“Portrait of Emily=Dick-in-son (Thanks, Dad!)”

8.5x11 in.  Pen, colored pencil, childhood abuse & gender dysphoria on computer paper carried around for days.

Price: I put a lot of shit in here for you to look at. A lot more than I had to. That costs money. $17,000

“A Visual Representation of the Lower Left Hand Corner of My Orgasm During Anal Sex”

8.5x11  Colored pencil, pen, marker, crayon (stolen from Applebees) on computer paper.

Woo, it’s hard to put a price on this one. I’m only giving you ¼ of the experience so I guess $18,000 sounds fair.

“Made a Pinky Promise with the Clown of Death Now He’s Laughing at All Your Tumors”

Colored pencil, markers, ink, crayon, the usual crap on standard business envelope

Price: Termites ate it so you’ll have to buy the whole colony: $36,000.  Add .50 if you want envelope stamped with first-class postage (advised).

“A Visual History of Everything I’ve Learned So Far”

8x10  Pen, marker, colored pencil, crayon on paper.

I don’t mind saying, you’ll pay through the nose for this one. If I can even find it. I might have mailed it off to someone at some point. Who the fuck knows?

Price: $50,000

"Oh Gosh, I Hope He Catches Me!!!"

Size variable. Can be made as big as your house if need be.

Computer-colored drawing on card-stock. I don't think there is an original, if that makes any sense.

Price: Life after death, maybe? 

“Gestapo Rooster Wants All Your Tender Chickens. Not So Fast, Says Crank the Vodoo King.”

8.5X11 Marker, colored pencil, crayon, pen, (& whatever else I happened to have with me that day) on computer paper. 

Executed at the food court while some married guy sitting with his family was perving my feet in sandals (semi-consensually).

Price: somewhere in the mid-something or others. 

Jesus is a camel

who’s invisible

but don’t try squeezing

heaven from your eye

like an olive

"Fear of Everything" Size indeterminate. Composed from virtually no materials whatsoever. Almost pure imagination. Price: Will exchange straight up for one working tugboat or an invisible talking (by telepathy only please) blue cat named Tree-Trunk

"Screw You, I Aint No Fucking Patron of the Arts" Sharpie highlighter on business reply envelope (No Postage Required). Not for Sale. Currently in the collection of the Whitney Museum of American Art

"Hi, Your Toothache Has Come to Town"

8.5x11 crap crayola colored pencils with a few Staedtlers that I must have stole from somewhere, crayons, markers, etc on computer paper. Drawn under the influence of an actual toothache!

 Price: send blank signed check to Dr. Rob Lee, DDS

Today I Ate A Dentist

The dentist laid me back

in his space age dentist’s chair 

and had me open my mouth 

really wide.

Wide, wider, widest, he said,

wide as you can go.

I heard the hinges of my jaw creak

and give way.

There, 

is that wide the fuck enough for you,

you misogynistic sadist?

I said this with my eyes, seductively, of course.

The dentist lifted one clownish size 13

and put it into my mouth.

Then he pulled the other in after it.

He said goodbye to his assistant,
who he had chastely loved all these many years, 

kissed her on the cheek,

and disappeared inside me

like he was descending into a moist manhole.

The dental assistant, a very nice Asian woman

named Pam, stared into my gaping mouth

with a look of utter astonishment.

From deep inside me we both heard

the dentist yodeling back,

“I’ve been waiting to do this all my life! 
I've tried my very best. 

Tell my wife and kids goodbye 
and good luck to you all!
That's all folks!"

THAT'S ALL FOLKS!!!!

In bed, Daddy brought me right to the edge again.

So close to the edge I could see my orgasm roiling around down there right beneath the tips of my painted toes. 

I could feel myself about to take the plunge deep down in my tummy.

I almost did it all on my own.

Spontaneously.

But Daddy kept it at bay.

Had me pull up my panties.

And suck his cock instead.

He laughed at me & called me a little bitch for allowing anyone to do that to me.

He's right, too.

I am a little bitch.

A little cocksucking bitch who'd let a guy who knows what he's doing do just about anything he wants with me... 

Daddy knows what he's doing.

