More thoughts…

“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act, but a habit.”- Aristotle

Just a girl in the world…

“Tears on the sleeve of a man
Don’t wanna be a boy today…” – Tori Amos

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

Today

I feel the full weight of a woman’s breasts hanging from my chest.  I feel the ache of a hungry and empty pussy between my legs…

Searching for Answers or Maybe Just the Right Questions.

Transgendered, submissive, bisexual…lables are so easy to apply, not only to others, but even ourselves.

But how we think of ourselves define so much of who we are.  But I at times struggle with the definitions.  I don’t know what to think of myself.

Am I the male face that I show the people who know me in the meatspace?

Or am I this girl/woman who you know?

How can I claim submissive as my own, when the only submission I have performed is that to strangers and friends in writing and Twitter?

Although, more and more, I long for a firm yet caring hand to put me in my place.  But finding someone who accepts me as I am, yet treats me as who I feel I am, is ok with my childern and won’t throw up any red flags that would endanger their custody? Ha. I’m asking for a miracle there.  The closest I might be able to get is someone who is willing to take the task, online and from afar.  And even then, I couldn’t just put up a personal, I’d want someone I am comfortable with first.  But I have gotten sidetracked.

Meh.

I don’t who I am anymore.  And where do you find those answers?  If you don’t know yourself, no one else is going to.

How do I balance the safety of my kids against my own girlish desires?

How do I possibly find Sir or Ma’am?

 The more I stare at this, I don’t find any answers.  I don’t even feel like I’m asking the right questions.

Who am I?

What do I want?

And where the hell do I begin to answer those last two?

Phantom Parts

I know I’ve read about phantom limb syndrom, where people who have lost a limb can still feel the limb, even though it’s not really there.  The brain is wired to feel those neurons, so it keeps feeling them. This all makes sense to me.

However, I have days where I feel phantom parts. Even though I don’t and never have had those parts. I know I mentioned it the other day, when talking about my play session with Mina and Sylvanus.

Today is one of those days. As I’ve walk, I can feel the weight of my breasts bouncing, feel my nipples rubbing against my shirt. I can feel the weight just there, just if I think about it now.  Thanks to my fiction this morning, I have been a very horny girl and as such, I can feel a very hungry/empty opening between my legs, that’s not normally there.

These are really nice feelings actually, when it happens, I try to occasionally take a moment and close my eyes and savor them.

I know, the people reading probably think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But this kind of craziness, I can deal with. 🙂

My Body (HNT in text)

My body is an odd place to live.  To a certain point there is a disconnect there. Yes, I feel what it feels, I get sick and experience everything it goes through.  But it feels like it’s not my own. That I am stuck in someone else’s shell, so to speak.  That is at least the most frequent feeling.

I occasionally have days though, that are not like that. I am who I am and my gender problems slide into the background.  They come rarely, last a few days and fade away.

The moments when I’m ok with myself, make the usual state of things all the more jarring.

As I sit here at my desk and take inventory of myself.  I feel so unfeminine.  I do have the arms of a woman, slender and sleek, with only light wisps of hair.  And I was blessed with several natural features, high cheekbones, long lashes and full pouty lips. I remember dressing in “drag” one Halloween in college, I got some amazing compliments on my legs.

My ass has a wonderful curve to it for a “white guy.” I give thanks to that for the herbals I took in college and my limited time on Climera for that.  And my breasts have a touch of body to them, (not even AA) but with my chubby stomach, it looks like it’s all from being chubby.  My nipples and aereoleas are definitely a bit oversized, but again, could easily be explained away.  (Although, they are wonderfully sensitive though. See thanks above.)

The fact that everything can be explained away is actually a good thing.  It means there is little chance anyone can stumble on my “condition” and I risk custody of my kids over it.

But the rest of me is all male.  I’m not naturally a furry guy, so while there’s not much of it, I’ve still got all the hair that goes with the male places.  But even when I rid myself of all of my body hair, I still feel so unattractive, that I don’t bother anymore.  As the often quoted phrase goes, “I shaved my legs for this?”

And then there are my male bits.  Definitely unfeminine.  And I have a weirder relationship with them than the rest of me.  My mind goes back and forth and back and forth on how I feel about them.  Some days I like having them and would love to be a woman except keeping those as functional parts.  Other days, I want to be all woman and want rid of this extra meat and have a nice warm wonderful pussy. I think I would be happier their if I could change my genetailia according to my whims. (See, I don’t ask for much. ;))

This post has rambled from where I thought it was going and sort-of has become a HNT in text.  I bare my body before you in my words.

I guess when it comes down to the end, the reason this post veered is it has gone back to reminding me just how unattractive I feel.  I want to be able to go out and feel pretty.  I’m not looking for drop dead gorgeous, but pretty.  I want to be hit on,  not because I’m obviously male in female’s clothing, but because a am an attractive woman.

But it all comes down to, I can’t take that risk.  Maybe if I was in another state, where only a handful of friends knew me, I could go out dressed up.  But even then, I feel like there’s very little chance of me actually looking attractive.

My children are the most important thing in the world to me.  Period. I can’t risk losing custody to their crazy/neglectful mother.  So what little transitioning I do, I do in stealth. I don’t go out in “cross-gender” clothes, except for Halloween. And very little chance of ever feeling pretty.

I’m going to wrap this up, before I cry anymore at work.  But here I am with my soul (and body) exposed to you all. Happy HNT to you all.