12Jun / 2013

What’s up with my Titties?

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!

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07Jun / 2013

The Ethical Slut

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?

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05Jun / 2013

Cover Girl!

Yes? No? Maybe?

Many of my blog posts will soon be woven into a new book. A memoir, you could say…. with yours truly playing the part of a post-modernist Moll Flanders.

Remember Moll? The naughty but endearing 18th Century slut created by Daniel Defoe, who also authored Robinson Crusoe. My adventures may seem tame by comparison — or maybe not!

Anyway, the publisher is pondering what kind of cover would be best. What do you think of the sample pictured here? It leaves a lot to the imagination…. which is the point, don’t you think?

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03Jun / 2013

Getting My Attention

I want you to want me. Now what?

Now that I’ve got your attention (short shorts never fail!), the question becomes:

How do you get my attention? That is, how do you get my Big Clitty hard and my would-be cunt wet and wanting to know more?

Catcalls — or the instant message equivalent (“Whassup, sexy!”) — may be flattering but don’t do much to distinguish you from the horny herd.

“Where you from, you sexy thang….” That pickup line is as old as the rock lyrics. Even less imaginative: “How R U?”

I’m not about to presume to tell you guys how to do your job, but here’re some gentle suggestions:

Engage my mind. Tease me with your wit. Make me curious to want to know you more.

Of course, you can always buy me a gift. For good girls like me, guilt never fails as a motivator. Maybe I won’t end up saying “yes,” but at least I’ll pay attention.

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28May / 2013

Like a Virgin: Part 2

I’m ready, so please do what must be done to my pussy ass….

I can remember the moment precisely, the exact words that came out of my mouth when my shrink began our regular weekly session by asking how I was feeling:

“I need to be filled.”

The words just spilled out of my mouth. I hadn’t rehearsed, I hadn’t reflected. Never had I acknowledged this feeling, much less articulated it:

Yes, I wanted — indeed, needed! — to be fucked in the ass.

Until that moment, this carnal desire was a well-maintained secret, especially to me. My consciousness always felt a disdain, disgust even, toward anal sex. It seemed to have about as much appeal as a prostate exam or colonoscopy. Plus it was dirty.

But now, having lived full-time as a woman and ingested girlie hormones for nearly a year, I suddenly felt empty, incomplete. Not psychologically, but physically. Deepthroating — which I loved! — would never satisfy my hunger. I needed something more, much more.

The shrink always looked especially wise when he nodded, and he was now nodding vigorously. “What do you mean exactly?” he didn’t have to ask. Not only did he understand, but also I was apparently validating all his long-held theories about male-to-female transsexuals.

So it was that, with the good doctor’s tacit encouragement, I began my anal experiments: tampons, butt plugs, beads, dildos, enemas, lubricants….

My boyfriend at the time, very patient and practiced, helped. The fact that he had a so-enormous-it-was-scary cock helped, too, curiously enough. Sure, it was plenty painful, particularly at first.

But I can’t begin to communicate how incredibly exciting it was to keep the visual image of his huge, thick, hard cock in my mind while he plowed me.

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23May / 2013

Like a Virgin: I Wish!

Girlfriends make the truest co-conspirators!

Who knows if I’ll ever actually get married? To be legit in a lot of places, I’d have to have a sex-change first. In the meantime, a girl who was born a boy can play make-believe bride all she likes, right? And without the heavy commitment of real wedding vows!

“Blushing bride” is the fantasy I play most and best. With a little bit of help from my giggling girlfriends — I mean, bride’s maids! We get my hair done, try on gowns…. And all my intimate apparel must be in the purest white, of course.

For in this fantasy, this one-act play, I’m always a virgin!

It brings back the most delightful, almost childlike, memories: recalling the anticipation as much as the act! To be fucked for the very first time in my Tgirl pussy (i.e., my ass!). I knew it would be painful probably; how much, I had no idea. Would the designated groom be gentle, a good teacher?

Anxiety mixed with excitement is an erotic elixir! And what innocent sense of wonder: would I discover such pleasure as I never knew before, so that henceforth I could never be fucked enough?

The answer is obviously a resounding yes! That’s why, even though proud slut that I am, I’ll still always be a make-believe virgin!

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16May / 2013

Is Sexting Sexy?

Do you like my hair color?

