I love you~

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 No other time in life are the three simple little words “I love you” more meaningful than the first time we hear them.

We’re born into a harsh little world, cruel doctors pulling at us, bright lights blinding us, loud noises offending our ears, and finally a slap on the ass that proves we just can’t take it any more.  And with that, our first cry.

It’s hardly a welcome wagon and a gift basket would have been nicer, but never the less, we can’t climb back inside the warm wet safety of our mother’s womb and so here we are learning our first life lesson.  You can’t go back, you must move forward, and life isn’t all daisies and ice cream.

It’s shortly after this we learn our second lesson..  As the nurse finally lays us on our mother’s bosom, and she looks down at us through her teary eyes, her, lips parting into that weary smile, and she says those words.   I love you….  And with that, we learn life’s second lesson.  Mama always makes it better.

Three words so simple, so powerful.  We’ll hear these words countless times in our life time. They’ll speckle our story like those push pins on a map, the ones people use to show how traveled they are, spread from one country to the next.  Those of us more social may have lots of push pins, while those of us a little less inclined to throw our fragile heart out into the world, not so much.

And as I said, at no other time in our life will those words mean as much as what they meant when we heard them the very first time.  It’s ironic really, the most important time to hear I love you and we can’t even understand the words.  We don’t understand the sounds coming out of our mothers mouth, but laying there on her bosom we instantly get their meaning.

Coming out to those you love is a lot like those guys who jump off of cliffs on those bungee cords.  You know, good or bad, things will never be as safe as they were before you jumped.  You’re about to expose a part of you that very few people ever knew.  A part of you that is counter to what so many perceive in you, and yet there you are.

As I sat on the couch with those words on the tip of my tongue, my breath held in my lungs, my brain screaming no, while my heart screamed yes, I thought about what would change.  I wondered would the bungee hold, or would it snap.  Would my mother embrace me or would this drive a wedge between us that would be impossible to remove.

But, because of life’s first lesson my heart won out, and those words came trickling out of my mouth as my held breath finally escaped in what was an expression of who I am.  And like that day with the harsh lights the shouting, the smack on the ass, They’re met with understandable shock, a look of confusion, and finally silence…..

You notice a lot of things when time slows to a stand still.  You notice the clock ticking, the slow yawn of the dog laying at your feet, the ceiling fan with it’s woosh woosh woosh, the short labored breaths of apprehension, and the screaming of your brain as it proclaims loudly “I told you so”

Suddenly a smile from those same weary lips and she expresses her unconditional love that had always been at the root of our family, and suddenly the feeling of ease came back.  My heart slowed, my brain got quiet, and the death grip I had on the couch was loosened as the tears started to flow from my eyes.  And the questions, the answers, the unknowing what would happen, but all in all it was a good experience and I left feeling accomplished if not exhausted.

There’s a very interesting effect I’ve noticed in all of my coming outs.  There is the initial acceptance driven by the urge to be nice, then there is a processing period that can span as long as a year or two.  This is the part you have to learn to deal with.  It’s a time when people question how ok they are with this.  What does it mean to God, will this person go to Hell, Will I be embarrassed for people knowing.  It’s this time where life feels like one of those big pendulums swinging from positive to negative and finally at the end it rests on just fine.  Well, we hope it does.

It’s a period where people say things that hurt, most of the time they don’t know, but it hurts none the less, and it’s this time where we loose contact with a lot of the people we loved.

I never lost contact with my mother, but she did go through this period and it wasn’t easy for both of us.  But, because of her love, she learned, she spoke to someone who could help her process her thoughts, and at the end she’s come through it in a very positive way.

For many of us “coming out” is longer than one day.  It’s a time period for people to finally move through this process and for us it can very well be a rebirth.  Our friends and families see us in a different light, knowing our true selves for the first time, the walls come down, and we’ve become stronger for the experience.

The other day I was on the phone with my mother discussing our recent Sunday lunch date.  We were supposed to go to church, but given the fact that people were handing me shots the night before, I had a little thing we like to call a hangover.  I did manage to muster up all the strength I could to make my way to my mothers, stopping only a few times for the occasional vomit.  I thought, if I could just get food in me, I would be fine, and sure enough, we made our way to my favorite Mexican restaurant El Tiempo.

