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Sunday, November 15, 2015

Health Kick - Week 1

I'm starting easy with this one. Start walking 30 minutes a day. Start drinking 1 ounce for every 1 pound of weight. So, at 8 ounces per cup, that's almost 26 cups of water - better get drinking. Start monitoring food intake better - just so I know what is going on. 

Today: 203.2 lbs. 24.6% body fat. Wow. That's nearly 50 pounds of fat. Time to start paying more attention. 

Friday, March 27, 2015

Face Time

You've decided to start waltzing closer to the line between f
Which will you select?
eminine and masculine? Good for you.  Now, how would you like to go about this?

There is underdressing, of course.  What is underdressing, the uninitiated may ask? Underdressing is the phenomena of wearing feminine finery under the drab male exterior.  That's right. Putting on silky panties is a start.  You might go further.  Some wear hosiery, such as thigh highs with garters, holdups, or tights.  Some push the envelope even further by donning chemises, waist cinchers, or full-on corsets.  Ah, but where is the true fun in walking the line with things that can't be seen or can't be seen easily?

Let's talk about your face.  You have a beautiful face.  You keep in clean-shaven.  You have wonderful lips and beautiful eyes.  Why not enhance them just a bit? People might notice something different, but I guarantee only a select few will be able to put their finger on what it is that they are noticing.  Those select few may just be the makeup artist you would like to find or the all-knowing friend you've been seeking.

We can talk about your eyes in a later post.  For now, let's talk about your lips?  Are they dewy looking? Puffy? Pouty? If you answered no to any of these questions, then maybe you should start by making a trip to the drugstore or your favorite makeup store (e.g., Sephora, that's my personal favorite).

Look for a later post regarding what to look for in your lip cover.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Losing Weight to be More Feminine

Let's be honest, a 44 year old man who weighs 194 lbs, with 22.3% body fat and a BMI of 26.2 has a difficult time even pretending to appear attractively feminine.  At least that is my own opinion of myself.

So, it is time once again to try to take better care of myself.  My goal: 175 lbs with less than 17% and a BMI of less than 24.  I was close...on September 3, 2013 (176.6, 16.9% and 23.9).  I've let myself go since then.

I plan on trying to make this simple rather than complex.  So, to get there, I plan on changing things slowly with my diet and my exercise.  No need to leap in to something and then fizzle out; I want a lasting change.


I will track better (maybe not completely yet, but at least better) what I am putting into my body. Tracking doesn't need to be perfect.

I will cut out alcohol.  At least, I will drink less.  Rather than a couple of beers, glasses of wine or cocktails every night, I will only have an occasional drink.  I will drink water instead.  According to, I need between 95 and 190 ounces of water a day.  That is about 6 to 12 glasses at my house (16 ounce glasses).  Currently, I'm lucky if I drink one.


This should be the easier part; I want to start hitting my 10,000 steps more consistently to start.  After that, I can start working in cardio and weights.  I also want to start stretching and eventually move into yoga and/or Pilates.  Stay tuned here.

Here we go; starting location: December 6, 2014: 193.7 lbs/22.3% body fat/26.2 BMI.  My reward to obtaining the ultimate goal: either a small hip tattoo or a navel piercing. :-)

Friday, September 19, 2014

What Katie Did...To Me

My pulse races.  My pupils dilate. I am sweating - cold sweats though.  How did I get here? What is going to happen next?  What should I do?

For years, I've been a closeted crossdresser.  Oh, sure, I've been found out in the past...usually by loved ones who choose to look the other way or who choose to not acknowledge it.  My mother, who did the laundry and must have noticed things slightly amiss.  My sister, who walked in on me as I was "entertaining myself" during a summer break from college.  My girlfriends, one of whom tolerated my "kink" while two others, both in college, actively pursued it and got a sexual kick out of my dressing.  Of course, there also was my wife; she was introduced to my "hobby" when she came home unexpectedly one morning before I was ready to leave for work and, well, before I was ready...period.  She wasn't ready either.  But that is a different story for a different day.

