Two Wet Trannies and a Cowboy

I know the title of this post invokes some pretty raunchy images, and for that I’m sorry.

The party that I spoke of in my last post, happened on Saturday night during a huge downpoor in Houston.  Of course like all trannies worth anything, we were late.  Tranny time is different then average person time.  We live by our own rules, probably a result of taking charge of our lives and becoming who we are with a middle finger extended at the world’s social constructs.

My girlfriend does makeovers for people and had a client who also was attending the party.  So, after an hour or two, of making a man into a beautiful woman, we began the process of transforming ourselves from average looking trannies, into TS goddesses, and well, this simply takes time.

It was around midnight when we finally braved the storm, dodging trees, and arriving late enough to have to park a block away.  I assure you this was never part of the plan given our hair, makeup, heels, and a raging storm all coming together to form less then desirable tranny conditions.

After parking the car we took off in a slow teetery mincing sprint encountering a group of black girls coming from another building who apparently had the good sense to bring umbrellas and rain coats.  I love black girls because they immediately become your best friend when you’re a tranny, calling you sweetie, baby, and guuuuurrrrl, when they ask you why you don’t have any type defense against the elements.

Of course we didn’t have time to chit chat, and I hadn’t even noticed that my girlfriend had slipped in the rain skinning her knee and covering her leg in mud.  As I waited under the awning by the front door, she appeared wet, hair a mess, and looking at me as if to say,  What the F… you left me.  Of course the eyes in the back of my head have long since been covered by hair, and I had no idea she fell.  I never heard her cries for help, which she never even shouted, and yet, I was expected to simply know she wasn’t right behind me.  Maybe there is some type of tranny force or something that I’m not quite in tuned to.

Once inside, my eyes took a second to adjust to the darkness, and you can make out the silhouettes of the various people engaged in various activities, some as innocent as chit chat, and some not so much.

My girlfriend goes to clean her self off, and immediately some of the guys who have become a bit smitten with us make their way in our direction.

Thank God, I was by the bar because a quick Tequilla and sprite was exactly what I needed right before I excused myself to run and make sure everything had remained in place during the heeled cross country trek.

My girlfriend and the other girls can deal with the men for a bit, I had to make sure I was presentable.  Kind of evil I guess, but hey, It’s a tranny eat tranny world, and I know my priorities.

As I explained in the last post, my friends place of business is set up in three main rooms, and one locker area where the bathroom is.

I made my way from the first room, through the second which had two or three trannies dancing in the cage, through eyes oggling my bicyclist legs proudly displayed from the bottom of my short shorts, and the tops of my heels, and into the locker area, where another girl I know was talking to a guy.  She was already feeling the affects of her drinks, and had already passed the point that let me know she’s in for a long night, and a day of miserable recovery.

I say hi as I slip into the restroom, that also has a full shower for the girls who must detranny before they return home to their wives and girlfriends.  The lighting is good, and after some fixing, my hair was better, and I was really thankful, I hadn’t worn any kind of hair piece.  No one wants to sit around in a wet musty hair piece all night after being in a rain storm, and thankfully my hair being shoulder length now with highlights is just getting to where I’m proud of it.

Lip gloss, Liner, and a refixing of the hair, I am once again presentable.  I grab my drink, my purse, and it’s back out into the lustful tranny jungle.

I make my way back through the stares, as I picture those animal eyes in cartoons where you can’t see anything but a bunch of bushes and some beedy eyes flashing as they blink.  Techno music is playing, and luckily the rain has made it a bit less crowded then it usually is, however, there is still about 40 people and a good enough ratio of girls to guys to make sure that everyone has an opportunity to make a friend.

Once back in the first room, I notice my girlfriend has cleaned up, but now she’s sporting a bandaid on her knee, and I do feel a bit sorry for her.  But, she’s a trooper and quickly shakes off the fall, and is already talking to D, a man she’s known for a while, and one I met in the first party.

I’m going to take a pause and explain some of the effects transition has on you.  First as a man I was only into women sexually, and even now I consider myself somewhat of a lesbian.  Women’s bodies are still far more beautiful then a man’s in my eyes, but as you fit more and more into the role of a woman, you start to see yourself in a relationship with a man.  White picket fences and all that.  Suddenly the idea of being with a man is more appealing even if it doesn’t dominate your thoughts.  I can absolutely see the attractive qualities in a man, and a good set of shoulders, and a rugged face isn’t lost on me.

