Holiday Greetings

OK so I am admittedly a little late.

I wanted to point out a fine article on my friend Ellen's finishing school for Transwomen.

http://thebea.st/1CNqTMH

In the article I am described as dressing tastefully!  The young reporter who did the piece is both perspicacious and gracious.

Ellens website is.  http://www.lefemmefinishingschool.com

May I See Your Gender Identification II

There is a movement afoot to reject the gender binary.  One facet of this movement is an acknowledgement that the gender binary, may be flawed.  What is a male, and what is a female?  This determination is needed for traditional marriage, and traditional post gold medal investigations at the Olympics.  The athletic world where the perils of this common sense distinction have been well established, has taken to avoiding the issue where possible.  Wikipedia: Gender_verification_in_sports  The problems of answering this question in the case of marriage, are discussed in a very informative blog:  Intersex Roadshow.   Being raised catholic, I have looked at that perspective, and written in detail about it, on my new alternate blog, the one where I am pretentious and boring,  (Ok, more pretentious and boring):   The Other Side of That Life I've Been Living.
All these problems.  Why not just chuck the whole thing.   Recently a friend had an exchange with some young people on Fetlife.  My friend was interested in creating coalition and bonding across the generations for transgender people, perceiving a split between TOG and TNG.  The young people, most of whom descrribed themselves as Queer, or Gender Queer, seemed uninterested, because the older generation of transgender people in their opinion was poisoned by indoctrination in the gender binary.  A clear example would be folks who described themselves as transexuals, and went into a doctors care, establishing their "femaleness" to said doctors satisfaction as per legal requirements, and then were permitted sex re-assignment to the other side of the binary.  "Hooey" my young friends would have said if they know any such quaint phrases.  Secondly, they didn't regard being trans and being so very important that it needed to be worked on.   This was one of their identities,  woman, lesbian, queer being others.  They were not by their own descriptions hung up on the gender labels.

So relax Grandma....(Grandpa?)

My instincts finely honed on the generational conflicts of the 60's is to give these folks a virtual hug and a right on sister.  Not that I don't believe that there will continue to be a gender binary  centered around love and family etc. , but only that the ascendancy of this binary to relationships of power, dress, interests, car you drive, cigarette you smoke etc etc.. ad nauseum...is oppresive to everyone, not just those who straddle the gender fence.
That being said, I am clearly a creature of a culture for which the empire of gender was big, even as it was crumbling.   I femulate, and I masculinizie myself when that is required at work or with family.  In that framework, I fret and fret.   Am I looking weird at the mall.  Am I looking weird at the family re-union.  I seek help.  The philosophers provide guidance.   Free your mind. The rest will follow.

Purgatory

There is a phenomenon well known to those of us who have been involved in the tranny lifestyle. At some point, a crossdresser either comes to their senses, or completely loses them, and decides to jettison all of their girly stuff. This phenomenon can be understood from the dynamic of transgender development. A typical m-f transgender person, is wandering around in the body of a boy. They grow up with their parents and the wider culture treating them as a boy, expecting them to be a boy, finally expecting them to be a man. Willfully or helplessly they keep secrets of a different order. God/Mom/Dad/Siblings/Pals/Employers/Girlfriends/Wifes/.... expect you to play the part. Only the dog appears to be indifferent. So every once in a while, when the moon is full, the shadow life can appear as... well .... a curse .. to see ourselves as others see us. Horrified, we run screaming into the night.

I myself, know this phenomenon more at second hand, having heard it described a number of times. My own experience was different. When I was young, i would jerk off while wearing a few things from my sorry collection, and immediately remove them, like it was all slightly distasteful. But I lost that tendency a long time ago, and I just never was a full blown purger. I have panties that could probably go in the Smithsonian. Don't make that face! They are clean and put away. I also have a Liberty Bell replica that i got in 1958 in Philadelphia.

So imagine my surprise when a friend and a the person I most played with in recent times, decided to purge, and in effect purged me!

