Men I Have Known: Chapter 3

Only later would my butt become pinchable...

Only later would my butt become pinchable…

Some of the most meaningful men in my life have been those I haven’t really known at all.  This was especially true in the beginning, when I was first trying out in public my girlish persona. They validated me, and for that, I salute them – all those anonymous men whose lust I awakened!  Which in turn awakened my slut within.

The proverbial construction workers who whistled and yelled “Hey, Baby!”  Real girls sometimes complain (disingenuously?) about this kind of “unwanted” attention; for girls like me, it provides an incredible rush of badly needed self-confidence.

The timid man — tall, dark and handsome – whom I caught staring at my jean-encased butt as I stood in line for a café latte.  Blushing, he quickly snapped his head away.  As a man myself, I had done that cowardly maneuver too!  So I sent him a lifeline by smiling and saying, “Hi!”

“Hi,” another man says as I’m strolling in a city park.  It’s the first time I’m venturing out wearing such a short, snug skirt!  I smile, so he follows me and stands by my side as I stop to read a historical marker.  He starts talking about the history that happened here; I’m so nervous, I don’t pay attention to the content of his words.  He can tell, so he says:  “Don’t worry, I’m married, a faithful husband.”  Turns out he’s a real estate broker and has a $500,000 house in the neighborhood that would be “perfect” for “a young career girl” like me.  A rich bitch, is that what I look like?  I don’t mind.  Or is it all just a ploy: to take me on a tour of the empty house and then fuck me there?  That, I would not have minded either!

Remembrance of Pain Past….

decafashion4

“I really like your scent,” volunteered the woman standing next to me waiting in line at the ATM machine.  “May I ask what it is?”

Before I could answer “L’air du Temps,” my mind churned with possible implications.  Was she sincere?  Or did she suspect something?  Her seemingly innocent question simply bait, to catch me, the pretender, the ersatz female, the alien in society’s midst?  And my still masculine voice would unmask me?

I smiled, whispered “thank you,” opened my handbag, lifted out the perfume bottle, and smiled again.  Show and tell.  Or show and not tell.

It’s hard now to really remember, much less communicate, all the little, terror-inducing episodes like this when I first came out as a woman, trying to “pass” and not get “read.”  When I did pass, it was exhilarating, the equivalent of getting straight A’s in school, winning the lottery, coming in first in a talent contest, getting the promotion plus huge salary increase, all rolled into one.  But the times I failed were worst than F’s; I remember them still as if a recurring nightmare.

Children and drunks: those were the worst.  Those are the ones any new Tgirl has to watch out for.  They never mince words, never afraid to report, often loudly, what they see — making even the most casual stroll down the street turn into terror.  “Look, it’s a man!”

“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!

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.

Counter-intuitive: Go Bulky to be Girly

Never too many or too bulky when it comes to bracelets!

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.

The Ethical Slut

Do I or don't I?  Tell, that is.

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?

Jeans Skintight, Boots Tres Sexy

imagesCASZOXKDConsider, for a moment, skinny jeans and boots. They’re the fashion fad du jour. So ubiquitous, almost like a uniform.

Now consider moi. It’s important for girls like me to blend in. But like any natural girl, I want (need?) to stand out, too. We all might be wearing the same outfit, but it’s the nuance that’s most important: how the jeans are filled!

Waiting for a cab, rushing around the airport, all of us jean-and-booted mademoiselles are checking out each other’s derrieres.

To make other girls envious – is that our raison e’tre?