In my recent post about my hurricane evacution experience (Reconsidering Stuff) I noted I was reevaluating my going about dressed as a woman. I’ve been doing this for years now without any confrontations, just indifference. But it’s also been years since we had a hurricane and forced into a confined space with CIS people.
If you could have seen the distaste oozing from their very pores. I wanted to shrivel up into a little ball like my sleeping dog. I tried to tell myself it was just concern over what the howling winds were doing to their homes, but I knew it wasn’t. It was me.
My thoughts are that is not right that I should force discomfort on others with my presence. It’s not particularly right that I adjust my own life just to please others, either. The truth is, I truly have a submissive personality. I always adjust to the desires of someone else. It’s just me. I know, I know, meek Isabella. Such a poor representative for the transgender community. <sigh>
A couple of days ago I drove around the Panhandle, all the way to Panama City Beach, checking out damage. I never left the car. I was uncomfortable the whole time. So today I scrounged around for whatever boy clothes I could find. Fetid, baggy, boy clothes to hide my girls in. Yuck! They are on the chair across from me as I type this. My Rachel the chiweenie is mashed against my hip, as usual, looking between me and the odd smelling items the short distance away. Even she doesn’t like them. At the very least I’d have to get something new.
I don’t know. I’m just looking. I tell myself I would still dress properly around the house, around my own property. That’s nobody’s business. It’s just public I would appear… not me. Shit. One problem with being a sub… it’s difficult to make a fucking decision.