A quick email to that effect, and that was that. Its rude. I have had plenty of people break up with me. I have had marriages end, so I have experienced the break up, but the email breakup... well that is rude! At least I got an email, the poor panties probably just got thrown out.

T-girls and their narcissism. Now that's something I could write about, if there weren't so many things I need to write about myself. An update on the quest for the female orgasm to come in the next few days.

You Say You Want a Resolution?

"He not busy being born is busy dying"

It's All Right Ma by Bob Dylan

The obvious interpretation of this scripture is that unless you continue to grow you will decay. A more subtle interpretation has lately been troubling me, that there are two conditions becoming and unbecoming. For most of us, we put a lot of chips on the square "being". This would be unfortunate, if nothing really is, and it is all becoming and unbecoming.

Last night I attended a small t-girl discussion group. I have participated in these discussions for years now, at a Lady friend who is a strong supporter of the transgendered community, and so most of the participants on this particular night were friends, with a few new faces. One topic was, what was the mistake in your life that you learned the most from. And the number one answer is... drum roll..... my (first , second, ... ) marriage. I would concur, having learned that hiding my "hobbies" doesn't make them or the issues that go with them go away.

Another question was .. "What is the big regret in your life?" With this group, not surprisingly the answer was not being born a girl, or not stepping out sooner, or not doing something about those pesky male parts when i was young. Again I would concur, at least regarding stepping out. I mean let's face it: The yound me would just look so much better in a red minidress than i do. But that leads me back to the premise. You cannot be something.. only become or unbecome something. And so to ask what do you regret not becoming.. as if you would somehow be that now.. is incorrect. The question is always the same... what do you want to become... so start to become it, before everything we call you has "un-become".

So for me there is the last new year's resolution I will ever make;

To live this year as if it is my last, and if it ain't .. well then try it again. Repeat as necessary.

And that means one thing..the operation!

That's right I am finally going to get my ears pierced! and i might even get my hair colored.. (une poquito)

Because, I refuse to regret not having become a physicist, I am becoming one, ..and so.. my gender model in the realm of becoming / unbecoming.. is the harmonic oscillation.. (no sluts.. not the harmonic osculation ) better known as hopelessly gender confused.

or as i prefer Hermaphrodite.

Unbecoming male .. becoming female... unbecoming female... becoming male.. ... Now that when occuring in the absence of friction is eternal.

"Shive ShaktyA yukto yadi bhavati saktah prabhavitum....

Ten Signs You are No Longer a Casual Crossdresser

"Everything was fine until they crossed the Macon County Line"

---- promotion for movie of the same name

As a service to the community,

Are you wondering whether your proclivities and obsessions for the female appearance and the female role have reached a tipping point? If so, look at the ten signs below. If you recognize yourself in more than 4 of the signs, then you can be assured that you are no longer a casual crossdresser. You have seriously crossed over sweety, and you might as well stock up on the Dr. Scholls, because those heels are going to punish your feet.

Here they are

1) You can't remember where your tool box is. Your garter belts are in the second drawer of the dresser in the spare room.

2) Its Christmas and the catalogs are coming in. Your mailbox resembles that of a french whore house.

3 ) You couldn't name a single network program. but have seen every episode of Say Yes to the Dress? Friday Night, TLC

4) You no longer have a few articles of female clothing, in fact it has been a while since a majority of your clothes were male. If your wardrobe was an ecology, and if your togs were species, then I believe the word used is supplanted.

5) The waitress at the diner says " thank you sir" You check the mirror. Have I messed up? No silly you are in male mode.

6) You think of yourself as in male mode.

7) A couple of women in the office are talking about the Sex and the City dresses how great Vivian Westwood's dresses are. You want to blurt out, What about Alexander McQueen?

8) It is Christmas, when its safe to shop for clothes in the department stores. You still take advantage of that, but this time you bought 3 bras, and they didn't ask you if you wanted them gift wrapped.

9) You missed the football games last sunday, because there was a luncheon party , and you were seen in that ecru silk dress. I mean it is not only silk, it is beaded. bugle beads!