Today.  Today is different - much, much different.  These are women I've never met before and we are in a place that I've been only a few times before.  The dynamic is nothing like anything I've ever experienced.

You see, I live in Southern California - Orange County, to be more precise.  We are a long hour to two hour drive south of Los Angeles and West Hollywood, but only if traffic cooperates.  Because of the length of the drive, I don't get to LA very frequently but, as luck would have it, today I am having an afternoon business meeting with a client visiting from overseas.  We are going to meet up near LAX, which is nowhere near where I now find myself imprisoned.  Frankly, my client meeting suddenly is the farthest thing from my mind at all.  I just want to escape.

For years, I've fancied corsets.  A year or two back, I had purchased an inexpensively made corset from an adult store.  It was nice but it only lasted a few dressing sessions before the seams began to give out.  The corset also was too fancy to provide many opportunities to wear it.  The ruffles would show through just about any outfit I might want to wear.  To give you some frame of reference, pictures from one of my earlier dressing session are shown to the right.

Once I had worn a corset, however, there was no going back; I needed to wear more corsets...and more often.  The tight, constricting feeling. The encouragement of proper posture.  The hourglass figure.  The alterations to my movement.  I had to have it all, and I had to have it as often as possible.

I set out to find a better corset; money was not an issue.  More of an issue than money was my ability to find a reputable brick-and-mortar location; a location where I could be fitted for a properly made corset and receive instruction on the proper wearing of and caring for the corset.  Eventually, I decided upon What Katie Did in West Hollywood, California.  The store was along Melrose Avenue in a block that included some other very nice shops, including Agent Provocateur.

Before today, I had been to What Katie Did several times, including the first time, which was when I purchased my first high quality corset.  The corset was an amazing item.  It was recommended by the staff of the store for people having long me.  I settled on the Morticia corset, but only after thoroughly surveying the rest of What Kate Did's collection.

Eventually, I began returning to the store to round out my collection.  I initially followed the corset with a purchase of a bullet bra, a pair of panties and a garter belt.  I returned yet again for stockings and for another pair of panties.

They have incredible lingerie and I have an undeniable weakness for their lingerie.  They cater to the pin-up look, which is one of my all-time favorite looks.  In effect, they cater to me...almost too well.  The items I buy at What Katie Did quickly become my much so that they were included in a photo shoot for which I later posed following a makeover at Boudoir LA in West Hollywood.  The picture to the left is from that photo shoot.  

Today began innocently enough.  In the week before this trip, I had done my research.  I was looking for a waist cincher; I wanted something that would help to pull my stomach and sides in a bit yet not be too noticeable under my clothing, whether I was dressed as a man or as a woman.  I spent hours looking at their options and I knew that they would have just the right items to do the trick.

I parked where I normally park and confidently strode into the store; I shop for lingerie all the time for my wife and lingerie shopping wasn't anything to get nervous about.  As I browsed the items on lining the walls, the sales lady approached me.  As far as I could tell, we were alone.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked in a very straight forward and professional way.

"Yes.  I think so.  I'm looking for a waist cincher."  Well, that was easy.  Things are going perfectly.

"I see.  Do you know if she has a particular waist cincher in mind? And do you know her size?" she replied.

Looking around and determining we were along, I decided to be honest.  She's seen me before.  She knows I shop here fairly frequently.  What's the harm?

"I haven't any clue what size and I am just looking for a waist cincher to reduce the appearance of my waistline.  I have a corset but I want something less bulky to wear from time to time."  There.  I had said it.  How would she react? What would she say?  My mind began to reel? I was blanking on any of the information that I had researched.  Instantly, I felt as though I was at her mercy.

She looked at me and began size me up along with the situation.  "I see.  Do you know your dress size? Or how about your height and your weight?"

"Well, I wear a size 12-14 dress, if I remember correctly."  I replied.  Weird.  I hadn't noticed the dryness in my throat before...and my voice hadn't cracked in years.

Deep breath.  Deep breath.  Relax.  This is easy.

