So do I want to join a Harem?

Which one's the eunuch?

Which one’s the eunuch?

Is it just me, or do all girls get the wildest, weirdest, most preposterous propositions all the time?  Or maybe it just happens to Tgirls?  Anyway, here’s the latest:

I’m sitting in a cafe in Florence with a girlfriend, and this Middle Eastern guy keeps staring at me.  I guess my top was pretty low-cut, but really — believe me! — I wasn’t at all being purposely provocative.  He wasn’t bad looking himself; and from his tailored outfit, you could tell he had money and taste.  So he sends this other guy (butler, employee?) over to our table to ask if I would like “an audience.”

Is the guy some kind of royalty?  Naturally, I’m intrigued.  So I go over to his table.  It turns out he knows who I am — has even read my blog!  And quickly he gets to the point:

“I wish for you to be my guest.”  He touches my hand and looks deeply into my eyes.  Then he motions to his butler sidekick to hand me an envelop and explain to me all the necessary details.

The envelope, I can sense, has money inside — but the ungodly amount I could never have guessed.  Stunned, I listen:

I have been invited to one of his palaces, where I will join other girls, perhaps 10.  Since I am the only girl who is not born a girl (and am still pre-op), I will first have to have an orchiectomy!  Not to worry: the castration will be performed by the very best surgeon.

“But if the prince is attracted to transsexuals like me, why must I be castrated?”

“A eunuch is allowed to join a harem, but a man is not.”

“Why not just go ahead and pay for my complete sex-change?”

“Because then you will no longer be special.”

TO BE CONTINUED>>>>>>

How to Love a Tgirl Who Writes

Please let me concentrate...maybe!

Please let me concentrate…maybe!

1.  I need alone time.  Your sexual needs are secondary to my need to sublimate my own considerable sexuality into my work.  Be patient.  The good time I’ll eventually show you will definitely be worth it!

2.  When I dress for work at my laptop, my attire may be sexy lingerie or even a French maid’s uniform — not for your voyeuristic pleasure but because feeling ultra frilly and feminine is so fun, even inspirational, for me.  Really.  For I’m my very own muse.

3.  You — and even your cock — might provide material for my work.  I will write the truth, even (especially) if you’re a lousy lover.

4.  I will flirt — and possibly even do a great deal more — with others in order to build a readership.  When it comes to art, the means always justifies the end.

5.  Let me chew and suck on a pencil or pen without your assuming I have unsatisfied oral urges.  My brain is just searching for the perfect word.  Really, I promise.  I’ll suck you later.

6.  When I’m not writing or reading, I’m probably making myself pretty for you.  Thus can be justified the time and expense spent getting my hair and nails done or going to gym.  Housework is another matter, however.  A desk whose surface is clean often spells a cluttered mind.  So don’t bug me about being messy, and I won’t nag you about your dried cum all over the bedsheets, in my hair, on my panties, or wherever…

Thanks for your understanding, sweetie….

Perfect "skin" for my laptop: Mermaid, Me!

Perfect “skin” for my laptop: Mermaid, Me!

Poetry

Validation!

Validation!

Wittgenstein’s Penis

There always comes the moment inevitable

As sunrise, unpredictable as the weather,

Partly cloudy and so suggestively hidden or maybe

Clear and bold and brazen and burning bright,

When up your skirt his hand

Slips, sticks, jabs, gropes, fumbles, feels

Around and around, higher, ever higher.

What’s a girl to do?  Nothing,

Relax and enjoy it, or disentangle

From his embrace but ever so

Gently, naughtily, so he’ll do it again.

Does it matter what you have on?

Absolutely!  Silly

Girl, encased in Wolford’s pantyhose enhanced

With a silk-lined Chanel skirt accentuating his

Rough, crude, muscular, callused hand, the awkward

Touch of his desire.

Prove you’re a woman, his hand demands.

He is, most men are, empiricist, logical

Positivist, penis philosopher, meaning

The only truth that can be known,

Tautological, a woman is that which embodies

Womanliness, softness that makes him hard.

The verity of materialism: nothing’s real,

Not even a pussy pudendum, unless

Unless

You can touch it.  Finger it,

Feeling the touch of it, like

Shopping for lingerie.  Never

Would I buy some underthingie without

First running it through my fingers, feeling,

Imagining the feeling, what he must feel,

The touch of a man’s hand with me in it.

A thong is a thing, and a cute thing is I in a thong.