10) That lovely young woman sitting across from you. You still wish you could see through that blouse.... and check out the tag. Is that Forever 21 or Charlotte Russe?

These are events collected from my own and the lives of a few friends.

They know who they are.

Gender Queery

Didn't the Barbarians put it best at the dawn of time...."Are you a boy? or Are you a girl?

Someone will answer the question, not necessarily you,and then... Then you know what bathrom to use. but when the question is "Am i a boy? or Am I a girl? then the fun begins. Genderqueer. this is the modern view which i didnt grow up with.

The Bugis have 5 genders. Surely we in America can have more. I grew up with the gendered soul... gender as an immutable mark upon the eternal self. And transexuals were stuck with bodies that didn't match the soul. Male and female He made them...

We didn't know that She made them. And She is a lot more playful.

I return endlessly to this question... Who am I?..Who would I be? Illness recently brought it back to me...When you are ill, and lacklustre then I felt that my feminine side was more challenged.. That is perhaps the lustre... but it is more that I am feminine with some people and more masculine with others... and illness cut me off from my normal weekend social life.. and it is harder to find Belinda.. in a coughing, sneezing.. mess in sweatpants.. than to find Bill. But we all end up coughing, sneezing.. and too lacklustre to suit up for saturday night, so what does that mean. Much of my life has been a journey from Bill to Belinda...If I am not making that journey and I have not arrived at Belinda.. then what?

So Is there a fair port called Genderqueer where weary mariners, their silks and satins in tatters can find refuge?

I can pretend so. I put on a dress or I put on a suit.. It is my choice... no? Not looking very butch in my drab..not fooling too many of them in my drag. There is a social world where I can be that. But what about in my heart, in my soul, in my loins?

Can you walk to two ways? Can you talk two ways? What about that soul? Is it gendered?

The androgyne... My hair is long. My body hairless. Small breasts... Thin not given to overly masculine demonstrations except for the occasional know it all asshole of course. The weekend, so my nails are painted but only in clear polish... I am home, and my clothes all came from the women's department, a skirt from a friend, a blouse that I have worn as a boy in NYC.. sort of a few flounces on a plain garment.

Doesn't a nomad need to wander, and every port is a place to go to, and to leave.

Halloween is coming.

What shall I wear?

Sex Change Hospital

Not fully recovered from my illness, I spent a quiet night watching episodes of Sex Change Hospital. Like almost all TV shows, I wasn't aware this one existed, but once it turned up, I was shall we say in the demographic? Long ago, I knew a drag queen who taught me a lot, and always referred, mildly disapproving, to those sex changes...not the procedure... the people. So watching a number of those sex changes... (they actually show the procedures but blur them, like those private parts were in witness protection). I got to thinking.

Hearing those stories... it is a natural question In the demographic? the audience or the players? and while I have referred to my imaginary vagina, a real vagina is a whole other thing. I am more certain that I will not be on an episode bantering with Dr. Marcie Bower, about when I first realized I was a woman, my year of living as a woman complete, my coterie of shrinks proclaiming (or is it alleging) that I am not a psycho. Nor will I be in Thailand showing a wad of cash, and skipping all the rigamarole. But.... If I could snap my fingers, my wrist slightly limp, and voila... bye bye old friends, and hi new friend, then I certainly would do it. And go back to work the next morning... nobody the wiser.

But on the weekends ..Talk about accessorizing...

So does that make me a transexual. I think the obvious answer is yes. Does it mean that I am unfulfilled with my imaginary vagina? I don't think so. I just think that those genderqueer boyz and girlz are closer to the real then the well meaning doctors, and their sincere and hopeful patients. but then again I don't have a single letter that says I am not disturbed.

