The Awesome Power of Cleavage, Part II





Here are some pictures from two weeks ago. Looking like this, with ample cleavage showing, I visited various places in Las Vegas.

Today, I visited several of these places again, with (of course) the same pair of boobies, again very visible, but this time there was no cleavage showing. People were still nice to me but no longer falling over themselves to be nice to me. Perhaps there were other factors, perhaps not.

Interesting experience, my life as a t-girl.

The Awesome Power of Cleavage

I know that my facial bones are more “Rambo” than “Audrey Hepburn” and there’s not much I can do about that, short-term. This plus a lack of feminine grace and a lack of boobies made for an awkward conversation about two years ago, at a junkyard that allowed ladies in for free but guys needed to pay a $2 entrance fee. I ended up holding up my official State of Nevada ID and pointing to the gender on it, that correctly showed “F.”

Yes, I’m a strange-looking girl but I AM a girl, dammit.  Anyway, there wasn’t much hope for a conversation in which the girl speaks mostly British-colonial-accented English, and the guy speaks mostly Spanish. Not that I mind paying $2, but the principle of the thing bothered me. In addition to the booth guy being difficult, the security guard then also walked over to the booth, to chime in. He told me to hurry it up and move along.  That made it an even less-nice experience.

So here’s a picture of me from last week, two years later, showing what I wore to that same entrance gate to that same junkyard.

g2015-10-15 21.26.30The events of that day remind me of a story that a former colleague of mine told. She’s a pretty girl but quite flat-chested. A friend lent her some bra stuffers … what Charlize Theron calls “chicken cutlets worn by women who don’t have boobs” during an interview when she told the interviewer she wore those too. Anyway, armed with temporarily huge boobs, she went to a baseball game and came back to report: “these babies are POWER!!” and she proceeded to explain how differently males and (to her surprise, many females) treated her.

Anyway, no, I don’t have the money for breast implants but a good friend did donate $100 to me on the condition I use it on my boobs, so I bought a set of bra stuffers. Combined with the effects of a sports bra and my regular daily intake of feminizing hormones I now have for-real cleavage, and not the kind one draws in with an eyebrow pencil so it looks great in 2D and not in 3D.

So this last visit to the junkyard, I walked in, money in hand, offering to pay the entrance fee. Oh, no, the booth guy protested. No need for me to pay. Ladies come in free. About half a dozen guys stood around beaming at me.  Then, the security guy walked over just like last time. Smiling at me, he wanted to make sure that the booth guy wasn’t going to charge me an entrance fee, and he instructed the booth guy accordingly, who proudly replied that he’d already figured all that out and wasn’t going to charge me anyway.


Deciding Whether to Live or Die

This isn’t a very happy post, even though personally I am happy and delighted to be alive.

* * *

I mentor t-girls. One lady whom I’m mentoring is wrestling with the question of whether to live or die. Fundamentally, it’s a question we all continually answer as we live our lives, but we generally claim to, or presume to, choose to live. If our actions end up being self-destructive then “oops” and “darn it” but it’s rarely a consciously decided unambiguous self-destructive action.

In the case of the lady whom I’m mentoring, her choices have become a lot more stark and urgent in their implications. Without divulging inappropriate detail, perhaps I can use the analogy of an airplane pilot flying solo and not being sure she wants to live to see another sunrise.

As a trans girl whose life has been a war zone with tragedy as its central theme, she’s seriously trying to figure out who she is, or as she phrases it, what she is. If she is able to conclude she’s female, she seems likely to want to live in a way that’s passionately intense, as evident in her writings and the art she values. If she cannot conclude she’s female then the plane might as well crash into a lonely mountain somewhere because she has tried and failed to live as a guy and she’s tired — bone-tired, exhausted — of trying and failing at life.

Unfortunately I personally relate to the quandary of being enthused to live as the girl I am, and being so unenthusiastic to live as a guy that my lack of enthusiasm was causing some severe neglect of my own body, a neglect that might well have ended with me ending up quite dead, as medical specialists candidly pointed out to me — and yet without that inspiring me to want to live under any circumstances other than with integrity.

I understand the insistence of the heroes of the human race, to live with integrity or die trying, or die otherwise. I am proud to share that insistence. I am unwilling to violate the truth of who I am. I am female. I am unwilling to compromise with anyone wanting me to pretend otherwise. My enthusiasm for life is so deep and vibrant nowadays that it’s difficult to remember that, four or five years ago, I was on my way to an early grave due to a terminal lack of enthusiasm to live as a guy.

For this reason, I am both a good choice and a bad choice for mentoring this lady. I can relate to her situation so well, but I can also not offer a magical short-cut out of the quandary except to figure herself out and then choose to live with integrity and the confidence, peace and joy that it brings.

The problem is that, in the analogy, the pilot is doing all this pondering while the airplane is in a dive and is headed towards the ground very rapidly. Deciding too late will in practical terms have the same effect as not deciding to live at all. Even if she decides that yes, she passionately wants to live, it might be too late to pull the airplane out of its dive. If that’s the case, then the most she can hope for would be to realize that she wants to live — right before she becomes unable to do so. Applying this analogy, the lady I’m mentoring is in a situation where the decline of her health represents the airplane in the dive.

