May I See Your Gender Identification Please?

"I'm not dumb but I can't understand why she walked like a woman, but talked like a man"
Ray Davies

In the last post, I spoke about my wish to walk the walk.  And so in my flats, long skirted, modestly made up, pretty blouse, girly scarf,  I have indeed twice recently walked the walk in the Malls.  And there I have found that I can roam the stores without incident. (Or almost.  A young couple saw me walking by the booth that they were selling something or other from, and asked me to pose with them for pictures. Does this mean I am eligible for my own reality show?)   But generally, I can browse comfortably, and with family friendly restrooms,  one of the great impediments to my peripatetic adventures is mitigated, (See Ordinary Life)   And so I can have a most pleasant outing en-femme, all by myself whenever I wish.

But these adventures, have highlighted some issues that I otherwise, have avoided.  The old Belinda (the one from last month!) generally never really confronted the issue of passing or getting read with any seriousness.  My social circle, of course know me.  I don't sit with my legs spread and my panties showing, so I don't get corrected very often,  And a number of good friends, don't even consider trying to pass, even though they crossdress, so they are usually without criticism or advice.

I however am different, or at least I think so.  I would pass if I could, so I am confronted with my number one give away,  my voice.   In the mall, this translates into a reticence about talking.  Cruel irony, because as a male no one wants to talk to me, but as a femulator, I am more approachable, and anyway, store clerks talk to you, and i feel self-conscious talking back.  Bummer as we used to say in the bad old days.  To a lesser extent my walk and gestures could certainly be improved, but I have worked on them.

"How do you feel?

I feel real phoney when my name is Phil

or was that Bill."

The Red Telephone,   Arthur Lee,  Love.

Or in my case perhaps Belinda.   So the issue in a nutshell is  "How can you occupy one skin with two genders, and remain sane... (or perhaps a more modest goal... remain uninstitutionalized).  I have been reading a little of the writings from TNG... Trekkies note, I am not talking about Data, but rather youth.
My impression is that they approach the whole thing differently,  but I will leave that for my next post.
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Extra ordinary Life

      Trans Toons by Bethanyangelstar.deviantart.com.

"If I were young again I'd pay attention to that little known dimension, a taste of endless time."
Chris Smither,


It was only a couple of months ago that I described my desire to experience more of the ordinary life of those most extraordinary creatures, women.  That was not followed up by weekly outings, but now i hope to do so in the new year.  I find myself in retirement, more and more dressed femme or androgynous.  But like an alcoholic who has been maintaining for a while with a steady diet of wine spritzers,  I am feeling a powerful thirst, and dare I say need to slap on a skirt, and head to the mall and shop!  Like a deranged participant observer I need to be among them in their natural habitat,  the dress shops, salons and tea rooms.  In the Xmas season, I did just that, and even tried on some outfits for New Year's Eve.  As expected, the malls were a welcoming world of friendliness, with family friendly restrooms, and transgender friendly fitting rooms.  And when made, as my unfeminine voice guaranteed everytime I opened my mouth, there was always a smile, and the occasional stare of some other shopper, whether cold or warm, was a matter of indifference to me now that i know that the ground will not come up to swallow me whole, and consign me to some tranny hell where the drag is ill fitting and the fabrics of the coarsest wool.
As I am more and more out, I increasingly confront my bi-gendered existence, wondering if such an existence represents a dissociation in my personality.  Like Eve (the all about one, not the one with a taste for  apples), do I represent two personalities, each barely on speaking terms.  My first impression was perhaps, but I need to think more on it.  I don't for instance fully represent my masculine side, the one with children and even gasp grandchildren, and ex-wives, and co-workers.  I speak here as Belinda, who is mostly unattached, and rather narcissistic at times.  But the few who know both sides of me, don't see much difference (Haha)  And perhaps they are right.
So another year evaporates and despite the usual apocalyptic nonsense, another stands poised to begin.  There won't be an infinite supply of them, i increasingly realize, and so they never have been more precious.  I hope only for a few extraordinary adventures this year.  And to become fully comfortable with my own skin, (and to moisturize it daily!)  My wishes are the same for you, unless you are a boy in which case you should have the adventures, but moisturizing is optional.

Superstorm

"Oh, love me tonight, for I may never see you again"  
  Bruce Springsteen  4th of July Asbury Park

