statement about herself was undone by a referee’s whistle, which she blew with frequency at any errant motorist, who dared to misinterpret the signals and intentions of other travellers. I struggled to interpret the journey that she was travelling on as a result of the signals she was giving out. I didn’t think (still don’t) that all was right in her world. I’m a reflective person, and it made me think further about her condition, the complexity and frailty of the human brain, and of the bravery I’d witnessed. Understandably, I’ve read little on this site about psychological illness (again, avoiding a word) but I suspect that a percentage of people who exhibit symptoms of gender dysphoria, do so because other pressures and instabilities take them to an unexpected place. This is my conjecture and too, too complicated for this un-trained mind to assess, but I suspect it’s possible. I think that my gender dysphoria was defined in the womb – I am what am, but I do know that specific circumstances and pressures have heightened the needs of this demanding woman within. Perhaps it’s my brain flexing her muscles in response to the failings of this male persona? Who knows? But it is primarily a mental stimulus until you decide to bring your physical appearance into some alignment. So I’m fearful that there is a link between a psychologically perturbed mind and gender dysphoria, and that the girl on the bicycle’s shrill alarm was absolutely appropriate. It’s reassuring therefore that specialists exist to help us understand who we are, and why we feel as we do. It’s important that we are given sufficient time interpret symptoms and to grow in confidence. Whilst sunshine might encourage you to get on your bike, perhaps you shouldn’t attempt to journey too far unless you know you are healthy enough.
    729 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • There is something oddly reassuring about witnessing another person who is unusual in some respect. It reminds us that within this corporate, openly surveyed and statistically analysed world in which we live, there are still individuals who are unstructured, irrational, independent and singular. Their non-conformity should embolden the rest of us. During the weekend I witnessed an individual act of heroism or perhaps, sadly, a person who is suffering. (In truth I originally commenced that sentence intent upon using the word ‘mental’ in some capacity, but realised I no longer understand how to employ it). She, I’m unaware whether she was pre or post-op, was cycling along a sunny north London street, wearing a pink vest top and a safety helmet. The garb protected her from physical impact and invited intrusive stares simultaneously. This confident statement about herself was undone by a referee’s whistle, which she blew with frequency at any errant motorist, who dared to misinterpret the signals and intentions of other travellers. I struggled to interpret the journey that she was travelling on as a result of the signals she was giving out. I didn’t think (still don’t) that all was right in her world. I’m a reflective person, and it made me think further about her condition, the complexity and frailty of the human brain, and of the bravery I’d witnessed. Understandably, I’ve read little on this site about psychological illness (again, avoiding a word) but I suspect that a percentage of people who exhibit symptoms of gender dysphoria, do so because other pressures and instabilities take them to an unexpected place. This is my conjecture and too, too complicated for this un-trained mind to assess, but I suspect it’s possible. I think that my gender dysphoria was defined in the womb – I am what am, but I do know that specific circumstances and pressures have heightened the needs of this demanding woman within. Perhaps it’s my brain flexing her muscles in response to the failings of this male persona? Who knows? But it is primarily a mental stimulus until you decide to bring your physical appearance into some alignment. So I’m fearful that there is a link between a psychologically perturbed mind and gender dysphoria, and that the girl on the bicycle’s shrill alarm was absolutely appropriate. It’s reassuring therefore that specialists exist to help us understand who we are, and why we feel as we do. It’s important that we are given sufficient time interpret symptoms and to grow in confidence. Whilst sunshine might encourage you to get on your bike, perhaps you shouldn’t attempt to journey too far unless you know you are healthy enough.
    Apr 28, 2009 729