Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Marilyn goes shopping
On September 23rd,
Marilyn decided to get her first dress. She’ld waiting for a long time or
should I say I’ve been waiting for a long time? Perhaps an introduction is in
order. My legal name is Jason Jones. However I’m also Marilyn. Yes, I’m a man
that likes to cross dress. My life is currently a disaster. It’s a long story,
one I need to finish writing. However we’re getting off track.
Currently I live with
my mom. It isn’t a pleasant experience. She says she loves me, yet tells me I’m
mentally ill for cross dressing. It tears me apart. Why the 23rd? My
mom wasn’t home that’s why! I walked to Lane Bryant. Yes, I said walked. It was
hot outside so I stopped at Wal-Mart to buy a drink. I remember I was in my camouflage
shorts and a Snoopy t-shirt. Probably not something most cross dressers would
wear. I’ve never worried about men’s fashion however. Finally I made it to the
store, I walked in, here goes nothing!
There weren’t very many people in the store
which I was thankful for. I wondered the store looking for dresses. There weren’t
many dresses, possibly due to the time of year. I found a sweater dress I like
finally. I wondered near the cash registers and ask if it was all right if I
tried it on. The sales lady grabbed the keys to the dressing room and walked me
over to one of the doors. She knocked on it, checking if anyone was in the
small room. Then, she opened the door so I could go in. I took off my shorts
and t-shirt and tried the dress on in my boxers. It was a strange experience. I
could other women talking. The dress fit, I looked a little pregnant in it do
to be being overweight. It was discouraging,
but it was a dress!
I found some Spanx by
looking at the weight and height measurements on the package. Then another
sales lady ask me if I needed a room, I said no since I had my dress. Somewhere
in the process I started looking at panties. I explained to the sales lady that
I wasn’t sure what size I was. She ask me what the size of the dress was. I had
to tell her that due to my shoulders the dress was a bigger size, but my waist
was much smaller. She looked me over and said “You look my size, which is a 18.”
I bought one pair of 14/16 panties and three of 18/20. It was cheaper to by
four due to the pricing.
I went to pay for my items;
I was starting to lease nervous. I notice the sales lady. She was chubby and
cute! She asks me for my phone number, address and if I wanted to apply for a
credit card. I gave her all the information and applied for a credit card, why
not? As was ringing me up she asks me if I had found everything I wanted. I
told her I wanted one more thing, but wasn’t sure on the size of it either. As
she rang up the panties, she said I love purple too! I explained that I was
color blind and wasn’t sure if they were blue or purple. This seemed to surprise
her, but she was friendly and smiling. After what felt like forever she had me
rung up, as I paid for my items I said “Is there a good time to get measured
for a bra?” Or words like that. She surprised me and said she could do it right
then. She told me to hold up my hand above my head while she tightened the
measuring tape around me. She bumped against me which was nice for me. She
measured in a few places; ask me to breathe in and out. I said some like “I
know this is weird.” She told me there were other guys that had come in before
and it wasn’t a big deal. Then she gave me my bra size, 44 b or 42c she said. I
ask her to write it down for me which she did.
I walked out of the
store pretty happy, even though I still had to walk home. I had turned the pedometer
app on when I left home and wondered how far I would end up walking. I walked
over to Wal-Mart and bought another drink and a bra. I went to the 20 items or
less line, but the person in front of me apparently couldn’t count. They had a
cart full of groceries. When they paid, they didn’t have enough money in their
account and had to take some items off after calling their bank. The cashier
rolled her eyes while they called and I tried not to laugh. Finally it was my
turn the cashier scanned the drink and the bra. Then she said something like “I
like your shirt sweetheart.” I said thanks and started walking home.
It felt longer on the
way home. A truck passed me and I think yelled something about Lane Bryant
being expensive and probably making fun of me. I had to agree that Lane Bryant
is kind of expensive and shrugged the rest off.
After what felt like a
very long time I got back home. My feet were sore, I looked at the pedometer,
five miles, no wonder. I wasn’t used to walking. I took a shower; I didn’t want
to get my dress messy! Then I got dressed, starting with the bra and panties. I
was happy on the panties I was the 14/16 size. I also put on the bra, then the
Spanx, pantyhose, and finally the dress.
I grabbed my video
camera and put it on the tripod. Then I filmed myself in my dress and also
painted my finger nails. After which I uploaded it to YouTube. I went on Google
plus while it uploaded and started posting as usual, only in drag. I stayed in
my dress as long as I could. It was about eight pm by now and I hadn’t eaten. I
didn’t want to get my dress dirty, plus my mom would be home somewhat soon. So,
I changed back into some other clothes. I hung up my dress in the closet and
eat my pizza.
