02Aug / 2014

Am I Pretty or Ugly?

Do you like my hair?

POU? Pretty or Ugly, am I? Hot or Not?

Girls just old enough to know how to post to YouTube create video selfies posing that question. Often the responses are so downright cruel as to cause possibly permanent damage to a young girl’s budding identity. As for special girls like me, the only relevant question is much more basic, even base:

Am I fuckable or not?

A more lady-like way of asking the same question is this:

Do you like my hair?

On the subject of hair and fucking, August is the hardest month, what with all the heat and the humidity. The better, the sweatier the fuck, the more likely my latest trip to the expensive salon is all for naught…my hair, so carefully coiffed and styled, is now ruined, absolutely ruined. What to do?

Some girls I know invest in satin pillowcases, so they no longer have to worry about frizzy “sex hair.” The silky fabric won’t rough up your hair like cotton pillowcases do, no matter how rough the play. Another way to accomplish the same end is simply to be the dominating girl on top, so the sweaty sheets won’t ever touch your pretty-perfect locks.

For a girl like me who’s not afraid of a lot of makeup — even using a face primer, which smooths texture, boosts coverage and helps makeup wear better and last longer — I understand there’s a similar product for your hair, called Prime Style Extender. I think I’ll ask my trusty hairdresser about this, whether it truly can ensure my style lasts through the sexiest of encounters.

Another solution is simple enough: good old-fashioned braids! Whether your hair’s in cornrows, French braids, or fishtail, you won’t be afraid to get a little wild. Sure braids can get a little messy during your romp, but afterwards when you comb them out, you’ll have a super sexy wavy hairstyle! All the more sexy given the secret knowledge of the naughtiness you’ve been up to!!

Finally, my favorite: the ponytail. When I throw my hair up in a ponytail, I know I’m ready to get down to business! And I do mean get down! It’s the best for giving head. Your hair’s back away from your face, so even if your guy’s into giving you facials, no cum will goo it up. And a ponytail gives a guy a convenient handle to push and pull your head to achieve maximum satisfaction.

Besides — and best of all! — a classic ponytail is really cute.

Permalink 40 Comments

21Jul / 2014

Positive Reinforcement!!!

Practice Makes Perfect….

For special girls like me, blowjobs come naturally…. we’re intimately familiar with the body part that we’re putting in our mouth! But for other girls, practice is sometimes required:

Lollipops. Tootsie pops. Popsicles. It’s important to get used to the idea of always having something enjoyable between your lips…. For still other (more imaginative!) girls, take a listen to the inventor of the so-called BJ-MATIC:

“Blowjobs are one of my favorite activities. It’s a total power trip, you can keep a guy totally within your power with just a little licking and slurping. Beg, plead and squirm, he’ll do ANYTHING rather then risk a girl stopping. And what could be more fun then that? I’ve always had very good technique,licking along the length of the shaft or tickling the underside of the head with my tongue…. Good hollow cheeked suction and ball handing skills. Since I’m enthusiastic and enjoy it a great deal that makes it much better for a guy, I think.

“The only thing I was never able to do was deep throat. I don’t choke or anything but it just never seemed to fit back there.

“I consider giving a good BJ a point of personal pride. So I decided some practice was in order. Taking advantage of a pretty good education in the sciences, I built a device to make that practice much more enjoyable and offered encouragement while I worked to perfect my oral abilities. I built the BJmatic. It basically works like this:

“I slide the dildo all the way down my throat until my nose presses a switch on the wooden board. This turns a vibrator on for 8 seconds. After 8 seconds it turns off. There has to be a delay because I need time to pull out a little and breath. Since the vibrator is being held against my clit, that offers a powerful incentive to keep in a steady rhythm and to keep depressing the switch with by nose. Once I can keep the vibrator from turning off during the 5 to 10 minutes it takes for me to come I then move the dildo out so it has to slide father down my throat in order for my nose to hit the switch. I’ve been practicing a lot so I think when the time comes the lucky guy is going to be plenty happy!”

http://www.asian-exhibitionist.com/TGP/Kiko/BJmatic/kikowu.htm

Permalink 1 Comment

09Jan / 2014

Men I Have Known: Chapter 1

Now that I'm respectable, I can reflect....

Looking “respectable” belies my memories….

The turning of the New Year invites reflection; and the thought occurs that time’s passage has, for me, been punctuated not with the ticking of clocks or turning of calendar pages but, rather, with all the different lovers I’ve known. “Lovers” might be too grand a word, for many of these men I’ve known, when I was escorting, for only an hour or so. And some I’ve come to know now only virtually, via the Internet.

Whatever I call them, they are someone else’s son, brother, father, boyfriend, husband even. It’s said that, no matter how intimate, you can never really, really know someone.

