I look at this picture & I think "yuck!"
Then I think, "ok, it's really not so bad."
Then I think "yuck!"
Then I think "its okay. I'm not wearing any makeup or anything and I just got out of bed. What do you expect?"
Then I think, "Well makeup wouldn't change things appreciably! Unless you put it on thick as a mask! You're still you! Lipstick on a pig, etc."
Then I think, "But still….give me a break! All in all..."
Then I think "No...yuck! i'm hideous!"
Then I think, "oh come on, surely not hideous!"
Then I think, "but still yuck. look at that stupid, glimpy look on your face!"
Then I think, "well, alright, but my body isn't bad, all considered."
Then I think, "Could be THINNER!"
Then I think, "Alright, I'll eat less today."
Then I think, "Oh right! You're always hungry as it is!"
Then I think, "so what do you want me to do anyway?"
Then I think, "Drop dead & be born as someone else. Or better yet, don't be born again at all."
Then I think, "That's news to me? Any suggestions on how to go about that?"
Then I think, "You're so fucking smart, you figure it out!"
Then I think, "I thought so, nothing but criticism, not one solution to anything."
Then I think, "How about you just fucking shutting up once and for all? How about you not posting your stupid photos?"
Then I think, "Well maybe I won't! Maybe I'll take it down!"
Then I think, "What are you waiting for then?"
Then I think, "I already took it down."
Then I think, "but you put it right back up!"
Then I think, "But I could take it down again."
Then I think, "So do it."
Then I think, "I did!"
Then I think, "It's still here!"
Then I think, "For now!"
Then I think, "What's it here for anyway?"
Then I think, "It's an example."
Then I think, "An example?! An example of what?!"
Then I think, "I don't know." 
Then I think, "Exhibitionist! Crier out for attention!"
Then I think, "Maybe….maybe…maybe it's something else."
Then I think, "What? I'm waiting! Pray tell."
Then I think, "Acceptance? Maybe? A need to say, 'this is me, after hiding so long?' Maybe it's something like performance art? Performing my life through an artistic medium to give it a meaning?"
Then I think, "A meaning? What meaning would that be? You don't believe life has a meaning, so you say."
Then I think, "Well it doesn't."
Then I think, "So what you're saying doesn't make any sense."
Then I think, "No. Didn't I just agree life has no meaning?"
Then I think, "You're cracked."
Then I think, "Who isn't?"
Then I think, "So there's not much point even discussing anything with you, is there?"
Then I think, "No, not really."
Then I think, "So why are we?"
Then I think, "We're really just talking to ourselves. People do it all the time. Talk to themselves. Sing to themselves. You might as well ask them why."
Then I think, "So are you going to take this picture down or not?"
Then I think, "Maybe. Probably not. Who knows?"
Then I think, "I'm going to go take a shower."
Then I think, "Me too."

Tales of My Ex-Penis, Part 4 & 5

I like nonsense. It wakes up the brain cells.
—Dr. Seuss

Life is a sexually transmitted disease and the mortality rate is one hundred percent.
—R.D. Laing

Tales of My Ex-Penis, Pt 2 & 3

It’s become a kind of running joke. But with a serious underlying intent. Daddy will ask me questions out of the blue and I’m to answer, “Because I’m a sissy, Daddy,” in the femmiest, faggiest, lispiest voice I can. If I don’t answer loudly and clearly and “sissy” enough, I’ll earn a spanking, to be administered later in the evening. At first the questions are fairly straightforward and obvious. Obvious enough to indicate that we're about to play our little "game."For instance, it will begin,  “Why are your toenails polished?” “Why are you wearing that short skirt?” “Why do you have that slave collar around your neck?”

To each question, I answer: “Because I’m a sissy, Daddy.”

Inevitably, the questions start getting sillier and sillier until I basically sound like a child answering each of them the same way.

“Because I’m a sissy, Daddy.”

As Daddy explains, when you’re a sissy, it’s the universal answer to every question.