D is a distinguished man, with a nice corporate job.  He’s not the typical man that has a problem with you being connected to him on facebook, and doesn’t seem to worried about his friends finding out that he is friends with trannies.

He’s fit, easy to talk to, and I’m sure has no problem gaining the attention of women wherever he goes.

I also know my girlfriend has a bit of a crush on him, even if he has a crush on both of us, and would love it if we were a packaged deal.

Apparently D has been around the community for a bit, and with any smallish community, degrees of separation are typically less, and any girl he’s dated is bound to know us, and we’ll know her.

One of my good friends had such a history with him, and was flirting with him pretty heavily.  But D is unphased and it’s obvious his attention is squarely directed at my girlfriend.

My friend that I mentioned is a tiny little petite Mexican tranny with silicone boobs, and juviderm lips, long blonde hair, and is simply stunning.  She exudes a confidence that I hope I can learn from, and even though she’s much younger I adore her.  She’s known me since I was a boy and has never treated me in any way other then with total sweetness, and I’m happy for that.

My girlfriend is already playing the host bouncing from small group to small group, her loud infectious laugh being heard throughout the party, and she’s making everyone think long and hard about throwing caution to the wind.  She really is the little devil sitting on your shoulder calling that little angel a damn dirty lying bitch.

My girlfriend works with a group of girls at another bar here in Houston, and they call themselves the bad girls club.  If you can imagine the group of girls from highschool, not the popular mean girls, but the girls who hung out with the guys in the mechanical courses.  Girls with tattoos, probably smoking in the back, the kind that you weren’t ever sure if they had a blade under there miniskirt.  But for some reason those girls were actually the nicest girls you could come across once you got through their hardened exterior.  Well, that’s the bad girls club, but instead of a blade under their skirt, it’s another surprise, possibly even more dangerous depending on how you look at it. 😉

They all arrived, and I hear my girlfriend yell from accross the room that the bad girls are here, and it’s time for the party to start.

It really was as if the music stopped as they entered and with that announcement completely changed tempo blasting from the speakers with even more chest beating thumping.

Drinks flowed, men came and went, and the once crisp edges of reality faded into a blur that lets you know the night is well underway.

Vanity, the owner of this crazy establishment, a black gay crossdresser who always looks as if she’s the black version of Heather Locklear from those posters every adolescent boy had in his room in the 80’s, comes up to me, her silicon breast plate jutting her chest out obscenely, as she lets me know there was a cowboy here asking about me.

I had noticed him when  I walked in, ruggedly handsome, cowboy hat, belt buckle, wranglers, you name it, and I had never notice just how enticing cowboys were until just then.  It seems he had to go help a friend with their car, and I wasn’t sure he would return, but the thought of being wanted feeds the ego, and who doesn’t like that?

I found myself in the second room, girls dancing in the cage, by this time, shirts were off, boobs were shown, and fuzzy movement occupied the couches along the back wall.  The party had morphed into more of a strip club where the girls all have something extra, and the men aren’t afraid to slip a dollar or two in the G string of the girls dancing seductively in the cage.

Of course I’m of the “innocent” sort and am not participating in such activities when my girlfriend calls out to me pointing at a cowboy in the corner who’s eyes are locked on me.  In her overly loud way of talking she announces to everyone in ear shot that he thinks I’m beautiful, and has been asking about me.  As difficult as it is, to shrug off my modesty and obvious embarrassment  something pushed me in his direction somewhat happy he had returned.

He was more then happy to obtain my attention, and keep it for the rest of the evening, this cowboy from Huntsville.

One of the very real issues when speaking to trannies, is the fact that most of us are taller then your average woman.  At 6 foot flat footed, and 6-3 in the heels I was wearing, his 5-11 frame put the brim of his hat in perfect position to bump me in the bridge of my nose just as I was thinking to myself how hot I must be.

It’s always these moments of harsh reality that keep you grounded, and with out them, we’d all go around believing we were the hottest things in the world.