Men want me to be their thing, to do their thing.

Yes, I’m a material girl, and I’ll open my legs,

Not, but my purse, to prove it.

See, silly man, there’s my Victoria’s Secret

Credit card, expiration 11/15, making me

An Angel, a card-carrying cunt.

For Ladies Only

Image

Knowing how to make men hard doesn’t necessarily translate into an understanding of the penis.

The latest sexting scandal to involve New York mayoral candidate Anthony Weiner (what an unfortunate name!) means that more and more perplexed women are asking me to help them understand “what’s up” with men and their penises.  Here’s what I say:

Imagine you’ve just stepped out of the shower, your hair shampooed, conditioned, and rinsed…and…and…

And you can’t get your stupid blow-dryer to work!  No matter what electrical outlet you try, you’re frustrated.  You stomp around the house…not one of the outlets works!

That’s what it’s like to have a penis!  You’re constantly looking for a place to plug it in.  (I wish I could take credit for that wonderful imagery, but I heard it from a stand-up comedian a while ago.)  It’s the best explanation I have when genetic girls (GG’s) ask me what it’s like to have a penis.

In theory, a special girl like me (who still has a penis!) would possess some kind of profoundly unique wisdom — and so could act as an honest broker in the endless war between the sexes.  But since my cock has always seemed to act just like a Big Clitty, I don’t know how much help I can really be.

Still, I’ll try…. so in coming posts I’ll share all my most private penis secrets.  I promise!

Decisions, Decisions….

Am I doing this right?  Posing for a camera is harder than you think!

Am I doing this right? Posing for the camera is harder than you think!

Do I dare? Go topless, that is. It’s commonplace — going topless — at beaches and spas around Europe. But, still, I worry and wonder.

Most men couldn’t tell — and wouldn’t care if they could — but I know most women could spot right away that I’ve had implants. “Not real,” their eyes would say. And if my boobs aren’t real, what else about me is not real, too?

I’m inviting needless scrutiny.

And then there’s this: I think tan lines from a bikini top are incredibly sexy. Don’t you?

The Facebook Effect

 

Sex Objects or Zombies?

Sex Objects or Zombies?

To say I’m a sex object is like admitting I’m a zombie.  Not an oxymoron exactly, but how can an object have self-knowledge?  How can it even know that it’s an object?  As for zombies, one of the classic definitions is “bereft of consciousness and self-awareness.”   Just an animated corpse, right?  I don’t know why I’m going on a riff about zombies when the subject (and object!) is sex, but anyway….

Hey, babe, how R U?  “Ping” goes the sound signaling a new instant message on my laptop. So annoying:  I must get hundreds a day, and if I try just ignoring them, the senders’ desire only intensifies and the pings grow more insistent.

Woke up thinking of you, baby, my cock so hard.  Another ping, different sender.

Bisou chère!  Yet another ping.  Anyway….

Most of my friends and followers are guys, of course.  “Followers” – that sounds so creepy, doesn’t it?  But no, surely it’s a positive thing, this term, with a meaning more like fans than stalkers.  And my fan base is truly global.  Anyway….

I don’t have a bimbo’s clue how it all works, with its computerized algorithms and whatnot.  All I know is that it does works.  Facebook, I’m talking about.  Just to take my smartphone and snap a self-shot in the bathroom mirror and post it on my timeline – saying something fatuous like, “In my new demi-bra and matching panty from Victoria’s Secret getting ready for work….” – and suddenly I have a score of new friend requests.

I want to ravish you!  Another message goes ping.

Yes, I admit it, I’ve fashioned myself into a sex object.  If that’s what it takes to get attention, then, yes, I proudly proclaim: I’m a sex object!  Plus, I must confess that it’s an incredibly good sensation — to know I’m so desired — as if I’m having sex 24/7.  It makes you feel so alive, truly alive, just the opposite of a silly zombie, right?

Already, in the six months I’ve been on Facebook, I have over 4,000 friends and thousands more followers.  I sometimes wonder how my life would be different if only I had gotten on Facebook sooner.  But like a lot of women who preferred to use their leisure time curled up with a good novel or flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine, I had smugly scorned the whole notion of what’s called “social media.”  Which seemed to have about much relevance to my real life as a zombie (there’s that word again!) or something equally outlandish.

Now everything has changed….

Counter-intuitive: Go Bulky to be Girly

Never too many or too bulky when it comes to bracelets!

