.... days are nights and nights are days ....
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Posted:Apr 29, 2018 6:41 pm
Last Updated:May 24, 2018 5:46 am
7800 Views
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.... days are nights and nights are days .... I slowly walk around this house in numbed awareness of the physical pain ... trying to keep order, control ... feeling the chemical confusion in my brain .... moving at a very slow pace .... deep breathing exercise to push myself forward ... forcing my body to stand up to stand straight when I become aware I am slouched over as I move ... it's harder the weaker I feel ... this cross is heavy .... Life struggling to grow ... to heal. How much of this is chemically induced? I suppose all of it.... whether its cancer or another disease .... Im 64 .... fighting to come back again.... i look in the mirror and although I recognize myself it is the reflection of a me I only thought I might imagine one day. The day is now ...arriving sooner thanI planned... forget plans huh? This is 24/7 months of side effects from drugs and chemicals ....... Better living through Chemistry ..... longer living surely ... better? not sure yet ... ask me when I get out of this battle. Which the next infusion first week of May is getting very close. When I feel most medicated ... I feel the most peaceful. Being aware that my consciousness is evolving is both frightening and fascinating.
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Surgery made my body whole and balanced
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Posted:Apr 11, 2018 11:57 pm
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2018 7:30 pm
8069 Views
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I always saw myself as a girl ... from a very young . I saw myself as a girl. I developed physically as a female during puberty. There were serious hormone issues with me. But in those days it was a taboo subject. But that didn't stop me. I knew what was the right thing to do in order to survive. I would have killed myself otherwise. I had tried once before.
I am not here to lend counsel to your relative or to you. When you define gender, it is not sexuality. There are heterosexuals, Lesbian, Gays, Bisexuals God knows what other classifications ... the point is those classifications have nothing to do with gender identity. I completed my surgery in 1976 that is 42 years ago. I was 22 .... I have lived my whole life as I am ..... Surgery just made my body whole and balanced
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Looking For A Pretty Amazing Person
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Posted:Feb 18, 2018 7:36 pm
Last Updated:May 24, 2018 5:47 am
8766 Views
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Hi ya’ll … I sincerely hope you find that pretty amazing person that you are looking for on this site.
I am The Widow. I am retired ... my husband died in 2012, at home, in bed, beside me, while we or I should say, I, slept. It was traumatic to find him the next morning as I tried to wake him for breakfast. We had been married for 11 years ... we were like two peas in a pod.
Two years afterwards I met a guy who was a successful web developer from NC who built and maintained websites for musicians. Our friendship and lovemaking gradually helped bring me out from the trauma I had experienced. For the next two years we enjoyed each other as he opened my mind and my heart to living once again.
At the end of July he was diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer that had spread to his lungs and died less than 2 months afterwards. Just like that!
These deaths have had a great impact on me and my life .. as much as I want to find companionship and love .... I am messed up.
I am pretending on camera .... I smile and laugh and keep myself entertained by the attention and the fans. I enjoy the makeup ... the wigs ... the music ... the dance movement ....the escape and fantasy of it all. I enjoy being sexy and looking sexy but it does not sexually excite me ... it just makes the loneliness less real .....the compliments and attention is fun and it makes me feel alive ... but honestly, I cannot imagine meeting anyone.
I think what you might have stumbled on is more like pretty sad as opposed to pretty amazing ..... B.
MBm2fWidow
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Commitment .... and the Right Choice
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Posted:Mar 5, 2017 10:05 am
Last Updated:Mar 12, 2018 4:27 am
15078 Views
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100% committed … yes … and God Blessed me with strength, compassion, tenacity and focus …
I got through marriage, careers, love, and death … now I find myself stopped …. looking at myself in ways I never did … through lenses that didn’t exist years ago and seeing myself in pictures and feeling the sadness and the confusion and the fear that being transgender brings …… going through puberty and watching one’s own body develop a feminine shape of the opposite gender is extremely confusing and isolating and frightening …
There is no wonder that when I went through AF basic training and had to take off all my clothes in front of everyone ... how they whistled and hooped at me … I was so profoundly afraid… my fucking hair grew back white at age 21.