We talked about ourselves, introductions, interests, likes, dislikes, and of course felt the ever present sexual tension as we moved closer to each other, eventually his arm around my waist and mine perched on his shoulder as his warmth and cologne washed over me.

He wasn’t too pushy, and like all cowboys should be, was very much a gentleman, and that was good because the night, I’m sure didn’t go where he wanted, and I had just a bit of guilt feeling like a tease when it was all over.

I didn’t feel too guilty about this perceived infidelity with my girlfriend, as she was having her own “conversations” with D in the back room.  We aren’t a jealous couple, and we know who we’ll leave with by the end of the night.  Besides, the atmosphere lends itself to sexual exploration and a good helping of new found open mindedness.

Those edges of reality were completely absent when his lips found mine and his goatee tickled my lip in a not unpleasant way.  My own hands massaging the muscles on his shoulder and back as we kissed let him know that I was in no way resisting.

Reality faded in and out, and finally in with clarity as my girlfriend was standing next to us obviously in a state of inebriation, happy to see that I was letting loose and not my usual pensive self at these sort of things.

As she goes on telling this cowboy just how good I am at certain activities, I let myself become that girl.  One who has no problem with someone knowing my more intimate details and letting his opinion of me drift a little right of dirty.

As my girlfriend continued her pitch in what was starting to seem like a pimp selling one of his girls services, she stumbled stepping squarely on my left toes.

REALITY!

Suddenly the pain in my foot and the mild irritation at just being stepped on, brought me out of this little fantasy world for a moment, and as she walked off, I let him know, I needed to sit down.

And here we were, sitting in two low sitting chairs, he moving back into gentleman mode, and I carefully nestled under his arm.

r.e..a…l….i……t……………

And i’m back in the fantasy world this place is providing.

A black tranny is dancing in the cage now, dollars peaking out of her g string, her perfectly toned muscles directing her body to move to the music, raising the temperature in the room, as a man and a small asian tranny walk up to us smiling telling us how beautiful of a couple we are, invoking those picket fence fantasies that have been invading my mind of late.

Suddenly the passionate tranny lounge with dancing girls had slipped away and I found myself thinking of meeting parents, thanksgiving dinner, having a dog, and adopting children.

These fantasies quickly replace the ones that clouded my mind in my old life, and I’m not to sad to see the change.  It surely makes for a clearer head, and less time worrying about when the next time I’ll get laid is.

Our lips met again, this time more passionately, and I struggled to maintain my composure as I was truly becoming in a state of lust.

His shirt may have become unbuttoned, my hand may have found his chest, and he may have had a tattoo above his left nipple of a bull’s skull with Indian feathers hanging from it’s horns peaking through his chest hair, I can’t be too sure.  😉

Right about now, I couldn’t be too sure, just how this evening was going to end.  Would I just go home with my girlfriend, eat Taco Bell, and talk and laugh at the nights events?  Or would I end up with this man forever changing my outlook on such things?

Needless to say, that was decided for me, as my inebriated girlfriend sat down next to us, having a wonderful time herself it became obvious that at 3 am, it was time to go.  Dreams of  a perfectly manicured lawn, minivans, and soccer practice again gave way to dancing trannies,  lust, and what my actions must look like to those around me.

I apologized, gave him my number, a final kiss, and to my girlfriends vocal protests, I dragged her outside to wait for me while I repeated my cross country teetering heeled trek to my car parked blocks away in the rain.

I drove up and there was the cowboy making sure my girlfriend was ok while I retrieved my car.  I have to admit, I have a bit of pride in my car, a 2012 Infinit G 37 convertible.  I take pride in letting everyone know I’m a tranny of my own means, it was nice for the cowboy to see this.

It took a bit of convincing, but my girlfriend finally got into the car mumbling about how horrible I am, and how mean I am to her by pulling her out of there when there was fun to still be had.  A member of the bad girls club until the end.

Back through the rain with broken branches strewn across the roads, as my girlfriend begins to de drag, hair, lashes, shoes, all coming off prematurely before we even arrive.  We make our way into the apartment when she announces she’s hungry, and I, the loving girlfriend, make my way back out into the rain to Taco Bell, our traditional after dinner of choice,  to bring back much needed nourishment to dilute the alcohol in her stomach.

