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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.

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A Princess and her Queen

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