-noun

A tendency to display one’s abilities or to behave in such a way as to attract attention. So you may have noticed that I’m somewhat of an exhibitionist.  No I don’t go showing off my genitals.  But I do go showing off.  Not even so much showing off as just trying to elicit shock.  For some reason I feel like the world has collectively fallen asleep, and I want to wake people up. In person you might never notice that about me.  It depends on what mood you catch me in.  Often in person I’m introverted.  I’m quiet.  You could maybe even use the word shy, but that’s not quite right. The reality is that in person, I just don’t tend to care for bullshit.  I don’t want to talk about the weather.  I don’t want to just chit-chat. But, if you prove to me that you too are awake, then we can really talk.  And you’ll find that in actuality I’m a very animated person who just converves energy when there’s nothing worth expending energy on. I’m not so much introverted as just … waiting. The joy of the internet is that I don’t have to wait.  If I want to talk about something, I write a post.  Or I do a tag search.  With so many people out there on line, you can find pretty much anything and everything on the internet. And since the internet is a pretty no-holds-barred place, I don’t tend to waste my time with pretending to be proper.  If I want to write about sex, I’ll write about sex.  If I want to show off my legs, I’ll show off my legs.  (Or something like that.) Now, of course, I have my limits.  I’m no hussy.  My junk stays in my trunk.  But yes, you can at least enjoy the packaging. Do I do it because I get some sexual thrill?  Honestly?  Completely and totally honestly?  No.  I really don’t get any sexual gratification from showing you a picture of me in drag, or even in underwear. I know.  It’s hard to believe. But honestly, I really don’t think you get any sexual gratification from it either.  I mean look at me.  If that makes you hard, or wet, or whatever, then you’ve probably got issues as bad or worse than me.  And if you do, I really don’t mind.  Whatever floats your boat. But I’m not doing it for you.  And I’m certainly not doing it for sex. What I am doing it for, is me.  The real me.  The me inside that doesn’t get to come out and play.  The me that just wants to be a part of the world, in some way.  In any way. If I go walking down Main Street in a dress, I’m not likely to be accepted.  And that will hurt my ego, and make the real me sad. But if I go walking down the internet in drag … who the fuck cares?  That’s the beauty of the internet!  We’ve all seen it before!  **LOL**  So my ego stays relatively unbruised, and I get to step out of that closet for a brief twirl. It’s a balm to my psyche. And in the process, maybe I can push, just slightly.  Maybe I can sneak in something to wake you up.  To open your eyes.  To realize that the world isn’t black and white, but full of splendorous colors.  Colours even.  Since when is American English the only right English?  It’s a wonderful world! And I invite you to join in.  Let your inner you out to play.  Fart in the face of the sleeping dog.  Don’t just leave it lie! And in the mean time, I invite you to look at my pussy.

Meow!

My underwear drawer is so colorful!

Okay, so this might seem like a strange way to start a post.  But there are times when I can’t think of a better way to explain me.  This is my underwear drawer.  Just look at the variety in there.  And all that you see is men’s underwear.  Bikinis.  Always  bikinis. Now, you’re probably thinking WTF.  Or wondering why.  Well, I can’t help with the former.  But I’m getting to the latter. Why?  To me underwear are one of the most important things you’ll ever wear.  They’ve got to be sexy.  They’ve got to be interesting.  There’s nothing scarrier than an old worn-in pair of white briefs!  Ugh!  You won’t find that here! No, here you find bikinis because they look good, they hold things in so that they don’t sway around, and most of all they’re small enough to not accidentally show over your jeans.  Bikini is where it’s at for me.  I grant some people would rather have the freedom of boxers.  If that’s what works for you, that’s fine.  I’m okay with that.  Sometimes I’ll even wear them myself, especially if they’re silk.  Tidey-whities however must go.  They’re just a bane upon humanity.  :p Okay then, but why so many colors?  Because I enjoy variety.  Because I like to try to match my underwear to my shirt.  Because.  Just … because. It doesn’t matter that no one gets to see them.  It doesn’t matter that I’m not going to model them for folks.  I do it for me. And this, my friends, is how I have always been. It defies reason.  No sane man thinks this way.  No sane man tries to collect wonderful new colors.  No sane man even cares.  They don’t even wear clean undies until they’ve turned them inside out and gotten them dirty on both sides! (Sorry, I’m shuddering too.) This is how I know that I’m … well … me.  I’m not all man.  Only my genes are male.  Or something like that.  Inside, I’m woman.  And in so many little ways it just pokes through in my personality, in my life.  And that makes me the weird confusing non-gendered blend that I am.  I am all things.  I am … me.