As I enter, holding bags of tacos, bean borritos, and a Sierra Myst, I call out to her with no answer in return, and find her passed out in the bed, her makeup and glasses still on.

I smile as I turn back, flipping on the TV to the many commercials with chat line numbers promising love, and that kitchen gadget I just can’t live with out, and finally settle on a rerun of the golden girls.

I bite into my chicken supreme challupa, and I smile thinking of picket fences, dancing trannies, chest tattoos, silicone breasts, soccer practice, dark hazy silhouettes, and a perfectly manicured lawn.  You know,  Just like any normal average every day girl.  But most of all, I think about the love I have for my girlfriend.

Just another night for a very happy tranny on the go.

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Tranny Party Tonight. Much Craziness will be Upon us!

My last few posts have been a bit on the serious side, and I’m starting to feel like one of those old ladies, knitting, and yelling at the poor kid next door every time his ball comes in my yard.

Because, I’m not ready to plant prize winning roses, and help the local church with Sunday School service, I thought I’d reset my priorities.

Tonight my priority is FUN, with a capital F.U!

Tonight is the 3rd tranny party that a very good friend of mine puts on.  She’s a pillar in the community and provides services for the crossdressers, drag queens, trannies, you name it.  She has a little shop in the heights that’s set up some what like a high class boutique with three large rooms.  Room one is the lounge area where you can log in with free wifi, and just hang out.  Room two, is where she does her makeovers, and room three is where she sells her clothes.  I should also mention she provides lockers and a shower for those poor souls who must hide their secret little world from the rest of their average boring life.

About 4 months ago, my girlfriend was having her birthday and we all hatched a plan to have a party for Transsexuals and “admirers” to come and meet up, and socialize.  Of course my friend does nothing half speed, and soon her store was redecorated and transformed into a lounge that would rival any of the most trendy spaces along Washington Avenue.

Admirers are men who are into trannies for various reasons, and trannies rarely have places to go to meet men.  Oh sure, there are gay bars, but they are full of gay men who think we are all drag queens, and can’t understand why we would rather be women.  You hear comments like, well I want a man not a woman, so we typically never even get a second look.  Straight bars can be fun, but dangerous, and straight women seem a little more then threatened at the fact that their boy friend might look our way.

The first party was small, a group of shy men not knowing what to expect, and a group of trannies, some braver then others, but it sort of resembled one of those middle school dances where the boys sat on one side of the room, while the girls sat on the other.  Fleeting glances exchanged across the room, and finally some conversation, and stories of the random couple getting it on in the bathroom, and that was pretty much it.

Like most things that have the potential to become legendary, these parties have taken on a life of their own.

Gone are the men too shy to talk to that beautiful creature they’ve only dreamed about, and now” experienced” people attend, and each party threatens to over shadow the last.

The last party saw many adult activities that you wouldn’t see at any other bar.  With a mix of prudish, and wild, people are bound to express their sexuality in ways that might offend others.  But, if you are easily offended, one of these parties would not be for you.

It’s a good thing this place has multiple rooms, as if you are someone who wants to participate, you will have no shortage of people to have your fun with in one of the larger rooms, and if you want to sit and socialize you can do that too.

Tonight the weather is bad, and it may cause a lower then normal turn out.  But, I can guarantee there will be something to write about when it’s over.

There will be a cage where trannies dance, tempting the men, couches laid out where fondling will occur, underwear will go missing, and alcohol will be consumed.

Couples will leave together for a night of passion, and maybe even a romance or two will be found.  Some men will go home to their unsuspecting wives, and others will simply go home and pleasure themselves with the memories of the night.  Most of the girls will simply remember the night as a festive event where we are not the minority, and the men are there to see us.

My girlfriend, and I will probably eat Taco Bell, come home and disrobe in an explosion of heels, bras, panties, and hair.  Our eyeliner will refuse to go away regardless of how much we wipe, and we’ll sit there in comfort pigging out, talking and laughing about the nights festivities.

Yes, tonight will be another glamorous night in the life of this tranny on the go.

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Common Consideration, where did you go?

As I sat in the subway shop in the Target shopping strip off of Sawyer in the Heights on a pretty windy day, I noticed a shopping cart left out being blown slowly by the wind.

