She lived in the cities of the interior; she had no permanent abode. She was always arriving & leaving undetected, as through a series of trapdoors. The life she led there no one knew about. The statisticians of facts could never interview her.

Said Anais Nin. 

Im not saying I'm identical with a woman. Nor would I want to be. That would be absurd, untrue, & diminish my uniqueness. What Im saying is that Im not a man either. But if Im given only 2 options in this society, Im going to have to say that I'm a woman. I've no choice. Because female describes me more accurately than male.

I won't cause you any trouble except to escape.

Said John Dillinger. 

Every woman adores a Fascist,   

The boot in the face, the brute   

Brute heart of a brute like you.

Said Sylvia Plath.

I would never be part of anything. I would never really belong anywhere, and I knew it, and all my life would be the same, trying to belong, and failing. Always something would go wrong. I am a stranger and I always will be, and after all I didn’t really care.  

Said Jean Rhys.

All true language is incomprehensible. Like the chatter of a beggar's teeth.

Said Antonin Artaud.

I have about a hundred cats living in me & all of them are curious. 

Said Kathy Acker.

When I face someone in the flesh, I can no longer speak & after half an hour I just feel tired. Talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly & imaginary friends, only conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real & substantial.

Said Fernando Pessoa.

I suffer from a form of perverse sincerity. I don't want to be loved in spite of what is worst in me, but because of what is worst in me. I even go so far as to hope that what is worst in me is what people like best about me.

Said Michel Houellebecq.

Dear Noam Chomsky,

Before the sun, a bird. Before the bird a dream that slipped

away like a tail in a wall crack. How much of nothing

can even  the IRS tax? I know a few things about nothing.  

I know it throws open all the doors & leaves you waiting

anxiously, the coffee brewed, for yourself to come home.

Every cop in the world, bare-assed, hiding in the closet.

I can't judge any of you. I have no malice against you and no ribbons for you. But I think that it is high time that you all start looking at yourselves, and judging the lie that you live in.

Said Charles Manson

For thousands of years we’ve been saying what we don’t mean, pretending to feel what we don’t feel, acting like we’re better than we are, living under the dictatorship of other people. Why not wake up & say fuck all that this morning? Why not tell the truth for once in our lives?

As a special surprise Easter gift Daddy bought me a new sissy romper! I wore it all day. Here it is.

Look, its an Easter Sissy!!!

My lecherous Easter Bunny Daddy brings me the best stuff! Much better than any faux straw basket full of plastic grass & tasteless fake chocolate bunnies & smelly colored eggs! He brings me stuff that makes me feel all girly & pink & that watching me wear gets his dick hard so he eventually has to fuck me again & again.  

We snuggled in & watched some television through most of the rainy, chilly afternoon. Mostly we watched this show where these two guys resurrect old junkyard wrecks & customized them into Frankensteinian hotrods. Roadkill, its called. Actually, Daddy was watching Roadkill & I was mainly reading Jackson Galaxy's book about how he overcame many personal addictions & just being an all-around dickhead to become a successful cat behavior expert. They do a lot of hooting & hollering & loud raucous antics with cars on Roadkill, racing the engines, squealing the tires & just generally making NOISE for the sake of NOISE! I remember as a child never understanding why boys had to make so much NOISE. It was like they could never just sit still & be quiet. They could never read or draw or play without some kind of violent disturbance in the field around them. It always frightened me. Especially since I feared being the eventual & inevitable target of their noisy rough activity. Which I often was. They were forever throwing wadded up paper or making spitballs or knuckling the back of your head or kicking your chair or god knows what else got into their dark little skulls. They seemed to be geniuses when it came to that sort of thing. The problem back then was that since I wasn't seen as a girl I was expected to be just like them and when I wasn't they targeted me as a "sissy." If I'd been seen as a girl, I'd have been left alone. I'd have been immune to their antics because back then even little boys understood that you didn't expect girls to participate in that kind of stuff & you didn't subject them to it either. Girls, by nature of being girls, got a free pass through the minefield of boy bullying. Well, nowadays, I feel much more at home around loud raucous guys—in fact, I even find it endearing & mildly arousing…boys at play with their toys—since I'm not expected to like it or participate in it myself…because I'm seen as a girl….and lots of times guys seem to be doing it as a way of showing off in front of me, which is flattering even if somewhat childish…it is, as I said, endearingly childish. You know, boys will be boys.