Yesterday, it started in the coffee shop. Daddy started asking me various questions in a normal, sensible tone of voice. As usual, the questions started off fairly sensible, if embarrassing, especially to be asked them in public, on the off-chance that anyone overheard. “Why are you wearing such girly pink sandals?” “Why do you break up your cookie into such tiny pieces?” “Why do you have lipstick on?”

Of course, my answers became more and more absurd as the questioning continued. Soon my answers were such illogical non-sequiturs, so ridiculous, they violated rationality altogether and even what seemed to me the terms of the “game.” But that's the very point of the game. It's really a form of humiliation, a way to force me to abandon all pretense of adult rationality, all personal dignity, all independent thought so that I'm reduced to the equivalent of childish babble and able to answer a question like “Why did that woman order the lemon poundcake” by answering “Because I’m a sissy, Daddy.”

I found myself reduced to laughter, laughing so hard that I was almost in tears. I could barely get the words out as Daddy relentlessly continued his teasing. As is all teasing, Daddy’s questioning is a form of sadism, but it is also a kind of brainwashing, all the more subtle for being so brutally obvious. As I’m reduced to helpless laughter, required to repeat a phrase that is illogical in context, I am subconsciously becoming reprogrammed to think of everything in my life being the consequence of my being a sissy. I'm being reprogrammed not to think, not to take myself seriously, and not to expect anyone else to either. And even though I’m aware of this reprogramming, I can do nothing to keep it from happening; in great part, because I don’t want to keep it from happening. I'm tired of thinking. I want to be a mindless bimbo sissyslut.

"Why is the sky blue?  "Why is the grass green?" "Why is that man selling cherries by the roadside?" "Why do we have to stop at red lights?" This went on the whole drive home and even after we got home and all the way through dinner, too! 

"Why did I have a vegetarian chicken patty and not a pork chop like Daddy?”

“Why do I have only half a slice of swiss cheese?”

“Why do I use a cup decorated with a Hello Kitty?”

“Why is it 5.30 pm?”

“Why did the people next door just pull into their driveway?”

"Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"Because I'm a sissy Daddy."

It's the universal answer.

Whenever anyone asks when did I first know that I was transgendered, my answer isn't what you often hear. It wasn't when I first put on a pair of my mom's panties or slipped into my sister's high heels. It had nothing to do with clothes or makeup or hairstyles. It didn't even have anything directly to do with sex. In fact, there was no one event that brought about a sudden a-ha moment of self-revelation. Rather it was the slow-dawning realization that I didn't understand boys at all. Everything about them seemed alien to me—how they talked, how they thought, how they acted—it was all incomprehensible and frankly scary to me. They seemed loud and aggressive and excitable and dangerous. I didn't understand their attitudes towards their bodies or their attitude towards girl's bodies. I felt distinctly and oppressively uncomfortable around them. I can never remember a time when I wasn't trying to figure out "how to be a boy." And failing. They were like a completely different species entirely. Worst of all, I was constantly baffled and frustrated that I was supposed to be one of them! As time went by, this expectation became an increasingly terrible burden, both psychological and physical. A lot of years were trashed, a lot of people were hurt, not even including myself, by society's insistence that I somehow (how?!) make a man out of myself, any kind of man, even a gay man. They might as well have asked me to make a 747 jet out of a pipe cleaner.

I've always made the same mistake with people who've hurt me. Going back for more, having already suffered their abuse, their indifference, their disdain. Ignoring what I've already seen of their character. Continuing on with them as if they were going to somehow magically change when they never so much as apologized or even acknowledged what they’d said and done to hurt me in the first place.

I go back to them with none of these issues resolved. And what they think is…….oh here she is again. Whatever she was upset about wasn't that important after all. And they proceed on that basis to hurt me all over again in the exact same fashion. And why not? Why should they ever alter to accommodate me when I’m so eager to accommodate even their abuse? When they know I'll be back.

