Friday, December 01, 1995

Diary: Deconstructing Transvestism

Having been far too immersed in literary criticism lately, I have come to realize exactly (or close to it at least) what this strange desire for transvestism is.  Naturally, I have had few desperate urges for it, ever since I stole that bathing suit, which, I am glad to report, I am now wearing, much to my delight.

I must have discussed somewhere in this vast journal of drag that I want to imagine myself as the best possible person, and since I hold females in such high regard, I want to regard myself, at times, as female.  The gratification is paramount when I can completely transform myself into a woman while I masturbate.  So I wear girls' clothes while I masturbate, and relish in imagining myself as being worthy of wearing them.  Deep down, I know that I'm not, because I'm hairy, brutish, and my big cumbersome dick demands to be titillated.  There's irony in that.

Essentially, I have concluded that transvestism deconstructs gender roles.  I am a man, and publicly, I must display my masculinity, consciously and unconsciously; but privately, I long to be a woman, and display my femininity, physically and spiritually.  The gender roles are so strong that to make sense of them, one must understand their opposition.  Being a man, I must strive to understand what role I must play; and to understand it, I must slip on the little silkies and lace and become a woman, to find out what I should not be.  So as I play around with panties and swimsuits, I am hovering around that line between masculinity and femininity: my physical body remains male, but mentally, I not only become female, but I revel in femininity.  From a physical standpoint, I am male, but from a mental standpoint, I am female.  That may be inaccurate, but hey, it's supposed to be.  I can't capture it in words.  That's the main idea behind deconstruction anyway.
Sadly, this takes all the fun out of it.  Maybe that's why I've sort of lost interest.  But I always come back, even when I don't intend to.  I find myself fantasizing aabout S__ a lot lately, and I start masturbating about having sex with her.  But it doesn't feel quite so good.  It takes a long time to finish, for one thing, but that's actually good in a way.  But it's not as titillating, not as fulfilling.  I find myself succumbing to thoughts of wearing an anonyous, faceless woman's lingerie, and finish myself gloriously.  I want to go now, and thoroughly enjoy my swimsuit.  I want it to last forever.  I want to be at least part girl forever.  I want to go on to the other side, not permanently long for it from this distance.  All I can do is try, by turning myself feminine, but I know that it won't work.  Femininity calls, must go. . .

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