So I may not be privy to the day-to-day life of the man sitting across from you at the dinner table right now, but I know his secrets, things you’ll never know.

Take Bukkake Bob, for instance. That’s what I called him, and not just behind his back. I made him laugh (not just cum).

All he wanted to do was splash his hot, gooey ejaculate all over my face and titties. I didn’t have to do anything — not even suck — just kneel there, with my face uplifted and smiling expectantly. Sometimes I would wag my tongue (this was long before Miley Cyrus’s iconic move) to gesture how much I wanted it, craved it — to feel and taste the splash of his cum.

Once a week, like clockwork, we would meet to perform this ritual, sometimes in my apartment, sometimes in a motel room, sometimes in his huge SUV.

Then one evening, when I had on a lot of makeup (for I was to go on a fancy dinner date with another guy an hour later), I tilted my head ever so slightly just as Bob shot his wad. So most of what he shot ended up on the floor.

“What happened?” His scream sounded truly anguished.

“I didn’t want to totally ruin my makeup, sweetie.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Well, you’ve now ruined everything,” he announced, and I never saw him again.

What more can I say?

Permalink 3 Comments

19Nov / 2013

Bureaucratic Confusion!

Too glamorous for a Passport picture?

We all remember that famous story about “The Man Without a Country.”

But what about a Sexual Being Without a Gender?

The Embassy and the local authorities are all atwitter about my Visa renewal…. My name’s been legally changed, but my official sex has not.

Maybe to get all the boring paperwork expedited, I’ve have to give all the bureaucrats each a blowjob!?!

Maybe then they’ll know I’m really a girl…. If I suck like a girl and fuck like a girl, then I must be a girl, right?

Permalink Leave a comment

11Feb / 2013

Becoming a Shemale Hooker, Chapter 6

What’s the hardest thing you have ever had to do? Learn Latin? Run to win a 5-K race? Play hostess at a Black Tie dinner party? Perform the starring role in your school’s “The Nutcracker?” Execute a French manicure on your very own nails?

For me, the very, very, very hardest thing is putting a rubber on a limp penis. I’ve only had to do it once (thank God!), and that occurred during my very first date as a shemale escort. It was a truly unique skill I developed on the spot.

I could see him go limp as I fumbled in my purse for the condom. (Have you ever been able easily or quickly to find something in your purse when you need it most, when time is of the absolute essence?)

At first I didn’t think it would be a problem. All I had to do was lightly brush his sensitive skin with my finely manicured, sexy fingernails, right? After all, just moments earlier, his cock , though tiny, had been explosively erect. But that was then; this was now.

Then he had been fondling my own cock, which I preferred to think of as just an oversized clitty. To be frank, my clitty didn’t like the too rapt attentions of his monotonous, and rather rough, hand motions. The very tip of my big clitty was actually getting sore; my pantyhose felt like sandpaper.

If I could just make him cum, I would have earned my money, and I could leave.

I pressed the rubber against the head of his penis and clamped the rolled-up sides with my fingers. Then I took my tongue so that it tasted the rubber tip. Flicking my tongue, as I so desperately had hoped, gradually stiffened what I held between my fingers — sufficient to gain purchase to unroll the condom. As it unrolled, my lips parted and slid over the tip and down the ever lengthening, but still short, shaft.

Now my lips and throat and bobbing head could work their gliding magic, and they did. But, from Mr. Jackson, there were no quickening thrusts and volcanic eruptions, as with a younger man. Instead, when he came, I heard a barely perceptible grunt and felt the condom inflate like a tiny balloon. The texture and consistency felt like an over-ripe melon about to melt and get messy in my mouth.

When I left his office, he said a very formal thank-you, and I noticed that all around the walls were hanging pictures of his wife and children and grandchildren (I could only presume, I didn’t dare ask): mute witnesses to the display of his extramarital activities with a shemale. He must not have cared.

I only cared what he would tell Marvin, my pimp. Mr. Jackson – I mean Jack (I wasn’t supposed to know his last name) – was one of Marvin’s regulars. What kind of report card would I be given? I knew it would not be an “A,” because I had dissuaded him from doing what he really wanted – to play with my big clitty. So was I failure? Would Jack ever want to pay for me again? A satisfied, repeat customer?

Or would my very first trick also be my last?

Permalink 2 Comments

19Jan / 2013

Shemale Schooling: Makeup and Cum Can Mix!

Dear Mistress Joy, Your Ladyship:

When men cum on my face, it makes a horrible mess of my make-up. So in order to still look pretty while sucking still more cock, I have to interrupt everything, ruining the romance, in order to run into the bathroom and take valuable time rebuilding my foundation! By the time I return, the cock is often no longer hard. What can I do?

