To Be Transsexual in the Time of Trump

Remember all the political turmoil over gender neutral access to public restrooms…and politically correct terms like “cisgirl” and “they”… it might be why Hillary lost! Anyway, it all seems soso yesterday now that Donald J. Trump is the U.S. President elect!

ski-bunny-pg-2

He can grab my pussy anytime! That’s what a lot of my transsexual girlfriends, say.  Giggling,  they’d love the surprise he’d find.

But if not Trump himself, a lot of his followers/voters love shemales…that’s what they call pre-op transsexual women — shemales.  So non-PC, the more politically incorrect, the better.  Shemales for Trump!

It’s curious, isn’t it?  The more right-wing a guy is, the more likely he’s into special girls with “something extra.”  That’s been my girlfriends’ experience, anyway.  I wonder why that is?

Maybe it’s because transwomen spend inordinate amounts of time and effort trying to become as feminine as possible… just to please their man… definitely not radical feministas, as Rush Limbaugh might say…. plus they’re more likely to be especially submissive and not fight back, no matter what a guy wants to do to us… and they candidly say they love, absolutely love to be bossed around and told to get on your knees, you fucking cunt, and suck my cock!

Who cares why right-wingers love shemales so much, they say….  What’s important is simply this: For the Time of Trump means good times for shemales!!!  And that means so much more cock for them to suck!  Yummy, yummy, yummy, so much cum in my tummy. 

Can’t wait until January Inauguration Day!  (Hard in anticipation are their Big Clitties.)

 

Am I Pretty or Ugly?

A most fuckable hairstyle.

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.

Positive Reinforcement!!!

Practice Makes Perfect....

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

Bloggy, Soggy, and Sexy

americanabroad1

A “real blog,” according to a recent article in The New York Times, is one that “reflects one voice, is essentially unedited, and causes the writer to experience butterflies of anxiety as she hits the publish button.”

Sounds like how I feel whenever I drop to my knees and unzip a stranger.

Also sounds like how I feel every time I venture out of the house in the shortest and snuggest of short shorts!

Fashion. Sex. And Blogging.

All three have the same goal, now that my bimbo brain is forced to think about it:

To make you — dearest reader/stranger — hard!  So, so hard, and thus so, so indescribably yummy.

Bureaucratic Confusion!

Too glamorous for a Passport picture?

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?

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!

Becoming a Shemale Hooker, Chapter 6

profileWhat’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?

Shemale Schooling: Makeup and Cum Can Mix!

makeupDear 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!

Just a Cunt, Yes, I Am

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

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.

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?

402301_290412211011516_1845299396_nEspecially 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.