This rogue shopping cart was gaining speed until eventually it would find some unsuspecting car to crash into, no doubt creating a dent, and a frustration for it’s owner.

I calmly got up leaving my sandwich, backpack, and phone on the table, walking out side in an increasing pace, and eventually a dead sprint to catch the cart before it hit this poor white van.  

I caught it with about half a foot to spare, and calmly returned it to the cart return and went inside.

As I sat down at my place, finishing my sandwich, a family with two carts walked to another car unloaded it, then simply pushed the carts into an empty parking space and left.

It was about then that I noticed no less then 30 or 40 carts strewn throughout the parking lot patiently waiting for their attack orders from the stronger then normal wind.

This got me to thinking.  Here we had 40 carts who at one point had 40 people pushing them, and no one thought to walk the extra 15 or 20 feet to the cart return.  These same people hadn’t a care in the world if someone elses car was dinged, or worse, had to experience the huge let down of finding that perfect space only tor realize it was occupied by some cart left there by a lazy inconsiderate person.

These same people, I’m sure would moan and bitch had they been in the same situation caused by the cart someone else had left.

40 people, most likely more as the carts rotate in and out of the store all day long, 40 people who hadn’t a care about anything other then their precious little world.  40 people who, teach their own children a message of “I gots to get mine”

There is a beggar that makes his way around my apartment complex.  He’s a man of about 50, southern, white trash, accent, always a half drunk smile on his face, and always your best friend.  

Of course this is his game, he’s trying to disarm you when he approaches to ask for money so that he can purchase more of the unnecessary items he wants to spend his money on, rather then purchase life’s necessities.

One day after some small talk he asks me for money, and against my better judgement I gave him the three dollars I had in my pocket, and told him this will be the only time.  After that he’s passed by 2 or three times, then once again asked me for money, of course to “Help him get something to eat”  Rather then give him money, I walked inside grabbed a can of progresso soup, and a plastic spoon, and returned to hand it to him to his complaints that what he really wanted was money.

Just yesterday I returned from a shopping trip and as I pulled into the drive way, I noticed this same man, trying his hardest to gain entry into my jeep that was parked and locked.  It was about this time that I lost my cool, and gave him a piece of my mind and threatened to call the cops as he hastily made his escape.

Last night my girlfriend and I went to the movies to see the new Tom Cruze movie Oblivian.  We like to catch the late show during the week to reduce the chance of any crowds, thus lessening our exposure to the droves of people with their selfish “I gots to get mine” attitude.

It never fails, some family with children way too young to be out this late on a school night will enter the theater.  As their children scream and shout, these same parents will never remove their children to keep them from bothering other people, and instead we are all faced with dealing with the consequences of a couple of nights of passion some strange couple might have had a few years before.

Where did it go, common consideration, when did it stop being taught.  Is it because our teachers are faced with parents who will defend their kids horrible actions till the death.  We even see this now with the Boston Marathon bombers mother.  Her children are angels.  They were set up.  It’s not their fault, even as her only living son now admits to the crime, had explosives, even told people after it happened it was him.  But in her mind, her little special baby is innocent.

Or is it a culture where the smallest selfish wants out weigh the simple effort in asking yourself, how are my actions affecting someone else?

Is it a culture where people who contribute no real value to society are put up on pedestals, where reality shows glorify the worst behavior creating stars out of people who are nothing more then ass holes?

The truth is  parents bare this responsibility.  parents are to blame, and parents are the root.

Children learn whats right and wrong from their parents, and they pass those teachings down to their own children, and so on,and so on.  

We live in a world where the last decency in family history was shown generations back, and generation on top of generation becomes lazier, dumber, and less considerate.

Politicians, advertisers, and the media, have all figured this out. 

I suppose I’ll continue to work hard, I’ll continue to catch speeding carts in parking lots, I’ll continue to tell worthless beggars to get lost, and in the meantime, We’ll all suffer the consequences for the selfish actions of others.

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Yin and Yang.  That’s about how I can describe my relationship with my girlfriend.  She’s the yin to my yang, and I’ve never felt so balanced in my life.

