Jack Strange's Blog - Posts Tagged "charity"
Baby Shoes Project
This is a piece of Flash fiction I wrote for a book that was released on February 17:
---------------------------------------------------------
Acceptance
I may be a man, but six months ago I undressed and put on a pair of lacy knickers. I could have managed without them, of course. After all, my underwear wouldn’t be seen and there was no-one around to judge me. I wasn’t going to venture out in public. But I’d judge myself, and I’d know that the creature I was creating wouldn’t be authentic if I didn’t wear the knickers.
I donned my corset. It does a good job of holding in my belly and it imparts the hint of a woman’s curves to my hips. Next came my falsies and bra. Then the dress.
At that stage I glanced at myself in one of the many full-length mirrors I keep in the attic. I looked like a middle-aged man in a woman’s clothing.
To complete the transformation I was after, I donned a wig and carefully applied makeup to my face.
I looked in the mirror again. I was no beauty, but I had at least become a woman, or something that resembled a woman.
Now you may think that I am gay, or transvestite, or a transsexual. I can assure you that I am none of these things. I am an artist pure and simple, an artist who wants to liberate and explore the female side of his nature.
I walked gracefully back and forth like the woman I had become, aping as best I could the sashaying motion of a young lady I’d seen in the pub earlier that day.
Then I glanced at the baby shoes on my sideboard. They were unused.
Theoretically, they were for my own baby, but of course I could never have a child. Biology and circumstance had seen to that. They had conspired against me.
I was coming to accept my fate: I could be a part-time woman, but I would never bring a child into this world.
A sad existence, but preferable to that of never acknowledging the deep-seated desire I had to explore my female side.
Later that day I took the baby shoes to a charity shop and the lady who worked there put them in the window for sale. She placed a sign next to them which made me feel like crying. It said: ‘For sale: baby shoes, never worn.’
I got over it, eventually.
I told myself: no more baby thoughts.
After that, whenever I went up to my attic, it was just me, alone, thinking feminine thoughts.
I had found a little bit more inner peace than I’d had while ever those baby shoes had been on my sideboard waiting in vain for someone to put them on.
---------------------------------------------------------
This story (or rather, a sligtly different version of this story) appears in the book "For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn". All royalties from the book are being donated to a charity.
You can find it here if you're curious:
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sale-Baby-Sh...
Amazon USA: https://www.amazon.com/Sale-Baby-Shoe...
---------------------------------------------------------
Acceptance
I may be a man, but six months ago I undressed and put on a pair of lacy knickers. I could have managed without them, of course. After all, my underwear wouldn’t be seen and there was no-one around to judge me. I wasn’t going to venture out in public. But I’d judge myself, and I’d know that the creature I was creating wouldn’t be authentic if I didn’t wear the knickers.
I donned my corset. It does a good job of holding in my belly and it imparts the hint of a woman’s curves to my hips. Next came my falsies and bra. Then the dress.
At that stage I glanced at myself in one of the many full-length mirrors I keep in the attic. I looked like a middle-aged man in a woman’s clothing.
To complete the transformation I was after, I donned a wig and carefully applied makeup to my face.
I looked in the mirror again. I was no beauty, but I had at least become a woman, or something that resembled a woman.
Now you may think that I am gay, or transvestite, or a transsexual. I can assure you that I am none of these things. I am an artist pure and simple, an artist who wants to liberate and explore the female side of his nature.
I walked gracefully back and forth like the woman I had become, aping as best I could the sashaying motion of a young lady I’d seen in the pub earlier that day.
Then I glanced at the baby shoes on my sideboard. They were unused.
Theoretically, they were for my own baby, but of course I could never have a child. Biology and circumstance had seen to that. They had conspired against me.
I was coming to accept my fate: I could be a part-time woman, but I would never bring a child into this world.
A sad existence, but preferable to that of never acknowledging the deep-seated desire I had to explore my female side.
Later that day I took the baby shoes to a charity shop and the lady who worked there put them in the window for sale. She placed a sign next to them which made me feel like crying. It said: ‘For sale: baby shoes, never worn.’
I got over it, eventually.
I told myself: no more baby thoughts.
After that, whenever I went up to my attic, it was just me, alone, thinking feminine thoughts.
I had found a little bit more inner peace than I’d had while ever those baby shoes had been on my sideboard waiting in vain for someone to put them on.
---------------------------------------------------------
This story (or rather, a sligtly different version of this story) appears in the book "For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn". All royalties from the book are being donated to a charity.
You can find it here if you're curious:
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sale-Baby-Sh...
Amazon USA: https://www.amazon.com/Sale-Baby-Shoe...
