Friday, April 05, 2013

A Night With Daddy

Posted by Pamela at 6:14 PM 5 comments Links to this post
Hello. I'm back after many years. I'm marking my return with a new version of one of my favorite pieces, originally titled "Rejected by Daddy". I've revised and expanded it, added some important character development, polished it up, and given it a new title. It's a mostly true story that happened years ago. But I've been inspired to write again recently, now that I really do have a Daddy. More on that later. For now, take a read.



A Night With Daddy
by Pamela



    It happened the night I went to a costume party in a warehouse in a run-down neighborhood. I didn’t know anyone there, but I’d been trying to break out of my shell, craving a human connection. Partygoers were practically falling over each other in a crazy maze of garish rooms, black lights and cramped hallways. The DJ was nuts. The girls volunteering behind the bar were more drunk than the patrons. The whole thing was a playful riotous confusion of sights, sounds, colors, textures, and bodies. I went up to the rooftop bar to get some air. The patio’s string lights complimented the view of the sparkling lights of the city.


    I was dressed in drag as the artist Frida Kahlo. It was an uncanny resemblance. Frida and I have the same ethnic background - Mexican and German. Heightening the realism was the fact that I’d recently started trying out female hormone pills and testosterone blockers. They were the kind that transsexuals took - for people who wanted to permanently change their physical gender. I was still working out why I’d been drawn to explore this. I thought of myself as a boy who loved to dress up as a girl sometimes. Because I just liked it. But I was still a boy and nothing would really change that. I told myself the pills were an experiment. Would they make dressing up as a girl easier? Would I like the way they made me look? They way they made me feel? They had already softened my skin and smoothed out my facial features. But I was scared of going too far. People would eventually notice. My job. My parents.

    Up on the roof, I ran into a man I knew. He was dressed as Zorro. He was the ex-boyfriend of a friend of my ex-girlfriend. You know how it goes. How many degrees of separation in a city like this? He had a reputation in my friend circle - a dominant 'daddy', straight as an arrow, very possessive, into the S&M scene. He was much older than me and had a thing for younger women - women my age. He worked out and had a great body. Salt and pepper hair. He always wore black, usually in leather pants. He was there alone that night, which was unusual. It turned out neither of us knew anyone else at the party.

    He struck up a long conversation with me. I had been trying to talk in character as Frida all night, but I dropped it with him. I’d been using it as a mask with strangers, hiding my social anxiety. All my life I’d tended to shy away from straight men, including him, fearing ridicule, disgust and rejection. The scars of middle and high school. I had a feminine demeanor and it always managed to shine through, despite my attempts to suppress it. But tonight, with him, I didn’t try to hide anything, and it felt comfortable, one on one. Man to woman. After a while I suddenly realized his arm was around my waist. I was surprised and confused, but played it cool, wondering if it even meant anything. I realized I was desperate to feel what his girlfriends had felt, to know it, to embody it, to make it real, make myself real through this connection. He smoothly guided me back behind the tall bamboo walls separating the party area from the rest of the empty rooftop.

    The next thing I knew, I was down on all fours, skirt pushed up, panties yanked forcefully down, getting fingered from behind. First one finger.. then in slid a second one... just as he was going for a third, a voice cut in: "Is that real!?"  A very drunken reveler had wandered astray, and was standing over us. He was obviously confused to see Zorro fingering Frida Kahlo, who had a cock. "Yes it’s real. Now go away." I hissed. The drunk stumbled off, dazed.

   Zorro whisked me off in his convertible, over the bridge, to his boxy modern loft. It seems he was actually attracted to me, the girlyboy. The idea was so far fetched I couldn’t believe it was happening. And yet it was. He played frantic sex games with me all night on the couch. It was as if he believed he had just one shot at performing acts he’d never do again. The mutual release of pent up desire.


    Dawn's early light. We'd been at it for hours, and I was fading. I pulled myself together as best I could, and he drove me back over the bridge.
    He held Frida’s hand. My hand.
    "So tell me, why do you like pretending to be a girl?"
    "Well...” I countered. “Hormonally... I AM a girl now."
    Reflexively he pulled his hand away, as if he suddenly realized he was holding a snake or fire. "Why are you taking female hormones?"
    I struggled to explain my feelings. "I'm experimenting. I want to see how it feels. Find out if it's right for me." For the first time, the words felt weak, wrong somehow.
    We rode the rest of the way back in silence.
    I was confused by him. Did he like me better when he thought I was a boy dressed as a girl for kicks or kink, rather than a girl in a boy's body? He didn't understand me, I thought. But in that moment, I suddenly understood myself.
    He dropped me off at home, and I never heard from him again. But I knew in my heart he was the first man I was ever with as a woman.


Sunday, May 02, 2010

When Only Your Surgeon Knows For Sure

Posted by Pamela at 11:35 PM 4 comments Links to this post

Flesh
is illusion.
Michaelangelo worked his art in stone.
I am a sculptor too.
Which one of us has not looked in the mirror and wished for some kind of change?
Higher cheekbones?
Rounder eyes?
Beauty.
Perfection.
The plastic surgeon as modern day conjurer.
Improving upon God's work.
Yes I can do it better than he.
For me there are no illusions.
Flesh is naked, exposed.
Do I see a pretty face, maybe?
We come closer.
We look. We evaluate.
We make mental changes.
When I look, all masks are stripped away.
There are no illusions for me.
No secrets.
I see through each and every face.