I see now that my body’s development had much to do with my mother’s health issues regarding her Thyroid gland and Goiter ... her hormonal deficiencies while she carried me to birth altered my chromosomal development... Klienfelter's Syndrome
I made it through all of that and I did it while trying to win the respect of my father (it's an Italian thing) and my family… it was tough …. now I am searching for a future but the loneliness is harder than ever. … just wish I felt safe … I felt safe while I was married to Steven …. I even became convinced he was my family… which was hard for me to believe…but I reached it…. and for a decade of years felt content, grounded and safe. When he died and left this life as we know it ……That safe world collapsed around me …… now I live within the walls that was once …. I miss that safe world ….. I want to find it again.
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Anonymous ....
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Posted:Dec 11, 2016 11:22 am
Last Updated:Apr 4, 2018 6:42 pm
16375 Views
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Is your name really John? It's not that I am questioning it, it's just that you would be amazed how many men on this site are named John. I'm not really sure if that's their name or if it is a way to remain anonymous. Anonymous as the grey faceless shadow icons used for profile picture substitutes.
Recently I stayed up all night in front of the camera ... when I feel the most lonely or sad I like being in front of the camera in what to me is a performance ... an act ... a form of artistic expression ... a fantasy-reality. It is illusion. It is created through the use of makeup, wigs, lighting, camera angles and an approachable smile. Sometimes I'm spot on... other times I just look fat to myself. But while the camera's eye is watching, I too am watching and trying to escape the abandonment death left in its wake.
On camera I delude myself into believing I am not alone. Just look at the numbers .... there are so many people watching. I have been viewed hundreds of thousands of times.
I watch myself, like an out of body experience ... looking beautiful, sexy and seductive ... It is a total escape from every day life and it is helping me survive for now. Just a trans-woman trying to find my balance again ...a reluctant single person .... anonymously.
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A Kiss
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Posted:Dec 10, 2016 12:55 pm
Last Updated:Jan 14, 2018 1:15 pm
16082 Views
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He kissed me this time with his mouth relaxed letting his soft lips meet mine with a sensuous rhythm that moistened our mouths with tender lust. It was a dance, musical and dreamlike. We were naked, connected by his hardening love perched perfectly so that his foreskin playfully teased the lips between my legs and heightened my lust.
He stood there holding me, tight, into his body. Looking down into my face, he opened his eyes, searching deeper into my soul so that I could feel his energy take control of my will. Resistance was never an option and his grip only served to allow his lust to enter deeper between my swollen lips.
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Labels …
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Posted:Dec 7, 2016 3:11 pm
Last Updated:Mar 12, 2018 4:33 am
16384 Views
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So many labels some complimentary others not so much, each adjective adding layers to walls around something into which I’m supposed to fit. I struggle to find this elusive box and know well enough there is none that exists. That doesn’t stop my endless need to find acceptance, to be loved, to be desired, to be needed, to simply belong.
As a I was silenced under a veil of reoccurring sexual abuse, relentless ridicule and unnoticed cries for help. My screams were muffled under a blanket of religious doctrine and my embarrassing stuttering voice. While classmates laughed at my inability to speak I sank deeper into a world where the abuse somehow made me feel like I belonged because it was my “cross to bear.” The skylight above my bed exposed the night’s sky and a Heaven where I could dream of a day when the pain would vanish.
Puberty brought a developing and blossoming body as soft and as curvy as nature designed for any young girl. But they kept telling me I was a boy.
My mother tried to explain away my shape as baby fat when clearly my hourglass proportions were proving her wrong. She dressed me in husky sizes and made me lower the height of my natural waistline. It was a visual trick, easily done with baggy clothes. Just like that she disguised away the developing hormonal issues while relentlessly correcting the way I walked, sat, laughed, even the words I used. Her mantra was always the same; “boys don’t talk like that, boys don’t walk like that.” She had more issues with my gender than I did. All I wanted was to be loved for being me to be accepted for being me, for who I am.
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40 Years since SRS
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Posted:Apr 11, 2016 8:08 am
Last Updated:Mar 12, 2018 4:37 am
20419 Views
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This October will mark the 40th anniversary of my SRS. I was 22 years old. This journey, especially with the death of my husband in 2012 and then the death of my friend in 2015 has become more difficult than ever.
