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!

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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.)

 

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!

Of Time and Pantyhose

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Whenever I pull on pantyhose, I think of Ron.  Ron, one of my first serious lovers…what’s he doing now, I wonder?  

Anyway, Ron had a beard, and the reason he had a beard was not so he would look like a pensive professor, which he was, or a disheveled lumberjack, which he was not, but because he was so damn analytical.  And he was afraid of time, its passage, its fleeting nature.  If he’s dead now, and he could well be for all I know, his fear would of course have been justified (he would have laughed if he had heard me say that!).

So one day he threw all his razors away – or rather, frugal guy that he was, asked if I wanted them for my legs and underarms – and announced that he would never shave again.  At five minutes a day, he calculated, over the course of an average American male lifetime, he would have wasted close to 100 days looking in the mirror shaving.  Shaving!  He spit the word with disgust.

How many days have I – will I have – wasted pulling on and peeling off pantyhose?

Modeling School: More Important in “Transitioning” Than Estrogen Therapy!

Courage = Grace Under Pressure...thanks to Jimmy Choo....

Courage = Grace Under Pressure…thanks to Jimmy Choo….

“Within five seconds of meeting someone, either in business, at school, or socially, you make a critical first impression.  That impression is made up of the following:

55% Appearance.

38% How You Sound.

7% What You Say.

Our modeling school has recognized the importance of a first, and last impression, for 60 years…teaching self-development (finishing) and fashion modeling.

14-week course: Visual Pose/Graceful Movements, Beautyworks.  Wardrobe and Fashion.  Social Graces/Communications.”

The best $1,525 I ever spent!

Even if it can’t buy Love, Money sure helps with Beauty!

The black hat I wear when cleaning out my desk...can't afford to be sentimental!

The black hat I wear when cleaning out my desk…can’t afford to be sentimental!

Rhinoplasty $4,500

Lip Lift $2,000

Corner Mouth Lift w/ extension $1,500

Tracheal (Adam’s Apple) Shave $500

Cheek Implants $3,200

Just uncovered these old bills in all my clutter.  Before I toss in the round file, I thought I’d share.   BTW, I got a big discount for doing all the procedures pretty much at the same time!

Remembrance of Pain Past….

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“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!”

Men I Have Known: Chapter 2

Shaping more than my brows....

Shaping more than my brows….

My very first lover, he was the most judgmental.

It started with my hair.  Too short, he said.

Then my brows.  Untamed, too bushy, he said.

My chest, too flat, of course – he didn’t have to tell me.

Finally…finally…I became what he desired.

And then I killed him.

Sometimes now, in my vanity mirror, I can see his stare still, for his eyes belong to me, you see.  The “he” was once me.  It was he who shaped me…and not just my brows!

Author & Adventuress

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Rite of Passage

Please don't squeeze too hard....

Please don’t squeeze too hard….

Like any rite of passage, the pleasure comes only after the pain.  The pain of dreading it, actually doing it, getting through it.  Then the pleasure of having done it — the most pleasing sense of accomplishment and acceptance that only this particular rite can bring.

I’m talking about my very first mammogram!  Here are some totally random thoughts I’ll now share:

The nurses, technician and radiologists weren’t sadists.  Instead, they were genuinely caring helpmates, as only other women can be.  (Sorry if I’m being sexist!)

I’m so, so happy that I didn’t get implants until after a couple of years of estrogen therapy.  If my implants were any bigger, I’m sure they would have burst during the procedure!

As my breasts were being flattened by the machine — first one and then the other — I encouraged my thoughts to wander — to distract me from the pain.  What better thoughts than erotic fantasies!

So I imagined now in the room with me a lover (or maybe several lovers!) who normally fondled and kissed and licked and suckled my titties. But now he was using a machine to vicariously (and forcefully!) “caress” my breasts. It gave him intense pleasure to see just how tight my breasts could be squeezed!

Thinking this thought — do I dare admit? — I felt something getting ever so slightly hard in my panties.  And I smiled.

“Tighter! Tighter!” he commanded.  And the harder and harder I got.

Yes, I smiled.  The medical personnel complimented me on how incredibly brave I was.

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?