I walked the beach last week, the north end of Brigantine Island, a beach that I love literally or is that litorally.  My first time since Sandy and a place to fully realize her power.   The storm itself passed right over my home. But being a distance from the ocean, well nestled near the back bay,   I didn't see Sandy in her full fury.  But this beach (and many places north of here) is where She made vacuum of our cherished illusions of permanence.  The beach has changed.  Twice as large at low tide , and I imagine twice as small at high tide.  The line between the thick underbrush of dune grass, cockles, goldenrod, thorny vines and the beach erased, The marshes are sand covered, and the beaches are denuded.   And with that, things once hidden are revealed.  There is a familiar piece of the beach with some pilings which are obviously the ruins of a dock.  Now as the picture above shows,  other more elaborate structures long sleeping under the sand are revealed.  And of course one island further north, long beach island.  Structures that once stood in daylight, are shorn, and what remains buried beneath sand.
In a night, what was is no more, and what was no more is.   And we are surprised, aghast at the gentle billows turned savage, and so much of what we called ours, swept away by an indifferent hand.  What once moved is stilled, and all is movement that we thought stillness.   Still we makes our plans, and build our castles, forgetting that they will be toppled, and we will be stilled,.  Everything we do, everyplace we go, everyone we love, everything we are will disappear.  And so those forgotten ruins, provide a kind of solace, the forgotten will return.  Either that or embrace the oblivion.
Officially, I do the latter, well read in the Upanishads.  And yet as it approaches, I furiously exercise body and mind, assembling bucket lists, and arranging play dates.  There is little to be gained by denying what is evident from the first blink in the morning to the final blink at night.  I work assiduously on the castle.  Here is the room where I study sanskrit, and here is the room where I struggle to understand algebra and physics... (Has that sand just become too dry to bolster those walls?)  And of course the top floor is completely given over to walk in closets, and make up tables, and perhaps a few too many mirrors.  Gotta get that castle done!  So I can get a nice look from a high tower at approaching seas.

One of the Boyz II

It turned out that i was the only tranny who participated in the CFNM party.  There was another tranny who showed up, but they were in a funk about the whole thing, showing up in a thong and finally just moping semi-clothed in another room.  Sweety  i feel your pain, but if you dread being naked,  dont turn up at the CFNM party.  Thus i was the  only other transgendered participant, and I showed up in full makeup with scads of jewelry and with a special cod piece,( hair accessories carefully placed to create a panorama of butterfly sipping at flower.)  it might be argued that thismwas cheating, but this was definitely technically within the rules and got some nice compliments from the ladies, though one did remark that i didnt  make a very good naked male Since i Looked like a girl.   If you prick us do we not bleed?
So we had 5 women 5 men and me.  The women really enjoyed the event it seemed, having the naked men do various things ( foot massage, serving, forced bi) or doing things to them.  ( clothes pins, rope bondage, paddling). A couple of,the men really enjoyed the event as well, at least if we gauge them by how tall their little soldiers stood.  But certainly the women were jolly and chatty while the men were quiet and embarrassed.
Me?   I found the public humiliation of forced bi a bit,of a turn-on, being instructed to do this and that and i didnt even know my partner who was certainly turned on.  
I had gone to this party expecting self discovery, being forced to acknowledge my own maleness.   It turned out not to be so revealing, though i did put dating a boy on my bucket list.   When i do, i think i will take him to a CFNM party,  only this time i will have the good sense to wear a dress.

One of the Boyz

Heaven loves ya
The clouds part for ya
Nothing stands in your way
When you're a boy

David Bowie   "Boys Keep Swinging"


I have been fortunate to find some females who I can call friend, and socialize with in girl mode.  These Ladies are generally of the dominant persuasion,  and I have learned a great deal about real dominant females as opposed the the Pussy with a Whip fantasy dommes, that inhabit the dark recesses of so many male minds.  Some of the activities in this circle of friends is what folks in the D/S scene call play, and which the rest of the world might be prone to call foreplay.   So someone has cooked up the idea to have a CFNM party.   If you don't know what that is, you probably need to broaden your social circle.   This is a clothed female / naked male party.  I have found that this party concept has a fair appeal to some number of females in the D/S world, (and perhaps beyond!)   It is not however my idea of a fun party, or at least it wasn't when I first heard of it.
I shall now describe the transvestite's relationship to nudity.
 A beautiful girl starts tearing off her own clothes and whispers huskily.   "Let's get naked"   You look deeply into her eyes and say..  "What!  No Way!  I spent two hours getting dressed.  Are you crazy bitch!"

or something to that effect.   Trannies love clothes, and the fashion options are very limited when you are naked.  The other consideration is that you wore all those pretty clothes to hide something that is quite apparent when you are naked..  You are a man!

So my first inclination was to beg off this particular party, but these Ladies are my friends, and if they want a bunch of naked men to play with, then by golly, I am going to do my part!
By now having imagined what might transpire a bit,  I am actually a little excited by the whole prospect.  I am certainly not going to butch myself up, actually quite the contrary.  Make-up and Jewelry are allowed, and that includes genital jewelry.  I plan to adorn that part of me that screams  MAN  with some very cute jewelry.   That and a pair of breasts that are rather obvious when I am naked should highlight a certain gender ambiguity on my part.  I only hope that I don't get shown the door for failure to meet the standard of naked male.  This party is tomorrow.  I will file a report in a few days when I return, unless the women find me so irresistable that they keep me in a gilded cage.  If they do, I hope they permit me a few frocks, it is getting a little chilly around here.

