How I met the perfect gentleman (and yes, I’m still gay)

jMAG1013A few weeks ago, I rented a U-Haul van (long story as to why, not relevant here) and I had parked my own car at a local casino a few blocks away. After my project was complete, I dropped off the van, and walked along Virginia street (the main north-south street through Reno, Nevada) to the casino, to have a nice lunch and then get my car and drive home. It was a pretty day, sunny but not too hot, and I enjoyed strolling along the sidewalk.

jMAG1011As to my shoes, I finally love being me, i.e., being okay with who and what I am. That includes me being happy with myself as a sexual being. I love to celebrate looking sexy. Few things inspire me to feel as sexy as do 6” stripper stiletto shoes.

I own several pairs. I can’t afford them new, but good used ones are available. I either buy comfortable ones (yes, they exist) or I modify the ones I have, to make them comfortable. And if they can’t make that grade, I toss them. So please don’t feel sorry for me when I wear them. They feel just fine. Better than fine, actually.

I have trained myself to where I can walk a mile or more at a time in such heels. It’s not just about walking in them … the whole point is to move as the girl I am. It took me 4 years, but I learned that too. Even if my static aesthetics don’t inspire you to think I look hot, then the way I look when I sashay along in my stripper stilettos might — especially from behind. I also learned to dance in them and to look graceful (or better) while doing so. This post shows two pictures of me wearing my most recent pair of 6″ stilettos.

I’m mainly attracted to girls sexually, and I used to date fellow strippers (and yes, I’ve worked as a stripper). I was impressed by how club strippers could stay on their feet while wearing high-heeled stiletto shoes for hours on end — and still look hot in the process. I figured: if they can do it, then there’s no reason why I can learn it. I patiently and diligently trained. If, three years ago, you saw a tall blonde transsexual girl walking around Virginia Lake in Reno at 4 a.m., then yes, that was I. And yes, that’s a distance of one mile, around that pretty man-made lake.

Over the course of four years, I was always trying to find mirrors in areas where I can walk and watch myself, and learn, and improve. The window at the Fallon auxiliary police station has a weird angle and a mirrored finish, so that works. The Sparks Nugget has many mirrors on the second, third, fourth and fifth floors. Of course, reflective windows and mirrors are not hard to find. The difficulty has been in finding ones that are angled just so, so that I can watch myself walking without having to look ninety degrees sideways all the time — though I’ve done much of that too.

As my body weight slowly decreases, walking in stilettos becomes easier yet because, we’ll, there’s less weight to lug around. Simple physics, really.

The problem is that (give or take half an inch) I’m 5’ 12” tall, as Susan Anton would say, who’s the same height as I am. On stripper heels I’m 6’ 6” and it’s elicited observations from strangers such as “damn, you’re tall” when really “damn, you’re hot” was more what I was going for.

I slowly learned that looking like a stripper 24×7 doesn’t inspire the perfect social dynamic anyway. I get enough weird looks as it is, due to my too-masculine male facial structure. So I try to limit my enthusiasm to also dress like a stripper in broad daylight, on city streets.

I have really struggled with learning how to have an elegant female gait. I finally have the body mechanics figured out, so now it comes naturally to me. The net effect happens to also involve hip-swinging as a consequence, in a less-than-blatant way, yet hot. All this training and learning time has paid off.

I used to feel sorry for myself until a supportive and graceful g-girl friend pointed out that her own hips didn’t initially move as such either, and a teenage girl goes through much of the look-awkward, feel-awkward, move-awkwardly, feel-disempowered, feel-less-curvy-than-ideal things that I was experiencing. Girls rarely, if ever, just magically know everything as to femininity. Whether we’re g-girls or t-girls, we have to work at it. We have to put effort into learning and training.

This realization had a weird psychological bonus for me, too. I’ve felt like I’ve missed out by not having a typical teenage-girl childhood. So then, here was my opportunity to experience many of the essentials of the real thing. So I stopped feeling unique and pathetic in my struggle — and I focused on learning.

