At the end of July, I posted Followers. I said I didn't like that word and I still don't. It implies responsibility. Or maturity. or some -ity I don't think I have.
In that long-ago post, I asked readers to drop me a note at youCanCallMeMeg@gmail.com. Post a comment if you'd like to be more public (or more anonymous: post a comment with the word PRIVATE at the top and I'll read it and not approve it).
It's a stupid request.
My on-line friends know I'm way behind on my e-mail right now, and I'm asking for more. But I've told all. And I'd love to know who I'm telling all to.
Tell me your story, even if you think "my god. It's the same as the other 10,000 crossdressers", even if it's just "I started at 5 with my sister's tights. Nobody knows." If you are a t-gurl, tell me where you are on your journey, and what's next for you.
If you're a g-girl, please tell me why you're here. And send lingerie. :)
And if you're outside the t-community, I'd really like to know why you're reading. It can't be my exquisite prose.
I'm open to questions, and I'll answer anything. OK, I said I've "told all" but I haven't. There are one or two things I can think of that I consider secrets. And I've already explained my attitude towards secrets. But I'll tell you I can't tell.
Tomorrow's post will be about the Day After Mardi Gras 2005. This is a picture from that day. As usual, click it to enlarge it. And I've tried that "click to enlarge" and I can tell you it did NOT work on my boobs. :(
