How you Move vastly Outweighs how you Look

It’s my birthday, and since my favorite person is 2000 miles away right now, I took myself out to dinner and to a strip club tonight (had she been here, I’d have taken her along to both).

It’s a t-girl strip club and it’s in the center of the universe of t-girl-ness, San Francisco. And on a very good night, a girl can make $40 doing a 3-minute lap dance …. fun and lucrative. So I also applied to work there part-time but they have more dancers than customers so right now they’re not hiring.  And yes, I still live in Nevada.  So I’d have had a 4-hour commute to work. No problem.

The main reason I was in San Francisco, actually, was a consultation with the second-best facial feminization surgeon I know to exist. The very best one, the man who literally invented some of the procedures and literally wrote the book on the subject (and yes, I have a copy; he’d signed it and given it to me after he did some work on me) has mainly retired and he appointed a brilliant young man to succeed him.  So it’s with this new rising-star surgeon that I had a consultation so that I could plan what next to do, so that my facial structure becomes … how do I say this … more “Christie Brinkley” than “Rocky Balboa.” Not that there’s anything wrong with looking like Rocky. Unless you’re a girl. Yeah, problem, that.

The other day, a gentleman walked past me while my long, pretty blonde hair was blowing in the wind. And yes, dammit, it’s my own hair. I grew it out, personally. And it took years. Until it grew out, I used to put on fake hair like in the attached picture. Anyway, the wig is now in my closet and likely to stay there. It’s been there for years. I like it like that. So, the man looked at me and said “nice wig.”  I said “thank you” nicely and then (it’s a blonde thing, maybe) after I spoke, I thought about it. (It’s probably better to think first and speak after but it’s hard to do that and chew gum at the same time, and a girl’s gotta have her priorities). Nice wig … wait, what?  Oh. So, he saw the prizefighter jaw and forehead, and thought I was a guy in drag and wow did the wig look real.  Okay, duly noted.

Yes, I wax my skin to be smooth.  Yes, my figure is becoming hourglassy. Yes. my own hair now looks good. My Adams’s apple is long gone. Problem is, there’s only so much you can do with a facial structure that got the way it is while my facial bones were shaped by testosterone instead of estrogen. Grrr. I shoulda gone on feminizing hormones when I was 14 or so. That would have solved A LOT of the problems I have now, including the sort of facial shape that is far too male-looking by my standards.

And when I wonder if it’s just me overreacting, then a helpful comment from someone else helps remind me too.

Really, it’s nice for me to look in the mirror and see a girl looking back at me. I’ve wanted that for SO long and there she is, yay! I look feminine enough to be happy about it. But the more feminine I look the happier I am. And there’s only so much I can do with superficial fixes. Hence my consultation with the nice man who, when I finally have the money to spend on this, and when I can justify it, will make some pretty drastic changes to how my face is shaped, structurally. I can hardly wait but given the price tag that’s just a figure of speech. Truth is, I’m gonna be waiting for a loooooooooooooong time. To save that amount will take a long time plus I have debts to settle before I go spend money on feminizing myself surgically.

Sometimes I wonder if it would be a good business move. I’ve done escorting and I’m good company. I’ve made more than $300 an hour having fun and looking sexy, and I didn’t even have sex with the gentleman. And he was so happy with the quality of the experience that he wanted to give me a bottle of wine as a present afterwards, and book another session. Obviously, I’m able to add value. Not that this client is the sort of person with whom social time is a sparkling experience and not that $300/hour clients are lined up waiting to spend time with me.  But it’s occurred to me that if I can make that much, even sometimes, looking as I do now, then maybe I could make more yet, or make that amount more often, if I were to look better.

This reminds me of a conversation I had with a professional photographer who specializes in t-girl escorts and prostitutes. I’d mentioned to him that I don’t like ad pictures being Photoshopped. I’d rather my escorting clients (at the time, I’m retired for now) see what I really look like. Why, I don’t even like wearing a lot of make-up. I don’t want a client to be disappointed when he sees me in person. But it’s hard for me to compete with ladies whose ad pictures are so Photoshopped that their skin looks perfect even though in real life it’s not. One lady’s picture was so aggressively Photoshopped than even her nipple had been smoothed totally away. Serious editing, that. Anyway, I pointed out these concerns to the photographer and he conceded some points but then reminded me that a good set of ads (fake pics and all) can make so many clients flock to a girl that she makes $30K a month, as some of his clients have done, and the guys are happy enough to pay her price even after they see her in person. So with that money, she can then to a large extent go make herself look as good as the pictures imply. So, the pictures kinda show her future self and they also enable it, he explained. Interesting logic. Wait, what? $30K a month? Wow.

If I looked way prettier, facially, maybe I could make vast amounts of money as a stripper or escort and pay off my debts faster, net-net, that way. Pretty wishful thinking, I know.

Anyway, since I don’t have the money anyway it’s sort of a moot point.

Duly preoccupied with my looks as a t-girl, I went to the t-girl strip club. T-girls at a club like that are a varied bunch. A very few are like … how do I say this nicely … your least-handsome uncle … in drag. A few are hot in an androgynous sort of way. And a few are among the most feminine creatures I’ve ever met. They’re overcompensating, making up for lost time, overshooting … and wow, do they ever succeed. The door girl, for example, is utterly gorgeous. She’s a t-girl and wow, she exudes femininity. She radiates it in how she looks, sounds, moves, dresses, everything. And she’s not just feminine, she’s also sexy. As in, raging-forest-fire hot.

