Wednesday, November 23, 2011


I am slowly becoming a feminist. I don't mean I'm going to stop shaving my legs or start burning bras before I can even fill them, I'm saying that as I learn more about the girl I am inside, the more I get offended by what society says a girl is supposed to be.
When I started this blog I still hadn't developed who I was, let alone my interests, hobbies or what it means to be female. I posted pics of pop singers, big breasted bimbos and even reduced my loving relationship to nothing more than a shared interest in shoes. I became bored with trying to write captions and my boredom only grew as I began doing more important and more reality based things that reality based girls do. I stopped trying to help people jerk off and decided to talk honestly as if this blog were my diary.
My girlfriend is the one responsible for pointing out that what I was doing on here wasn't anything like me. She made it clear to me that I was not doing what I had set out to do. I wanted to chronicle my feelings and the changes I experienced on my new path towards becoming a woman and above all else accepting who I am.
It's almost fitting that the first few posts I have on here are either sexualized or, for lack of a better term, "Overly Girly". Those posts show where my mind was at the time and the way I thought I had to behave to present myself as a girl.
I admit that I have my soft spot for some of the Chart Topping Hits on the pop radio stations. I admit that I might drool over a cute pair of heels. And yes, I certainly have sex fantasies of being slutty, whorish, even forced into dirty possibly perverted acts, but these are and were always fantasies.
The truth is I am not the girliest girl or the glam fashion queen that I thought I was. Truth is I don't want to be that girl anymore because the girl I am becoming is deeper, smarter, funnier and she is a real person.

   I know it's a free country and I'm not saying that we need to ban mindless, sex driven, pop stars,
but take a look around at the message being sent and the people getting that message. Of course horny guys get the message and even some older ladies do out dated dances like "The Bump" when ever a Kesha or Katy Perry song plays at a wedding. I have heard that both of these girls are big in the gay scene and with 20 something girls who hit the clubs, but these aren't the main or biggest audiences. Kesha has a song called "Tik-Tok". It's a catchy song, it's ubeat and it's something even I liked when I first heard it. Then, I stopped turning up the radio when it played and began turning the station. I kept hearing it, it was everywhere. Recently I realized why it was so overplayed. The song wasn't just on the radio, it was on T.V. and in movies. It was popping up in every form of entertainment and it was entertainment for kids and teenagers. It blew my mind when,a Kesha song that is so clearly about drinking, partying and fighting a hangover to keep the party going was the theme music for the movie "Diary of a wimpy Kid". The kids in that movie are no older than 11 or 12.
I noticed a lot of this going on. Marketing sex, drug use, etc..., to kids is a big money maker. To kids, especially teenagers, rebellion is an all time best seller. And don't get me wrong, I'm a firm believer in rebellion and my teenage years are one big blur of "Damn The Man", "Fight The Power" moments and mischief, but It was based on more. Rebelling was about politics, good v.s. evil, morality and the fear of seeing the world, for the first time, as it truly is....a confusing and scary place full of people just as confused and scared as yourself. Of course getting drunk or stoned was part of it and of course teenagers are a bit more naive, but it's part of growing up. I think it's so sad that the kids who rebel today tend to be devoid of any sort of message. I think it's sad that girls want to be slutty, drunks because it's cool.
I'm not saying all kids are like this and I'm not saying Kesha or Katy Perry are the cause. I am saying that marketing a movie for kids, or marketing this type of image to kids in any way, is sickening.

I'm a Lady GaGa fan and proud of it. Sure, she sells sex, but it's sexual freedom....liberation. She also proved she has a voice, song writing talent and she uses these things as a platform to speak her mind. That's an artist, not someone who can loop a beat on garage band and then sing lyrics that have no soul or meaning over and over again.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

"The Armor"

