Firstly, and for the record: of the 4,500-plus photos currently on this Flickr site — with well over 58 million views of little old me — all but a very small handful were taken by myself.

I don’t know about you, but I find that rather noteworthy. Don’t you?

I still see myself as very much an “in-the-closet” crossdresser, who nevertheless absolutely loves the feeling of the wind catching under a summer dress — even when, strictly speaking, it isn’t all that warm outside. I don’t honestly believe I can pass as a genuine woman in a crowd, but at a little distance, I suppose I can be quite passable. And yes, every now and then I do get the urge to take a walk among everyday people. I even have a few pictures in my collection to prove it. Those little outings almost always leave me unbelievably exhilarated — and, quite unexpectedly, rather blissful.

So please, do take a look through my pictures. What say you?

I simply love it when viewers leave comments. It is, after all, what “girls” like us live for. And it still seems quite unbelievable to me that since launching myself here in 2009, my alter ego has been looked at — as I mentioned earlier — by more than 58 million viewers.

I also love being favourited. But why is it, dear admirers, that so many of you add a picture to your favourites without saying why? Please, girls and boys, do tell me what made that particular picture worth saving in your own personal collection. A few words can make all the difference.

I would still like to think of myself as a “lady” in her middle-aged prime — admired, desired, and occasionally, when the mood is right, just a little bit misbehaved with. Then again, when exactly does middle age quietly surrender and become plain old age? All right, I admit it: I am old. If the truth be known, I am more than well into my seventies.

Anyway, despite being way over — and I do mean way, way over — the halfway mark, I still adore short skirts and dresses, high heels and stay-ups. Pantyhose, however? No thank you. These days I simply cannot get my head around them. I suppose that must mean I am still young at heart.

I also refuse, perhaps rather stubbornly, to fully embrace the mature look that my age might otherwise dictate. I would absolutely love to have a helping hand with my make-up. I honestly don’t know how you girls do it. It takes time. Good heavens, does it take time. Still, most of the time, it is fun. And time is a strange thing: I seem to have it in abundance, and yet somehow, at the very same time, far too little of it.