Five boxes and six hanging bags lay on and around the couch in the living room, ready to be carried to the basement. In them are my toys and femme clothes: cuffs, collars, butt plug, vibrator, silk blouses, padded bras, high heels, makeup, a handful of books and videos. It's all packed up and ready for storage. Everything but the CB-6000.
This has been coming for a while now. My urges to dress have been close to zero for the past year or so, awakening briefly one or two times for a matter of hours. Part of that is the natural ebb and flow of life; busy at work, busy at home, busy with community service and several sports. But part of it is an overall tamping down by repeated and clear messages: very, very few women I would be interested in would have any reaction other than absolute and strident revulsion at the thought of a man having such interests. So when I look at the clothes I see diminished long-term happiness, otherwise wonderful women ruled out for a fantasy that's unlikely to be realized in any case.
Does that mean it's not a part of me? No. Does it mean that I'm getting rid of everything, confident that doing so would solve anything? No. It means that I will likely get farther setting that part of me aside while I open up to what is important. If I find someone and we communicate well, we will figure this out together at some point. But my filter is already so stringent that I have an emotional bubble around me; adding to that seems unwise.
I have put things away before and they always find the right time to come back out. And there are other alternatives for feeding the occasional urge, like my submissive female character in Second Life. That doesn't take up nearly as much closet space, and I can walk away without worrying about leaving try-ons all over my room.
I suspect that more than one reader of my blog will understand exactly where I'm coming from. I'd love to hear comments from anyone who has been through this as well as women who have some visibility into the phenomenon. This blogging is more of a learning exercise than a rant, after all.
Quietlisten
(cross-posted to collarncuffs.com)
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