I was out shoveling snow the other day, in my old blue jeans, and, when I bent over, they ripped along the inseam, letting in the frigid air...
And, don’t you know, I got nearly the same feeling I get when I wear a skirt – cold air is reaching a part of my hitherto covered upper thigh, causing a strange kind of euphoria. Briefly, I became disoriented (or disorientated, if you prefer) and confused – does this mean I DON’T have to dress up to get my thrills? Quite literally I was “taking the air,” no doubt blushing as well...
Just like I can’t go anywhere in my ripped pants, I can’t wear a skirt in public, either. Perhaps males are not supposed to be conscious of their inner thighs, so they keep them covered up at all times. Crossdressing negates this coverage at a stroke, and I am trans-ported to a happy land where thigh meets thigh, with no barrier in-between. Ah, bliss...
I’ll have to get a new pair of work pants very soon. I can’t shovel snow en femme in this part of the country, surrounded as I am by conformists, so I dress in my male uniform to blend in, go unnoticed, and live another day. This last snowstorm was most definitely underwhelming, which is a pity – I was actually looking forward to another day of shoveling and feeling those things that boys like me are only supposed to dream about. COOL!!!
Don’t you love that feeling of air going where it ain’t supposed to go?