Feeling and Looking Feminized

In another forum, someone asked a general question to the transgender girl community, as to how a girl looks feminized.

[I’m told I’m too wordy. That’s not going to change soon or ever, so I’m interspersing pictures in a Plan B attempt to keep reader interest up. If you don’t like long posts, skip this one.]

I’m bisexual so I’ve been observing and appreciating girls’ sexuality for many years. (I realize now, belatedly, that part of the appeal for me was “I want to be like that myself.”)

I recall going to a strip club in Sunnyvale and seeing a stripper who had a pretty enough face, but she was totally flat-chested, more than or as much as any adult female whose breasts I’ve ever seen in person or in pictures, G-rated or otherwise.

For someone like that to work as a stripper seemed odd to me … until she started dancing. The way she moved was so tantalizing and elegant … it didn’t matter any more to me that she was flat-chested. She used her other assets (legs and butt) and her entire body so well that her dance was very, very sexy. As I recall, I tipped her $20.

I recall someone saying that how sexy a girl is depends on what she has to some extent, and to a huge extent on what she does with it. I totally buy into that.

So, in addition to what I do as to my physical looks, I pay attention to my style, and how I move. I learned this the hard way, in person. When I was early in my transition, I was invited to a t-girl pool party in Sacramento, and I looked and felt like a 14-year old girl at a party where the other girls were hot, curvy 18-year-old lingerie models. The host was super-nice to me but I felt so lanky and gawky and awkward nevertheless. At the time, I’d expected my femininity to sort of descend on me like powdercoating dusts a piece of metal. As I pondered that party, it occurred to me how my mental model had been flawed. I needed to be active, to learn, to do — that much of being feminine is how I think which translates into how I move.

Last month, I attended professional Dominatrix training, and when it was time to apply our skills to some pretend-clients that the Academy was providing, I put on 6″ heels and this dress …

… while the other girls were still in day-to-day clothing. And, I moved more gracefully and sensuously yet. Later, one of the trainers commented with a frown that I’m more feminized, as to how I move, than the genetically integrated girls at the course.

She mentioned that sort of in a musing way, sort of as a compliment to me and sort of as an admonishment to the other girls plus a reminder to herself. And, it didn’t come naturally to me. I had to learn to work it.

Two nights ago, I went out for a walk around the man-made lake near where I live in Reno. It’s about a mile around. I was wearing 4″ boots, I’d twisted my ankle the day before so it was all swollen and barely fitted inside the boot, and it was 47 degrees out and dark with nobody in sight, but I walked and I felt sexy. I enjoyed the extra wiggle and sexuality in how I move. Turns out that there was someone there after all, in a thicket of trees that I’d decided to bypass and walk on a brightly lighted path around that little area. I don’t know who it was or why they’d be hanging around there in the cold and dark, but whoever it was liked what they saw, and I got a nice “wolf’s whistle” as I was walking past. In a nice, feminine voice, I shot back a clear “thank you” and kept walking. I’ve lived in the area for three years and walked around that lake many times, and that was the first time I’d heard someone whistle like that to a girl. I liked it.

The voice part is key. I bought training material by Kathe Perez and Melanie Ann Philips, and I practiced diligently to retrain my head and my throat muscles. That helps me feel way, way more feminized yet. In fact, for me, it was essential. Until I could sound like a girl, it was very hard to feel like one.

As to looks, getting rid of my Adam’s Apple was key. Dr. Ousterhout in SF is wonderful for that (and much more).

I also had my eyes and nose feminized by Dr. McCormack in Reno, plus much follow-up facial shaping (Radiesse, Sculptra) and skin care work there.

Long blonde hair courtesy of months’ worth of patience and loving care by Jen at L’Essence in Reno, plus Avodart androgen blockers to keep the hair on my head instead of the floor.

Brow waxing by James Shearer or Beautiful Brows in Reno.

Dental veneers and Invisalign by Dr. Selmeczy in Livermore.

Venus and KissMeFashions and Plato’s Closet and Savers and Clothes Mentor and Sears (yes, Sears) for sexy clothing.

Thongs and bra by Victoria’s Secret.

Perfume by Halle Berry (not that I presume she mixes it in her kitchen, but it’s the line she endorses).

Body waxing with Nair wax. Lasering for facial hair.

Shampoo, conditioner, make-up by L’Oreal.

Regular ass and leg and tummy exercises.

Lots of healthy food.

Calorie-and-protein-intake tracking software.

… and more, but those are the main things.


Normal Life … as a Girl

The day before yesterday I was looking like I normally do, nowadays: long blonde hair, make-up, female clothes and female shoes. I was at the mall, looking at the directory. A security guard approached, politely called me “ma’am” and asked me if he could help. I thanked him, and my voice sounded as feminine as I looked.

Later, he saw me walking in the wrong direction by mistake, and he again hailed me as “ma’am” and pointed out that I was walking into a construction zone. It is SO great to look like a lady and also to have my voice not detract from it. Voice training is finally paying off. Kathe Perez and Melanie Ann Philips both have my eternal gratitude.