In Montrose on the corner of Converse and Fairview, there is a bar known for it’s tranny clientele and it’s nightly drag shows.  It’s a small bar with a rough exterior that would tend to send the faint of heart right on by while attracting some that are less then desirable.

Positioned in front of the glass doors are lawn chairs creating somewhat of a small crowd of smokers, street people, bouncers, and bar managers.  This crowd seems to operate as a collective gate keeper, their eyes focused on you, judging and suspicious.

For the budding pre tranny just beginning to explore a new world, this can be quite a terrifying situation.  Only the lifetime experience of denial, and the overwhelming need to find others like you can motivate you to push through this crowd through the dark glass doors until finally you are inside.

The  bar along the back wall, staffed with bartenders who’s professional bar staff clothing and neatly kept bar, serves as a strong contrast to the rough and tumble crowd.  It seems as though the new owners remodeled everything but the clientele.

As someone new in town, and new to the bar, I made my way to the bar as fast as I could to order a beer, in desperate need of some liquid courage.  I was still seen as a guy back then, white, clean cut, obviously white collar, and little did I know at the time the kind of picture I was painting.  Apparently my lack of experience and the way I was dressed seemed to broadcast an image of someone with money who was willing to spend it for some other persons company.  Nothing bruises the ego like the fact that the beautiful girls all trying to get your attention really had no interest in you, but were more interested in what was in your wallet.  Life would be so much easier if people would wear a shirt proudly displaying their price list.

It was after I downed my beer, and maybe three more, that I began to become aware to what was around me.  A collection of characters all so different, but together created an atmosphere this bar is known for.  A loud and vulgar emcee announcing the numbers, her silicone breasts displayed proudly, not giving many clues to the fact that she’s actually blind.  There’s an older black tranny sitting at a table, who I would find out makes the most delicious fried chicken.  A black drag queen on stage performing a slow number in a gown, you would never guess she practices a religion bordering on witch craft.  Another drag queen in her 60’s, the oldest member of the cast,  who would die within the year.  These people as well as various tranny escorts, crossdressers, transsexuals, gay men, men looking for the company of a girl with something extra, the occasional drunk person, and of course the ever present loud obnoxious bachelorette party, all create an atmosphere that’s not unlike the Star Wars Cantina.

It was a few months later and I had become friends with a lot of the cast of characters that made a bar, not known for much but trannies, and the occasional accidental outing of some local celebrity, feel like home.,

It was only 2 or 3 blocks from my place and easy to walk, and even though most of the people there simply viewed me as a guy who was into trannies, some knew the truth, that in fact I was bordering on transition and simply didn’t have the courage or the knowledge to do what was next.

It was about this time that I had walked to the bar and stood next to a tranny friend who knew of my tranniness when two other trannies came walking up and one asked her if this guy was hitting on her.  She laughed and told them that I was one of the girls, and instantly they became friendly and made me feel very welcome.

One of the trannies was a girl who was part of the show cast.  A girl with a hearty laugh that seems more fitting coming from one of the mob wives then this seemingly innocent tranny.  As well as her regular job performing at the bar, she also competed in pageants.  Competitions held in various venues where a group of beautiful, some not so beautiful, female illusionists compete in different events to win a crown, a sash, and the ability to move on to a larger pageant.  Grace, wit, and talent are all needed to win these pageants, and can take months of preparation to even have a chance of being in the top 5.

It wasn’t long before our conversation turned toward my own tranny ways.  This is a subject that’s usually met with a cold shoulder and even a disgusted look by other trannies.  I never quite understood the disdain for meeting a guy who hasn’t started down the road.  A guy who is at a point where every tranny once was.  But, it was different with this girl.  She immediately stood up, and gave me her barstool, an act of chivalry, that felt both foreign and natural to me, that was the first of many to come.

She waited patiently and smiled as I showed her pictures of what I looked like as a girl.  I had begun practicing makeup, and trying to achieve somewhat of an ok look, and the previous week, halloween, was my first time to go out by myself dressed in femme.  She was polite and gave me compliments, and now I look back at those pictures and think to myself how I must have unknowingly embarrassed myself that night.  I’m very surprised that those pictures didn’t give her some misguided idea that I liked to wear women’s skins, and had a hole dug in my back yard where I would keep my victims.