Never too many or too bulky when it comes to bracelets and rings!

Young would-be Tgirls ask my advice all the time.  I’m happy to help.  It makes me feel good…except it also makes me feel old!

Often the questions are all about “passing.”  These questioners generally look like drag queens.  What gives them away, paradoxically, are their attempts to be ultra-femme.

But the sad fact is that dainty jewelry and long hair, for example, just accentuate the masculine.  The contrast is too sharp — drawing attention to rugged hands, thick neck, or whatever the very traits you’re trying so hard (too hard!) to disguise.

Only now, after countless facial feminization procedures, do I even dare to wear my hair long.  But there’s nothing I can do, alas, about my unfortunate hands, so lots of clunky bracelets and rings remain my preferred adornment.

e[lust]#47

Welcome to e[lust] – The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers (including Joy!) are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust].  Want to be included in e[lust] #48? Start with the newly updated rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates! (Joy’s post “Like a Virgin” is featured below!)

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

This Scene Called Life

I Don’t Give A Fig

9 Reasons You SHOULD Have Sex on a First Date

~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~

Firm
East Side Exhibitionism

~ Readers Choice from  Sexbytes ~

Threesomes: Being a Good Little Unicorn

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Non-Fiction

Sexentric News and Public Cam-Sex Report
The Play’s the Thing
Sadistic Bitch
It was a good night
Kink Chronicles – Panties
Quickie Afternoon Delight
“No, you don’t!” 
“Objectification” by Blacksilk
Best.Sex.Ever
So I Asked SilverHubby About Our Orgasms
For Pity’s Sake, No
Like a Virgin
Three Ashes
His Princess and His Slut
I hope my neighbors got a show.

Poetry

Watching
I want to know You
Once Upon an ‘O’

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Testosterone! Don’t Leave Home Without it!
Why Modeling Is Poison
Should
On the swingset
Achievement Unlocked
How To Make A Woman Orgasm
Mutual Masturbation is Mother****ing Awesome!
The Wonder of Weddings
Introvert recovery
May is International Masturbation Month
Make love to yourself

Erotic Fiction

Fighting Spirit
Dinner is Served
Lolita Twenty-Thirteen, Part Five
Belle and Sandy
Babygirl Gets Caught

Writing about Writing

Beauty and the kebab

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Return of the Vulcan Penis Problem
Masturbation Mishaps, Introduction
“For Novelty Use Only”
BDSM Lexicon Entry #24: Aftercare

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Mad Men: the dominance of Don Draper
Wicked Wednesday – Knowing When to Say No
Why Do I Like Being Owned?
The difference between BDSM & Abuse


elustbutton200

What’s up with my Titties?

Getting my attention....

Getting my attention….

When I decided to grow a pair of my very own breasts, no one told me how complicated and temperamental they would be.

Not that any such warning would have changed my tiny little mind!

I love them.  Guys love them.  What more can any would-be girl ask for!

Yet…and yet…sometimes it feels like they really don’t belong to me — but have minds (not so tiny!) of their own.

When they’re cold or the subject of “nipple play,” I can understand how they get erect…hard-ons…snap to attention…so hard and sharp, they seem like weapons.  I also understand psychological stimulus — like thinking about something sensual or sexual.  For these special tittie nerves, part of the autonomic nervous system, are instrumental in helping the body prepare for sexual activity.

But why, oh why — for seemingly no reason at all — do my nipples get especially sensitive at the most weirdly random moments?  And sometimes one tittie more than the other?

As the relative new owner of a pair of glorious breasts, I need to know why….

Some wise guy suggested: It’s a sign that I (though womb-less) might be pregnant!

The Ethical Slut

Do I or don't I?  Tell, that is.

Do I or don’t I? Tell, that is.

The handsome guy is ogling you, especially your boobs.

“They’re not real!”  You blurt out, followed by the sheepish explanation: “I got implants last year.”

I think all would agree that’s a stupid thing to volunteer, right?  Stupid, but maybe also the right thing to do?  For it would be ethically wrong not to reveal that which is false about you?

Without getting into the philosophical question of what’s really “real” nowadays, I do want to ask:

What’s the right thing to do for a Tgirl who passes?  Stay “stealth,” or feel morally obligated to announce to any would-be admirer:  “I”m not really real.  My clit is really big and looks like a cock.”

My girlfriends — they’re both real friends and real girls — think I should always play stealth.  They think it’s fun when we go clubbing.

What do you think?