All bodies are, of course, flawed (especially mine!). Is that why I never pose totally nude for the camera? Maybe. But more:

It’s easier to be sexier when partially — indeed, even fully — clothed. I’m not saying anything new, of course. So the question is: why do guys I hardly even know keep sending me digital close-up’s of their penises?

If they’re simply exhibitionists, I could understand. But most of them apparently think it’s the equivalent of sending me a dozen red roses — a way to win me over, seduce me, make me want to suck and fuck them.

It’s become a pet peeve of mine — these penis pictures. Oh, how I long for a suggestive photo of an ever hardening bulge in an attractive man’s well-tailored pants! Now, that’s something I could happily imagine wrapping my mind — and my lips! — around.

“Imagine” is the operative word. Leaving some things to the imagination is what the very best, most erotic, sex is all about. Frisson, anticipation, creative tension, stories to be told, narratives to be developed, yearning/longing to be explored, bodies to be made beautiful.

So “upskirt” I’ll do — and I’ll have fun doing it, flashing a crotch shot while clad in a chic bodysuit. But a clinical, pantyless, between-the-legs close-up — no thanks! I’ll spare you.

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05May / 2013

Fantasy Girl!

Of course, girls like horseback riding, silly!

A fantasy girl, that’s me, according to a lot of guys. I’m “that girl with something extra!” — the description alone can make those same guys drool.

But what about me? Can’t I have fantasies, too! Sex objects are people, too, aren’t we? So here goes:

I want to be fucked by a stallion. That’s not to say that I haven’t already been fucked by lots of guys who consider themselves human stallions. (Some were, some weren’t…but that’s a discussion for another time.)

I’m talking about a real stallion. Yes, a horse! A horse, of course!

Isn’t that what they say Catherine the Great did? And some people would call me a queen (of the queer kind), right?

But to be honest and practical, I’m sure I’m simply not big enough to actually take the cock of a horse. I would probably be split in half and painfully killed.

Still, it’s fun to imagine — to fantasize about….

And the fantasy wouldn’t be complete without a lot of horny guys standing around watching me and the horse go at it. Their eyes popping out — marveling at the size of the horse and my ability to take it — as the ever hardening bulges in their pants pop out, too.

I’m resigned that my fantasy will never actually happen. So I must content myself with traditional horseback riding. That feels good, too (any girl must admit!), so good, with my legs tightly wrapped around the leather saddle. And, in case you didn’t know, the pommel of the saddle works just like a high-powered vibrator!

Horny guys can still watch (and drool) as I post and canter, with my crotch sliding hard against the pommel and my hips going up and down, up and down, up and down, clad in the skin-tightest of jodhpurs cum scrumptious boots. Up and down….

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22Apr / 2013

Look at Me

Someone needs a new smartphone!

To see yourself as others see you? Or to create the self you want others to see? Either way, you’re an object — most likely, a sex object! So how to explain the proliferation of so-called “self-shots” on the Internet?

Two methods are most common: (1) photographing a reflection in the mirror; (2) photographing one’s self with the camera in an outstretched hand. A third (pre-smartphone) method involves using a traditional camera’s timer or remote-controlled shutter release.

Before photographs there were paintings, of course. That’s when mirrors — or reflections in things like silver teapots, in 15th Century Europe — to capture one’s own image were first employed. Interestingly, almost all significant women painters, much more often than their male counterparts, have left examples of self-portraiture.

These self-portraits of artists open a fascinating window, critics have found, into the self-perception of people with psychological issues typically associated with artistic temperaments.

But what of today’s nude or provocatively clad self-portraitists? What are our psychological issues?

These advertisements for one’s self often convey a strong sense of narrative — as mundane as the style and color of the undies we choose to wear on a particular day to vignettes of fantasy, role-playing, and fiction.

The fact that I am brazenly offering myself up — rather than being secretly seen by a third-party observer/photographer — might make me an even more desirable sex object?

For I’m asking for it, right?

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13Apr / 2013

Reflections: What the Mirror Sees

Don’t you just love the Wet Look Legging Look!

When I look in the mirror, whom/what do I see?

More interesting question: who is the “I” behind the eyes?

Do the eyes belong to the horny teenage boy I once was? Wow, what a hottie!

Or has my vision now been altered along with the rest of my body? I like it when you think I’m hot!

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