Speaking of boys being boys, Daddy eventually put Roadkill on mute & called me over to give him an Easter afternoon blow job. I performed this traditional Easter rite on my knees while Daddy reclined & rocked in his big Daddy chair. Let me tell you. The person who used to inhabit this body—that alien identity, that faux "I," that socially constructed "he"—lived a great deal of its life through many traditional family Easters, sitting around the table, passing plates around, listening to the chatter and laughter of which it never felt a part, bored and unhappy, feeling out of place, passively listening to the squabbles & petty sniping of one "loving" in-law family or another. Christ almighty, thank God I'm done forever with all of that!!! There's nothing better than prancing around in a pink gingham romper all day, getting groped & manhandled & ultimately sucking my Daddy's cock in the living room on Easter Sunday!

In bed tonight, Daddy, in order to help put me to sleep, lightly stroked my tummy & told me all about bus doors, their operation & mechanisms for opening & closing. Before that, though, with my face in his crotch & his dick once again between my lips, he told me all about the operation of Daddy cock, its needs & functions, how it is installed in a sissy's mouth, for instance, & pistons back & forth, over & over, how it must be lubricated, teased around the head, the ridge fingered & tongued & then how its plunged again,  like a blade for tempering, into the warm velvety pocket of a sissy's face-cunt (aka mouth) until it ejaculates its pent up charge of energy & salty fluid. This is a lesson Ive some acquaintance with, its true, but one can always learn something new & practice makes perfectly girly.

Right before I drifted off, Daddy once again gave me a "last thought to take to sleep with me." Which was what a good little sissywife I was & how I had the most delightful little titties…….and the rest was lost as I was no longer conscious. 

I wish I could hang a "Sorry, We're Closed Sign" on my forehead or whatever the equivalent to that  would be. I'd hang it there most of the time. Maybe at the bottom where they had a space for hours of operation I'd write "Call for an Appointment." Then add a made-up #.

In bed tonight, after a massage, Daddy toyed with me until i made a big sissycummi. At one point, he teasingly asked me what i wanted & I told him & I almost thought he was going to say "not tonight" but he kept on going & it really felt fantastic & lasted a pretty long time, as they tend to do nowadays, even though i don't get hard anymore & nothing of any substance (haha) really comes out. 

Before that, we talked about sex. He wanted to hear about what a slut I used to be but I explained how it wasn't quite like he might have thought. How I never went out to places just to have super-quick sex at x-rated bookstores or theaters, bathrooms or bathhouses, under piers or in alleys or motels or in cars in parking lots or wherever people usually have that kind of sex. I never had it on the spur of the moment with strangers but would always set up a date a week or at least a few days in advance. I was never desperate for it, like guys seem to be desperate for it, even the guys who call themselves sissygirls, who, really, i find to be no different in their obsessive sex-driven behaviors than any other kind of guy. More gay, really, than girl. Which made me think that no gay guy ever did or would find my sexuality has anything in common with theirs, not in their obsession with cocks & asses, or their urgency, or their general psychology, or their choices in super-explicit visual porn or fantasy or what attracts them in guys… nothing, really. We concluded thats because Im just too much of a girly-girl sissy for such roughhousing sex-anigans. 

Our talk somehow put him in mind of that girl we met in the motel in Queens….and Daddy had me laughing away about it, the way he described it. I don't know what he was expecting her to look like from whatever pictures she provided but apparently it was a far cry from what she ended up looking like & he put a quick end to the whole thing. He couldn't get into it at all. He thought it would be sexy to watch me getting it on with another girl before he stepped in & had us both but he said it was like watching a man groping & kissing me, not a girl at all & he couldn't get turned on doing anything with her at all  Well, I know that a lot of these "girls" are really just guys that get turned on by dressing & the minute they have an orgasm that's it, girl-time is over, & they go right back to being as much a guy as any guy. And I guess thats the way it was with this "girl." I tried to get into it for Daddy's sake but I was just playacting so when Daddy said "that's enough" it was easy to get up & leave. The whole point was to turn him on & if it wasn't….well there was no point to it at all. 

Anyway, that girl wasn't much of a girl, I suspect. Just a guy with a cross dressing  homoerotic fetish. Thats okay if thats what you're into, but, unfortunately, this is the view that a lot of people have about transgender people—that they're all like that. Just guys all horned up wearing women's clothes so you can understand their objection to having them use women's bathrooms & dressing rooms & stuff like that…you can understand it, but that doesn't make it any less ignorant. Sigh. It does make me angry that often times x-dressing fetishists like that call themselves "gurls" confusing the issue even further. They don't realize how much harder they're making it for truly transgender people by misidentifying themselves the way they do. Or they just don't care. Its just ignorance & apathy all around, like it is with practically everything in the world. Anyway I had forgotten a lot of the details but it all came back to me as Daddy recounted that night, leaving me practically gasping for air i was laughing so hard. Sometimes a crappy sex experience can be just as good in retrospect as a hot one if it ends up so comically bad that it leaves you laughing your ass off even a couple of years later.