18Sep / 2013

How to Love a Tgirl Who Writes

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!

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19Aug / 2013

The Serious Shemale

Instead of short shorts….

….What if my latest fashion purchase was referred to as “sea-level-rise-induced-by-global-warming hotpants,” would I then begin to be taken more seriously? Not that I pretend to be a real intellectual or anything, but still….

Why don’t people take us shemales seriously? Is it because we’re perceived as boys who just want to be bimbos? The truest and most authentic of bimbos who’re only interested in and motivated by sexy, dolled-up clothes — and, of course, sex itself?

But “regular” transsexuals — those who follow through on SRS (sex reassignment surgery) — are often treated with the utmost dignity and respect. (That is, obviously, except among Philistines and homophobes!)

Not only are transsexuals like Jan Morris (the travel writer and essayist) and Jennifer Finney Boylan (the English professor and author) greeted with respect, even awe — but also are considered intellectually serious thinkers worth paying attention to.

Part of the reason, of course, is that shemales are often associated with porn and prostitution. While I personally have never done porn, I readily confess to having worked as an escort (just a euphemism for prostitute!) But getting paid for sex (or often simply my companionship) did not deter my intellectual curiosity. To the contrary, I read more now — and am better-informed — than I’ve ever been. And each of my clients was like a richly nuanced character in the very greatest novels and/or a deeply layered case study in the most intense Freudian psychoanalysis.

My mission, then, is clear. It’s simple. You can guess what it is!

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04Aug / 2013

Poetry

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.

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02Aug / 2013

“Passing” Pains

Should one go shopping dressed like this?

In a remembrance I just wrote of my very first week living “full-time,” I found myself recalling how happy and thrilling it was:

http://www.wattpad.com/22008442-mermaid-me-chapter-4-24-7-my-first-week-as-a-woman#.UfrAKo3I1Lc

But that’s not the whole story, I now realize. Memories are tricky, and it’s easier not to recall the pain.

Especially painful was the ridicule I risked whenever I was caught not “passing” as a real woman. By the time I started living “full-time,” I had enough practice — not to mention invaluable coaching from both T- and Genetic-Girl enablers! — to fool just about anybody. But, before that, I had my share of mortifying missteps.

The worst were around children, running in packs: “Look! It’s a man! A man dressed up like a woman!”

Children, not yet “civilized,” say exactly what they think. So the horrible conclusion — which, thankfully, I didn’t draw at the time — is that a lot of adults must have “read” me, too. They were simply too polite to say or do anything but ignore me.

But now that I know I pass I never want to be ignored — and dress accordingly!

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26Jul / 2013

For Ladies Only

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!

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23Jul / 2013

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?

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18Jul / 2013

The Facebook Effect

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….

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01Jul / 2013

Shopping for Meaning

The Thinker?

For answers to life’s most enduring mysteries, go shopping. I have my best, most profound thoughts while trying on clothes in a store’s fitting room — all alone, just me and the mirrors, and clothes,of course, lots and lots of clothes, different styles, different looks, different sizes!

As many choices, seemingly, as there are stars in the universe….

From the suits the sales associate has left with me, I slip on the cobalt blue, raw-silk skirt. It fits perfectly. But the matching jacket is another matter — much too tight around the shoulders!

This happens to me a lot. For there are no hormone therapies or surgical procedures that can diminish my studly broad shoulders. When the store offers the jacket and skirt as a pair that cannot be sold separately, the ethical dilemma becomes:

Do I tell the sales associate that I need to mix and match? Or do I just do it? (And secretly hope that the next customer will have the opposite problem to mine, namely narrow shoulders and broad hips!)

The disembodied voices coming from the adjacent stalls are of no help. The chatter belongs to women who have their own consequential choices to make.

It’s dangerous to have too much time to try on clothes. The temptation is to luxuriate in the possibilities, to experiment with endless looks as if a teenager. Then the paralysis of perfectionism sets in. Before you know it, the morning’s gone.

But the world has kept on spinning:

There’s news chatter about the U.S. “alienating its European allies,” and I think of ugly clothes that don’t turn heads.

“Actionable intelligence” sounds like a snug micro-miniskirt.

And “the end of history” must mean androgyny and unisex (sooooo boring) fashion.

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24Jun / 2013

Before and After

Before Hormones

After Hormones, But Before Implants

These pictures were in one of my Facebook Photo Albums — until yesterday! — when Facebook suggested I delete the image showing the breasts I had grown. Within the context of the truly obscene images often floating around Facebook, my picture seems more appropriate to a medical textbook or an art studio.

Apparently just one person filed a complaining report. Who is this unnamed person? This anonymous accuser? Was she truly offended by the image — or just doesn’t like me?

What ax is she grinding? What hidden agenda? I will never know.

I just assume the complainer is a woman or another Tgirl, don’t you agree?

The poor women accused of witchcraft not so many centuries ago — I now have an inkling of how they must have felt. To be banished or burnt at the stake — simply on the word of another woman.

Anyway, that’s quite enough woe-is-me whining….

The before-and-after pictures demonstrate the effects — after almost two years’ treatment — of estrogen transdermal patch and oral finasteride.

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21Jun / 2013

Counter-intuitive: Go Bulky to be Girly

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.

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Tgirl Confidential

Category Archives: shemale

How to Love a Tgirl Who Writes

The Serious Shemale

Poetry

Wittgenstein’s Penis

“Passing” Pains

For Ladies Only

Decisions, Decisions….

Shopping for Meaning

Before and After

Counter-intuitive: Go Bulky to be Girly

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