 I bought a ticket on a bullet train. A high speed, one track, transport that I can't control. The train makes no stops and although we've slowed from time to time, we always speed back up and continue on our way. I can see colorful blurs outside my window. Every so often I'm able to identify a tree or a town or city in the distance, but mostly the train moves too fast for me to make sense of the world out there. My luggage is piled in the row of seats behind me and I eventually realize it's the only entertainment I have. I begin to dig through my things, finding a few old treasures, sentimental ornaments, but I'm confused by the majority of it. These things are hideous, mishapen and though they ring the faintest of bells in the back of my memory banks, they aren't mine. I toss these things aside and repack my bags with everything I know to be my own, then I use the space I cleared and add some new things that I find on the train. It's all up for grabs, left here in plain site all along. I never noticed how many things littered the seats and cars of this train. I take only what fits in the empty spaces of my bags, grab a few things to stuff in my pockets, but I don't overpack. The train continues on.
I know facts about the destination, but I don't know the route or rail we're following. When I was in the train station, waiting for my number to arrive, vendors were all around me peddling maps and brochures about where I was heading, but each map was different, each brochure contradicted the other. I tried piecing together the puzzle, but for each piece that fit, another went missing. The one thing that was for sure was that wherever I was going was considered by many to be a paradise.I thought I'd find it to be just that and more, but  in the mix of information I was flipping through, I began reading about a place of sadness and regret. Both sides of the argument had several words of wisdom from seasoned explorers who had gone to this place. Maybe they were both right. It seemed that the only way to find out was to board the train, whenever it arrived. I hoped for the best and I felt in my heart that knowing was better than staying here.
This train station, this city, this life I had built. I looked at my life closely, and realized I couldn't build worth shit. I was a bum, living on handouts from kind people who passed me by. The people who loved me kept me warm at night, kept my belly full. I recieved a lot of generosity and love from a lot of people and how did I repay them? I gave them no answer to the one thing they wanted to know. The one thing they all asked and asked on several occassions. They wanted to know why I wasted my life so far, why I seemed content to just sit back and wait to die. I gave them bullshit answers, but nothing solid, nothing worth the pain they felt seeing me slip away slowly into nothingness.
I began locking myself away. I began hiding from them. I couldn't let them be my lifeline any longer, working to save me and giving all they could give.
There's only one way to stop being rescued from drowning, you swim to the bottom, dig your limbs into the ocean floor and fill your lungs up with sea water. I plunged head first into Hell. I tore myself down, ripped away any thoughts of a happy life and just as I was about to dissapear, I found a reason to stick around.
There is nothing like Love to make someone ignore the easy way out. I couldn't run from her, I couldn't lie either. I started tossing bits and pieces of myself at her. She never flinched, so I gave it all up. I told her who I was. I told her why there was nothing worth living for, because I wasn't alive. I could breathe, I could talk and walk and think, but that's not living. Life is being aware, awake and a force of change in the world. All I was, day in and day out was a tower guard, keeping watch over a person I knew well, but no one else thought exsisted. There was nothing evil about this prisoner. In fact I was the one who succombed to evil acts to keep this innocent locked up, acts that have weighed upon my chest ever since. I thought I knew better. I thought if This inmate was freed, vigalante justice would ensue upon such an unaccepted and misunderstood person, but I looked into the cell one day and saw death as a welcome escape for someone so very alone.
I got the keys and opened the decaying cell door. I was too quick and didn't think about how eagerly anticaipated this moment was for a person locked away for years upon years. A blur passed by me and the chase began. I was too far behind, I was yelling. I just wanted to help, to explain things, to protect and teach, but why believe the person who held you captive, If the roles were reversed, I'd keep running.
It was clear I'd never catch up, but Love came through again. My Love, my girl, waiting to embrace and comfort the former inmate.
Love was angry, confused and worried. I don't blame her. She saw what I had done all these years. She knew I had to make this right. She knew I could be strong and she knew I wasn't evil, just confused, but I could only protect, I could never teach the prisoner, after all, I'm nothing more than armor.
I watched from a distance at first, as Love began her lessons. She was an excellent teacher. She had her hands full, but I think she liked that because she never walked away in frustration, instead she pushed the prisoner to understand what it meant to look inside, to allow a person to develop, to be human and to be female. The prisoner became a person and that person was a perfectly happy girl.
I grew closer to both of them, but I knew I was only armor, only this young girl's strength and perserverance. I knew I wasn't always going to be around, my job ended after this train ride. I'd protect both women, I'd do the fighting if it came down to it, but once the journey was over, I wouldn't exsist, but my traits would live within this girl, my evil deed would be a debt payed and Love would have a person in her life that brought her happiness, that would protect her.
The train keeps going. The world outside is no more than static and flashes of color. I focused on the fight ahead, preparing myself for the one thing that was worth living for.
The young girl enters the train car from the back. She shoots me a smile and she knows I'm on her side now. She starts leafing through the clutter all around and finds the pile of hazy memories I tossed out. She gathers them up and sits down in the seat next to me. I'm overjoyed about the fight now. I can't wait for the first person who doesn't have the decency to hold his toungue.
She picks through the things I tossed away and she giggles and laughs at the items she once owned. She tries to make a joke about having bad taste as she remembers these items clear as day. The joke gets cut out by laughter. I look at her, she's dressed well, looks cute, pretty, beautiful.
I wonder how she is so normal and lovely after all those years locked up. I figure it out there and then. I was the armor, but the strength and the perserverance was hers all along.