For 30 years, I pretty much lived stealth. Through my education, my career, my marriage. In-laws..neighbors, colleagues for 25 years knew nothing of my transgender reality. Of course my husband did...but his attitude (and I adopted it too) was it wasn't their business. Certainly in my career it wasn't anyone's business. But I can tell you that, when my husband died and I looked around at my own truth ... I realized how isolated I had made myself.
Being on this site and broadcasting has been a way of pulling back the curtain and letting myself be exposed. At first I thought it was freeing.... now I question what and why I am doing what I am doing.
In my opinion and my experience...gender dysphoria is life-long. I consider myself very lucky and successful in my life and my choices ... you can't bury the past... time doesn't make it go away ... surgery helped balance the dissatisfaction and the confusion....... but life brings with it experiences which bring great joy as well as profound loss and sadness.
At age 62, widowed...retired.....financially secure... still feeling healthy ..vibrant.... attractive....there is still the ever-present universal desire and need for intimacy .... which being transgender and now facing life trying to be open about my sex-change ... is just as difficult as ever. I sometimes think the solution is to move to an area of the country where being transgender allows me to be part of a bigger community.... where I could find myself in a sisterhood of sorts........ I only know that now...in my world ...when the camera is off ... and I am in my life...I am still relatively isolated within my soul's perspective ........... we all just want to fit in...... and even when you do fit in seamlessly as I have done for so very many years ... doesn't mean you ever feel like you fit in.....and hence the core element of gender dysphoria.
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5
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Comedy or Nightmare
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Posted:Dec 16, 2015 3:07 pm
Last Updated:Mar 12, 2018 4:50 am
23008 Views
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I’m trapped in a revolving world of online dating sites that lead to nowhere.
I think someone will find me and open a door to my heart and light will blast through and all that hurts and all that scares will wash away with the embracing rays of brightness and light.
Instead I am greeted with dick pics and cum shots or a grayed out shadow icon of a man as an introduction into another’s idea of saying hello.
I’m not sure if this is a nightmare or a comedy. I must be in the wrong place ……I don't fit anywhere ….not here ... not on a straight dating site....... not in this society ....Perhaps only lost souls reside here ……. perhaps we are all lost souls …… looking for something or someone none of us are certain exists.
Surely someone out there gets me......... surely?
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9
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Dying At Home In Your Sleep
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Posted:Dec 15, 2015 3:40 pm
Last Updated:Feb 24, 2018 4:37 pm
23553 Views
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I married a man who was a therapist in Manhattan with his home and office on Central Park West. A caring, kind hearted, empathetic, and loving man with an amazing mind and intellect that inspired me to dream the dream. He confidently pursued me, from Manhattan to Myrtle Beach and committed himself enough to leave behind the Big Apple ... together we found a house we loved in Myrtle Beach and he bought it outright paid in full.
He made me laugh, taught me about belonging and together as a team gave me the family I missed. He became my best friend, my confidant, my hero.
It was one of the greatest times of my life. I had completed my BA and went on to earn my Masters Degree, I had a desirable successful, secure and rewarding career in the technology hardware software field. So successful that I was able to retire at a young age with a pension for life. I was completely debt free, and ready to embrace life retired, I had made it ... I truly had it all.
He was the love of my life. I found the “happy ending” to the tale of my journey. … but the tale was not over it was merely a peak in life with a peek into tragedy, dying and grief. We fought hard for months battling the angel of death never once thinking we would lose always knowing we would one day look back and remember. After months of ICU and Acute care hospitals and rehabilitation hospitals....we made it back home to the life that sustained our happiness and joy. There we thanked God for bringing him home and asked only for strength to get through what work was left to recover back to a normal healthy life. But without warning he died during the night, silently, peacefully as we lay side by side sleeping ... he was 54. much too young.
My world ended the moment I realized that he was gone. My screams ran frantically outside for help ,,,,,, my world collapsed in that moment of reality lingering still with the sight of his lifeless open eyes.
I died too that morning, convinced that my life ended with his and all that was left was waiting for my turn.
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6
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It’s Not a Choice or a Life Style
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Posted:Dec 15, 2015 3:32 pm
Last Updated:Apr 9, 2018 5:26 pm
23125 Views
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It seems simple enough to look at a transgender person and draw a conclusion that this is a personal or even a life style choice. I can tell you, from my experience that the choice was already made for me from as long back into childhood as I can possibly remember. I may have been told I was a boy and I may have tried to hide what I felt and thought but I did not see myself as anything but a girl. Every waking moment I was in a state of gender confusion. That confusion and conflict created an indelible wound that at times still bleeds with sadness, fear and isolation even though I was successful in fully transitioning almost 40 years ago at age 22.