That night a tranny treated me like I was the girl.  She was protective, sweet, sincere, and for the first time, I felt like I was on the right side of a budding relationship.

The next night she was performing at the bar, and I thought to myself, if I go, this will turn into something more then a chance meeting.  As I stood on the street corner halfway to the bar, I thought.  Do, I go, or do I turn around.

Needless to say a year and a half later, you know the decision I made.  During this time, I’ve blossomed.  I began hormones.  I’ve dealt with insecurities that most partners would run from. I’ve come out to my family. I’ve physically changed.  I’ve been through emotional highs and lows, and through it all, she’s been there.

Oh sure, we’ve had our moments of “heated debates” but, as we’ve learned each others true selves, we’ve figured out where we stand with each other.  She the chivalrous pageant queen exuding confidence masking her inner sensitivities, and I the doting princess,  masking my waning inner alpha.

It’s the times when she won’t let me carry something heavy, or loads the car after a trip to the grocery store that I feel taken care of.  And it’s the nights we spend laughing until our sides hurt, or the times when she’s watching pageant videos completely engrossed, that I feel my love for her over flowing from my heart.

Sometimes you have to push through those rough and tumble crowds guarding the doors to your happiness.  But when you finally become brave enough to do what it takes, it’s so worth it.

She is my queen, and I am her princess, and this is how life is supposed to be.

A Princess and her Queen

Aside

From the Perspective of Liberty

It’s Tuesday Houston, 4-16-2013, a day after what should have been a celebration, turned into a somber example of the risks of living in a free society.

I like to procrastinate my taxes, well, I don’t like to, I simply do procrastinate because of the intense dread I have for doling out a lot of money to a government that has no concerns of how much of it they spend.

It was April 15th, as I sit there toiling over receipts, and W-2’s when I turned on the TV and saw the images flowing in from a tragedy that will forever tarnish the city of Boston, it’s patriot day, and it’s marathon.

Details were sketchy, and as they often do, the media became a shameless factory of true, half true, and completely false information in a race to be the first to report every single detail of a horrible event.  Talking heads playing up every bit of information as though it’s the most important with teasers every hour in a grotesque effort to capitalize on the life and limbs of the victims.

Soon the speculation of who could have done it was washing over the airways in an effort to fill time and keep your attention before the inevitable mass desensitization sets in. The left leaning outlets pointing at American extremists, the right leaning pointing at Al Qaeda

And soon, my friends, we’ll hear the call for regulations, knee jerk reactions by politicians who have no real concern for the American people, while they continue the never ending effort to solidify their career, and provide avenues of income for their friends.

It’s these times we have to remember, that living in a free society means a certain risk to our safety.  We have to be able to handle the fact that there will be people who do not like us, and will find the way and have the means to do harm.

It’s times like these I worry the most.  Not about some foreign country invading, or some massive attack, but of our own government adding more and more control, preserving their way of life while destroying ours.

It’s sort of interesting, I guess, that I was working on my taxes, which really serve as a way for those to fund their projects, and secure votes, that another horrible event would happen that would go to do the same.

Are we willing to maintain our free society even with the risk of harm?  Are we ready to realize that imposing regulations on others will eventually lead to regulations on us?

Democrat, Republican, it’s all part of the same political machine, and it seems so many of us are all too willing to jump head first into it’s gears.

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The Brave Heart of East Texas. (That ain’t no kilt)

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The small town of Vidor Texas isn’t quite known for it’s diversity.  In fact it’s known for it’s lack of it.  It’s a town where racial jokes seem to be born, and a reputation for squashing anything outside of the social norm.  A town in a region of Texas, that some may actually consider eastern Louisiana, where craw fish is celebrated, and gumbo is simply what’s for dinner.  A place where many people work in the refineries and plants or off shore on the oil rigs, a man’s world to say the least.

In this town lives someone very special to me.  Someone I met through Facebook as I happened across some posts from a girl in a situation not unlike my own.  Someone who felt trapped, and alone and not sure where her life was going.

