Dec 11, 2006

Wither Wendy?

I'm kind of amazed that I shared that therapist story for a few reasons: 1) I had intended for my therapist -- my real therapist -- to possibly read this blog in order to get in touch with the things that I find most uncomfortable to talk to her about each week when I see her. Now that shall not come to pass. 2) I genenerally don't like to admit to my bisexual nature or my fondness for humiliation via feminization. Some folks get that mixed up and think that I get off on feminine garb. Not true. 3) I don't let "Wendy" come out and play very often.

When I was a tot -- probably about seven or eight years old -- I used to travel with my family to a tourist trap area of the state where we had a summer cottage. I don't know what triggered it but one night, as I lay in bed, I put myself to sleep with a fantasy about being on some kind of Western adventure at the local Rootin' Tootin' Cowboy park. The strange thing about my sleepytime dream is that the hero of our piece was a little filly with lasso and six-shooters named Wendy. And she was me.

Ever since then, when I've been with a person who enjoys seeing their submissive in panties, bra, or other feminine accountrements, and am asked to give a name to this feminine persona, I use "Wendy" as my nome de femme. Despite how this may sound, I don't have a split personality or a compartmentalized femme side. Wendy isn't an escape or a reality to me. She's a name for a freer me. Viva Wendy.

No comments: