I’ve been in panties 10 days straight.

One day I even wore a sports bra to work under my clothes.  *grins*

My thoughts from that day:

——-

Bra with no cups or support or really any way to adjust, when it’s not even really needed.

*giggles* I’m wearing a TRAINING BRA!

*grins* I can haz the pre-teen girl hormones to go with it, plz?

*gigglefits*

—-

My favorite day though, was last Friday when I wore the high waisted panty girdle.  Snug and probably the closest I will get to waist training for a while.  When I finally get some “extra money” I need to get a few more pair of those, so I can wear them consistently, ‘cuz I sure can’t wear the same one every day!

*adds 6 more panty girdles to “when I have more money list*

I’m more and more being me again.  The girl is not gone.  The money and work stress and etc all still weigh on me so heavy, they are the gray clouds looming over everything, but it doesn’t mean I can’t splash in the puddles wearing my skirt, while hoping to see the rainbow soon.

She blames no one for being lost.

She is there because of what she loves and a future for herself and her family.

It hurts, muchly, to be silent, missing.

But it is what it is. With no way out, blinded by the darkness and fear that that comes with moving forward. She takes her place, knowing that is not where she wants to be. But, being where she truly wants to be is unpossible, at least while holding on to what she holds dear.

What tears at her are the little things, that filled her heart with joy. The hair that she has let overtake her skin, the sensitivity that the patch gave her flesh that is no longer there, the pretty undies that made her feel despite all outward appearances, she was herself despite what she showed. The patch and the sensitivity that it brought were a casualty of finances. The rest a casualty of lack of time and her own desires. Stress stole the time and doing the little things that felt so special only made her crave more, like a shark with a taste for blood.

“This means so much, how wonderful would the next step be?”. What that step may be, usually was dashed on the rough shores of time and money, which to a certain extent lead to a sense of apathy of the small things. And yet those things are what are so missed.

I am woman.

Am I? Given how I have let the few female scraps I can hold onto fall to the floor like discarded clothing.

Am I just a silly boy who cannot let go of this odd thought that he is not one?

I look into the mirror and cannot see her.

I look at my clothes which seem very male.

I look at my biology and there is no womanhood, except the tiny buds on my chest from my time on the patch.

I look into my heart/my soul.

I want to cry. Thinking this out as I write it I look, there in my heart, and I see her and the kids are awake and I cannot weep.

I am sorry you…I am sorry we…I am sorry I hurt..

I am the lost girl, despite pushing her..us…myself away.

She is not she. She is me. I am she.

Girl, whatever mistakes I make, do not let yourself believe otherwise. That is what hurts so much. You may portray to the world whatever you want, but who you are is not someone you can brush to the side and deny to yourself.

Tears on the sleeve of a man. Don’t wanna be a boy today…

Life gets to be too much and I push the girl into the corner. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

This journal which sits here abandoned. Long gone are the days of herbal supplements. I’ve been off and on the patch multiple times, usually due to money. Can’t tell you the last time I wore something girly under my boy clothes, panties tucked away god knows where. Life grabs the boy by the balls and he turns his back on the girl.

I think about her. I ache at times for her, but feeling helpless about it all, it’s easier to ignore and push away than to do anything.

And then I open a paper journal to express some private thoughts and it all comes flooding out. There she sits, buried beneath stress and worry and money and appearances, floundering, sobbing beneath the boy’s attempts to hold onto it all for dear life, to keep his head afloat. Hurt, waiting, hoping for even just a few hours of her, a woman.

She knows not where to turn or what to do.

She is the lost girley.

]]> http://lostgirley.wordpress.com/2011/02/17/the-same-old-story/feed/ 1 lostgirley http://lostgirley.wordpress.com/2010/09/20/still-crushing/ http://lostgirley.wordpress.com/2010/09/20/still-crushing/#comments Mon, 20 Sep 2010 14:51:09 +0000 lostgirley http://lostgirley.wordpress.com/?p=143 ]]> I have some thoughts on my return later, but more on what’s on my mind now.

I see a name on IM I haven’t seen in ages.  And my brain screams, “Oooh shiney!” at me.

And then my insecurity sets in.  I don’t want to bother him.  I want him to like me.  I guess I’ll just keep quiet.

I know I’ll hear all the reasons to contact him from the folks who read.  And they’re probably right, especially as little as I see him on IM, I should take the opportunity; however, I can’t bring myself to do it.

There was a connection there, once upon a time, but life interfered for both of us for a while.  He had so much going on that had him in a bad place.  And since, I’ve pulled so many disappearing acts.

I’ll sit here and crush and my heart will swoon when he notices me on Twitter or I see his name on IM and get butterflies in my tummy.  I guess some days, I’m just a silly girl.

But I don’t want to bother anyone anymore, I don’t want to sweep into people’s lives and disappear.  I don’t want to be a shadow of a person.  I can’t be Jenni.  I can’t be the boy, but I guess that is who I must be.  I wish I had something to hold onto, someone to watch the girl, keep her here, even if only in virtual space, but I ask too much.

Thank you for visiting.  Those of you who have my e-mail, I still check it, if anyone wants me for whatever reason.

*turns off the lights*

The mind will find whatever you look for.  

You feel like everything is going right?  You will find it in all the little and big things that happen, that just might be going right or close enough to it.  

You feel everything is going wrong?  Some things will be wrong and normal minor inconveniences your mind will make wrong.

Feel lost? You will find more and more things to make it confusing.

Decide you have found the right path?  You will seek data to support it and each step that goes right, will only validate it and minor enough incongruities can be easily dismissed.

The most enlightened of people, keep their minds open and do not dismiss conflicting data.  But it’s impossible to do all the time, the brain just cannot contain the abundance of data that is streamed at us every second and that’s not just on the Internet.  In your bedroom, all alone, just think how much infomation is there.  The position of everything in the room, the varying colors, the shape and size of things, the architectural features, the crack in the window, the temperature in all the different places, the texture of the surfaces. Not only that, look at things individually, just how many memories do you have attached to specific things in your bedroom?  How much user specific data, that is just bout your relationship to it, is contained in that neclace or coin or urn or bauble?  You literally can’t take it all in.

How does that apply to your life then?  What are you looking for in your day?

After a very deep look into myself after the last months, the questions I’m posing back to myself today are “What do I want to look for around me?  What focuses in my life would give me the greatest personal payoff?”

I don’t know yet.  But the changing the search, changes the focus, with hopefully better results.

Wow, it’s been over a month since I’ve blogged.

My patches ran out and that did quite the number on my head.  I went from changing and excited and feeling more and more like a girl, to this soul of a girl, stuck in this ungraceful, clumsy and very decidedly male body.

I kept up my day-to-day functioning, but I’ve felt like I am crying inside…and on the outside when I find the chance alone.  I cannot transform into who I am, I know that.  But that little ray of hope, the shifts in my body and my perception, that I was changing, however discreetly, was so wonderful.

And the loss of that reminded me, that there is no short-term fix.  At least another 11 years of this to keep up custody.  (Not that I would ever give up custody for these changes.)  Nowhere near light at the end of the tunnel.

And I think about my ex and what she had.  A life that was not ideal, but I would have gladly traded her for in a second if I could.  Being a stay at home mom, with a good provider and a loving husband, taking care of her children and her home and husband, she threw it all away, neglected her children and cheated on her spouse.  That is something I would sacrifice so much to have, but life didn’t deal me those cards.  And she, well, she’s seen her children 3 hours since Dec 31, 2008.  No phone calls to them.  No e-mails to them.  If I could trade bodies with her, I would find a way back here and work my ass off to somehow get those kids back and again, maybe not the ideal life, but even being a working mom and having my kids home and grabbing even a little bit of a social life, as a girl that even seems better.

But the boy takes over, since the girl feels herself being crushed.  I don’t go near twitter.  I don’t check e-mail.  I don’t respond to the texts from friends.  And then yesterday, Jenni had said she had enough.  Hormones or no hormones, I’m still a girl in here and hiding her just makes things worse.

So, I’m back, for now.  I wish I had an anchor to keep me from pulling this disappearing/reappearing act.  But I feel like I go and no one notices. 

And I wish I had something to hold onto me/Jenni with.   So if/when I get back on hormones and if/when they run out again, I wouldn’t be allowed to hide the pieces of me that only ya’ll see.

I don’t know.  Maybe I should just let Jenni/me get pushed down until she is crushed, so I don’t feel all this and ride this roller coaster anymore.  That doesn’t seem like a very good option though.

I know all of this is ugly and I guess I don’t expect much reply to it.  But anyone who got this far down, thank you for reading it.  

The odd thing is, just posting this and I can feel my “phantom breasts” again.

To paraphrase the song in the title…

I’m just not a girl in the world
That’s something they won’t let me be…

Ma’am looked at me with a mixture of lust and anger.  I quickly withdrew my hand from my clit, but I hesitated, what do I do with my hand in Ma’am’s pussy.  I don’t think there’s a right answer to this one.  So I froze.

“You stepped out of line, slut.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She paused, looking at me, trying to decide what to do about it.

“I have a plan then.  But, first of all, you’ll need to finish me off.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She rolled over onto her back and I dove into her dripping honey pot with gusto.  My index finger slid into her and curled up tapping lightly against that smooth spot, deep inside of her.  I used my thumbs to spread her lips open and pressed down to expose her clit from its hood.  Side to side and up and down and twirling around I licked vigoursly, all the while my finger wiggled around inside of her.

Ma’am reached down and grabbed my hair, pulling it towards her, as I continued to pleasure her.  I groaned only for a moment, so as not to take my tongue from her for too long.  I licked and licked, savoring the lovely noises she was making, but also worried what was in store for me when I finished.  Finally, with a loud yell, she came, which made me redouble my efforts.  She came and came and came until finally she shoved my head away from her.

I stood up and stayed beside the bed waiting to see what would come next.  Ma’am didn’t say a word, she went into the bathroom and cleaned herself up and then got dressed, jobs she normally has me do.  She then walked out of the bedroom with no commands.

Not knowing what to do, I continued to stand there.  I had a knot in my stomach.  I had let her down and crossed boundries I should not have.  To touch her, worse to touch myself, uninvited.

