Over on my Flickr pages, I was astounded to find a huge leap in daily viewngs yesterday - no less than 438, pushing the total viewings total since February 2009 to almost 66,000. Wow.
Analysis of those 438 viewings revealed that persons unknown had been ogling photos of me trying on swimming costumes, and other pictures revealing a bit more than usual of the dumpy Melford figure. Well, not quite unknown. A German cross-dressing person had obviously liked what she saw, and had made me a 'contact' of hers, which is the Flickr equivalent of following my blog. So now, whenever I upload new shots, she'll hope to get an eyeful of Melford bosom or whatever.
I'm not best pleased. It would be naive to deny that photos of female flesh, even my flesh, must always excite a reaction in some quarters. 'Tis the way of the world. But like any woman, I'd prefer it if the admiration came from someone I'd like to know, and for reasons that seem wholesome.
So (for instance) I'd be flattered if the Dunvant Rugby Club followed my blog or my Flickr pages and, in their lusty men's way, treated me as a pin-up girl. Thank you very much, boys, if you're doing that.
But I don't want attention from a cross-dressing person who takes poor photos of bits of herself wearing the usual cliche outfits, and blanks out her face. It recalls my early days of transition, when I briefly joined sites like TV Chix to see what they had to offer. It quickly seemed to me that these sites existed to bring people together for clandestine dressing, a kind of symbiotic mutual grooming, and, presumably, sex. So far as I was concerned, they had nothing to offer. I was already going about in public as Lucy Melford. I wore ordinary female clothing without resorting to special arrangements. And I did it without dire consequences. Nor was I interested in finding anybody for sex.
I saw plenty that saddened me. There were obviously quite a number of people on the internet living fantasy lives, and there were some socially inadequate persons also. And, more disturbingly, there were some strange persons whom I later learned to call 'predators' or 'tranny fanciers', people who were fixated on trans girls. Most must surely have been harmless, but a few could have been dangerous. In any event they were not the kind of people I'd choose for company.
So anyone who thinks I'm going to be turned on by shots of their stockinged legs in high heels, or their well-filled knickers, or their bra collection, is making an error. Nor am I impressed by talk of ten-inch willies or immense height. I'm just not that kind of girl. So go away please.