Following lunch, and with renewed energy, we made our way to the grave site of my grand mother.  The woman who’s name I’ve taken, and as we stood there looking down at her grave, I remembered all of the time as a child I spent with her, and how we would play winnie the pooh, or she would let me base the chicken and help her in the kitchen, and I just knew she would understand it all.

That visit actually meant a lot to me, to see her name, my name on her tombstone, it gave me renewed strength in my transition, and I left with a really happy feeling.

As I was saying, the next day, my mother and I were talking on the phone, discussing all of this, and my transition came up, and what people thought, and how she loved me, and any other typical thing a mother and daughter may talk about on a lazy phone call was said.

As we said good bye, my mother paused, then for the very first time, with such pride in her voice, simply said..  “Veronika, I love you”……

Life is full of struggle, it’s full of hardships, and it’s full of sorrow.  Some of us make it through these times with our eye on the future knowing we can’t go back and we must move forward.  My transition has been like being born into a new life, it’s new experiences, new perceptions, and new friendships.  And through it all 3 things still hold true:

You can’t go back, you must move forward. (sometimes life is ice cream and daisies)
Mamma always makes it better (Most of the time) 😉
And “I love you” is always most meaningful the very first time you hear it.

 

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My Little Big Man

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Being a tranny, I love being a woman.  I love when the world treats me that way, the polite smiles, the doors held open.  I even love how the guy at the auto parts store talks to me like I’m an idiot.

It’s about more than how you look.  It’s about how the world reacts to you.  It envelops you in this bubble of femininity, and you feel safe, secure, and just plain right.

Those that knew me before still hold on to a fading mental picture of the person they used to know.  Some call me he, some call me by my birth name, yet others can feel that image slipping away like the memory of a dream just after waking..

Those that never met me before the “big life change” see me as a woman, never questioning pronouns, and even have a hard time seeing me as anything but female.  The image they have in their mind is such that they can’t interact with me in any other way, than how they would interact with any woman they knew.  This is a feeling that evokes happiness and much content.  I know my other friends and family won’t be far behind, and soon, they won’t remember me as anything different than who they see today.

I think trannies appreciate their gender role in life much better than born girls, or born boys.  It’s something we’ve fought for, it’s something we’ve cried for, and it’s something we celebrate with each win that is a step in the ascending staircase of confidence.

I have a friend, a dear dear friend, who has become so special to me in a way that few will ever get to experience.  This friend of mine, my special little man, is someone who wasn’t always a man, and understands me, and the things I’m going through in a way that few can.  His experience as a woman, and as a transgender man, provides him insight into how I’m feeling and what I need in the dynamic of my life.

To say we’re an odd pair is a little of an understatement.  I, standing 6 foot in flats, having played college football, he standing 5.6 will gladly show you pictures of his quincenera, with his porcelain skin and a gown that would make any little Mexican girl from the east side of Houston jealous.

He would sooner die than have me lift anything even moderately heavy, he brings me food when I’m hungry, and he tells me I’m beautiful when I don’t even realize how much I needed to hear it.

I help him with perspective, and the finer points of fitness, and fill a void that every man needs, a doting woman, feeding his ego with genuine words of admiration.

We fit in a friendship that helps us experience what life is like for those who are born into a gender that matches their brain.  It’s something we seek, it’s something we treasure, and it’s something we’ll fight until the bitter end to retain.  

He’s quickly becoming the standard at which a woman should measure a man.  What he lacks in height he more then makes up for in heart, and I know he would give his last breath to protect me.

My little man has shown me how a woman should feel, protected, cared for, loved, and through it all, important.

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The Battle of Silicon Valley

I know it’s been a long time since I posted a blog update.  I’m sorry for that.  Work has gotten way crazy, and honestly, I was sick of computers.

So, here I am.  I’ve just gotten back from a trip to our corporate office in California, and I’ve never been happier.

I work remotely, and this has really allowed me to transition at home without having to really face other people at work.  It creates a lot of anxiety when trips are scheduled, and I usually spend a few weeks wringing my hands and almost giving myself a heart attack because each time I’ve changed just that much more.