That evening, I took some pictures of me and didn’t like my look. I took 30 shots and liked maybe 5.

Today, I did NOTHING good to my hair. It isn’t even clean. I’ve been working on cars all day, in the hot sun. Part of this involved lying underneath a car, and my hair got all dusty and dirty. And yet, it looks like I’m ready for a supermodel shoot. I have just taken off my top and stood in front of the mirror, observing critically. A tall, athletic blonde smiled back at me, with nice abs, an hourglassy figure due to a slim waist, and with supermodel hair. I really liked what I saw.

I mentioned this to a wonderful genetic girl who is also a wonderful romantic partner — how disconcerting it is to really dislike my own looks one day and then love them two days later. She reassured me that she’s the same way, about her own looks.

And so this is what life is like, as a girl.

I’m happy to be here.

Yay for IHOP, too!

I just sent the following to the corporate office of International House of Pancakes a.k.a. IHOP.

In case you, as the reader of this blog, aren’t familiar with Hispanic culture in the US: the first name of “Jesus” is a pretty common first name for males, and it’s pronounced “heysoos.”

* * *

I enjoy having client business lunches at IHOP for my software business. Today I had another such meeting.

I’m transgender (girl brain, mix of male and female face and body). Some think I look female and some think I look male, it’s sort of a toss-up. My driver’s license says “female” but I understand it’s confusing.

Our server today was Jesus. He was efficient and very polite and friendly, but he guessed (reasonably, but incorrectly) that I’m a guy. He called me Sir and meant it, clearly, in a nice way.

I nicely showed him my driver’s license with “F” as the gender, and explained that I’m part guy and part girl, but I’m basically a girl and if he calls me “Sir” it kind of freaks me out.

He dealt with this perfectly and remained as friendly as ever or was even so. And, he didn’t call me “Sir” again. I really appreciate this. I love being able to speak candidly and not having it be resented.

So, please tell Jesus “thank you.” His manager was also super-nice even though, I understand, I look unusual.

The cleanliness, food and value were (as always) wonderful.

I love IHOP. When I make a road trip, it often goes from IHOP to IHOP (not that that’s the purpose, but it’s nice to eat at a place I can trust). My last road trip was from Reno, NV to Little Rock, AR and I stopped by an IHOP in Las Vegas, another one in New Mexico and another one in Little Rock, AR.

Thank you for doing a great job.

Professional Dominatrix Work

Some of my modeling clients tend to slip into a psychologically submissive role relative to me, and how naturally that fits me and them both … that has made me think more seriously about my future in the general “monetizing that I’m a hot transgender girl” business. 

Modeling in private shows puts me in a weird specific market niche.  The best place for me to find clients is transgender escorting sites but then I have to explain to prospects that I sell modeling, not sex. It’s a little tedious. As a proponent of the free market, I hasten to add that I don’t think that selling sex should be illegal or that there’s anything wrong with it; I just happen to not do so in the same way as I prefer to not work on Alaskan fishing boats.

A recent chat with a respected professional Domme friend of mine reminded me that pro Domme girls already have an established niche, and they don’t need to explain quite as adamantly that they don’t sell sex, since most clients seem clear on that already.

So, that seemed to be the better way to go. 

In case there’s some confusion on the subject: the stereotype of a professional Domme a.k.a. Domina a.k.a. Dominatrix, as a whip-brandishing mean bitchy woman dressed in a short latex skirt and shrieking demeaning instructions to the client, who’s squirming in agony — all that is about as opposite from the reality as it can get. I have met four practicing professional Dommes. Each of them is highly sensitive, thoughtful and soft-spoken albeit in an eloquent way. Their ability to connect emotionally with clients is almost uncanny. They could whisper an instruction and it would have more emotional clout than a command yelled by a red-faced professional sports coach.

On a personal level, I enjoy BDSM as part of my romantic life. In early 2007, the lady with whom I was in a romantic BDSM relationship liked to chat online with others in the lifestyle. She convinced me that, in contrast with her online friends, I don’t have much of a clue of how to practice BDSM well. I took her word for it and enrolled for a weekend course in BDSM. It was an intense two-day course being offered at the San Francisco Citadel, a cultural center for BDSM. The three pro Domme ladies who taught the course destroyed all my stereotypes about their line of work. They were wonderfully insightful, and they taught me a lot — interesting techniques, but mostly I learned about myself. I also learned that, as to the essence of BDSM, I was already quite skilled. The areas where I had needed improvement were for the most part superficial.

Six years later, I was musing about life while looking at ads and noticing how there are dozens of professional ladies who advertise themselves as pro Dommes but (unlike my savvy mentors) these advertisers didn’t seem to have much of an understanding of the essence of the craft. And yet, they commanded impressive hourly rates. Reading between the lines, I came to suspect that some of these were basically ladies selling sex — and they had discovered that labeling themselves as pro Dommes added at least a couple of $20 bills to the hourly rate. Their implementation seemed to involve a latex dress, a riding crop and a petulant attitude.

I could do better.