jennCD
05-15-2009, 12:21 PM
...So as we left the house, it was dark and I was feeling far less nervous than I'd ever imagined. She was ahead of me and got into the driver's seat of the car, motioning that I should hurry up. The babysitter had long since arrived and taken the kids for the evening and I had no idea what was in store for me.
Here I was, standing outside, feeling a slight breeze blowing past me as the night was upon us and I was Jenn. I was outside as Jenn. No, I was outside with my wife, as Jenn. It felt surreal but yet completely natural. I tried to walk quickly across the driveway in my heels.
As I arrived at the car, she'd already had it running and I reached for the handle to open it just as I noticed a group of people crossing the street just in front of me. I didn't even have time to feel nervous about my first encounter en femme with the public as they simply walked by, talking among themselves and not paying any attention to the lady getting into her car. Wow, I couldn't imagine this being so easy.
I sat in the seat with a million thoughts shooting through my head. She drove off and we were on our way as I tried to ground myself and focus on what I was feeling and what was actually going on. Sitting in the passenger seat, I became aware of how awkward it was to sit while wearing heels. It was dark as we drove I reached down to adjust my foot, which seemed to have slipped out of the black pump I wore. As my hand moved down over my leg, I felt the wonderful sensation of stockings over freshly shaved skin. How far my wife and I had come I realized, since my shaved legs were the catalyst for my discomfort at being 'me' in my wife's eyes almost a year ago.
As I moved to position my foot back into the heel, I looked down to notice that there was an extra set of pumps, the same style as the ones I was wearing but in white, that I had accidentally started putting on so I moved that one aside and leaned forward to use both hands to slip my foot back into the proper shoe.
We drove silently down the highway for a while, my hands on my lap, feeling the frilly, 80s style Madonna-like, multi-tiered short skirt under my fingertips, as I wondered what was next. My wife was quiet, concentrating on driving in the dark night without the aid of the city streetlights on this suburban back road.
"Maybe we're going for dinner?" I quietly asked.
I became aware of the feeling of wearing lipgloss which I'd casually put on at home earlier. It felt natural. She didn't respond quickly enough and I suddenly felt as though I'd overstepped the boundaries that we'd obviously set. I was being pushy perhaps.
"This is all new to me too you know, as much as it is for you." she responded, and I understood very well.
From the day I first told her about "Jenn" almost two years ago, I don't think there was ever a single moment when she could say that she was 'comfortable' with the idea at any level so to have her see me like this, be with me like this, outside in public, to be seen with me like this, was simply like another world for both of us and I realized I should not presume anything or even make a suggestion. She was driving after all, she was controlling this experience. I understood fully.
In what seemed like an instant, we had arrived. We had made it inside without problem. I felt good. There were painting and sculptures strategically places around the atrium, giving it the feeling being a private museum for a wealthy collector. As I stood in a corner and I motioned to my wife to ask what she'd like to do now, I became aware of my slightly-longer-than-average fingernails, something like a darker cherry red which I knew was close to the shade I was wearing on my lips. This was the first time I'd ever worn nail polish, since I never really had that kind of time dressing in private at home all these years to experiment. My wife held out her hand, offering me a single acrylic fingernail replacement, indicating that she wanted me to put it on my pointer finger. The fake nail had a flashy, bejeweled look to it and as she placed it over my fingernail, quickly I felt uncomfortable with it on.
"This really isn't me, you know." I said.
"It'll be fine. You already look like a goth chick." she said, smiling.
She was right of course, with my heels and hose, short layered black skirt and black top, dramatic makeup and long hair, I did not look mainstream at all.
"But this isn't right tho," I said quietly as I stood there very conscious of those around me, "I don't want to stand out like this. I want to blend in, just to be me!"
I only want to be me. She didn't respond.
A moment later I realized why she didn't respond.
She didn't have time to say anything else. I had already awoken to find myself lying in bed this morning, still enveloped by the feelings that had been bouncing around inside me during the dream. Sometimes we dream strange, fantastical scenarios; physics-breaking fantasies of flying or existing through changing locations with no thought to how things like this came to be while we, in our minds, simply move from scene to scene as the story plays out like a poorly written script... and sometimes we dream things deeply rooted in the laws of reality, passing through a world very much like our own where things make sense, order is observed and everything seems normal and real except for those small, unexpected things that creep in to keep it all interesting. This was one of the normal, reality-based dreams and as I lay, remembering the happenings in my mind these few minutes past and enjoying the dissipating feelings of comfort, happiness and general sense of balance I'd just experienced, the real world came into focus and I hoped that I could hold onto this moment just a little while longer.