She walked back into the room, with a bag in her hand and stood between the bathroom and the closet.

“Come, slut.”

I came over to her.

“Kneel, slut.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I did so.

She reattached my collar to the chain, still hanging from the wall from the evening before.

She smiled wickedly at me, “You were raised a good Catholic girl, slut.  Please finish this verse, ‘And if thy hand offend thee…’” she trailed off.

“…cut it off.” I replied.

“Your fingers offended me this morning, slut.  And I do consider them mine.”

My hands went reflexively into a fist.

She laughed at me.  ”No slut, quite often I find favorable use of your fingers.  But you will lose them, for a while.  Hold up your hand still in a fist.”

She reached into the bag and pulled up duct tape.  I watched as she twisted the tape round and round my hand.  Binding my hands tight in that fist shape, so I had no chance of getting them free.

She repeated the process with the other hand.

“Since you’re not much use to me without use of your hands, I guess I will just leave you there for now.  Although, have you had breakfast, pet?”

“No, Ma’am.”

She walked out of the room and came back with two bowls.  One with dry Captain Crunch, that was left over from her nephew’s visit and one with water.  She rubbed the top of my head and said in a tone like one would say to a dog, “Enjoy your breakfast, girley.”  And then walked out of the room.

I looked at the bowls in front of me.  Ma’am would be upset if I spilled it on the carpet, so I stuck my face in the bowl of Captain Crunch and began eating what I could with just my mouth.

This was definitely a deviation from my morning routine.

To be continued…

But I look at my own body through my eyes and in the mirror and still this dysjointed form is still there.  The flesh I have, is not the flesh I feel.  It’s maddening, it feels so wonderful, I want someone to touch my phantom flesh.  It feels so real, I long to feel it pressed aganst other flesh.

But by tomorrow, it will be gone again and I will once again feel the dysjointed male flesh that hangs onto my soul.

My alarm goes off, to awake again with the sound of Ma’am cumming loudly in my earbuds.  Oh, what a beautiful sound.

I turn off my alarm and gently slip out of bed again, leaving the sounds playing in the background.  Ma’am’s breakfast is always so simple, a piece of graepfruit and toast most mornings.  

I slip back into bed and softly let my hands carress her body.  Fingertips sliding against flesh, carressing and stroking.  She slides flat onto her stomach.  I take this as a sign she want’s to be awoken with a massage. I slide myself to rest between her legs and begin working on her shoulders and neck.  Pressing and squeezing and working the tension out of her any way I can.

She moans lightly with pleasure from the massage.  I smile, happy to make her happy. 

I continue to her upper back again pressing and squeezing and kneeding any tension out of her.  She must really need the release after the way She and Sir played last evening.  As I continue to massage her, my mind drifts to the evening before.

Sir called me into the bedroom and told me to kneel at the wall, between the closet and the master bath.  I did as I was told.  He came over to me with a short chain, no more than 2 feet in length.  He attached one end to my collar and one to a ring he had added to the wall.  I could lay down or kneel, but there was no way I could stand up or hardly move at all.  

He smiled at me.  ”Slut, you be a good girl and sit and watch while I show you ways to take care of a real lady.  Not a little slut like yourself.  This is your spot and it should keep my slut safe.  I don’t want to hear a word out of you, unless I give you permission to speak.”  

Oh, they must have spent 20 minutes just kissing and caressing and fondling before they even began to take their clothes off.  All the while, I sat there ignored, chained to the wall.  If being stuck and ignored wasn’t enough, watching them made me all the wetter.  My pussy and clit throbbed and screamed at me to play with them.  But I was determined to be a good girl and my own denial seemed to feed the need coming from my bits.

Shortly, they shed their clothes, seeming to purposely throw them at me.  I did not move any that fell on me, for that was not my place, exept to unblock my eyes when Sir’s shirt blocked my view.  I was told to watch and did not want to get in trouble for not doing so.

Sir sat near the edge of the bed and Ma’am climbed on him, strattling his cock and began rolling her hips back and forth with him inside of her.  He growled and begain sucking vigoursly on her nipples.  Her hips began to move faster.  She pushed him down to the bed and begand violently grinding against him.  He grabbed her nipples and tugged on them, this urged Ma’am on all the more, over and over she rode him, eventually turning around to face away from him.  Finally, she screamed and moaned and came and came and came.  Finally, Sir growled loudly and bucked up into her.  And I could tell it was over. Ma’am turned back around and looked so spent lying on top of Sir.

Sir then came over in front of me and told me to clean his cock.  I had to strain at my chain and half squat to reach it correctly.  But I vigoursly licked every drop of both his own and Ma’am juices off of him, sucking and licking and savoring every drop of my owners’ fluids.  

“Lay down girl, I’ll let you join us in bed later.”

He then walked back to the bed and curled up with Ma’am.  I laid down and did as I was told.

“Slut” Ma’am growled at me.  This woke me up from the visions of the previous evening and brought me back to reality, I found myself playing with my clit with one hand and fingering Ma’am with the other.  I had become totally distracted from her massage and let my hands wander.  

This was not part of the morning routine.

To be continued…