Ergo........ 
This picture, taken this morning, I'll probably regret posting, eventually, after I've been allowed to cum, which will be god knows when.
When I'm left horny like this, I act sluttier & sluttier & I tend to become more & more of an exhibitionist than usual. 
By the way, I'm pretty excited in this photo.
That's as hard & as big & as erect as I'll ever get. 
That's what 7 years of hormones will do to you.
It'll reduce your sex drive, make you impotent, shrivel your balls, & give you a sissyclit that no longer ejaculates anything, just leaks a little clear sticky stuff.
I get my weekly shot of sissy juice today.

Ironically, it's really my husband who should be writing this sissy blog. And not for the reason husbands usually write sissy blogs, ie. because they're closet pansies furtively fantasizing about life as a girl (What I used to be, by the way). My husband is no sissy. He's a sissy admirer. He sends me emails like the one below pretty much every day. And while I know it's a byproduct of his cruising the web & perving other sissy cuties (which I admit does make me just a wee bit jealous sometimes) I know his emails are also a way to encourage & reinforce my own sissification. 

And in fact, that's just what it does. 

Daddy is a master of encouraging & reinforcing my sissification. If anything, I want to be be as much like the sissies he shows me in the pictures as  possible. They are a way of seeing what Daddy likes in a sissy. And I so want to be what my Daddy likes in a sissy!!!

Moreover, it's  encouraging to know that my Daddy really really likes sissies as opposed to genetic girls (or, as he calls them, "Accidental Girls," girls who were merely born girl whether they liked it or not, as opposed to "Intentional Girls" like me who really work at it because we want to be girls more than anything else in the world). 

And my enjoyment of his emails are a case in point. There aren't a lot of genetic women who'd appreciate knowing their husband were perving other women on the internet much less looking forward to getting emails every day having this endless parade of cuties marched passed them with their husbands wolf-whistling commentary....but that's just another advantage a sissygirl has over a genetic girl. 

We don't bust our men's balls when they act like...well, like men. We don't just let our men be MEN, we want them to be men!  And men love us for it! That's what genetic (accidental) woman don't understand when they wonder what in the hell men see in us. They don't understand why a basically hetero-cisgender male would go for a "fake" girl like me. They dont understand that a woman is more than a cunt, more than a biological baby machine (even though, ironically, feminism often makes that very point.) A woman is.............well, one definition might be whatever a heterosexual man sexually desires. And often enough, that's an "intentional" girl....a sissygirl.

So, without further ado, the email Daddy sent me late last night and that I opened an hour or so ago....

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Hi babydoll,

You're just finishing up your shower and I just finished changing the taillite bulbs on the car.

Sometime tomorrow (today) I'll pass by O'Reilly's or Autozone and get a package of the correct bulbs so I have 'em next time I need one.............{edit: i deleted some sentences here because they're just about some general stuff we did today}

.....So I think I have just about enough time to send you some sissy pix.  I got the actual pix earlier so it's just a question of putting them in here in some sort of order and giving them some commentary.  ;-)

First pic for this group is one of the most obvious truisms ever.

​Yes, you can call yourself any of the above, and Daddy will call you some more nasty and humiliating names, but the most absurd thing to ever call you would be a "man"!

You never were a man and you certainly never, ever will be anything even resembling a man ever again.

You're a GIRL, and a SPECIAL and WONDERFUL girl at that!

Next pic is another truism and a statement of the obvious:  Sissy girls make the best fuckdolls!

I'm SO glad that you're Daddy's little fucktoy!

Next pic is a positive reinforcement/motivational poster.

​SO true!  You can wear cute clothes, sexy clothes, pretty clothes, formal clothes, sophisticated clothes, fun clothes... ANY type of clothes you feel like wearing.  As long as they are GIRL clothes!!!

The next pic is one that should be close to home for you; you have done a wonderful job of emasculating yourself, with modern medicine and clothing and attitude adjustments, etc.

And hopefully Daddy has helped you along the way.

​My, my, my... if this sissy had dark hair and a smaller package, she'd look a lot like you.

She's got delightful pink cupcake titties and a small (but much larger than yours) bit of pink between her legs and she's definitely any fellow's idea of a pretty girl.  (Well, any open-minded and intelligent fellow)

The next pic is the almost obligatory British sissy girl.

This pretty sissy would also look remarkably like you, baby,except she's got that nasty foreskin.  Yeccccchhh!