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

From Here to Eternity

Recently I heard that the novel From Here to Eternity had been censored to remove references to homosexuality. this struck a chord because From Here to Eternity was my father's favorite book. At first I thought "so there!" speaking as it were from here to Eternity where he resides, but I understand that Prewitt, the character he most admired would not engage in homosexual acts for money. And anyway, the only really interesting communications would be from Eternity to here. But it did serve to remind me that the forces that shaped me, shaped my father. He confessed that his mother had dressed him funny, (knickers in his day), and he had a deep concern with masculinity growing up in a fatherless home. He certainly communicated that to me. I knew that revealing my fascination with femme clothing would have been very troubling for him, and probably trouble for me. Our biggest mistake together, a drunken prelude to an almost fist fight broken up by my mother, was precipitated by his voicing sympathy with my persecutors because I was wearing "fruit boots" ( sort of Uggs).

It was the time of "Are you a boy or are you a girl?" gender relaxation and the sometimes violent reaction to such. But all the boys were doing such things, so a special boy like me could certainly slide there,and I didn't regard my gender relaxed hair, and colorful cloths as particularly revelatory of my deeper secrets. But now what would he say to his hormone soaked, closet full of drag, semi-public sissy of a son, who was already something of a disappointment?

Well if he has been absorbed back into the unmanifest Brahma; If he has seen the play of male and female in the realms of the Devas and Devi, then he may have a gentle comment.

"Are you the last creature on earth who still wears slips?" and he might appreciate that in my way I emulated his dilemma, choosing masculinity for my public persona, and living all of my significant life up to a few years ago as a man. I certainly don't know very well the demons that may have afflicted that very stoic man who provided me with the proper role model which he never had from his own absent, arrogant and morally questionable father. I found a heart ornament from my mother on a lonely beach a few Easter's ago. I have not had such obvious communications from his Eternity. But the connections were so much more strained,. Anyway I am glad that Prewitt did not turn out to be effeminate, and censored. We each have our blessings and our burdens. My father was a model among men. I see his karma at work still and still doing good in my brother particularly another model among men. Me? I have chosen a different path or it chose me.

I Remember You

I remember vividly and still feel it, mostly vicariously, the thrill.. pitter pat.. of a boy's heart when he regards that which is soft, and sensuous, gentle and admiring, curvy and complete in a body that hurts to look at, eyes that hurt to look into... a voice that.. melts.... Mom's register, the female voice. The heart swells.... and that isn't the only thing that swells. Those special memories; just so tickled to have a sweet smelling, good looking girl on your arms or in your arms. To be the rather colorless consort to that gay colorful lilting creature!

So when you begin to seriously emulate her. When you dress as you never dressed as young. A flowing skirt, a lighter tread, sparkles from a little costume bling, and the lovely feelings of your beautful underthings, soft against your body. When you are her if only approximately, and with a few more years on you than she had, when you are her nonetheless, a experience the other side, there is a loss. She laughed, and lilted and flirted with that colorless shy boy, and that boy.... well.... that boy is gone.

It has been very satisfying for me to be transgendered, but like serial monogamy is not polyamoury so serial gender identification is not the full experience, but I am not sure with my hormones, and my sweety titties that I would never never want to surrender, that I could ever have that full experience. Some people, younger than i call themselves genderqueer.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genderqueer

I would love to know if someone can actually be both ... male and female in some fundamental way and enjoy both pieces of the dance. In the same day, in the same body.... The mystical union...

Or didn't you know. Yab Yum is Yum Yum.

Pheromones Again

A couple of years ago, I was wondering how estrogen might change the way I smell, and whether that would cause otherwise heterosexual men to be attracted to me.

