Wednesday, 29 December 2010

Brain washed by a parasite

I’ve been following lots of blogs about cross-dressing. (Q.“What’s the difference between a cross-dresser and a transsexual?” A. “About 2 years.”)  And the possible reasons we do it.  None of the theories has yet convinced me.  However, what if we’ve all been brain-washed by a parasite?

It seems that ants can get this parasite that changes their behaviour.  Unlike its non-infected black-coloured brethren, the abdomen of the infected ant turns red.  And when its fellow ants return to the nest, the red-bellied ant clings to a branch, and so looks like the edible red berries in the forest canopy.  This entices birds to eat the normally unpalatable ant.  Which then spreads the parasite in its droppings.  To be eaten by ants. And so it goes.

Suppose then, that there’s this cross-dressing parasite.   No, not a bug in bikini, but one that alters our behaviour. Makes us buy loads of clothes and shoes from Sears and Asos, and wear unconvincing wigs.  This parasite also causes us to log onto the internet, and post enticing images. Which then lures in ‘normal’ guys, who also start wearing panty hose, and neglecting their wags.

On second thoughts though……

Sunday, 19 December 2010


I had a dream last night. 

I was 20 again (I wish) and in the car with my parents.  And I was dressed as I please – as a girl, long hair, nail polish and makeup, nice outfit and sandals. Don’t remember the whole ensemble, but the hair was dark and shoulder-length, the strappy sandals creamy-tan.  In my dream I felt ‘normal’ in a way that I seldom do in my every day drab life.  And all through, in my dream-journey with my dream-family, I had this quiet satisfaction that I’d come out to my parents, and I could just relax. And as I’d told them, then coming out to the rest of the world was going to be easy.

(There was also a spell in the dream where we were circling the block looking for a KFC for lunch.  I can now confirm that inside this trannie there’s a fat girl trying to get out!)

In the dream-car, as we drove – through 60’s Oxford, where I went to college - my parents were very ‘matter of fact’ about my new girly-ness.  Far from being judgemental, they just seemed to take my transformation on board.  As well they might of course, since it was my dream not theirs.

As I awoke, I nurtured the feelings that my dream had engendered (now there’s a good word!), and just lay there, savouring the selfish joy of my beautiful transformation.  And then as I awake further, recalled that my Dad has been dead these 15 years, and my Mum for three.

Nothing profound there for a psychiatrist to unravel, but it has affected me all day.