Joy’s Gems (of Wisdom):
If cum on your face is creating a mud-like mess, obviously you’re using a lot of foundation! Which, of course, is necessary if you didn’t start ingesting girlie hormones until after puberty and your electrolysis or laser treatments are still incomplete. (I wonder if the guys giving you facials appreciate how expensive and pain-in-the-ass these treatments are, to eliminate one’s beard to make one’s face more fuckable!)

Anyway, the key variable is not how much foundation you use — but how you apply it. No matter how much residue roughness you need to hide, you just don’t want to slap and cake liquid foundation all over your face. Remember your makeup basics: Less is more!

Start with a very light base. Don’t smear it all over your face. Rather, apply from the tips of your fingers tapping gently until your face is covered. Then when dry, use a big fluffy brush to dust powder on that first layer of foundation.

Then keep layering and layering and layering: thin coats of foundation followed by dustings of powder. It takes time and patience; but the result is so polished, your feminine face will look like a runaway model’s.

And it will retain that polished look even with gobs of cum all over your face. The trick is not to smear the cum — but to let it dry and cake over your makeup. To prevent huge globs of cum from trickling down your face before they dry, simply dab them with a tissue to remove the excess. Dab! Don’t rub, wipe, and smear!

Then, to go out in public with subtle spots of dried cum dotting my face — I find incredibly sexy! And all the other girls become so, so jealous. They all want to be shemales!

Permalink 1 Comment

06Jan / 2013

Just a Cunt, Yes, I Am

Like a horse, I apparently needed to “be broken in.”

“Watch where you’re going, you silly cunt!” The man spit the words at me. While texting, I had accidentally bumped into him coming out of a Fifth Avenue Starbucks and apparently almost spilled his latte grande. On the one hand, I found his angry words both deeply offensive and downright scary. But on the other hand, of course, for a want-to-be cunt like me, to actually be called a cunt is always reassuring, even life-affirming.

“I’m sorry, sir.” I batted my eyes. “I truly am.” Those are the words that a true cunt is schooled to submissively say, right? But the teenaged boy still lurking inside me was urging my arms to violently swing my Gucci handbag into his crotch.

Indeed, the lingering hint of male aggression is apparently part of the attraction for so-called shemales — creating a taut, sexualized tension with our feminized features. It took me a while to understand this and learn how to use it.

I had a great teacher. His name was Jay. I met him very early in my transition; I wasn’t even entirely sure then I was a transsexual; I just felt a need to crossdress. His was the very first cock I ever sucked, and it was then that I knew exactly who and what I was.

I remember it was our second or third date and we were doing some serious kissing standing next to his car outside the restaurant. Against my skirt I could feel his hardness growing and bulging against his trousers. My hand, as if it were separate from the rest of my body, slowly slid from around his back and waist down to reach, touch, caress the hardness that my deep kisses had themselves created.

Then, as if I knew exactly what I was doing, surprising myself as much as Jay, I unzipped him and dropped to my knees.

Afterwards,he gave me a critique. But it wasn’t about my oral sex technique; that was just fine, thank you — I had “a natural gift,” he allowed. Rather, I didn’t need to be so blatantly obvious in my oral cravings. “Let the guy be the aggressor,” he counseled. Learning to feint resistance would make any man just want me more.

“I’ll have to break you in,” he announced. That sounded deliciously erotic and exciting, as visions of butt plugs, ball gags, and waist-training corsets danced in my head. And, yes, there was some of that over the weeks and months we dated — not to mention his sometimes loaning me to his friends to fuck.

But mostly what he taught me was simply this: patience and passivity. Those ladylike virtues would reward me with all the cock I ever craved. To be a cunt, desireable and fuckable, I first had to learn to be a lady.

Permalink 1 Comment

09Dec / 2012

Delicious Irony

The irony that silly me girlishly forgot to actually mention in the last post is this: My initial fear and trembling soon (inevitably?) turned into pleasure and purpose. Isn’t that always the way with the most exquisite of acquired tastes?

Especially a taste for cum.

You have to learn to like it, and I had so many great teachers. So many patient guys who took the time to teach me how to be their “pretty, little cumslut.”

But even more important were the real GG’s, like the nurses at the clinic testing me for HIV, who didn’t condemn me or make me feel kinky or embarrassed. Getting so-called “facials” was perfectly normal, they seemed to be saying in their nodding, knowing kind of way. Getting covered with a face-full of cum can cum with the territory of being a girl. (Were there too many cum’s, too much cum!, in that last sentence?)

GG’s, for those not in the know, are genetic girls, and they know everything that I want to know. More than mere mentors, they can do no wrong and are my ultimate role models, the goddesses whose secrets they alone can share.

And such forbidden knowledge is what my quest is all about.

Ah, yummy, to taste the knowledge, forbidden and oh so sweet. Please. Pretty please.