The effects have paid off in psychological terms, too. I’m fundamentally confident nowadays. It shows in my posture – upright, slightly leaning back, shoulders back, tummy in. I don’t even try any more. It’s just how I stand and walk, all day and every day, with rare exceptions.

On that particular day, when I was walking along the sidewalk, I had managed to discipline myself. I wore a conservative skirt (like in these pictures) and beige, flat, $10 Walgreens plastic sandals (NOT like in these pictures).

When I wear stilettos I feel almost like I’m Supergirl and when I don’t, I feel like a mere mortal. But I was a happy mortal even so. I strolled along happily.

The social demographic of most of the folks who walk along that particular sidewalk at that particular time of day isn’t exactly the shrimp-and-caviar, listen-to-Beethoven set, so I tend to not invite conversations with my fellow pedestrians in that area. That day was no exception. I became aware of someone walking behind me, and that person hadn’t been there all along so he was probably walking a little faster than I was. I didn’t turn or say hello to my fellow on-foot traveler as he approached.

But then, he spoke up. “You have POISE,” he said. I stopped, turned and smiled. He seemed like an average gentlemen, perhaps with some cash flow issues (like me) and not dressed as if this were Beverly Hills (like me). In a completely non-offensive and most eloquent way, the gentleman elaborated on how he’d watched me move, and he’d loved it. His compliments centered on the poise I exuded.

I thanked him and was tempted to say “if you think this looks good, then you should see me in my stripper stilettos” and then I decided to kill off that train of thought and just focus on the here-and-now: a guy telling a girl that he likes her style, period. It was just a nice, eloquent, simple, delightful compliment from a sincere and nice man. I didn’t need to tell him that I could look better yet. I could just shut up and enjoy the moment. And so I did.

I felt the need to introduce myself (it’s a British-culture thing, and I might have too much of that still, having lived there) and so I did so, and so did he. We shook hands and smiled at each other. And then, off he went, across the street — and he went on with his life.

And yet, he’d enriched mine forever. I learned some things that day. I don’t have to dress up like a stripper to look nice. I don’t have to look hot to look nice. I don’t have to try to look nice. I just do, nowadays. And much of it is due to how I move. It’s not just what I have to work with, but what I do with what I have. I don’t have to feel quite as self-conscious about my still-too-male facial structure and still-too-male physique. The way I move transcends all that. It announces “here’s a female” to the world – a female with a too-male facial structure and some serious hormone issues, but yes, dammit, a girl and clearly so. Yay!

Not that the world’s opinion makes me who I am, but it’s nice that there’s nowadays less general confusion as to that point.

And thank you, Eric, for being the perfect gentlemen.

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Coming out, yet again

FormalAbout a year ago, I changed my name legally and also had my legal paperwork corrected as to my gender being female.

But, today, I got an email from someone way back in the past, sent to my old “male” email address and made out to my old name.

Perhaps my reply to him can be helpful to you as well, if you worry about how to reconcile a “female present” with a “male past.” I basically wrote:

“Hi,

Thank you for reaching out.

Since you interacted with me last, I’ve changed my name and email address. I’m one of the few strange people who was born with a mix of major gender attributes, and for the first few decades I tried to live as a male and that didn’t work out so well. Turns out the reason is that my brain is basically female. So now I changed all my paperwork, got some surgeries, etc.

My correct name is Aquitania Charbury though I go by Tanya. My email address is xxx@gmail.com. Please update your records.

I’m attaching a picture too so that you can put a face to the name.

Like being gay was not too long ago, being a t-girl used to be social poison and now it’s almost fashionable. Certainly in the Bay area the culture is more open-minded so I’m glad you’re there. I am normally in the Reno area but I’ve done much Bay area contracting.