She then proceeded to explain to me the selection of waist cinchers on the show room floor.  There were three or maybe four different types and my head was starting to spin again.  I was awash in a room filled with nothing by femininity.  I was distinctly out of place and I was in the middle of lesson about different types and styles of a decidedly feminine article of clothing.  "So, what do you think?  Is there a style that you would like to try on?"

Try on? Did she just offer me the opportunity to be sure that a feminine undergarment, albeit a waist cincher, would fit me before I left the store.  This. Is. Amazing.

I had assumed that there were fitting rooms somewhere in the back of the store.  Oh, had I assumed wrong.  There were two chairs positioned along a wall with a curtain suspended from the ceiling, yet tied back to the wall at about shoulder level.  The sales lady began to untie the cords holding the curtain to the wall.  I was going to be essentially in the middle of the sales floor, behind a single velvet curtain, shirtless with a woman's undergarment secured around my waist.  If I wasn't already trying to catch my breath...I certainly was trying to focus upon slow and deliberate breathing at this point.  These shallow, nervous pants were not happen me stabilize the situation unfolding before me.

The sales lady confidently direct me through the opening of the curtain and the curtain slowly enveloped me.  She handed me the satin and lace garment and informed me that she would be "just outside the curtain" in case I needed anything.  Well.  At least we were alone.  I had that going for me.

I removed my tie and unfastened my cuff links.  I slowly and methodically unfastened each of my buttons. I removed my dress shirt and found a hook on which I could hang it.  I removed my undershirt, which had just started to dampen from my nerves.  Or was it warm in the room.  I wasn't even sure at this point.

I began to put on the waist cincher.  For those who have had never had the tortuous opportunity to strap one of these beautiful pieces of fashion artwork around their waist, picture the closures used on most bras; now picture a row of those fasteners, probably about 12 includes long.  Yes.  It takes a while.

I struggled for what seemed like an eternity trying to fit myself into the garment that had been handed to me.  After way too much time, I decided to try the next size up.  I unfastened the few hooks I had managed to connect and then dressed myself, without the tie though.

"Can I try the next larger size?" I asked.

We went to the front of the store, just beside the almost floor to ceiling pane of glass.  Traffic passed by slowly along Melrose Avenue while she searched for the next size up.  I was looking hopeless and I was starting to feel crestfallen.  Way back, in the bottom drawer, she finally unearthed the exact model and size that should work perfectly.  She triumphantly handed it to me.  I beamed.  I spun, and almost floated back to my oasis behind the curtain.  This was easy and the attention and gracious nature of the sales lady made it all the more incredible.  Once safely positioned behind the curtain, I proceeded to with the same process yet again.  I was feeling confident and secure behind the curtain.

I was about halfway through with fastening the row of closures when I heard it.  I froze.  I was no longer confident and I certainly was no longer secure; I began to panic.  It was a bell.  I knew that bell.  That was the bell hanging over the front door.  The bell was followed by the sound of two, maybe three, women out for a lunch hour shopping trip.  I could hear their heels as they approached the curtain.  The volume of the clicks increased.  The curtain fluttered as they walked by the dressing stall.

The sales lady approached them and, from the sounds of it, was completely unfazed by the situation.  They discussed various items in the store.  I remained frozen.  My breathing was metered.  My heart rate was through the roof.

There was nothing...I repeat...nothing in this store that a well dressed gentleman in a suit should be trying on from behind a curtain.  My mind raced.  Could they see me though the imperfectly closed curtain? What about when it fluttered? I swear I made eye contact with one of them.  Was that whispering? Could they see my feet? Where were my wingtips?  Could they see my shoes?

If I thought that trying to get into that earlier size took an eternity, this was taking even longer.  Time crept.  In fact, I swear that time was standing still.  Finally, the bell rang again.  And then quiet.  I could hear my heart in my ears.  There were no other sounds, or so I thought.  I stood there - moving as much as a mannequin.  Trying to decide my next step.  Imprisoned behind a velvet curtain, surrounded by satin, lace and frills.