What a day! I will
admit I was saddened by the fact that I had to change back and even considered
meeting my mom in drag. I didn’t, I didn’t want to be lectured for what felt
like hours on how I was destroying my life. I hope I can dress up again!
Love,
Marilyn
Sunday, August 4, 2013
The real story of becoming Marilyn (part of my life story)
My mother says the
doctor ask if he could perform an autopsy on me soon after I was born. I’ll
never know if this is true, because I don’t remember and my mom lies a lot. You
may ask why. My mother had pregnancy jaundice. My older brother died a few days
after he was born. I guess they figured I’ld do the same. They removed her
gallbladder, but it cause brain damage to me.
So, I was born with mild Cerebral Palsy. It could have been must worse for sure. As a child I was harassed and possibly beaten, because I "walked different and talked different."
Those events helped shape me, warp me to some degree. I remember the muscles in between my ribs spasming at night that I would pray for death. Death never came, and I was sad when it didn't. This is what I mean by warped, most people would not understand being sad to wake up the next day.
My joints move to far and sometimes even dislocate. It is painful at times, but you get used to it. Sometimes I don't feel pain on my left side. It is strange to know something should hurt and not feel a thing.
My mother smothered me acting like I was dumber than a box of rocks. My dad was the opposite, well you can walk you can do it! My dad is harsh, perhaps even brutal. I think it was because that is how he survived life. In someways I'm grateful to him. I learned to try and do things. Not just sit and be sorry for myself. I do that enough. As I got older I got stronger. People started not noticing as much, but the scars were there. I was a "freak" in my mind. I would never be accepted, never be loved, I would never do anything but die! Was my Cerebral Palsy the cause of my depression? Who knows? I'm no doctor. When I was a teen my depression went off the charts. I cut my wrists and neck slightly, not to die. It was to express my pain I guess. Somewhere in this time I began writing poems. I would throw them away. Year after year, I threw them away. The depression was always there. It was always worse in the winter from about September to December. The height was December 4. Why December 4? That is the day I was born and the day I feel I should have died. My depression on this day was the worst. Why was I alive? Why couldn't I just die? Why couldn't my brother have lived and I died? I'm sure he would have been a better person than me. So much pain, so much anger!
Perhaps the most important thing to me is in elementary school I felt like part of me died. I buried that part of myself under a piece of concrete on a hill by the elementary school. If it's still there I could take you there. This is where my story begins, on a sad day where a confused little boy thinks he his burying his friend that died.
“I miss you Scar, I wish you hadn’t died. Why did they kill you?” Perhaps I thought something like this. I would have said it. No, I thought the people that killed him and possibly beat me would make fun of me again. Or worse, beat me. I marked a place on the playground where I thought Scar and a girl died. In my dreams I saw Scar disemboweled and a girl I loved or cared for get raped and murdered. It seemed so real that I wasn’t sure if it was. I’m still not sure. I know I used to wake up in cold sweats from the dreams wanting to scream. Sometime during this process Twisted Metal had begun to form.
I can remember my rib muscles spasming so bad at night that I would pray for death and be sad that it didn’t come. I think this was the early beginnings of Twisted Metal, the hatred of living. I guess most people would say that Twisted Metal and Scar are fictional they are made up to me after all. Yet, in some odd sense Twisted became a part of me. Scar was left dead at the playground, but Twisted was also created by society and my father to some degree. My father taught me that real men never cried. So when I cried I felt worthless like I was weak. I think someone told me emotions told me that emotions make you weak. If so I still partly believe it. At first Twisted was mostly my father’s voice calling me a momma’s boy, or a cry baby, other voices too telling me I was worthless, unfit to live. I wondered what had happened to me. Part of me says I was beaten in the bathrooms. Is it true? Possibly It wouldn’t surprise me. Orofino isn’t known to be nice to outsiders or people who are “different.” I was both, I was the freak.
Scar told me not to kill myself that if I did so the people that hurt me would win. Scar was a good friend weather imaginary or not. I still remember picking out a grave for him. I knew he was dead. I wasn’t sure where his body was it didn’t matter to me. I wanted to morn my friend. I found a small piece of concrete on a small hill there at the elementary school. That is where I buried my friend. I mourned him for a while to, not sure how long. I would go visit his grave and “talk” to him. No audible words were said, just my thoughts. I always heard him answer. He was a good friend. I miss him still.
