Sunday, July 31, 2011

Shoegasm




There are some advantages to femulation that I have only slowly come to understand. In male mode in the world, I am just another aging baby boomer, taking up space, listening to Deep Tracks on my radio, bitching about those young folks who have their heads up their ass. You know the type. But put me in a dress, respectfully doing my best to look and act effeminate, not passing usually with my stature too male, my voice too deep, but clearly a member of the third gender, transgender, not doing it on a dare or a prank, and all sorts of people notice you. Some may giggle or look askance but most smile, are friendly, talk to you, particularly women. And aren't they the most fun to talk to anyway?
Let me tell a story. I was recently at an event with a sweet submissive sissy friend, I was wielding a paddle in the middle of this large open space, which was filled with those of similar interests up to a variety of scenes. So who wanders into this place filled with the leather clad, and the barely clad, and of course the fabulously clad but a group of 5 or 6, dressed for the mall. Had they made some legendary wrong turn, and slipped by security standing agape at an ordinariness that defied understanding? Perhaps, or maybe they just knew someone in high places, who had promised them a spectacle.
Whatever the occasion, the youngest and prettiest separated from the group, a young woman on the right side of thirty, and approached me to speak, and instantaneously it was Margaret Meade in Samoa, if Ms Meade had been English. For she spoke in the British way. So she asked: Were we boys or girls? (Out of politeness I imagine) She was the soul of curiosity. What were we up to? why were we up to it? Offered an opportunity, she gave the sissy girl a couple of spanks on the bare bottom, a true participant observer.
Then she proceeded to tell me that she herself had a slight kink. She would go into her closet most mornings, put on a pair of too small shoes, and masturbate. She would have a nice cum, and then she was right for the rest of the day. We spoke a little more, and then she went on her merry way.
I assure you that girls young as my children do not normally describe their masturbatory habits when I am in drab. And if this information gets out, who knows there may be a trend for our tried and true males to put on the occasional frock and troll. I only hope they don't empty out the salvation armies.

"This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England" William Shakespeare

Saturday, July 9, 2011

A case of miss-taken identity




"Genetic abnormalities such as gynandromorphy also occur from time to time. In addition many butterflies are infected by Wolbachia and infection by the bacteria can lead to the conversion of males into females"

Wikipedia Entry on Butterflies.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Butterfly
Oh dear! I think I may have caught a touch of Wolbachia.
So the other morning a butterfly lands on my knee, and just sits for five minutes, ample time to get a few pictures with the camera phone.
But what does it mean?
Well ... it is said by those who study them that butterflies land on you because they need more salt than the nectar is supplying.
So if you have been involved in discussions with a dear Lady friend who wishes to become Herself authentically as a Domme, and if butterflies are caterpillars that decided to live authentically, then so what.
Would you see signs of divine communication in every rustle of a leaf?
Would you please step over here so that we can give you a few medications that may help?
Well .. actually I would, not the drugs, but I have seen the divine hand in the commonplace or the marvelous.
I am someone who awaits the divine communication, who has received the divine communication.
Who hungers for, and feels Devi's touch in the antics of sparrows, or dunlins.
The next weekend, I plan to go to a mall with my friend who seeks authenticity. She has promised to be brutally honest in describing how and where Belinda falls short of the ideal.
The ideal? Not to pass necessarily, since height and voice, and unalterable physical appearance can make that unlikely at best, but to strike the observor as feminine, in every surface detail, and at the bottom of my soul.
Now if the soul is gendered, then that is authenticity, but only the Catholics, Muslims, and a few others sects think that it is. In my heart of hearts I know that it is not.
How do I know?
A little birdy told me.