Ricky

The Skeptical Crossdreser

Help, I'm overdosed on TV newsletters, magazines books and handouts. Life has been busy of late, and just about everything I found in the PO box has gotten tossed into a pile at the back of the closet, waiting time to read it. So the holiday weekend came and I had time to dress up, lay back and read. I read it all at first, then found myself skipping around a bit, then jumping over whole articles on the title alone.

Size Discrimination

I am a victim of discrimination. Sure, sure, you've heard it before. What crossdresser hasn't experienced discrimination. Just put on a dress to mow the grass and you can absolutely rely on being discriminated against by your family, the neighbors, and the lawn care service. Go shopping for a new girdle and the prejudiced salespeople won't even consider letting you try it on in the changing room. Wear a frilly skirt to work and no one will compliment you on how the colors match your beard. A crossdresser's life is a hard one, but you already know that.

Shaving For The First Time

If a man in woman's clothing has a odd ring to it then a 6'2", 250# wolf in sheep's clothing is surely fair game for some hearty guffaws. If there is one thing serious about the situation it is that I have enjoyed bras, panties and garters for the last 20 years. I still do, but I only enjoy this apparel in the privacy of a motel room or other secluded setting. When I dress it is for the feel of the clothing and the intrinsic pleasure it brings, and this pleasure is largely separate from the rest of my life.

Columns from Crosstalk Magazine

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While trying to find something utterly irrelevant on my computer backups I stumbled on the columns I had written for Kym Richards Crosstalk Magazine. The specification is necessary because a cursory search on Google revealed a dozen different Crosstalk Magazines, covering everything from fetishistic crossdressing to serious treatises on communication theory.

The Right to Crossdress?

I'm a happy crossdresser, but I'm still confused. Maybe it's just me, but why are so many of my sisters so dissatisfied with their life, and that of their sisters? Lately it seems that all I see are articles about how we must fight for our rights, demand that our wives, children pets and the general public accept us uncritically, and grant us our every wish.

The Problem of Pockets

Something funny happened the first time my family spent a week at the now infamous home of Jim Bakker, Heritage Village USA. Since I am not a Christian and had to work anyway, I spent the week as a bachelor. Well, not exactly a bachelor, more a bachelorette. I hate that word, it is as awkward as some of the supposed "sexual-bias-free" creations that grace the media these days, and I have a whole new understanding of those libbers who object to those sexist terms.

The Perils of Sewing

There's something wrong here. It says on my resume, of which I have mailed out approximately 6.37 billion in the last year of semi-employment, that I am a highly skilled electromechanical technician. It says a lot of other glowing things, but in essence it means I can go into a factory somewhere and quickly understand and repair several millions of dollars worth of complex machinery that is doing something the normal maintenance staff cannot fix. At the risk of hubris I'm good at it too. So why is it that the common household sewing machine strains my abilities to the breaking point and beyond.

Overdosing on Dressing

Have you ever had a dream come true? Silly question, that - if you have been on the planet for long enough to be able to learn to read something good must have happened to you along that line. What would be a dream come true for a crossdresser? OK, OK, enough suggestions from the audience, I get the idea. Do you dream of being able to dress full time when not working, live alone, never need to consider anyone else's feelings, do what you darn well please when you want to do it? Unlimited freedom, self expression, fulfillment of your every desire!

Outing

Sometimes life is disillusioning. I have sat here in my closet for about twenty years now, and for the past five or so the door has been open far enough to hand out these columns. Believe it or not, I really don't have a great urge to fling the door open and come out in my finest. I know that I am too far from the feminine norm to ever be more than a conspicuous fraud, but it doesn't bother me. I enjoy dressing for the sake of dressing, and enjoy the company of my sisters once removed via the post office.

New Age Nonsense

Welcome, my sisters, into the world of the New Age. Listen to the formless music in the background. Hear the muted chanting of a choir of True Believers. Abandon your previous self to the teachings of Mother Earth. Feel the innate power of the mysterious Female Life Force flow into your sadly male body. Read the articles in crossdressing magazines filled with terms like "oneness", "karma", "pansexuality" and even "reincarnation." Recently I even learned that women have superior hearing to enable them to be better mothers.

My Qualifications as a Crossdresser

How ironic! While looking for something in my files the other day I found I have been writing about crossdressing more than ten years now. The problem is, I now realize I am completely unqualified to be a crossdresser, let alone a writer on the subject. Think about it - just what are the qualifications for a crossdresser? Surely you've read a multitude of "true life stories" in the crossdressing magazines. Perhaps if we were to distill all these stories we can come up with a set of qualifications for a true crossdresser.