​I personally find those things repulsive on men or sissies.  VERY glad they circumcised me as a tyke.

Those things are ugly, smelly and just plain NASTY, and I mean that in a BAD way!

The last pic is what Daddy tries to do all the time.

I hope I'm generally successful at it.

​You're such a doll and such a pretty pink pansy princess.  Daddy loves you SO much that I love to treat you like a princess and I expect others to do the same.  Both because you deserve it, and because you're my wife.

And as for the second part, well, you're Daddy's perfectly delicious, wonderfully slutty little fucktoy!

My prize possession...

xoxoxo    ~Daddy

I know, I know

the sissy faggot shit on here

is just too few & far between.

It's way far back on here somewhere.

It's not worth your trouble.

It's too hard to find,

especially if you're horny. 

And I'm interested in way too many other things.

Im not here to cater to your erection.

Go to Tumblr

or someplace.

Im married to a guy

& if you dont know how that is

I'll tell you:

it's a rare day that I don't get a cock shoved

into me somewhere.

And even if I dont get to cum

I'm on hormone replacement therapy

so I'm not especially horny

not here, anyway.

I get that way when Daddy's fingers 

are diddling me between the legs

& he's telling me what a dirty pervy

little cumslut I am.

& other stuff.
stuff he's going to do to me
or have done to me. 
then i whimper & whine & shake all over 
& make a sissy cummy
with whats left between my legs (not much).

that leaves my mind free to think about other things. 

I suggest you find a Daddy, too.

Even a part-time one

in a pinch

will do.

If you're a Daddy, well, 

you dont need me to tell you what to do.

I think we should all produce work with the urgency of outsider artists, panting & jerking off to our kinky private obsessions.

 --Dodie Bellamy

Dear Dodie,

I've always taken for granted that this is the only way I can work.

Best, etc.

Like Vulva in Thin Air

O bromeliad

young bromeliad

thy frankincense is mirth

pine cones never enter where saltshakers

stand guard

stop sign

stop sign

for raspberries are what it is worth

I have leaned far sideways

on flux barometers

stolen pokemon from spaghetti squash

robots are my progenitors in hazard

frozen peas will partway save us

you can see hello kitty in any dark

though I may be gone like mozambique 

I am with you all the time

like stick figures

like tuna

like uncle bear

like vulva in thin air

christmas lights, my dear, aren't pudding

nor are they freeway traffic

nor all the miles to Jupiter & never back

like elephants without a paddle

they are brave 

they are pansy

they are alcoholics with one less chair

Two bunches of curtains enter from the left.
 
1st Curtain: Have you noticed?
2nd Curtain: Noticed what?
1st Curtain: Nothing.
2nd Curtain: Ah nothing! No. You?
3rd Curtain: Me neither.

Exit to Rear.
10 minutes pass.
Plastic cups of sand are served. 

An announcement: Your stars have all been schmooed. 
 
The End.

All the unicorns killed themselves. That's why you don't see unicorns anymore. To be a unicorn is to kill yourself. When you kill yourself you become a unicorn. You join the unicorns. That's the meaning of unicorns.

There are people who don't ever want you to change & who wont accept the most radical changes you undergo. They want to fix you forever in their narrative, all too often as the villain. Run from these people. Run as fast & as far as you can from them. They will murder you as certain as if they stuck a knife in your heart.

Dear Noam Chomsky--
What does all the world’s toilet paper have to do with the use of the past participle? And why is it like this in this jar all the time with 3 bright new pennies?  Are you clear? Have you ever read John Fante? Killed a fly

with an elastic band? Sung Good King Wenceslaus

---with feeling?

I cooked a salmon tonight

half of it was perfect

the other half is swimming your way.

Yours truly, etc.

=Cat's Rules=

They gave me a piece of paper that told me to report to room five. So that's what I did. It hadn't occurred to me yet to disobey them. It just didn't seem like something that could be done. You followed orders and things worked out for the best. That was the general idea you got.

In room five, there was an old man behind a desk and on the desk a chessboard. On the chessboard were a couple of long teeth that looked to be those of a wolf but that I knew to be human, human teeth being longer and more wolf-like than you expected them to be before they were extracted. There were also half a roll of breath mints and .38 detective special.

"We've found you guilty," the old man said, bluntly getting to the point.

I felt as if I should have recognized him from somewhere, but I couldn't quite pin down where.