Friday, November 11, 2011

"Sex, Drugs and Rock Bottom"

I know how this girl feels. I guess a lot of people out there know how she feels.
I saw this picture and it reminded me of who I use to be and why I used to drink large quantities of alcohol, even though I'd end up sleeping next to the toilet or should I say next  to "A" toilet, depending on where I had chosen to get intoxicated.
Drinking was a huge escape for me and honestly one of the major reasons I was able to realize that I was transsexual was having to quit alcohol. I wasn't an alcoholic, but I was on my way.
I drank to socialize. It was very hard to be sober and go out in public. If I was drunk, I was friendly, outgoing and I could easily pretend to be a guy. It's funny that I never let anything about being trans slip out when I was drunk. It was almost as if when I was sober it hurt to pretend to be manly, but when I was drunk I was numb to the pain. It's tough to explain, because while I was comfortable projecting my fake personality, inside I was thinking all the same feminine thoughts I had at all times, but I was also numb to the pain of thinking about what the girls at the party were wearing, or what they were talking about.
So basically I thought I was happy. I drank and when I did get drunk it didn't make me go out in a dress and heels without inhibition and it didn't make me sad about faking my social attitude, I just had no feelings about them either way. I knew I had to be safe and not let my secret slip, other than that I had no worries.
I have said before that once I accepted myself I began remembering childhood memories of wanting to be a girl and the same is true for my drunken nights. The funny thing is that I had no emotion about my sexuality and gender when I was drunk, but now it makes me sad to remember the things I was thinking of at those times and places.
The girl above is a perfect example. She could have easily been a friend of mine at one of those parties or even a girl I had never met who had come to the party with someone else. I hated when girls got way too drunk. I wasn't sad because I couldn't sleep with them. I wasn't laughing at them as some of the other guys did and I certainly wasn't excited that I could take advantage of her like I'm positive some guys around me were thinking. I hated when they were that drunk because I put myself in her position everytime. I understood the embaressment she felt the next morning. I hated that if I tried to console her it would be considered as a plot to be sleazy and grope her. I hated that if I was her I wouldn't have been that drunk, or at least I don't think I would have been that drunk.
What I'm trying to say with all this is that when my memories flood back from those intoxicated times in my life, it's never a memory of talking about a girl's tits with other guys or what I could have done to score with one of those girls. What I remember is the mumbles of the other males fading into the background, every so often listening to key words in their sentences to make sure I could stay in the conversation, but the clear images that come to mind are what the girls were wearing and what items of clothing I liked, things about their outfits I hated, jealous thoughts about a girl who had a pair of shoes I would have killed for. As these images pop up more memories pour into my mind. I remember the girls I thought were cool, the girls I wanted to be like, I remember looking at groups of girls and wanting more than anything to be one of them.
I had sexual feelings towards them, but not like the other guys. They all talked about harsh, rough sex acts. They wanted to "Ruin", "Plow", "Fuck" these girls. I never thought like that. I wanted to talk to them, get to know them and I wanted to kiss, touch, and passionately have sex with these girls, but I couldn't. I was afraid to even try, because I couldn't even consider doing some of the things that my guy friends talked about. I assumed these girls would never want to be with a boy who wanted to be a girl and feel like a girl in bed.
So I became friendly with these girls and I made sure to be the funny guy. I had a dirty sense of humor and it was amplified when drunk, so it was easy to seem like I wanted to "Fuck" and at the same time be too pushy and sexually course about sex that most girls would always, eventually turn me down.