My Dander Is Up

(Since I no longer have access to the article that got my dander up, I have let the author be anonymous in my response. You can probably figure out just what she said from the context.)

Pardon me, but my dander is up. I know that is a difficult, and potentially embarrassing to raise a dander while wearing a skirt, but by golly it's hoisted and flying in the hot air of opinion.

My Crossdressing Debut

Can you stand to read one more personal story about a sister coming out of the closet? I know that every CD newsletter uses these stories as fill when there isn't enough other stuff to put on the page, and that you have read a million of them, but this time I'm the one telling the story. For that matter I don't care if you read it or not, I'm gonna tell it anyway.

Moonies

I saw another one today. I was driving along a country road and over there on the left, by the well kept farmhouse was another of those rather weird examples of modern art known as the "moonie". Have you ever seen a moonie? No, I am not talking about some earnest and well scrubbed youth in the airport lounge selling flowers for the Korean Messiah, but rather the mushroom shaped and gaily painted depiction of someone's legs and nether regions that are sprouting on lawns all over country like, well like mushrooms.

A Model of Restraint

I am a model of restraint, I think. You couldn't tell it by looking at me, unless you measure the tensile strength of my corset strings, but you couldn't see that either. In the latest of my temporary jobs I have ended up in yet another machine shop, building yet another machine. With each of these jobs you meet a new group of men - not people, they're exclusively men.

Me and My Big Mouth

It has been brought to my attention more than once that I have a big mouth. I'm sure that you, my readers, have remarked on my talent for fearlessly offering opinion and advice from behind the safety of the printed page. Unlike talking, where my pontifications can be challenged by a loud "Oh yeah, that's what you say!", if someone out there wants to comment they have to take the time to compose their thoughts, put them on paper, find a stamp and mail the thing.

The Land of Black-and-White

I'm glad that in the twenty years since I wrote this things have changed appreciably.

Since you're reading this, I'll assume you have read at least one article where some learned person expounds on why men like to dress in skirts and such. You'll find reasons like "freeing the inner self", "expressing our femininity in a hostile world" or even " it just feels good." Somewhere in the list of the good things in being a TV will inevitably come a comment to the effect of "being able to wear a rainbow of colors instead of a gray flannel suit."

Joining The Club

The year 1989 marks the 100th anniversary of the Brassiere, as it was first called, an item of apparel dear to the hearts of all transvestites. I find it hard to conceive of a time without the bra, so integral has it become to feminine fashion in our culture. It and the jockstrap are the only garments that have an anatomical function limited to one sex; all other clothing takes its gender from the culture. A male wearing a bra can only be doing so for the pleasure of it, as we all well know.

An Accidental Meeting

Christmas.

I suppose it must be Christmas - my Facebook feed was filled with trees, Santas and such trappings, masses of frosted cookies, reindeer with red noses and Donald Trump in various compromising yuletide positions. As if we didn't get enough pictures of him all the rest of the year… (Could he really do that with eight not-so-tiny reindeer?)

Dressing In Cold Weather

I am developing an acute case of envy for those of you who live in the sunny clime of California. Here in the Northeast the trees are turning colors and the frost is on the pumpkin. If it would only stay on the cussed pumpkin I wouldn't object, but it is also invading my apartment, and wardrobe drawer.

Female Bonding Ritual

If you've ever left your own house in a dress you've probably encountered the classic dilemma: to go through the door with the stick figure with a triangle that is supposed to be a skirt or the door with the stick figure without that silly triangle. Have you ever stopped to consider that there is absolutely no way to tell if the stick figure without the skirt is wearing anything or simply the outline of a naked man, reduced to it's simplest skeleton?

Dressing for Practicality

Sometimes I wonder if the entire world is crazy or if it's just me. For quite some time now I have been staying home unemployed while my wife goes off to work or school. Being unemployed is not the greatest thing in the world, but it has given me a great deal of time to be dressed, and therein lies the source of my bemusement. Tuesday to Thursday I get up after everyone has left, Ricky gets dressed and is alone until shortly before the school bus arrives in the afternoon. I am a solitary dresser, I'm not used to having anyone around when I wear a dress.

