As I lay abed this morning, thinking about my cross-dressing journey, I had to ask, "Whom am I trying to please? Whom am I trying to confront?"
Quickly, it was obvious that I was pleasing only myself. I've always wanted boobs. But as a kid, I didn't know HRT existed, not that my parents would have consented. In fact, I'd have been thrown out of the house, a fate I was often threatened with for any and every infraction of their cultural beliefs. (If you can go back in time and choose your parents, avoid homophobes. They're implacable.) These days, I've got the money and would need no one's permission if I wanted to grow my own breasts. But the downsides scare me enough not to follow that path.
As for 'confrontation' --i.e., acting in the present to get back at the past-- that, too, I decided wasn't viable. If I want 'confrontation", all I need to do is trade counter-trend by selling short what is over-bought or go long what is over-sold. Plus, when I have the courage to act and I'm also right, I turn profit.
So, thank goodness for prosthetics and cute bras. Anyhow, a seeming break in the weather meant I could pedal my miles outdoors rather than on my stationary. The skies were gray, and the clouds were moving in fast. But I wanted to get out. So my next question was, "Augmented, or not?" Do I take off my C's before I go biking, or leave them in?"
You can guess the answer. So the next question is this. "Is a boob-augmented ride better than a flat-chested one?"
Because I'm pedaling a recumbent, there wasn't much bounce or jiggle even when I went over a speed bump or hit a small divot in the pavement, much less the delicious, pendulous sway there'd be if I were hunched over handle bars. But I could tell the boobs were on my chest and not sitting home in the dresser drawer. Half way out on my usual route along the bluffs, the sun peaked out again and raised the LBGTQ flag --aka, a rainbow-- to the north. Then I knew the weather gods had smiled on my first cross-dressed ride.
Arindam