As I sit now at the computer, writing the final words to this thread, I can already barely remember those feelings and sensations that just recently were a tangible reminder of my dream.
I can only remember the subtle, fleeting sense of momentarily being me...
:)
jenn
Here I was, standing outside, feeling a slight breeze blowing past me as the night was upon us and I was Jenn. I was outside as Jenn. No, I was outside with my wife, as Jenn. It felt surreal but yet completely natural. I tried to walk quickly across the driveway in my heels.
As I arrived at the car, she'd already had it running and I reached for the handle to open it just as I noticed a group of people crossing the street just in front of me. I didn't even have time to feel nervous about my first encounter en femme with the public as they simply walked by, talking among themselves and not paying any attention to the lady getting into her car. Wow, I couldn't imagine this being so easy.
I sat in the seat with a million thoughts shooting through my head. She drove off and we were on our way as I tried to ground myself and focus on what I was feeling and what was actually going on. Sitting in the passenger seat, I became aware of how awkward it was to sit while wearing heels. It was dark as we drove I reached down to adjust my foot, which seemed to have slipped out of the black pump I wore. As my hand moved down over my leg, I felt the wonderful sensation of stockings over freshly shaved skin. How far my wife and I had come I realized, since my shaved legs were the catalyst for my discomfort at being 'me' in my wife's eyes almost a year ago.
As I moved to position my foot back into the heel, I looked down to notice that there was an extra set of pumps, the same style as the ones I was wearing but in white, that I had accidentally started putting on so I moved that one aside and leaned forward to use both hands to slip my foot back into the proper shoe.
We drove silently down the highway for a while, my hands on my lap, feeling the frilly, 80s style Madonna-like, multi-tiered short skirt under my fingertips, as I wondered what was next. My wife was quiet, concentrating on driving in the dark night without the aid of the city streetlights on this suburban back road.
"Maybe we're going for dinner?" I quietly asked.
I became aware of the feeling of wearing lipgloss which I'd casually put on at home earlier. It felt natural. She didn't respond quickly enough and I suddenly felt as though I'd overstepped the boundaries that we'd obviously set. I was being pushy perhaps.
"This is all new to me too you know, as much as it is for you." she responded, and I understood very well.
From the day I first told her about "Jenn" almost two years ago, I don't think there was ever a single moment when she could say that she was 'comfortable' with the idea at any level so to have her see me like this, be with me like this, outside in public, to be seen with me like this, was simply like another world for both of us and I realized I should not presume anything or even make a suggestion. She was driving after all, she was controlling this experience. I understood fully.
In what seemed like an instant, we had arrived. We had made it inside without problem. I felt good. There were painting and sculptures strategically places around the atrium, giving it the feeling being a private museum for a wealthy collector. As I stood in a corner and I motioned to my wife to ask what she'd like to do now, I became aware of my slightly-longer-than-average fingernails, something like a darker cherry red which I knew was close to the shade I was wearing on my lips. This was the first time I'd ever worn nail polish, since I never really had that kind of time dressing in private at home all these years to experiment. My wife held out her hand, offering me a single acrylic fingernail replacement, indicating that she wanted me to put it on my pointer finger. The fake nail had a flashy, bejeweled look to it and as she placed it over my fingernail, quickly I felt uncomfortable with it on.
"This really isn't me, you know." I said.
"It'll be fine. You already look like a goth chick." she said, smiling.
She was right of course, with my heels and hose, short layered black skirt and black top, dramatic makeup and long hair, I did not look mainstream at all.
"But this isn't right tho," I said quietly as I stood there very conscious of those around me, "I don't want to stand out like this. I want to blend in, just to be me!"
I only want to be me. She didn't respond.
A moment later I realized why she didn't respond.
She didn't have time to say anything else. I had already awoken to find myself lying in bed this morning, still enveloped by the feelings that had been bouncing around inside me during the dream. Sometimes we dream strange, fantastical scenarios; physics-breaking fantasies of flying or existing through changing locations with no thought to how things like this came to be while we, in our minds, simply move from scene to scene as the story plays out like a poorly written script... and sometimes we dream things deeply rooted in the laws of reality, passing through a world very much like our own where things make sense, order is observed and everything seems normal and real except for those small, unexpected things that creep in to keep it all interesting. This was one of the normal, reality-based dreams and as I lay, remembering the happenings in my mind these few minutes past and enjoying the dissipating feelings of comfort, happiness and general sense of balance I'd just experienced, the real world came into focus and I hoped that I could hold onto this moment just a little while longer.
As I sit now at the computer, writing the final words to this thread, I can already barely remember those feelings and sensations that just recently were a tangible reminder of my dream.
I can only remember the subtle, fleeting sense of momentarily being me...
:)
jenn