I live my life as Veronika while I’m home, and I’m not in the closet with anyone.  But, I haven’t really had that talk of talks with work just yet.

After my last trip to Israel, I decided that with no foreseeable travel, I was going to do some things that I’ve been putting off.  Hair color, extensions, earrings, and my first surgery were definitely in my sights.  My appearance has changed a lot since that trip, and I was hoping the break from travel would solidify my grasp on transition and really push me through the point of no return.

My break from travel was short lived, and shortly after this, like the very next week, I was told that a group who I’ve had some really rough times with wanted a face to face meeting in a couple of weeks.  At this point I was so over my job, and quite frankly didn’t care if they fired me, I told them it wasn’t possible until at least February.

Lucky for me, we just had a reorg and one of my best friends, who knows about me, became my boss, and I was able to fill him in on some things.  He’s great, and understood and we put the team off for a few months.  It really worked out great as a lot of things got solved even before the trip.

So there I was, the trip inching closer, even got moved up two weeks, and I was faced with the very real necessity to tell HR.

My HR rep has been awesome, and they almost seemed excited about the transition.  They let me know that someone else had been through this, and I could talk to her if I wanted, and honestly, that made me feel great.

I bought my tickets, and packed my clothes, and made an attempt at butching up before I left for the airport.

Any idea I had that people saw me as a guy was quickly ruined by the ever so nice TSA people as they called me ma’am, miss, young lady, sweetie, and all the like.  My sudden panic about bathrooms almost consumed me as I was trying not to be a girl, but still didn’t pass as a guy.  Suddenly both sets of bathrooms were a no man’s land…. or no woman’s land…. I guess it depends on how you look at it.
Lucky for me, the airports had some really nice unisex bathrooms, so that crisis was averted.  My bladder was loving me again, and I could relax a little as I flew from Houston, to Dallas, to California.

About two weeks prior to the trip, I had surgery on my midsection, and flying in a compression garment that crowds your intestines can make for a miserable trip.  It pressed so hard into me, that any movement in my bowels came to a complete halt, and I really didn’t know how I was going to get things working again.  Umm…. Yeah, like that.

This surgery which was lipo and a tummy tuck with fat injection in my hips gave me a new feminine body that didn’t quite fit into my male pants anymore.  So there I am, with my pants up to my armpits, my bowels kinked to no end, and totally scared that my long blonde hair was going to evoke some type of reaction that I wouldn’t be able to deal with.

I arrived at the hotel around 2 am, pulled my garment off, laid on the bed, and prayed things would work right before the morning.  Thank God they did, or I would have exploded all over the meeting rooms and I’m sure that would have really given the wrong impression.

The next day, I had planned on slipping into the room before anyone else, but that jerk Murphy had other ideas.  I was 10 minutes late, and I had to walk into the room as people were giving their personal bios, and all eyes landed on me.

Yep, Hello spotlight! So there I am my hair in a ponytail, my beautiful face ;), holes in my ears that had previously been home to some cute earrings, and my male pants up so high because of my new luxurious hips.  It was almost as if time stood still for an instance like in those twix commercials.  Only thing Is I couldn’t go back and change it.

There I was center stage, searching for something to say.  What was only a few seconds felt like forever, and my forehead turned into a waterfall of sweat, before I simply smiled, and said “Hello everybody!”

Before my trip, HR had asked if I was going to be presenting.  And of course I was.  It wouldn’t have been a problem if I was going to sit quietly in the corner.  It wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t charging into battle in a room full of people who’s had their entire job duties turned upside down by someone coming in and redesigning their solution.

Of course Murphy’s a bitch, but the funny thing about Murphy, he pushes you through uncomfortable situations.  He makes you face a task with no where to run. He makes you plan for what could be.  Murphy kicked me in the ass that day.  He pushed me into enemy territory screaming my battle cry, leaving my insecurities dead or dying in my wake.

Maybe it’s fight or flight, but when you’re faced with a pivotal point in your life, it changes you just a little.  Needless to say, I proved my worth.  I defended my decisions, I suggested new changes, and in the end, a room full of techno nerds that may have started out with their own idea of me, found out who I really was.

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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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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

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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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