http://harmonybelle.blogspot.com/2009/12/full-moons-pheromones-and-i-phones.html Well it was sort of a weekend of philosophical discussion and t-group sort of activity this weekend, and a post op T-Girl who has been married was asked by a woman who was curious why She used to be attracted to girls, and was now attracted to men. And what the postop girl said was .... "well men just started to smell good" Things that make you go HMMM... or is that HUM! the night before discussion was about knowing yourself, and how it isn't about you, and other things that sound good, but I always wonder.. like " Is everyone having me on?" Be honest about what you want..etc etc.. I mean I think I want to get up now and get another beer, but beyond that.. like whether I want boys or girls.. or maybe just lots of mirrors... well I don't really know. But I do know that my sissy girlfriend who is after all a boy... well She smells wonderful, and I love to ..well I love to smell her. and that means I love to smell him... and that means... gasp! oh double gasp!! I like boys... cause I actually like to touch her where she isn't a her , and smell her.. and in the morning touching her and making her swell.. and the strong unshowered morning smell of her.. and I can only say that the whole experience is just swell. In evening contemplation, enjoying the lime wafting from my my beer. I can entertain the possibility that it all sounds awfully homosexual of me, and I just looked up late onset homosexuality, and they mean like 20 or something, so that is definitely an F in the Introductory Know Yourself. But I forgot... I take hormones! and while Girls still smell great, now boys smell great too, and could it be just that simple... Better Living Through Chemistry. And now I am thinking with this essay I may just be able to cajol the professor into giving me a C-

i wish i were in love again

Or do i?

In recent times, I have taken up a number of relationships in the context of being trans, and particularly in the context of being kinky trans. So at the current time, I belong to a poly family which means I am submissive to a dominant lady, and a dominant Tgirl. These are sort of casual relationships, which involve sex in the form of play. I should like to talk about poly, in the coming weeks since poly is very interesting, and in polyland polypeople have a whole lot of different ideas about love. Related to the poly is the sissygurl that i introduced into the family. Now she is someone that i have more of a traditional relationship with, if your idea of traditional is a bunch of boys who act like girls. That is a relationship worthy of a posting as well, so I will do that in the weeks to come as well. It is my second such relationship, and having a boyfriend, even if the boy is a trans, is something that i still have some trouble understanding, because i was never gay, and hardly bi, and now in my dotage, I haven't had a girlfriend in a while, and I have slept with a number of gurlz, who i tend to enjoy the way girls enjoy boys. Well if i say anymore, i will blush! so i will save that for a later entry. Finally, i have a bit of a vanilla relationship with a woman who i recently went on vacation with, and what is it that is so familiar? Oh right, she is my ex-wife, and I live with her! but recently we have been moving towards trying out some sexual play which we have avoided, but that is for later too.

The key is that none of these relationships is the sense of the song.

There are no sleepless nights, no endless fights, though perhaps the faint aroma of performing seals at times.

so i realize in deep in my poor bruised psyche, i wish i were a girl of an earlier generation, a femme frilly girl when it wasn't a retro choice, or a pastime. and if i were, a girl of my mother's generation, then surely i would love to hear Frank Sinatra sing I Wish I Were in Love Again.

But there is wisdom seeing the young lovers, chasing shadows, chasing tail, chasing their own tails, it is easy to feel sorry for them. I have wisdom, and know the limitations of earthly desire, or am i simply old. and did i mention that one of my relationships is with one of those poor young shadow chasers?

Lets Play. Did Anyone Bring a Ball?

Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails.... Well maybe.. but I kind of think it is something else. Perhaps an urgency... an inflation, followed by a twitch, a suddenness. Something bottled, something trapped, looking for a path. senses narrowed, and narrowing oneself, coming to a point, a pinnacle, a pulsation, Thar She blows! I never really fit into it, my wagging puppy dog tail. No urgency...

Just the facts... masturbation to completion... 17 ? 18? opening the hydrant on a summers night, getting your honey all wet and wild? 22.

Yikes! how many honeys had there been by then? patient girls... bless them all. So... hmm not a normal boy... but strictly heterosexual in his panties, and a good thing too, because it wouldn't do really, I mean it was frowned upon. Except the summer everyone turned gay in old new york. but not moi... no fantasies.. no urgency in that way.

Sugar and spice... well hardly... it is more an expansion than a narrowing... more zones, better zones... and witnessing an urgency being a source of urgency... playing with it... touching it.. tasting it, enclosing it. and this well certainly not a normal girl. realizing the sensations in my nipples... 30+... and the rest...well... really it is more like last week,

so it is a parlour trick really... see the hair grow!, see the chest grow! and making things disappear! where did that pesky puppy dog tail go? And who misplaced the balls. Now how are we going to play? I hate that when a girl says that. Don't you?