Permalink Leave a comment

17Nov / 2012

Championship Training

Getting Ready for the World Championship

I find the whole idea of a world championship for cock sucking incredibly, gloriously erotic. Why not? The world, at least the Western world, is full of infinite possibilities, and there’s equal opportunity for all women, even me.

Whenever I’m on my knees now (and it’s often), I make believe I’m Claudia. Not Lady Gaga or Britney — my new heroine and latest role model is Claudia. Her fame is not due to mere beauty or luck, but is justly based on merit and perseverance. I believe if I practice a lot and work hard, just as I’m doing now while kneeling before a brand new cock, working on my basic bob and slide, I can become just like her.

Claudia, according to a dispatch from a Romanian newspaper widely reported on the Web, is the winner of the first Oral Sex World Championships. Competitors from all over the globe attended the event at a Black Sea spa. An all-male jury awarded Claudia the $1,000 first-place crown. Their decision was based on “speed” and “artistic merit” in two rounds titled “technical” and “freestyle.”

At first, when I read this, I chuckled, as most readers did, I’m sure. But, ever since, I haven’t been able to get it out of my pretty, come-sucking head — a head no longer chuckling, but giggling and giddy. I’m jealous! Like Claudia, I want to be internationally recognized for my abilities (at least all the guys tell me I’m able)!

The purity of it all excites me: cock sucking for the sake of cock sucking, in and of itself, having absolutely nothing to do with love or any other emotion that might get in the way of technique and performance. But think about the bonding going on between the cock sucking performer, the anonymous owner of the succulent cock, and the observing audience! It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime, life-altering experiences when minds, not just bodies, truly connect. It makes my mouth water just thinking about it. The idea of it alone is enough. I can’t think of a better expression of eroticism.

I want to be Claudia! The epiphany pops into my head at the exact moment when I’m licking the underside shaft of my latest prize of a penis. Or if not Claudia, at least second-place finisher, shedding genuine tears of happiness for the winning girl. Instead of a crown, I could then wear a tight T-shirt, with my hard nipples poking the fabric, flaunting the fact: “Miss Fellatio World. First Runner-up.” The mind boggles with all the fresh cock I would attract.

My lover has no idea what’s going through my head as I’m giving head. That’s part of the fun of it; I remain a mystery to him. He, on the other hand, is totally exposed, vulnerable to my every tongue-flickering whim. I know exactly what he’s thinking; he tells me so. Even taciturn men feel compelled to talk to me when my mouth is full. While I’m sucking like a vacuum cleaner, they are spitting out appreciative, flattering words:

“Look up at me while you’re sucking, bitch. I want to see your gorgeous, fluttering lashes and grateful, smiling eyes while your sexy lips are around my cock.”

They ask questions: “You like to suck cock, don’t you? You’re just a cock-sucking cunt, aren’t you? Tell me, cunt, isn’t this the best cock you’ve ever tasted? You can’t get enough of my fat, juicy cock, can you? You don’t want to ever stop sucking, do you, bitch?”

Of course, I can only answer with my head — a vigorous nod or a swaying shake. Those well-executed head motions just add to the cock owner’s pleasure. And it is his pleasure, after all, that brings me mine.

Actually, what I want him to tell me is how I’m doing — a real critical review. Vague praise is meaningless: “This is the best blow job ever…Slut, you suck so fine…” Blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all before. What I crave — besides cock, of course — is brutal honesty. And the more detailed the critique, the better.

Unfortunately, most suckees are hopeless in this regard. All they care about is “shooting me a pearl necklace” or whether or not I’ll “swallow.” They’re so ecstatic just to get a blow job, they don’t really notice, much less appreciate, my truly expert level of keenly honed presentation.

Do they consider the pronounced, feminine arc of my back and butt while kneeling (evolutionary biologists call this “the fertility curve”)? Can they award points for the dexterous way my hand moves at the base of the shaft, so it’s synchronized with all my various mouth actions at the most sensitive tip? Are they connoisseurs of how even the eloquent (dainty, yet firm) grip of my hand ensures that my finely French-manicured nails are showing? Are they closely observing the vigorous, quick tempo of my acrobatic tongue, lip, and neck movements, as calorie-burning as my aerobics class — without my face working up even one tiny bead of perspiration, much less ruining my makeup (except my lipstick, of course)?

Permalink Leave a comment

Tgirl Confidential

Tag Archives: blowjob

Am I Pretty or Ugly?

Positive Reinforcement!!!

Men I Have Known: Chapter 1

Bureaucratic Confusion!

Becoming a Shemale Hooker, Chapter 6

Shemale Schooling: Makeup and Cum Can Mix!

Just a Cunt, Yes, I Am

Delicious Irony

Championship Training

Recent Posts

Archives

Categories

Meta