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.


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.