Is that what I want? No? Well it would sure seem to be based on my behavior. I've told myself a hundred times before. When people show you a side of themselves that’s cruel and contemptuous and utterly self-centered, run! Don't pretend you didn't see it or that when the curtain draws back a second time there will be a different picture painted on the wall. As if this were a magic show. It isn't. Just run. Don't stop. Don't look back. Run.

It's not hard if you don't keep thinking about it, playing the movie back in your head, putting all kinds of reasons and excuses into their mouth to justify what they did when they themselves couldn’t be bothered to justify it themselves.  

Listen….hear that? Right. There's no sound at all. They aren't even calling you back. Don't go back there on your own accord, crawling on your belly like a beaten dog!

But, but, but…it’s just that saying goodbye to someone  forever can be so heartbreaking. Not in any corny  Hallmark way…but existentially…cosmically…Greek drama put-your-own-eyes-out tragic…this unique and mortal individual will be passing from your life and one day from life itself…and you will never see them again. Never! There's this one transit in eternity when you're in orbit and then you're both whisked away in different directions. One day they will be utterly unseen…unseeable…for eternity…even with the most powerful telescope and then it will be too late, too late forever.

How can anyone make that call? How do you become so strong? Cold? Calloused?

How can anyone choose to annihilate another from your life like that?

How, in the face of that great irretrievable loss, can people not come to some kind of understanding…not be considerate of each other? Don’t they realize how little time there is to be kind, to cherish, and to understand one another? Don’t they realize the enormity of the loss that waits just around the corner of every human life?

It just seem terrible to me, intolerable, a pain too big to hold inside one body, one mind, one heart…like the grief will just reach a critical mass & explode me into subatomic particles…

That kind of thinking is a blueprint for abuse. It’s a formula for perpetual hurt. It’s a “kick-me” mentality.

Run, don’t look back, don’t so much as think twice about it. Remember Lot’s wife; if you turn, you’re screwed. Finished. Pillar of Salt.

And yet and yet and yet….no more and yets…

Oops, I’m turning….tasting salt on my lips...

RUN!

RUN!
RUN!

I have a dream about being in a seminar room taking a math test. The questions are all like this one: "If a car cost $2,160 to build in 1970 and a refrigerator cost $385 to manufacture in 1987, how much will it cost to erect a city building in 2006." There's supposedly a way to figure this out, but I'll be damned if I know it! Everyone around me is scribbling away in their test booklets. I sit there staring at mine like a cow staring at the interstate. I wake up feeling frustrated, my neck crooked at an odd angle, and a dull throbbing in my left eye. It's time to get up. 

No, this is not me. My nipples are a little smaller & so is my clittie. But it struck me that it could be me. Daddy sent me this picture in his morning email round-up of internet sissygirls he finds sexy.  I found this one sexy, too. And not just for the lamentable, narcissistic, egocentric reason that her body reminded me of mine. But because that body, clad in that flimsy little nightie, looked surprisingly erotic to me. Surprisingly erotic…since I am terribly ashamed, under any circumstances, to show my non-standard "girl" parts. To me they are an aberration, a deformity, an awful flaw, like some hideous mole or scar. However, the girl in this photo, resembling me, provided a rare and unexpected mirror revealing to me how those parts—my parts—might actually look sexy to someone else. If I were wearing this nightie, I would have worn panties for sure. Daddy might have demanded I leave them off and I would have obeyed, of course. But I would have felt ugly and uncomfortable the entire time he played with me. Now, seeing this photo, knowing he found it hot, finding it hot myself, I have a new way to view my body, a new confidence. Well, "confidence" might be too strong a word. Perhaps "acceptance" is a more accurate and better way to describe how I feel.

Daddy said: Oh, baby!  I do understand that you prefer to wear little panties but that nightie is beautiful and for what it's worth, I think you'd look even better!  I'll have to research a cute outfit like that.

NO! 

Better: Your sissy homework assignment is to find a similar very pretty, very sheer pink nightie like that.

No time limit, but keep in mind that daddy is not an especially patient man...

I'm already on it, Daddy! xo