But more and more I realize she has a point.

Feminized

Hormones. Specifically estrogen. For almost 3 years, I have through the good offices of the global internet market slapped a little patch of pretty on my derriere weekly, and watched the wonderful transformation as my sad male breasts began to blossom and swell. Hidden treasure, unlocked by the chemical key. And what other goodies, were in the treasure chest? I tried recently to do an inventory. The breasts, the slow beard, the little bit of flesh on my scrawny buttocks, maybe a softening of the face, according to someone who has observed me throughout. But what about the mood, what about the mind, the subtleties, the sex!?

The river never slows. Aging, meditation, and estrogen, a lovely way to spend a decade or two. Where one begins, the other ends more or less unknowable. I am calm, opening up, less self involved (o.k. only kidding) , a-himsa-- non-injury, the letting go of aggression, so there is less male aggressiveness, but i can't place it particularly in feminization, though meditation, feminization, they blend together.

What about emotion? A few of the Ladies have laughed at taking hormones, talking about the emotional roller coaster, but i think that emotional roller coasters come with the cycle of hormones, and i take hormones in an a-cyclical manner, though sometimes tuned to the moon cycle, i feel the energy peak at full moon time.

But there is definitely something there that is hard to lasso, I think I look subtley different, and i smell subtly different, and these blessings work a little covert magic. I know that I have acquired an attractiveness for a couple of heterosexual males, that might just be friendliness, but feels likes it has elements of courtship, some lunch friends.

and of course my body feels and smells different to me. The mirror is right there, and we are not playing dress up, and there we are, and we are certainly not very masculine looking with our breasts, and our smoothness of limbs, and desire comes so often so clearly through the chest, the breast, the breath.

In meditation, in quiet moments, energy moves up the spine, and through the chakras. In a sensual mood, energy moves up the spine, and congregates in the chest. If you touch the nipples, then it almost hurts, the feeling that arises and descends into the loins. At that feeling is such a femme feeling, that in imagination, you are transformed, boy no more, fully feminized, without fear (or is it hope) of return.

Is it live or is it memorex? don't know, honey, don't care. It is all there, always was, uncultivated, unrecognized, undermining the tall towers of masculinity. Now She emerges. She is not me, but she includes me. Let's me travel alongside, Queen Estradiol, and i Her devotee.

Miss High Heels at the Mardi Gras

Lee Brewster if you don't recognize her. When I think of the unliberated experiences in the tranny journey, the long road. Imagine all the years, with absolute secrecy, purloining Mom's panties, and finally finding panties or a dirty old frock in the ultimate thrift store, the trash! It is a lonely life when you are sneaking back under cover of darkness to retrieve a treasure seen earlier, a pair of discarded panties. and then .. well into adulthood, well into your 20's, after just a couple of seven and seven's at the port authority bowling alley. (I wonder if those lanes still exist) to walk over to 10 th avenue, up a few stairs.. nervous enough to tremble, and to enter.. Paradise! Lee's queendom, Lee's Mardi Gras.. I still remember the first time. greeted by the kindly proprietor an older kindly fellow, somewhat effeminate, who must have seen a thousand like me. and coming over as i could barely look at the treasures. coming over and talking with me about waist cinchers! The first moments in my life talking to another human being about my secret desires, and he fitted me for one that day, and i bought ..that's right bought! my first pair of purchsed panties, and didn't my first bra, my first shoes, and my first wig follow soon enough. Thank you Lee Brewster! for getting me started.. a little tardy but making up for it with enthusiasm.

