Source: Trans Girl, A love affair.
I posted a new page. Please peek at it…….just sayin’
I’m a pansexual male whose had a love of Transgender for decades. The page is a written account of my experiences over time which began with sexual encounters. Over time one learns many things…..We become educated….We mature and come to embrace the the “whole” of personal experiences, and not simply the shallow desires lying deep with in us. What began as an moment of arousal……has transformed itself and me in many ways. Yes, I am still a male and I still make mistakes in language, after years of listening to conventional “wisdom”…..prejudice, stereotyping….etc. But this life is not built on perfection, it is about progress and embracing differences along the path……this has been part of my journey…….
I lay in bed and quietly look on you as you sleep. It’s 1:02 am and I’m tossing and turning. I look to the barren floor, searching for him sleeping as he had for over a decade. Hearing that last gasp of breath as the needle emptied in him made our existence even more empty. I cried for weeks, but not on your shoulder. I held you. I caught you. I always do. Not soft kisses, not caresses, not any tenderness from my hands or lips could bring you back. How could you betray me? Why must you castrate me with your words? How can you expect me to not fear your crazy anger?….. Your runaway selfish emotion is like a locomotive without brakes. I’ve stopped listening. The echo of your rants keeps me up at night, angry, staring at the ceiling running from the nightmares. Its sad being forgotten, insignificant. And you wonder why your friends flirt with me…….how they whisper….”You deserve better.”
I remember when we slept entangled, and the touch of our flesh was warm and alive. I remember when my hand slipped between your thighs in the middle of the night, and you needed me, you whimpered and whispered “Oh God….I want you.”……..and still…..I want you…..
I have thought about my confusion for a long time. Decades. Many times from the victim position. I find that odd as I do not place myself in that position or category, generally speaking in my pedestrian life. But when I reach back and look at my upbringing, As 18 years old male I did not have the clarity to realize my father’s failures objectively. I was constantly hungering for his approval and attention, clouding my understandings of his short comings and struggles. I have far more clarity at 61 years old.
With a father who was oblivious, who didn’t recognize his son as a boy who needed his attention, and when he did it was a competition, I begin to see where my attraction to older males as a younger male resonated. When I think back how my father was always naked at home, a self proclaimed home nudist, and how he flaunted his nakedness. It wasn’t always appropriate. He presented himself in ways that seemed erotic or lewd by conventional wisdom. Seeing him aroused in the bath or on the couch, always intrigued me. I was captivated by his size. I would run to my room and think about what I saw, comparing myself to him physically, and becoming aroused by what I saw. I was given no proper boundaries. I was not taught delay of gratification.
It’s no wonder the first older guy who showed me attention, showed me his cock, and gave me affection, seduced me quickly. I ran to the attention he offered. I readily accepted his sexual demands as attention and affection, believing this was intimacy. One day he held a pair of pink panties in front of me and asked me to put them on, I asked, “Can I sit on your lap?” I thought he could fix my past pain and hurt. I believed he would offer me the love and affection I never had. But really he wanted to see my hard cock tent the front of those soft panties. He wanted my hands bound, as he teased me. making me beg for release. Not much different than my father.
I had mother who doted over her son, making excuse at times for her husband’s short comings. Her unwillingness to free of herself of her own insecurities, delivering them upon me. Does that say something.? Does it reveal her submissive nature? She allowed my father to take liberties with her body in front of me, by openly accepting the terms of his dominance.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, is that what they say? Or does it just make you damaged?
I was a young boy when my father made the most hurtful comment. My father was holding me in his arms as he through a scarf over my head and said, “Look……doesn’t he make a pretty little girl.” My mother said, “Oh my…..yes he does.”
I will say it scared me. I will also say I was her little boy and she loved me deeply. I grew into an adolescent and did all the things boys did, normal things like baseball and played army with m,y friends. But I always wanted to please them and felt I came up short in that one way. I wasn’t the little girl my Daddy wanted. He always talked to my girl cousins when we had family gatherings and ignored me. When I got brave enough to confront him, I asked why he ignored me. He response was, “I see you all the time, I rarely see them, so I take the opportunity to be with them”
I never wanted to go to my grandmother’s house for Christmas, my girl cousins would be there and I hated his behavior. I was of course made to go. One night my youngest cousin slept over. She was slightly older than me by a few months. We slept in my room and had a great time as we always did. She and I both changed separately in my room. I remember she changed her pink panties and put on new ones. Her clothes were strewn all over my room. After she had finished it was my turn. I went to my room and saw her pink panties laying on the floor. I’m not sure what caused me to grab them, but I did. I hid them in my closet, deep in some boxes. When I cam out and saw my cousin sitting on my dad’s lap I was so envious. Her tee shirt was pulled up just enough for me to see the white panties she had changed into.
Some days later I had a tee shirt on and I went to get her pink panties. I dug them out from the secret hiding place and put them on. I went out to where my father was sitting and crawled on his lap. He looked at me and asked, “Did you loose your underwear?”
He told me to go change and act like a boy. I was a boy, but for him I wanted to be a girl.
Yes, I’m addicted. I’m not a physician or scientist. I’m not a psychologist or psychiatrist, but I know in my heart I’m addicted to sex and masturbation. I should have seen this coming ages ago. Maybe I did and through my own denial I refused to admit it. I refused to call my actions anything but my own right to seek pleasure, in the way I was mentored and taught through the actions of others. I mean if you are told masturbation is normal, a natural thing by a parent, you may always believe it is. In the least when your denial is full blown over a desire or compulsion that you crave and hunger for, you relate back to what you have been taught.
But it is what it is, and reality can not be denied. I recently have read two interesting blogs. For those of us addicted to masturbation it might be interesting for you to read these as well.
I have seen my work ethic slip over the last months and years. I have been distracted and forgetful, negligent in my duties. Once I get sidelined by an online friend, or find myself browsing the internet for porn, I suddenly realize it has been too many hours since I did what I was supposed to do. I have had days or a week where I have not had a computer in front of me and I have been extremely productive, and then I have days that were a complete waste. I knew when I was not in front of my home computer, and I was not free to perv the internet, I was happier and content, smarter and energetic. But like any addiction, it pulls you to the source of pain and false comfort by an orgasm.