"Guilty?" I said. This was unexpected. "Guilty of what?"

"Of everything," he said.

"That's not possible. Not of everything. Who says so?"

He pointed to a cushion on the floor beside the desk. On it lay a gray cat, curled up. sound asleep. I hadn't noticed the cat before. I felt like I should have recognize the cat, too, from somewhere, but that's how it always is with cats and old men.

"You're kidding. How can a cat make that kind of judgment?"

The old man shrugged. "You're living in a cat's world. Surely you knew that. You chose this world, after all. Now you have to abide by the rules. Cats have the final say. That's just the way it is."

"So now what?" I asked.

"The only question left is whether you'll pick up that gun and do the right thing," he said.

I couldn't believe my ears. "What are you saying? That I should kill myself?"  

"We can't tell you what to do. Those are the rules. We can only hope that you do the right thing," he said.

For a wild split-second, I felt like grabbing the gun and shooting the old man and then shooting the cat, or vice-versa. What kind of crazy world was this, anyway? And no matter what the old man said, I had no memory at all of having chosen it. Who would? Unless the other choices were even worse. I seemed to remember a world of cannibal gnomes and another of space werewolves, among others even less desirable. Or was that just a false-memory? My imagination again?

Looking back now, bad as they were, those worlds seemed infinitely better than the one I chose where I was condemned by a cat and expected to pick up a gun and shoot myself because I was guilty of everything.

Oh what the hell! If this was life they could keep it! On an impulse, I picked up the gun, pressed the barrel to my left eye, and pulled the trigger.

They say that at the moment of death your whole life flashes before your eyes. It seemed like the bullet was taking forever to arrive. I was at the train station, standing on the platform. The train was late, having problems somewhere up the line; no one could explain more.  I was between here and there. It was no big deal. Nothing much had changed at all. I had time to do a lot of thinking. Beside me, someone asked hopefully, "Is that the train?" I looked up. I looked up.

I once had a friend—in my pre-transition phase, unfortunately—who was a martial artist. And I mean a real martial artist, not one of those Bruce Lee wannabes with a black belt from some strip mall martial arts school, who taught hand-to-hand combat to military personnel. For a while, he was coming over to my house every week & he'd futilely try to teach me a few things but really he was practicing some stuff of his own on me. He'd encourage me to "really fight back" & I did my best to oblige him but I wasn't much of a fighter & he'd quickly wrap me up helplessly in some submission hold that I could hardly not think of as vaguely sexual. I doubt he was thinking of it that way. But who knows? If he was, there was a missed opportunity there.

Anyway, one day he came over and wanted to demonstrate/practice a choke hold he'd been adapting. A choke-hold, he explained, doesn't literally choke you. Choke-hold is kind of a misnomer. What a choke-hold actually does is cut off the blood supply to your brain and, if executed properly, causes you to pass out. He told me that he would do it slowly and when I felt myself blacking out to tap him on the forearm. He stood behind me, positioned his arm so that my throat was cradled in the inside crook of his elbow, lifted me onto my toes,  and proceeded to slowly squeeze. Slowly…he said, but within a second or two, I saw black spots in front of my eyes & felt my vision darkening & my knees buckling. It was absolutely painless. It was like falling asleep precipitously, like maybe after taking way too many Xanax. I was so taken by surprise that I nearly didn't have time to tap his forearm…

Ive thought about that episode many times since. Ive replayed it again & again in my mind. It seems the perfect way to die. An absolutely dreamy way to die. Swift, painless, plunged into darkness, unconscious before you even know whats happening. I often fantasize about it sexually. About being killed like that.  I'm wearing sexy lingerie and the guy doing it has his cock up my ass and he's fucking me as he works his arm under my chin. There's no tapping his forearm. He doesn't intend to let go. He quickly tightens his arm and I'm like a rabbit in a snare. It's too late before I even think to raise a hand. I'd like to die like that, brain-starved, cock-stuffed, as he spurts inside me, dead before he drops me to the floor. 

Is that weird? I guess its weird. I don't hear too many people fantasizing about anything like this. Maybe they do and just don't say it. It's not the kind of thing that ordinarily comes up in conversation. Too bad. Conversations would be a lot more interesting if they did. I'd be more inclined to join them instead of just remaining silent.