The best surgery looks like no surgery at all.



I know I keep coming back to this subject, but surgery - the cutting and reshaping of small amounts of flesh - has had such a profound effect on my life, that I'm still adjusting.

Friday, March 19, 2010

A Mixed Day

Posted by Pamela at 12:05 AM 0 comments Links to this post
Dear diary,

Today was certainly the definition of a mixed day, emotionally.
It was the first warm day of the year here, and this morning I wore a knee length skirt to work, with bare legs. I know it doesn't sound like much, but since my transition, I generally dress very conservatively, and I'm not use to showing any amount of skin except my forearms. So it was outside my usual comfort zone, and I felt exposed all day.

Add to that the fact that my transition has been so strange. Thanks to a great deal of hormones and expert surgery, I 'pass' perfectly to most of humanity. But because I was at my current job for years and years before I transitioned, the change is still 'new' for some of my co-workers. Sometimes some of them still slip up by accident and use my old name, even though I now look nothing like my old self. Which sends me into a spiral of depression, anger, and sadness. It makes me feel like they don't see the 'me' that's standing before them, and that they think of the 'old' me as the real me. It's extremely emotionally difficult to deal with. My old name feels like a straight jacket that was holding me back from expressing my true self.
It's especially frustrating because I'm increasingly stealth in the rest of my life - to random strangers on the street, to new friends I meet, even one of my new roommates doesn't know about my history. But the situation at work, where I spend 40 hours of my week, makes me question and doubt myself - do I really still look like a man? Can everybody tell?
But no, they can't. Because away from work, very few people 'clock' me - maybe 1 in 100. And if anything, it's usually my voice that gives me away first, not my looks.

After work, I met my spouse and her longtime friend (a guy) at a rooftop lounge for drinks. They had each already had a couple of drinks by the time I arrived. We all ended up opening up to each other over the course of the night. Perhaps a little too much by the end. My spouse and I talked about our relationship and our love for each other. But we also ended up revealing my relationship with David (my secondary who lives on the opposite coast and visits here about once a month), and how it made me feel so much more confident in my womanhood to be with a man. My spouse ended up sitting in her friend's lap, then making out with him, then he made out with me. I'm sure we were quite a sight at the restaurant.
He flattered me by telling me he wouldn't have known I was trans if he didn't know me. And he said that when I first stepped off the elevator, he was checking out the 'hot chick' for a second before he realized it was me. He wanted to make out with me hardcore, and told me I was beautiful woman, period.
We ended up at a dive bar across the street, where my spouse and I each made out with him a little more, and he made a rain check to come over to our house some time.
So, the tally for today... flattering physical carnal attention from a guy, a shower of compliments from my spouse, but before that, frustration at work. Do they really still see me as a guy? Why do some of the guys call me 'buddy', or women say 'he, I mean she", or others use my old name by accident? These are the sorts of vaguely inappropriate comments I deal with still on a regular basis - nothing intentional, but just enough to bring me down. It's hard to deal with. Is it their discomfort in recognizing my change, or is it just that old habit die hard, or am I just not trying hard enough to pass as far as my voice and presentation? I think I blame myself too easily, even though I know I'm trying nearly as hard as I possibly can, and most people away from work have no idea I'm even trans. Whatever the explanation, it makes me desperate to get another job and go stealth there. But will that really make me happier? Will I face different challenges - a whispering campaign of 'is she or isn't she' by those with their suspicions? Or a constant guardedness when talking about myself and my past?
I don't know. But I guess I'll never know what it's like elsewhere unless I try. A wise older person once told me that it's better to regret the things you did, than the things you didn't do.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Things Are Getting Interesting

Posted by Pamela at 11:10 PM 3 comments Links to this post
While I work on a longer update...

My new spouse has been outside on the phone with her 20-something ex-boyfriend for about an hour now. She came in briefly and said, "I'd love to see you and M. get together. I think you'd like him."
"Get together?" I arch an eyebrow. "You mean, like, sexually?" I say jokingly.
"Yeah." She raises the ante. "I'd like to watch you suck his dick. Can I invite him to come visit?"
She's back outside talking to him again. Things are getting interesting.

Happy Holidays!

Monday, December 14, 2009

A New Start

Posted by Pamela at 9:44 PM 5 comments Links to this post
I'd like to re-start this blog by talking a little about how it has evolved, how I have evolved, and where it's all going.
Before my gender transition, this blog focused mostly on fantasies, especially those fueled by images and photos. It was straight from the id.
During transition, I suddenly found myself being a lot more eloquent and focused on crafting the actual words of storytelling, rather than just sexually riffing on pictures. I believe that most likely, this was due to structural changes in my brain caused by the addition of estrogen and the subtraction of testosterone in large quantities. I was also inspired to start writing about real life experiences from my past, which I found to be emotionally raw and real and cathartic.
But at no time did I ever discuss what was going on in my current relationships in real life. I considered it an off-limits subject, and not the focus of this blog, which was all about my unexpressed internal fantasy world.
A lot of those fantasies focused on gender and gender transition. Now that I've got that out of the way, I realize there are whole other worlds in my life to explore in writing - some of it to do with the impact of my gender transition, but a lot of it unrelated. So now I'm coming out of the closet as "a happily married, openly polyamorous pansexual transgender woman", so I can write about those aspects. There's a lot of rich territory here. And I hope you'll enjoy exploring with me.


Next: Poly- Pan- What?? What Do All Those Words Mean??
 

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