Twisted was different. He didn’t have a name then. I feared him. I could feel his hate inside me. The part of me that wanted to lash out and hurt everyone, I hate you all! I hate myself, I hate this world! Yet Twisted always seemed to be there. The part I tried to hide from the world the deepest , darkest, most hateful part of myself.
I didn’t talk to people about this! They would think I was insane! Who would believe a young boy anyway, that was possibly crazy? No one! That’s who! Maybe I didn’t think that then, but I think it now. I remember being “sad” a lot. Looking back I’ve been depressed most of my life that I can remember. Some thirty some odd years depressed all of it. Very little happiness.
Eventually I made friends in school. I didn’t visit Scar as much for that I was sorry. I wanted to be accepted, loved, usual stuff.
So, I was born with mild Cerebral Palsy. It could have been must worse for sure. As a child I was harassed and possibly beaten, because I "walked different and talked different."
Those events helped shape me, warp me to some degree. I remember the muscles in between my ribs spasming at night that I would pray for death. Death never came, and I was sad when it didn't. This is what I mean by warped, most people would not understand being sad to wake up the next day.
My joints move to far and sometimes even dislocate. It is painful at times, but you get used to it. Sometimes I don't feel pain on my left side. It is strange to know something should hurt and not feel a thing.
My mother smothered me acting like I was dumber than a box of rocks. My dad was the opposite, well you can walk you can do it! My dad is harsh, perhaps even brutal. I think it was because that is how he survived life. In someways I'm grateful to him. I learned to try and do things. Not just sit and be sorry for myself. I do that enough. As I got older I got stronger. People started not noticing as much, but the scars were there. I was a "freak" in my mind. I would never be accepted, never be loved, I would never do anything but die! Was my Cerebral Palsy the cause of my depression? Who knows? I'm no doctor. When I was a teen my depression went off the charts. I cut my wrists and neck slightly, not to die. It was to express my pain I guess. Somewhere in this time I began writing poems. I would throw them away. Year after year, I threw them away. The depression was always there. It was always worse in the winter from about September to December. The height was December 4. Why December 4? That is the day I was born and the day I feel I should have died. My depression on this day was the worst. Why was I alive? Why couldn't I just die? Why couldn't my brother have lived and I died? I'm sure he would have been a better person than me. So much pain, so much anger!
Perhaps the most important thing to me is in elementary school I felt like part of me died. I buried that part of myself under a piece of concrete on a hill by the elementary school. If it's still there I could take you there. This is where my story begins, on a sad day where a confused little boy thinks he his burying his friend that died.
“I miss you Scar, I wish you hadn’t died. Why did they kill you?” Perhaps I thought something like this. I would have said it. No, I thought the people that killed him and possibly beat me would make fun of me again. Or worse, beat me. I marked a place on the playground where I thought Scar and a girl died. In my dreams I saw Scar disemboweled and a girl I loved or cared for get raped and murdered. It seemed so real that I wasn’t sure if it was. I’m still not sure. I know I used to wake up in cold sweats from the dreams wanting to scream. Sometime during this process Twisted Metal had begun to form.
I can remember my rib muscles spasming so bad at night that I would pray for death and be sad that it didn’t come. I think this was the early beginnings of Twisted Metal, the hatred of living. I guess most people would say that Twisted Metal and Scar are fictional they are made up to me after all. Yet, in some odd sense Twisted became a part of me. Scar was left dead at the playground, but Twisted was also created by society and my father to some degree. My father taught me that real men never cried. So when I cried I felt worthless like I was weak. I think someone told me emotions told me that emotions make you weak. If so I still partly believe it. At first Twisted was mostly my father’s voice calling me a momma’s boy, or a cry baby, other voices too telling me I was worthless, unfit to live. I wondered what had happened to me. Part of me says I was beaten in the bathrooms. Is it true? Possibly It wouldn’t surprise me. Orofino isn’t known to be nice to outsiders or people who are “different.” I was both, I was the freak.
Scar told me not to kill myself that if I did so the people that hurt me would win. Scar was a good friend weather imaginary or not. I still remember picking out a grave for him. I knew he was dead. I wasn’t sure where his body was it didn’t matter to me. I wanted to morn my friend. I found a small piece of concrete on a small hill there at the elementary school. That is where I buried my friend. I mourned him for a while to, not sure how long. I would go visit his grave and “talk” to him. No audible words were said, just my thoughts. I always heard him answer. He was a good friend. I miss him still.
Twisted was different. He didn’t have a name then. I feared him. I could feel his hate inside me. The part of me that wanted to lash out and hurt everyone, I hate you all! I hate myself, I hate this world! Yet Twisted always seemed to be there. The part I tried to hide from the world the deepest , darkest, most hateful part of myself.