A Discrete Public ID

We're a creative bunch, those of us males who like to wear women's clothes. I've never seen a bunch of folks so intent on inventing new words to describe every little nuance of just why they do this or wear that. My sisters seem to have an endless capacity to transform every Greek or Roman root for two into some new combination of syllables that exactly describes their motivation for putting on a dress.

Differently Dressed

I'm confused. Well, more than I usually am, and that's a bad sign. I need Identity, I need a Label to pin my hopes and dreams to. I thought I was a Transvestite, but lately I have found out that is too clinical a word and I shouldn't use it. So I tried being a TV but the rabbit ears kept falling off my head and the satellite dish was just unbearable.

The Crossdresser's Placement Agency

With apologies to those of you who weren't around to listen to radio in the sixties, I'll start this with a famous quote. In the immortal words of the Chicken Man: "They're everywhere, they're everywhere". Crossdressers, that is. In the last week everywhere I look I see a crossdresser, right out there in public.

The Control Group

I have been indulging in a solitary vice again, but don't worry - I mean reading, not what you thought. While perusing the Skeptical Inquirer I came across a review of an odd little tome of pseudoscience called Dressed to Kill: The Link Between Breast Cancer and Bras. Now really, what would your average brassiere obsessed crossdresser do but immediately sign on to the library computer and get a copy delivered to the local library to find out what's going on here. You didn't think I would pay for the thing, did you?

Catty

Good Grief, can it really be? Charlie Brown and Snoopy have just turned 40. I mean, it was a shock when I recently turned 40, but how can Snoopy be 40? Even if you count in dog years it seems incredible. I mention this because I have had an image of Snoopy in my mind lately. The image is the one where old Snoops is clinging to the roof of half a doghouse, the lower half having been swiped away in one snarling swat by the cat next door.

Cleaning

I what to know who makes up the rules, and when I find her I want her to change them, now! It may come as a shock to you, but life just ain't fair. With my new job I am living in a two room apartment all by myself on weekdays. My wife is in school two hours away from my apartment, which is two hours away from our (supposedly permanent) home, and we navigate from node to node on this triangular route each weekend. I thought life was supposed to get more stable when you hit your forties!

The Bra Museum

I hate Philadelphia. Well, maybe that's a bit too harsh. I hated living in Philadelphia. I took a job that made me move to Philadelphia once and lasted precisely one and a half weeks before I ran screaming back to my rural home and continued unemployment. But perhaps I was a bit hasty, for now it seems the enlightened curators of the Museum of Art there have declared my favorite fetish to be a legitimate subject of cultural study.

Bearded Crossdressers?

OK, I will grant you are an exceptionally tolerant and forgiving person. After all you're a crossdresser (or at least involved positively with one if you're reading this) and you can probably stand and deliver a fifteen to twenty minute lecture on how crossdressers should be respected, and how it doesn't really matter what you're wearing, you should be treated with respect. Maybe you're one of the activists, willing standing up before God and all Her children in a dress to prove your point.

1-900-HOT-HOTT

I'm sure that you have seen an ad or two (or twenty) for one of those 900 phone services. They usually have neat names like 1-900-HOT-HOTT, which is a real number that a teenage neighbor called twice on my garage phone before I caught him. I never could understand why someone would pay $25 for the first four minutes of talk when for a smaller monetary investment you could go to a bar somewhere and buy some floozy a few drinks and get the talk live, or possibly something more if you have a golden tongue.

Life Imitates Art (Almost)

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A while back I had a throwaway line in my story Blinding revelations.

"I must have still been high from buying my own dress, because I headed right into the lingerie department without a second thought. Hell, this is Wal-Mart - if they sold whole cows no one would blink if you threw a side of beef, dripping and bloody, into your cart and toddled through the registers. Well, maybe the guy who had to clean the floors might object, but a boy buying a bra, ho-hum!"

Blinding Revelations

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Blinding Revelations

By Ricky

Some teenagers would get all flustered in the lingerie department – was I stupid or not? I told the truth.

Paying it Forward - Conclusion

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Paying It Forward

Conclusion

By Ricky

The banker reached into the folds of his gown, pulled out a single credit note. "But eat first - a full belly steadies the judgment. Do me the honor of accepting this as our welcome to the newcomer."

His pride said no; his stomach said YES! Don took it and said, "Uh, thanks! That's awfully kind of you. I'll pay it back, first chance."

"Instead, pay it forward to some other brother who needs it."

-Robert A Heinlein, Between Planets

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