Either way I’m an IT professional with lots of dev and DBA experience …

… and from then on the email focuses on the technical aspects though later on I include a paragraph of …

“Though female and low-key I tend to be very principled and assertive in my own quiet way, and I prefer substance over politics so the best places to place me would be where the culture is basically nice or at least functional. Being female, I tend to do best in female-run environments and worst in environments where much of the dynamic is based on macho chest-beating. I realize that rules out maybe 95% of clients and maybe 80% of Bay area clients.”

New Environment, New Confidence

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I just enjoyed a self-serve buffet breakfast in the lobby of the hotel where I’m staying.

This required walking, several times, past some football-watching macho males whom I don’t know and don’t particularly care to know.

I was wearing my 6″ stilettos and my bra was straining against the pressure of my large (and fake) boobs, all wrapped in a thin-fabric, tight-fitting top. My long blonde hair is morning-tousled in a way that a former lover once described as “sex hair” because it looks like you-know-what has happened since I last attended to my hair.

I didn’t dress like that for the intended effect on the onlookers. Frankly, I’d have preferred it if they hadn’t been there at all. But their presence no longer intimidates me. I’m always ready for adversity but it’s not in a fear-driven way, but in a confidence-based way.

I dress as I like for ME. I like wearng my 6″ stilettos and boob-accenting outfits. The effect they have on my look is nice, but the effect on my mood is better yet. I feel extra feminine. I go to a lot of trouble to look feminine even when I’m wearing nothing, and the stilettos and sexy tops put the icing on the cake.

Part of why I’m wearing this is that the hotel is in Las Vegas. There is more of an “anything-goes” ambiance here. In a small town in the American South I’d probably have triggered some homophobic response in some of the least secure people present. But the fact that it’s a new place, a clean sheet of paper … that helps too.

PS: I love the picture in this post, though I’d rephrase its wording to: You already are fundamentally a girl. Start looking and behaving like one.

Confidence, and a Good Day

I took today off and enjoyed Reno, NV. I dressed sexily and went clothes shopping, ate yummy stuff, played pool at the 5-Star Saloon, and generally had a sexy, grand and glorious time.

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At the Saloon, I ran into a couple who were using the pool table for an impromptu spanking contest. A lovely brunette was also in their party, either more sober or with more decorum. I sat down close to them, and observed.

Less than a minute later, I was asked to join in. I raised an eyebrow and cautioned that I’m a professional Dominatrix, and asked them to confirm that they still wanted me involved. Indeed, they did.

I gave the gentleman one nice whack, aimed at the pleasure spot and just hard enough to make a guy normally want more.  Perhaps I’ve lost my touch or the alcohol was affecting his reaction, because he was unimpressed. I next asked his lady companion if I might spank her too. She eagerly complied and took position.  “Arch your back,” I instructed, nicely. She complied enthusiastically. Rather than the one-whack approach, I slapped her lightly again and again, several times per second, right at the pleasure spot, above the little crease between her rear thigh and butt, where this sort of thing feels most erotic. Had she rounded her back, that would have told me she disliked it. She kept her back arched, and later said something very nice to me right before she left the bar. It would seem she’d enjoyed the experience.

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The pretty brunette also seemed very positive towards me, taking the seat next to me, making sparkling (and slightly risque) conversation and then giving me her business card. Since I’m bisexual and in an open relationship, this is always a lovely and welcome gesture, regardless of what happens in the future.

Being out and about was wonderful.

The pictures here are of me, taken tonight. For part of the evening, I was dressed more conservatively. The later it gets, the shorter my skirt tends to become.

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I used to be so shy and self-conscious that I waited until 4 a.m., and nobody was around, before I went out in this outfit.

When I was so shy, I didn’t look like I do today, but I didn’t look hideous either. Yet, I felt horribly self-conscious.

If the “me” of today could have given advice to the “me” of two years ago, it would have been: “You look fine, and certainly good enough to go out in the world and enjoy being part of it. Yes, people can tell you’re a transgender girl. That’s OK. For some, it’s more than OK (and for some, who you learn to ignore, it’s less than OK). Don’t hide in the shadows.”

Life is a lot better, nowadays!