I’m trying to find a way to explain to her that, fundamental to the decision-making process is the premise that the decision matters. That in turn requires being able to act on the decision. That in turn requires the airplane not being in the dive. So, regardless of the decision, I’d urge her to get the airplane back to safe and level flight first, and then resume the thinking process. This is not that complex a concept but so far I’ve lacked the ability to convey this.

Does this mean she is suicidal? Yes and no. Just in case, I’ve made sure she has access to the suicide prevention hot-line and I have urged her to contact them but … she’s approaching this in so cerebral a way that the pondering process has so far spanned months. The slowness of the decline in her health makes it difficult for me to inspire a sense of urgency. The airplane lost altitude very gradually, and has gradually been losing it faster and faster.

By now, in my opinion, it IS a crisis. But I don’t know how to help as a mentor. And no, I’m not being a counselor; I’m being a friend. She has a formal counselor who is professionally tasked with helping her.  So far, it’s not been working. Also, she’s not in Nevada where I could have helped by carting her off to a better counselor. And now, she’s too weak to travel to Nevada anyway.

After sympathizing sincerely at an emotional level, I’m now writing this as logically as I can in the hope that it’ll help inspire her.

Students Speak Up and Stand Up for Trans Girl

George Takei has just sympathetically posted a link to a cool article on his Facebook page. Thank you, George! Basically, some bigots-in-the-name-of-their-deity protesters showed up at a high school in Kansas City, Missouri, waving “God Hates Fags” signs, to publicly protest a trans girl having been elected homecoming queen, as if:

  1. It’s any of their business
  2. There’s anything wrong with a trans girl being treated as any other girl
  3. Being trans has anything to do with being more gay or less gay
  4. Being gay properly carries any moral taint whatsoever
  5. Name-calling at gay people, or anyone else, is appropriate adult behavior
  6. These bigots can reasonably claim to be \spokespeople for a deity
  7. Their image of a gay-hating deity reconciles in any way to the mellow, forgiving person central to the New Testament

In my opinion, the cluelessness of these protesters runs deep. Still, there’s a lot of historical precedent for their behavior. Its seems more popular to say: “I have irrational opinions. I’m basically an asshole but instead of cleaning up my act, I’m going to go out and do bad deeds that reflect the mess in my head.”  

It seems typical to add: “… but if I can convince myself that my deity wants me to do this, I’m suddenly able to delude myself into believing that I have the moral high ground.”   It’s not that crisp a mental process, but I think that’s the gist of it.

The irrationality of this mindset can be far-reaching. Even Hitler had loudly and publicly claimed that his deity was on his side. So had Saddam Hussein. Kind of ironic, that.

Anyway, back to the story: The protesters were met by a large group of students counter-demonstrating even more energetically. The sheriff was there, keeping an eye on things. I like how both the protesters on both sides remained non-violent. The students so culturally overpowered the bigots that the bigots packed up and left. Yay for the students speaking up in the name of reason and logic!

If that’s the new generation, I have much hope for the future of my favorite country.

Here’s a link to the  article.

Guilty of Being Me

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In the Grand Canal Shoppes (yes, they spell it like that) at the Venetian in Las Vegas is a store that had these posters up. I loved them. I asked the store folks if I would be allowed to take and post pictures, of those posters, and graciously they agreed.

To me, this sums up much of the controversy around girls like me. We’re unusual genetic mixes, born with male plumbing and a female brain structure. For that reason, we crave to live as the females we are, fundamentally. Cosmetically, it looks paradoxical, like males pretending to be female. Ironically, until we came out, we’ve actually been (fundamentally, brain-wise) females pretending to be male. So after we live openly as who we are, conservative folks look at us suspiciously and accuse us of now doing the one thing we are no longer doing, but used to do. It’s sort of like having more weeds than good plants in one’s garden for years, with everybody being happy with the situation, and as soon as the weed-planting is replaced by an emphasis on all-good plants, the gardener is accused of having out-of-control weeds in the garden.

Not that anyone should have a cow either, if a male is living as a female or vice versa. If that really a problem, and I don’t see why it would be, then we can attend to it after we’ve attended to all the much-more-serious problems in the world.

But, to remain focused on this core subject matter of this blog, t-girls, it really is ironic what t-girls are accused of doing when it’s the one thing we’re actively not doing.

So, yes, I’m female, living as a female. Guilty as charged.

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Swing It!

As a t-girl, learning how to walk in a feminine way was very hard for me. Whenever I was feeling sorry for myself, one of my mentors, a lady who moves very gracefully, reminded me that it’s hard for all girls in the beginning.  My time of learning is just delayed, so it’s not happening in my teenage years.

I kept trying to get it right and it felt SO awkward to me. There seemed to be more things to do simultaneously than my brain could process. Then finally, one day, I realized that if I swivel my hip as the first part of moving each leg forward, that’s the magic formula. Everything else just clicked into place. From that day on, I enjoy walking. And, as a t-girl, I’m celebrating my femininity, so I’m not holding back.

The first time I was out with my mom after I learned how to walk properly, I walked in front of her, and (typical for my mom, who is very candid and was raised by strict German parents) she immediately said: “Don’t’ swing your ass like that.” That was good feedback. So clearly, my walk now has the right wiggle (even though my mom hates it).

Not long ago, I was walking down an aisle in the general gambling area of the Venetian Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, and one gentleman walking past me complimented me with: “That’s quite a swing, there.”

So, slowly but surely, I’m figuring this all out.  I’m enjoying the journey.