Manliness is itchier than I had anticipated.

Today The Boy shaved using an electric razor and left a big pile of "hair dust" in the sink.  When I saw this, I did what any perfectly normal and well-adjusted 38-year-old woman would do: I smeared it on my face and neck to see how I'd look with badass Don Johnson stubble.

Answer: SMOKIN' HAWT.

Gender Wednesday: Poses.

I'm toying with the idea of doing regular "features" on my blog, so let's try this: on Wednesdays I'll make a post about crossdressing or gender.  Starting.............NOW!

The Boy, as I may have mentioned, enjoys presenting as female sometimes.  He likes to feel sexy and pretty, and regular boy-clothes don't really allow for that the same way fishnets and pleather do.

As for me, I've experimented with dressing as a boy once or twice - mostly out of curiosity and an urge to mess with people ("if I go out in public like this, will I pass?"), and partly to ramp up the contrast when The Boy is being The Girl.

The problem, though, is the photographs.

My hard drive has approximately fifty gazillion photographs of The Boy vamping it up in girl clothes.  He strikes all the archetypal "sexy woman"-type poses: crawling sexily across the floor, looking coquettishly over his shoulder, lying on his back with his legs in the air, and many, many more.

Also on my hard drive: approximately five photographs of me as a dude.  In them, I am striking all the archetypal "dude" poses: grabbing my crotch, giving the finger to the camera, and standing there with my arms hanging like salamis...and that's basically it.  I'd get The Boy to take more photos of dude-me, but they would all look just like those first five except with a different shirt.

Maybe the shortage of viable boy-poses is why drag kings seem so much rarer than drag queens: it's hard to be campy as a boy.  If you try to do a satire of manliness, you just end up leering and grabbing your wadded-up pants-sock every single time.  Meh.