The bar scene was harder. At least at house parties I was surrounded by friends, but the bar was a place full of strangers. Overcoming this fear came in the form of what people call "Pre-Gaming". I would start by drinking whatever alcohol I could come across at home, but a lot of the time the bar wasn't stocked, so to speak. This meant finding another means of getting myself chemically courageous. Smoking pot would have made me paranoid and I can't say Marijuana has ever made me all that social or outgoing, so I started experimenting with my parents madications. Sometimes vicatin, sometimes another opiate would suffice. I'd pop a few pills, drink whatever booze I had, if any; and go to the bar feeling very loose and very talkative. I guess I should have been a little stronger and just waited until I was out and about at a bar and just had a few drinks until I loosened up, but I made a big mistake and it wasn't until I was taking anywhere from 4 to 7 pills before going out and drinking 7 to 10 glasses of alcohol that I noticed I had a problem. In fact it got so bad that if I didn't have pills or alcohol in my system I would choose to stay in and hide in my bedroom watching t.v.. Then some nights I would take a handful of pills and still make the choice to stay hidden away.
I hated going out. It was always the same thing. I would get obliterated at the bar, envy the girls, be annoyed by the same conversations that arose every time men get drunk. They talked about pussy, they talked about sports, about cars about fighting. I tried talking to the girls, I tried breaking into the girl talk, the drunken party girl good times. I tried to be one of them, but I couldn't. I didn't know how to talk to them. I couldn't talk about girl stuff, that would be un-manly and the guys might hear me. So, I would pass the time getting more and more messed up until the night ended.
The ride home was either a race to the toilet, where I would puke and pass out or if I had been to broke to afford enough to make me vomit I was immediately online.
The internet was a bad place for me when I was drunk. No inhibitions and the ability to chat can be dangerous. I'd log into a Tranny or Crossdresser or Sissy chat room, I'd start by telling the room I was drunk, looking to chat and I would label myself whatever was most popular in the room. I'd get responses in seconds. Men and other T-girls, it didn't matter who. I just wanted to talk about being a girl, a tranny, a sissy....whatever they wanted me to be as long as it was some form of release. I'd make plans to meet people, I'd send out my picture, I'd have deep conversations about being Trans and I'd have dirty, filthy sometimes perverse cyber sessions.
I never met any men that I made plans with when I was drunk. I never could go through with it when I sobered up. I'd realize that I hadn't set up a safe meeting or that the person I was to meet was a little too odd for an actual meetup.
 I have met men online and I will post about that soon, but when I was at this point in my life, when I was drunken and doped up, the one good thing that came out of it was that I never did meet anyone or do anything I would have regreted.

I don't drink anymore. Sometimes I'll have one drink if I am at a special event or party, but I don't like being out of control like I used to. I don't demonize alcohol, I know that I abused it, I know that I made the mistake to drink so much, to take pills and I know I did it to stop feeling the constant and awkward pain I felt everytime I met someone. Anytime I had to pretend I was someone else for an extended period of time. Anytime I was with anyone else whether they were friend, family or a complete stranger. Eventually I couldn't be around myself when I was sober.
I got lucky in a weird way. I had an acid reflux issue and was told I absolutely had to quit drinking. Somehow I did. I started my sobriety poorly, as I found several excuses to drink, but in time I found myself alone in my room, without the chance to drink and I started remembering who I was. I met my girlfriend around this time and I honestly don't know if I would have been able to deal with the truth about my gender and my life if it wasn't for the need I had to come clean about crossdressing and the eventual need, the urge, the desire to tell her that I couldn't pretend to be a guy that I was never supposed to be in the first place. She was weary at first and I don't blame her. All she knew about my gender identity issues was the part of it I had shown her and that was a sex filled world of fetishes. Eventually as I became comfortable with my issues, so did she. I became less interested, less obsessed with sexualizing my feminine self and she began to see that I was not just a guy who wanted to wear dresses and have boobs because it made me horny. She began to see that the girl I was inside was the real me. I was happier, nicer, kinder, more romantic, more loving, more emotional. She saw the real me and she was the first person whoever knew the real me. I may have had some reason down the line in my life that forced me to face myself, but without my Beautiful and more than loving girlfriend, I would be alone in my room analyzing myself for years to come or worse I could have neded up a prostitute or settled for a life as a boy or life as a lonely fuck doll for dirty old men.
It was my need to tell her, to be honest with the one person I loved more than anything in this world that gave me the strength to Know I'm a girl, See myself as a girl and to finally Love the Girl that I am.