As you might imagine, the club owner chooses his on-stage stripper dancers from the latter group, the hot girls. And wow. They DO look good. The first two dancers I saw on-stage moved quite well.

The problem was that I couldn’t really focus on the strippers on-stage very well because a little brunette t-girl appeared from a doorway to my right and walked right past me. She was short and muscular but the way she moved was jaw-droppingly hot. Wow. I’d say that maybe one in five thousand girls can move like that. Wow, wow, wow. I was mesmerized and didn’t hide it well. She smiled me a “you seem to appreciate that I’m hot, thank you” smile at me as she sashayed past.

As she sat down at the bar and did her social butterflying it was hard to not follow her every little graceful movement, but since I was sitting by the stage, it seemed rude to ignore the nice redhead who was just about naked and hanging upside down from a stripper pole. So, to be polite, I tried to focus on the performer on-stage. It wasn’t easy.

With the show over, the next major entertainment highlight for me was this same girl walking back in the direction she came, right past me, with another smile at me. Wow, was she feminine. And sexy. And graceful. And wow. Just … wow.

Anyway, the universe must have known it’s my birthday because the next dancer was … this lady. Yay! She was AMAZING! She didn’t do any stripper pole tricks. She didn’t strip almost naked. She didn’t do anything quirky. She just moved with such grace and sensuality and confidence and style that … nothing else mattered. I was enraptured. It showed. Now and then she looked in my direction and smiled appreciatively.

It’s a topless club so, yes, at some point, her bra came off. It hardly mattered. This girl could wear a polar parka and be more sexy than an average-pretty girl would be in a string bikini. Still, being able to see more skin also meant I could appreciate her moves more yet.  Gawd, did this girl have “the moves.” I loved every minute.

After many happy minutes of enjoying her dancing, the stardust settled at least long enough for me to actually take a critical look at the girl. It wasn’t easy to be critical but I tried, as an exercise. Interestingly, in many ways, the girl was my visual clone as to the items that I really dislike about my face and body aesthetics. Yes, I do get many compliments about my boobies and yes, they’re magnificent, but they are outplants and they come from Without them I’m as flat as Kansas. And so was this dancer.  

My forehead and brow are way too masculine … and so were those of this dancer. Oh, wow. And her nose wasn’t exactly tiny. As such, her looks also matched mine. And so on.  

She had the same visual drawbacks I had, as to aesthetics, yet she moved so sexily that it took some earnest effort on my part to even realize that she’s more sexy than picture-pretty. And yet even after my analysis, I still consider her the most desirable dancer in the club. I’d invite her to a cup of coffee in a heartbeat, and if one thing led to another, I’d be happy with that too.

So, yet again, I learned something. I walked into that t-girl club totally focused on feminine looks and my own shortcomings, and I walked out with a renewed realization that looks matter so much less than a person’s style and grace, and with a first-hand example of how a girl, with the same visual shortcomings as I have, still managed to look SO sexy just due to how she moved. And that wasn’t just my opinion. She got probably four times as many audience dance floor tips as the dancer before her.


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.

Moving Sexily

A few years ago, I watched a video of a transgender beauty contest, in which the mistress of ceremonies was a lovely t-girl … who took two very masculine-looking strides to the microphone and ruined much of her image in the process, for me anyway. That really made an impression on me.

I do escorting sometimes. I sell time, not sex, and whatever turns the client on, I’m willing to consider doing. One of my clients, who is 100% male and works in a macho profession, was curious as to how he’d look feminized. So, I dressed him up as a girl and put a blonde wig on him. He looked good. And then, he took a few masculine-looking steps, and the image was ruined, for me anyway.

So, yes, it’s important for me to move in a feminized way as one more way of living as the female that I basically am. This is occurring in a context where I have for decades tried to fit into guy culture and tried to look as male as I possibly could, so there’s a lot that I need to un-learn.

But, I also am concerned about how I look. I love the hourglassy look and I wish I looked like that. But, rather than wishing, I have specific plans that will eventually help me look more curvy. For now, any hourglassiness in my shape is due to having a narrow waist and flat abs. It’s a good start, but my body is still shaped too much like a tree and not enough like an hourglass.

Recently, I found the perfect pick-me-up when I feel frustrated or sorry for myself about my shape: a video that shows Anastasia Sokolova dancing, in “Ukraine’s Got Talent.”


Yes, she’s pretty, but that’s not the main attraction. How she moves, is the key issue.

It’s difficult for me to focus on her physique because she seems to transcend that, but when I can, I notice that she’s shaped like … well, me, actually — as far as I can tell.


She has fairly muscular arms and shoulders, and not a particularly thin waist, nor huge boobs, nor wide hips. She’s slender yet muscular — athletic.NEW-5

The way she walks is already a large part of her moving sexily.


She’s a professional pole dancer, and … wow. Now that I’ve seen a video of her dancing …

… wow.




This lady lives in the Ukraine, which isn’t the center of the universe for wealth. She doesn’t have a curvy body. And yet, she has taught herself to move in a way that makes her magnificently sexy — and an inspiring role model, for me.