26Nov / 2016

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!

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.)

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18Dec / 2014

Mermaid, Me

To many men, I’ve been told I’m like a mermaid. Like Captain Ahab’s white whale, I’m the object of their quest.

But do they realize that mermaids don’t have cunts? I don’t either.

Maybe that’s what makes us all so alluring… mysterious… so desirable… so unattainable…. so….

Unfuckable? Maybe…. Maybe not…. Hmmmm…..

Without a vulva, much less a vagina, what do we have? How in the world can we make true love to you?

What we do have — what do you call it? Does it sound better, sexier, than the word “cunt?”

Please take the Poll and tell me.

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04Mar / 2014

The Idea of a Woman

What style and color are my panties?

My girlfriend Stephanie is vacating the apartment we once shared on the Lower East Side, so what to do with all my stuff I left behind when I moved to Europe last year? I don’t remember what’s there exactly — probably lots of fashionable clothes that immediately became unfashionable the week after I bought them. Plus tons of old underwear, pantyhose, camisoles and such.

But I don’t want to tell Steph to simply toss them in the trash, for they’re money in the bank! Like Bitcoins, a form of international currency!! And like vintage collectibles, the older and more worn, the more valuable they seem to be!!!

I’ve had some experience with men in the past fantasizing about — and fetishizing — my undies, but only recently have I come to understand what an incredible business opportunity they represent.

When I worked as an escort, guys would sometimes bring me lingerie to wear while we had sex, and then take it back home with them as a trophy of sorts. And one guy, a regular, would wear panties himself to our encounter, then take them off, ask me to then put them on; afterwards, he would use them to masturbate in. Feeling the silky softness around his shaft was infinitely more fun, I guess, than feeling it deep down my throat.

I’m not being critical or judgmental. For I’ve often cum in my own panties myself. When I use a vibrator, in fact, it just feels somehow sexier to leave my panties on. Anyway….

Over the last few months a bunch of Facebook friends/followers/fans have offered big bucks for items from my lingerie chest. I don’t even have to freshly wash them — the more spoiled, apparently the better! I’m beginning to think I’m sitting (both literally and figuratively) on a gold mine!

Come to think about it, maybe the intimates I wear — conveying the idea of me — is so much better than the reality of me. Hosiery, thongs and bikinis never bitch and complain, never need selfish satisfaction. They exist just for your pleasure….yours alone.

So take my poll and send me a offer…. opening bid on my bright orange thong, for example, starts at $50!

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13Jan / 2014

Saving the World, One Horny Man at a Time

Should I change my name to Emma Frost?

Super Heroine, that’s me! Really, I’m going to save the world! Well, not just me, but all us Tgirls! Here’s how:

I’ll never – can’t ever! – get pregnant!!

Sex with me is consequence free. Totally!

That means zero population growth! Totally awesome!

Instead of the projected 10 billion people gobbling up Planet Earth’s finite natural resources…and fouling our own nest…we can happily fuck away forever.

Added bonus: As a simple sex-for-the-sake-of-sex machine, I’ll never get fat and have stretch marks.

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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?

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30Dec / 2013

Tribute to a Selfie

….more expressive than words?

Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but…

When a fan sent me a so-called Tribute Picture – my recent blog’s photographic image splattered with his cum – I found it a bit of a turn-on. No, not as much of a turn-on as he had no doubt felt (unlike my mystery man, I didn’t ejaculate!), but still…. Yes, I could sense my Big Clitty stiffening slightly against my fashionably tight-fitted leggings.

Why, I wonder?

I’m not being kissed, not being fondled, not even hearing sweet nothings whispered in my ear. Moreover, except for his digital moniker and Facebook image, I don’t even know who he is. Tall, dark and handsome? I haven’t a clue.

And yet…and yet…we’re now lovers of a sort, aren’t we, my admirer and me?

I guess back in the day of girlie magazines, the models fully expected the printed pages of their photographic poses to be splattered with sperm — splashed and smudged by readers ranging from teenaged virgins to dirty old men. But these girls never actually saw the physical result. Today everything is different….

Maybe the Tribute Picture is the natural, inevitable companion of the Selfie. Both shot alone, now together at last. True love in this digital age!

Yes, he must truly love me!

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30Oct / 2013

Harem Girl (Part 2): Pros and Cons

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!

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04Oct / 2013

So do I want to join a Harem?

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>>>>>>

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19Aug / 2013

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? 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!

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26Jul / 2013

For Ladies Only

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!

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