I didn’t talk to people about this! They would think I was insane! Who would believe a young boy anyway, that was possibly crazy? No one! That’s who! Maybe I didn’t think that then, but I think it now. I remember being “sad” a lot. Looking back I’ve been depressed most of my life that I can remember. Some thirty some odd years depressed all of it. Very little happiness.
Eventually I made friends in school. I didn’t visit Scar as much for that I was sorry. I wanted to be accepted, loved, usual stuff.
I may have stopped visiting
Scar’s grave, but I never forgot him. I guess I stopped visiting Scar’s grave
in elementary school. I thought he was an imaginary friend. I’ld seen a
television show that talked about imaginary friends, and how they were ok.
However, they said you needed to move on with your life.
So, Twisted as I was
I did, full of self hate, hate for society, pain and despair. Twisted Metal had
been born, Scar had died. It was the things were. I tried to bury Twisted, such
strong feelings are difficult to deal with. I tried to have friends, I think I
did. However the emotional scars were deep, and unseen by most.
By Junior High I was
trying to withdraw into myself. People wouldn’t let me. I knew I like girls and
wanted sex. I jerked off for the first time. What a mistake. I became addicted
to it. I started looking at porn in magazines in stores.
Somewhere in this
timeframe I put on my mom’s dress, my sisters bra and panties, and one of their
pantyhose. I forget who’s. For a brief second I became someone else. It made me
happy briefly, and then I had to take it off before I got caught!
After that it was mostly putting
torn pantyhose on that my or sister had thrown away. This way I knew I wouldn’t
get caught, most likely. My dad would have beaten me or worse if he had known.
I won’t go into all I did as a teen,
but I have a lot of regrets. Things I’ll be sorry for, for the rest of my life.
My depression spiked as a teen. I wanted to die! Every day I wanted to die! I
cut my wrist and neck during this time too. My grandmother wasn’t doing well. I
did something for her I had only done for myself. I prayed for her to die. She
wasn’t herself anymore. I felt so bad for her. I thought death was better.
Guess that's enough for now. Not a happy story, but mine.
Love,
Marilyn
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Makeup first try
For those that don’t know I tried putting on
foundation a few days ago on YouTube. Here’s the link if you want
First thing you’ll probably notice is the volume is
way too low!
I guess the microphone
on webcam isn’t very good! The other things I was told is that not to use my
finger and that it was the wrong shade. If you could have heard me in the video
I said I figured the finger was wrong. I do have some makeup sponges. I’ll have
to give them a try next time.
As far as the shade I
was told to try a drugstore. When I think of a drugstore I think of something
like Walgreen's or Rite aid. I’m not sure if this is what the person meant and
forgot to ask.
What about the
volume? I hope I have found a solution. I found an inexpensive camcorder. (I’m
not rich)
Yes, it is probably
laughable! You have to start somewhere however. I did need a memory card for it
too, it maxes out at 16GB memory card. (Yes, little bit of a computer nerd.)
I figured max it out! For me
it seems like you always need more memory! I’ll probably need a tripod too, but
that is for another day.
So, it
will be a few days till I get my camera and memory card, then it will depend I
guess. I’m sure I’ll need a tripod, but not sure where I can get one cheep.
(Yep, I’m pretty much broke.)
So, I hope you guys, gals and everything in-between
enjoy my future videos and projects. Sorry for the low volume on the first attempt!
Love,
Marilyn
Thursday, July 11, 2013
My son found out!
My eight year old son found out I was a cross
dresser today. He say my female picture online and said that isn’t you, who is
it? At first I said that I didn’t know what to tell him. Then I showed him the
following pictures.
I said you know who this is right? He was like
yes! My male photo for those that don’t know, then I showed him this.
I said still know who it is? He was like, yes. Then
I showed him the final picture.
I said who is this? He smiled, he knew it was
still me now. I ask him do you know what this means? He didn’t. I made a post
to all this to Google+. He was reading the post, which is why I showed him the
pictures. Since he didn’t know what it meant I showed him the online definition
for cross dressing.
I then explain it
simply in my own worlds. It is when a man wears a woman’s clothes or a woman
wears a man’s clothes. I think that’s good enough for an eight year old. I ask
him if he had any questions. He said he didn’t, he thought it was cool that
sometimes cross dressing had been used as disguise in warfare.
I told him that it wasn’t
secret and that his mom knew. I also said that I wouldn’t recommend telling
people at school because they may not understand and might make fun of it. So,
I came out to my son as a cross dresser. How was your day?!
