Vagina Envy

So, as my tens of readers have noticed, there hasn't been any significant Molly blogging in a couple of weeks. I've been bogged down with work and holidays and a bunch of other emotional bullshit that leaves precious little time for Our Girl. Hell, I haven't even dressed in two weeks and my manscaping is a fucking shambles, I look like a shag carpet with mange. Aside from that, I've had a distinct lack of drive to actually dress, and the reason for it is something I haven't run into before. Sure I've had dry spells in the few years I've been dressing, but this feels different and is tied to something else. Tied deeply to my needs and reasons for dressing.

So, as much as I like dressing and being Molly for a day, I don't actually want to be a woman. Not fore real, not permanently. I want to be a woman in the way I want to be a pirate or an astronaut or, hell, why go small, a space pirate. Because it's fun and satisfying and it feels really good to pretend. Something I can put on and take off and still be me at the end of the day. Sure I fantasize about actually physically becoming a woman, but it's always just for a day or two, never forever. I just want to dress up and be pretty and feel good and wear heels and enjoy the feeling for a while. Now though, this incredibly insidious feeling has crept up on me that I'm going to call, for lack of a better term, Vagina Envy.


I've been noticing lately that I'm paying attention to womens' clothes in a much different way than I had before. Now I'll see a pretty girl in a killer outfit and at first I'll think, "I must have that top/coat/skirt/dress/bag/etc." Immediately followed by the thought that I'd never look as good in that as she does. Then I get all depressed and discouraged and want to box up all my clothes and spend an evening with a carton of ice cream and a bottle of whiskey. See, all of a sudden I'm getting this feeling that no matter how much work and time I put into becoming Molly, I'm still, at the heart of it, a dude in a wig and heels and therefore a fraud. Like I don't have the right to wear a nice broadcloth skirt and a pair of tights and I'll make someone mad because I haven't earned it or don't deserve it because I'm a fake. I'm afraid that I'll be attacked by a pack of enraged women who'll snatch off my wig and kick the crap out of me for wearing their clothes like someone caught wearing a gang's colors who isn't part of the gang.

Now, obviously this is connected with a lot of my other psychological bullshit, but it's affecting my enjoyment of being Molly, at least somewhat. I look at my makeup and my cute clothes and think to myself, "Why bother?" when not a month ago I was painting my nails and slobbering over shoes over on Shoebuy. The thing is, I've got lady friends that I'm out to. Women who I've hung out with as Molly. One friend of mine just told me she misses Molly and wants to hang out soon. Does that sound like someone who is offended? I don't know. Figuring out my relationship to my gender identity and crossdressing is such a minefield, and I feel like I'm out there with just a dollar-store metal detector and a pen knife to help me navigate it.