Ordinary Life

Some like the high road, I like the low road Free from the care and strife Sounds corny and seedy, but yes indeedy Give me the simple life

Give Me the Simple Life Rube Bloom / Harry Ruby

So much of my time being Belinda is in a social whirl;  parties, clubs, mobs of t-girls and other assorted denizens of the demimonde.   There are some exceptions.  I have a friend or two that I quietly socialize with. But all in all, Belinda is a party girl.   I actually have spent very little time out in the world, in daylight at the malls, and the town centers trying to pass as a sweet older lady, who spends minimal amounts of time frightening small children.  The reasons for this can be summarized fairly easily,  1) While I emerge from my house here with an appearance that is decidedly androgynous as often as not,  I am not in the habit of launching a Belinda outing from my house.  I am usually getting dressed at someone else's house (see mobs of t-girls and other denizens of the demimonde).  2) Bathrooms.  I generally am terrified of using the Ladies Room, and as Belinda cannot use the Men's.   3)  Most of my life the thought of going about the normal world dressed as Belinda,  would give me rabbit eyes, and jelly knees.
Reason 3 is pretty much a thing of the past for me now, and for my Saturday of Femmy Fun, 1) was taken care of by staying over a friends, after a party, and dressing as Belinda there in the morning.  The day was as simple as it was significant.   Breakfast,  Strolling in the Park,  Hair Salon,  Check into the Raven in New Hope for a room so I could spend the night there at a fabulous party.  Breakfast was uneventful eating out with friends, something I have done a million times.  The park was lovely, on the Delaware River on a perfect day.  I had a soda, I had a water...  OH I had to pee!  Off to the Ladies with nothing to protect me but a pair of Versace Sunglasses.  Easy as pie.. i entered the stall, some other girls did the same, they departed, I departed.. total stealth.  I did notice that the Ladies though unacquainted, did chat a bit at the wash basin, and that of course reminded me of my FATAL FLAW.  I don't attract much attention as I go about my girly business when I am dressed appropriately.  In this case, I was wearing a long dark skirt to hide my chigger bites. ( i live in New Jersey after all), a pink blouse, and a pink jacket with a pearl pin I got in the flea market  I looked like my grandma I imagine and everyone was smiling and friendly.  In New Hope, when I went to WAWA,  a cop parked next to me, and he smiled and said hello.  That is a first!   Oh right my FATAL FLAW,  my voice.  I have never really worked on it, and when I speak I get made.  This is what I dont want to happen in the Ladies Room as a friendly lady remarks to me about how lovely a day it is.  I have decided to work on a feminine voice, motivated by a desire not to be involved in incidents where friendly women, flee  the restrooms hastily.
Oh right I almost forget the Beauty Parlor.  This is my third trip, to have my hair worked on, but the first time I came as a girl.  Everyone was lovely at the Hair Salon.  My women do talk a bit!  And they talked with me,  about the ordinary things of ordinary life.   And I croaked back in my husky baritone.  There will be more excursions into ordinary life.  I like ordinary life.  This is the real woman's life.  I get all melty just thinking about it, and I am only about a full octave away from it.

Femmephiic? Femmephobic?

"Don't you think it needs a woman's touch to make it come alive?"
Mick Jagger.. Live with Me.

I have lately been thinking about forced feminization fantasies.   These fantasies have always been powerful erotic triggers for me.  In particular before I really wore girls stuff while masturbating, I fantasized about being forced to wear girls stuff.  Recently I have begun to think about the forced feminization fantasy as a dynamic that grows out of two forces.  The first is Femmephilia, a love and desire for things femme, where femme means that which is traditionally associated with women, female interests.  The second force is Femmephobia.  This is a term I found recently on the internet.  Here is a lucid description   Femmephobia is the denigration of things feminine, and this is a cultural factor that is particularly though not exclusively directed at boys and men.
In the typical forced femme fantasy, a boy or a man is feminized by a woman   This feminization is introduced in a context in which punishment occurs  (petticoat punishment), or it is introduced in order to have power over the male.   In either case, the experience is both humiliating and erotic for the male victim.  The elements of femmephobia and femmephilia are intermixed in these stories.   The male is often weak, or naive.  In this way he doesn't have the power to resist his feminization, and in his heart frequently there is a question does he want to, because frequently these actions forced on him are his own secret femmephilic desires.  In fact his desires are so femmephilic that they frequently involve the most uncomfortable or childish or slutty feminine attire.  The sissy is secretly more femmephilic than the average woman, while sharing the femmephobia of other males, which is reflected in his feelings of humiliation, and his need to be "forced" to dress as a girl.
If we were prone to psychodynamic explanations of  fantasies, then these fantasies are a begging to be analyzed.  Does the powerful female represent one's own Id , while the weak and malleable victim represents the insufficiency of ego, which is trapped by the cathexis of a satin corset?   Probably,  but who can afford psychoanalysis.    Instead I am left with my own two cents.  However these fantasies arise, they take on a life of their own.  In my case, I have had numerous interactions with real dominant women, and i know perfectly well that these interactions have not and will not in the future unfold like forced feminization fantasies.
  "I want to be turned into a girl."
"Oh please don't turn me into a girl!"
The Domme is like... "duh.....later".
 So rationally I know these fantasies don't really function in the real world.  I have sort of outgrown them fully realizing that the only force which may be involved in my own feminization is that force you would need to take this pencil skirt from my cold dead hands.
Nonetheless.. give me a good forced femme story...and I am all a-flutter!
Go figure.