We’ve all been there you see.  As much as we trans people want to think we are like other ethnic groups, we think we should follow the same civil rights play book, have the same outlook, and combat peoples impressions of us in the same way black people did in the 60’s.  The truth is we are different.  For most of us in our thirties, and older, we grew up in a time before the internet.  We grew up not even knowing there were other’s like us.  Where most ethnic groups have a built in support system in their family, our family typically has no idea of who we are until we finally are brave enough to accept ourselves.  For many of us talk shows, or jokes were the only exposure to other trans people we had until we got to the point to realize what we were, and perhaps happened across some forum in this new thing we call the Internet.

I “friended” this person and wanted to let her know she wasn’t alone.  But, the first surprise of many was the fact that this friend, in such need of my help, had already begun her own blossoming, even with out my help.  This girl who worked in a plant surrounded by manly men, was already becoming known in her little community through facebook, even if people didn’t know who she really was.

Soon after we met my friend decided to tweeze her eyebrows a little more then she should.  A mistake so many of us make. As we become hypnotized by the vision of perfect feminine eyebrows we tweeze a little more, a little more, then finally too much.  And suddenly we’re faced with the panic of our coworkers seeing our misguided masterpiece the next day at work.  Such was the case of my friend.

Her panicked facebook post, and message, stating the huge “OMG, What have I Done”, and my bluffing reply that everything will be ok.  I said to her “what’s done is done, now own it.”  The truth is, I was scared to death for her.  I was scared to death to think of myself in the same situation, but now isn’t the time for panic.  It’s a time for confidence.  Little did I know how much confidence my little east texan brave heart would build starting with this one incident.

People tell me how brave I must be, they tell me how confident they think I am, and how amazing it is for me to be transitioning, and dealing with peoples ideas and misconceptions about what trans people are.  But, the truth of the matter is, I live in Montrose, an area of Houston that is very GLBT friendly.  If I go to a shop, or restaurant, chances are, I’m not the first trans person to spend a buck there.

Vidor is much different.  You see, chances are, any shop or restaurant in this slice of East Texan heaven has never had a trans person, or the rest of the glb alphabet soup cross through their door, and it’s quite possible that Jerry Springer and juvenile jokes are the only education about transgender people these residents have had.

Now, a little over a year later, I’ve since met my friend in real life, we’ve become close, and her life has seemed to explode.

In the time I’ve known her, she’s come out to her family, she’s continued her vloging, she’s experienced Houston’s Pride celebration, she’s been out with her family as her self, she’s become open at work, she’s help put together a East Texas support group, she’s become a mainstay at a bar in Beaumont, her relationship with her daughters, that really only a father transitioning can have, has flourished, and her mother accompanied her to the little gay bar in Beaumont to meet her friends from Houston this past weekend.

She has become an inspiration for many with her incredible positive, live life as it comes attitude.  And even if once, I was there to pretend to have the confidence enough to try to inspire her, she has been the one to inspire me.

Isn’t that the way we trannies do it?  We have to allow our collective experiences be the stepping stones of our progress.  We have to get our inspiration where we can.  Our tranny family is our support group.

It may not be a kilt my little East Texan Brave Heart wears, but her skirt is just as fierce!

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It’s Friday in Houston People and “I Want To Break Free”!!!!!

 

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Isn’t that just the way.  We’re like a kite, feeling the wind under neath us, the need to soar, the extreme wish to finally break free.  And just as our string holding us back snaps, and, we finally feel the freedom we’ve longed for, we hit some snag that that makes us feel as though we’ll never escape.

I took this photograph at the Austin Kite Festival a few years ago, and out of all of my photographs  this one represents me.  At the time, I hadn’t started transition, and I had a really strong string holding me down.  marriage, family, all of that.

My divorce was that string breaking, and as I felt free for the very first time, road blocks and walls kept presenting themselves.  Every time, I found myself escaping one obstacle, it was another.

But, this is the way of transition, and I think that it’s something easier to accept, then to constantly beat yourself over the challenges.

Remember, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, and girls like us need to face these challenges head on.

So, now, as I look down at the ground, the wind desperately trying to free me from the branches that represent my job, fears, self doubt, and even the memory of how easy life seemed when that string kept me grounded to earth, I know that there is only one direction for me, and that’s up.

Eventually the wind of progress, and self assurance, and positive relationships will break me free from these branches.  I know this, but there will always be branches and perils in the life of a Beautiful Butterfly Kite.

 

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