Lee Brewster is dead now, and has been for almost a decade. His "transvestite boutique" full of drag, and wicked stories was one of my favorite places to visit. I never evolved enough to go there enfemme while he lived, and now the store doesn't exist, and perhaps doesn't need to exist the way it once did. It once was a wonderland..dare i say a fairyland! I bought Miss High Heels and other classic works in sleazy bookstores a few blocks away, and they told me that my shameful fantasies were not singular. But Lee's showed me the joy behind it. I still have a few pieces from Lee's, but that old Lady Marlene waist cincher... well it did its magic.. and then burst asunder some time later. Lee was always an optimist.

Housecleaning

Living in a house with a former lover and planning to sell it, throwing things out, is a task that can easily eat up a weekend. And the little things that lurk in corners and crannies emerge again. Abhijnana, the sanskrit refers to the tokens of remembrance, I may not be Krapp, but i have a lot of crap, notebooks from former lives and forgotten lives, so it is that a notebook casually opened, reveals a diary more than 35 years old, and the thoughts of a younger self, all forgotton until the token brings them back.
Thoughts about an ancient lover, before it all became a habit of years, and before it all became dust and ashes. With regard to a once proudly embraced sang froid,

"Is it an honest reaction against love that would mold me or is it impotence, death of honesty, and the hidden vice"

Later the author discretely allows that

"Certain books were disposed of"

Yikes! couldn't those classic works of transgender erotica, Miss High Heels I would guess. http://www.castlekeys.com/library/Pages/misshh.html

even be refered to in private notebooks? Apparently not, and so hiding and throwing out things became the habit of decades until seriouls things got thrown out.

And the notebook has enough bad poetry to fill a girl's school. the best I humbly publish, this gem hidden in drawers for decades finally sees the light of day. A publishing event of note. Perhaps the literati can be drawn to this blog.

I
Amnesic burrowing creature
in tunnels undre cold earth
silently
sing

Need better poetry?

The forgotton self had copied a poem for that long ago lover

"In the void air towards thee
my strained arms are cast
but a sea rolls between us
our different past."

http://www.iment.com/maida/poetry/arnold.htm#parting

Pressing Buttons

Isn't that what it is about? pre-wired like my friend on the left or dynamically wired. Touch it and I shiver. Rub it and I sigh. At one age it was, touch that.. touch that warm round breast, and the feeling was a thrill and a hunger, which cried out touch more. (step close to my friend and she rises up, Devi, in anger protecting) At another age it is touch my warm round breast, and i .. melt and sigh and want to kiss you. (step away from my friend, and she returns to idleness and the complete indifference of the goose to human concerns) So you get re-wired, by way of a fetish, which is morphed to a fantasy, which evolves into an obsession, which resolves as an identity. boy becomes panty wearing boy becomes sissy boy in dresses, becomes the girl inside the boy who masks the girl. but it is still buttons, pressed, and buttons rubbed, and buttons fingered. Keys are pressed and the sonata is a thousand bouncing babies, the Goddess in Her lila, turning and tranforming us, over and over and over. A cock to a clitty is pretty minor. Do you recognize any of those eggs there?

Desolation Angels

Does anyone remember that fine book? Kerouac believed in automatic writing. Unfiltered and unedited communication of the unconscious. This is sort of like that. And like an author penning the most intimate thoughts, who knows if anyone will ever read them.
At any rate, how can you wake up in the morning so evolved. I mean completely meditating, empty mind, in your girls body, and feeling everything the kiss breathing out just a few fingers past the intersection of the brows, you know that place, and your nipples sometimes tingle and sometimes there is a feeling as prana ascends up through your vagina... That is re-imagining yourself, and i even not this morning but not too long ago imagined that i had a penis and i could feel it sticking up and out so boyish.. over the rainbow.
and then in an afternoon and getting ready for a party and painting your toenails pumpkin color and playing with your hair and the party is just the most in the life people, the sissy maid competition and it is such fun, only you aren't competing and you wonder why and you don't know if it is fear or maybe you just really aren't maid that way, except so many nights eyes closed imagining a always the Aunties, and strict Ladies, and the boy under discipline and the maid dress... put it on now! nara paracini!
Too old too timid or too sensible. who knows. I just hope the party is fun. After all my first sissy boy-girlfriend will be there.