I ADORE BEING A GIRL!

I’m not entirely sure about sharing this. As I’m typing this on my iPad, it’s starting to hit me that I might lose a few readers. But…and I’m just thinking out loud here…it is my blog. And it is about ME. And, for some reason, I want to share this side of me.

And what is that side you ask? I started this blog to share my obsession with the fabric nylon. Of course, Parachute Pants play a huge part in that. And…again, if you don’t know what parachute pants are/were, go read the Wikipedia entry. Whoever wrote that entry sure did know what he was talking about! Yessireee. It almost could’ve been written by me!¬†(Of course, it was written by me.)

I’ve also revealed my love of lingerie. Underdressing. Wearing nylon/silk/satin pretty lingerie makes me feel awesome. Especially pantyhose, which I wear every darn day. They feel so great. And, if you like wearing pantyhose or any nylon clothing, I highly suggest shaving your body. I’m lucky. I’ve never had much body hair. In gym class, I got teased more than once. Even as an adult, when I had to get dressed in front of some guy friends, one guy said “Dude, you have, like, no leg hair.” Fucking moron. But, that did take me back to how I felt when I was in high school and picked on. This guy was my “friend”, and he wasn’t really trying to humiliate me, but there were other guys I didn’t know too well there too, and I was embarrassed. Anyway…

I shave my legs, arms, and…of course..my face every other day. (I hate this trend of facial hair on every single man in the country!)

All right, I’m a bit of a sissy boy, and I may even be trans. I’m not sure. And I’ve stopped trying to label myself. What gender am I? Well, I know what’s between my legs. But I also know how I feel. It’s the same way I’ve felt as long as I can remember. Saying I was really a girl my whole life really makes things make sense. A lot. I mean, it totally makes my life make sense and fills in a lot of puzzle pieces.

Now, instead of wasting time researching words, like cis-gender, transgender, gender fluid, etc. etc. etc., I really don’t care about words. I am concentrating instead on how I feel. Like, I’ll wear men’s shorts, with pantyhose, and feel totally amazing when I’m out. You know the kind of person who says mean things to me? NO ONE. That’s right. In all my dressing forays in public, not one person has said a word to me about my dress. No one cares. Well…yesterday I was in line at WALGREENS. My outfit was pantyhose, a short black skirt, a sleeveless t-shirt, a camisole underneath. I wore Stan Smith shoes with peds. Yup, the socks with the ball in back. And, I wore a pink baseball hat. I had makeup on. Not one person in line cared, except for a cop. He was staring. Actually, for all I know, he could’ve been attracted to me. But ultimately, he didn’t say anything.

As time goes on, I’ll get more and more adventurous in blurring the gender line. And, I do hope that I get some¬†comments. Compliments. From cute boys. Heck, I’d even be willing to have boys try to ask me out. Those comments would be great! But I’m not too optimistic. Maybe. But as I said, I’ll get more and more confident to go out with as many “girl” items of clothing I can.

And do you know who’ll comment? Not a damned one. Oh well.

GIRLS LIKE BOYS WHO LOOK LIKE GIRLS

imageAm I crazy? When I was in 8th grade, and started going out with girls; I recall that a lot of girls liked guys who were “fem”. No “emo” back then. My girlfriend at the time used to want to put makeup on me before we’d go out. Not just powder, but eyeliner, mascara, blush, the whole bit. I, of course, really liked it. I’d play it off as though I thought it was funny, but I know that really, I enjoyed looking “girlish.” And when I would be made up for a party or something, I had girls all over me. (Look, I’m talking about when I was 13 or thereabouts. It’s not bragging. Today, I have lost all the “pretty” I had.)

One night, I went to my GF’s house so her 17 year old sister could drive us to a party. I was a little apprehensive because I wasn’t really the “party” type. But, I walked over to her house one mile away, wearing purple (No kidding! Purple! Officially, it was a color called “Plum”.) parachute pants. Not ridiculously tight, but they did show off the package. My shirt was a gift from my GF that she got from The Oak Tree in the local mall. When I walked into her room as she was putting her makeup on, she looked at me and said, “You look cute. But take off your sunglasses and tuck in your shirt.” I did as she asked. Who am I to argue? I was only a tad self-conscious about how my dick looked, whether you could see the bulge or not. Since she didn’t mention it, I assumed it looked fine after I tucked in my shirt tails. [God. Bulges? The things we were concerned about when we were young. sunglasses at night. Cool. But now I’m NEVER concernedhow my package looks. Nope. Never.]img_4500

She walked over and turned the collar up (ugh), and unbuttoned one more button, making the top two undone. I wasn’t ¬†really comfortable like that because she had given me a gold necklace that I thought was too short. So when I had two buttons undone, you could see the gold chain. I suppose that’s why she unbuttoned it, so I’d show off her jewelry gift.

(Plum-Colored Bugle Boy Parachute Pants. Exactly what I was wearing.)

Then, What had become routine began: she had me sit and she did my eyeliner and subtle other makeup touches. Again, I thought the red lipstick was too much, but she assured me that “no one can tell,” because she had blotted most of it off. And over the lipstick she added a ton (to me) of lipgloss! But she thought it was sexy. So, all done, we got her sister and left for the party. [Her older sister insisted on taking a picture of us together, like we were going to the damn prom! I still have it. I don’t look as queer as I remember, but my head is hanging way down in the Polaroid, as if I was afraid she’d say “Are you wearing makeup?” and totally humiliate me. But…she didn’t.]

At the party, I was amazed! Girls were flirting with me! It seemed like for the first time ever I was attractive to cute girls. In retrospect, I guess I fell into the “Pretty boy” category. I don’t see too many around now. There seems, to me, to be a percentage of girls who like(d) softer, prettier boys. The tough kids had their “chicks,” but the look of hatred mixed with jealousy over “that fag” who had all the girls’ attention was frightening. Making me more shy. The shyness making me more attractive.

At the end of the night, me a little drunk, her sister picks us up and Karen and I are alone in the backseat. Karen takes out a tissue or something and wipes off all my makeup before I walked in my front door. We kissed a little, the lipgloss now gone, and said our goodbyes.

God, I loved that party.