I’m sure there are
other cross dressing parents out there. Maybe this will help you, I wanted to
be honest with my son about it. Think I did ok!
I know it's just apps, but it gives me and others a rough idea what I might look like as a woman.
Love,
Marilyn
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Friday, June 21, 2013
Should I say goodbye?
I’m still going through a lot personally. I’m not
sure if I’ll ever be able to cross dress totally in real life. Perhaps I should
have never started this blog. Perhaps I should have never came out as a cross
dresser online.
I’m
not sure if I can do this blog anymore. People want an example. People want me
to be something, I’m not sure what. Seems like people have great expectations
of me, not sure why. I’m just me, I consider myself to be simple in some ways.
Some
say I’m a girl (mentally) I say I’m torn between two worlds, one male and one
female. I don’t seem to belong in ether. I don’t seem to belong at all. Never
have, doubt I ever will. My depression is high, so is the pain, emotional pain,
but still pain. I’m used to pain, both physical and emotional. The tolls have
been high. Most of the time I feel I have paid the tolls in my own
pain, in my own blood.
I
guess some would not understand. I’m not sure I do even. Some part of me still
want to die, to end the pain.
I
feel like I have failed everyone disappointed everyone. I have no honor. As I
said in a previous post “death before dishonor.”
There
seems to be nothing left but pain, hate, despair. Is that all I am? I think I
used to be something different. That part of me died a long time ago. I buried that
part of myself. Even found a place to bury it, perhaps not literally, but symbolically.
Whatever was left walked away. Broken, shattered, never the same. I wanted to go
to where that part of me is buried. I know the place, a small unmarked piece of
concrete probably unnoticed by most. Not by a small broken boy who died there
that day. That boy was me. I have my own grave. I feel like I’m dead in some
ways. What is left isn’t what I used to be. I have forgotten who I was.
Perhaps
this will be my last blog entry. I ended one blog all ready. A blog of my pain,
a blog probably hardly anyone read. Perhaps it is time to end this one too. I
just don’t know what to do anymore. I feel so alone, like the nightmares long
ago. Nightmares that I try to block out, possible memories of how I came to be
who I am.
If I don’t do any more cross dressing blogs, goodbye I guess I’ll keep doing my fashion articles, not even sure of that. Not
sure of anything anymore.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Hero?
I
was listening to the song we don’t need another hero. It seems our
world is falling apart. I don’t think I’m much of a hero, but I think I
have the heart of hero or heroine. Since I couldn’t think of anything
else to write, and to be honest I’m somewhat depressed. What kind of
hero would I be? Sometimes the outfit changes, but I know my hero. The
face of a warrior.
War paint, from times much gone by, it is my face.
The black for evil I see in myself. The white for the good, the yellow was
supposed to be a lightning bolt. This creation is based of my depression, my
hate, and my pain. I named him even. I named him Twisted Metal for a story, my story.
A story of a broken person, myself.
Marilyn
is his polar opposite; perhaps she is the white in the mask. If so Twisted is
the black.
In
this strange world that I may never understand I often think of the pain that helped
create me. If I can control the pain, the hate, perhaps I can do some good in
this hell we call home.
Marilyn
likes her dresses. So let’s a little playful with the hero today, the face
remains the same. Confuse people, make them possible doubt themselves, and
cause possible fear. The way of the warrior. All be it a very strange one.
For
a top a corset seems to feel right.
Pretty, yet possibly useful with the belt. If you have a
belt might as well use it!
Daggers are always handy. What is a warrior without a sword?
You can almost never have too many weapons though! So, some
little surprises for close battle.
Two tomahawks!
For
longer range a crossbow.
You might need something to protect your hands and forearms, so true gauntlet gloves.
A shield never hurts, and why not my favorite a one from Sparta!
Shield
It’s also a good idea protect your head!
I
couldn't find a skirt that I liked, but some possibilities are black or
purple leather or canvas. You want it belled and not tight fitting for
easy movement. You could also possibly hide your tomahawks under the skirt if you
wanted. If you wonder why leather or canvas they are pretty tough
fabrics, made for some abuse.
For footwear as a warrior, boots!
For pantyhose color black of course!
A
warriors jewelry is his or her scars, the blood of themselves, and the
enemy! Perhaps one of the strangest warriors or heroes in history. Yet,
there was Joan of Ark! Proves it is inside that counts, even if society
doesn’t accept you. As I wonder what the future will bring us, I hope
for the best and fear for the worst.
Love,
Marilyn
As
far as Twisted, well he hates almost everyone. Try not to take it
personally! He even hates himself if it makes you feel better.
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