Harem Girl (Part 2): Pros and Cons

Which one's the eunuch?

Which one’s the eunuch?

Is it because I was born a boy that I am now Super Rational Girl?  What I mean to say is: Do I still put too much stock in reason as opposed to emotion — always being analytical as opposed to just listening to my newfound woman’s intuition?  Who knows?  

But whatever the explanation, my brain just won’t let me be the bimbo that I want to be!  So as much as I found appealing the idea of actually joining a real-life harem, I quickly made a mental calculation of all the pluses and minuses:

On the plus side, was the money, obviously, that I had been offered.  But perhaps even more enticing was the chance for the uniquely feminine camaraderie being just one of the harem girls — being pledged into a secret sorority, as it were!

A definite minus, however, was the undefined, open-ended nature of what I was getting into — would I be able to leave when I wanted, or was I potentially enslaving myself?  Sex slave sounds sexy…until it’s not!

But before I even got to dress up in my harem costume, or whatever, I would have to have an orchiectomy, my would-be master had insisted.  I’d still be a pre-opt Tgirl, but minus my two balls!  This prospect, too, had its own balance sheet:

On the pro side, no longer would I have to take a daily testosterone blocker.  Henceforth, my good, old faithful estrogen patch would be all I ever need.

On the con side, however, if I ever go through with the actual surgical sex-change, some of the best doctors prefer that the scrotum be fully in tact — providing more material to work with in fashioning a vagina.

And perhaps most important: I think a pre-opt Tgirl, like a candy bar, is just plain sexier with nuts!  That’s yummy me!

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!

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?

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!

Featured in e[lust] is my Blog!

Aug152013

 

cheekyminx  Photo courtesy of  Love Hate Sex Cake

Welcome to e[lust] – The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers 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] #50? Start with the newly updated rules, come back September 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

 

A pill for that?

When I Get Annoyed, Shit Happens.

The Dildo Wars- Dildology & Doc Johnson

 

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Sense, Sensibility and Censorship

Triggers, Asses and Subby Places.

 

~ Readers Choice from  Sexbytes ~

There is no Freedom Without Risk

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!

Blogging

Decisions, Decisions….
Voyeurism Rant About Blogger/WordPress & Host

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY IS OFFENSIVE
Beautiful Rope Work – Easier than you think
Kinky Assumptions
As I promised…a singletail video!
Bootblacking
Chronic Fatigue and BDSM
NSA BDSM: Failure and Success
Supporting your dominant’s dominance
How to Get Your Boyfriend to Spank You

 

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Rabbit Vibrators: How to measure for fitting
Acting! Thank You!
TItty Fucking
What’s Wrong With Sexy Scientists?

Erotic Non-Fiction

Keep Me Nasty
No Safewords
Being on the Ropes
The Lead Up
My Birthday Spankings#BirthdaySpankingsforRei
More Like An Earthquake
Lessons
Stag at a sex party
A Fan of Fans
Let the rain come
Gangbang Club
The Polka-Dot Dress
Dinner for Two

Erotic Fiction

The (Not So) Innocent
Master’s Bad Day
When She Comes
Summer Storm
Lolita Twenty-Thirteen, Part Seven
Eight Ball
A Hole in the Pack

 

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

He hears me.
Why Doesn’t She Respond to Cunnilingus?
I Don’t Rape.
5 Reasons Straight Men Fear MFM Threesomes
Cap D’Adge and swinging
Boys & Their Toys
Anal Sex is Motherf***ing Awesome
Words of Wisdom
Seeing Red

 


elustbutton200

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.

“Passing” Pains

Should I go shopping dressed like this?

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!

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?

Shopping for Meaning

The Thinker?

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.