I share this personal insight for those who also battle some level of gender dysphoria. If in your mind’s eye, during your early developmental years, you see yourself the opposite gender than what the world sees you, there is little that can be done to erase that indelible impression. Couple that gender conflict with puberty that brought on breast development and a mirrored reflection that only strengthened a level of embarrassment, shame and non-conformity. In other words you see yourself as some freak of nature. But you move forward trying to resolve the conflict somehow in some way. I make this claim from my own observation, from my experience.
For me it was a waiting game. My parents were, in retrospect, more scared and ashamed than I. My declaration that I was a woman was not only met with horror and anger from my parents but with complete rejection. Upon high school graduation I left home to literally live on the streets of Boston. There was no other option. I found some level of acceptance within the gay community but even there I didn’t fit into the paradigm. I was too much a girl for the guys. It was the summer of 1971, I was 17 years old and I remember a dear friend declaring that I got into drag one day and never got out.
So it began a journey to try to find myself. The danger that loomed on the darkened streets of the Back Bay of Boston for a naive and vulnerable 17 year old was invisible. Life was a nightly experience of new acquaintances, gay nightclubs, drinking, drugs, disco and dancing. Nothing seemed real and nothing seemed forever. I didn’t belong anywhere and I didn’t fit into the scene I was trying to fit into.
During this crazy time I was approached by Karl Houston a well-known celebrity female impersonator to join his review. He had a successful touring company called “All That Glitters Is Not Girls” and I was hired as one of two showgirls in the troupe. Both showgirls were transgender but in those days we were called “sex-changes” … even though we were both pre-operative. I found myself on stage for the first time outfitted in head-dresses, feathers and jewels and quickly learned how to walk like a showgirl. I became the object of disbelief and amazement by audiences everywhere, but then that was the point of the review. Karl or Carlotta sang live, headlining the show and was supported by the talented Chi-Chi Laverne and Toby Marsh who were both from NYC’s famous Jewel Box Review. It was a fun time, especially backstage listening to all the catty chatter, shade and joking. I felt a sense of family a sense of belonging for the first time.
I also fell in love for the first time. His name was Philip. He was a tough guy, tall, muscular and oh so handsome. He was everything I could only have imagined in my dreams. He was very protective of me and it made me feel safe. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I continued to work as a showgirl and he continued to be by my side. He moved me into his apartment and for the first time I was able to live my fantasy. Our sex life was fulfilling for him as I was submissive to his every need and desire. But I chose to deny my needs simply because what was between my legs was all wrong. In time I painfully discovered he was seeing his old girlfriend, a genetic female, on the side and the betrayal doomed the relationship and I walked away. Over the next decade he still sought me out to talk to me and to tell me how proud he was of me. I suppose he really loved me but his infidelity was not something I wanted to accept. But I am getting ahead of myself . ..
(to be continued)
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Guardian Angel
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Posted:Dec 15, 2015 3:05 pm
Last Updated:Feb 24, 2018 4:51 pm
23161 Views
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He found me one night as I danced to the pulsing beat banging out in my room. I teased and laughed, seduced and enticed without touching the curiously aroused. My Cam stage was warm and my body hot. The air cooled only by a fan hanging from above. I watched as he skillfully drew me away from my audience and into his private world of chat. He sent his images for my eyes to see. For a moment I couldn’t breathe. This man before me from a distant place, touch-less lust stopping me, trapped in his attention from that moment on. He brought his eyes to his camera lens projecting his soul into my heart. He smiled his white brightness and pulled me closer inside with eyes that calmed. He had control over me and I never wanted him to let go.
I couldn’t seem to find the words, what I typed back were words that said too much, didn’t seem enough and revealed my need. He methodically placed an ear bud into place to show me that he could hear what I was saying but continued with his own typewritten voice. I didn’t question why he was silent to my ear. I remained his captive and allowed his dominance as he typed and painted for me the private world in which he existed.
Who was this man? A protector, he wrote; an executive protection specialist, for the rich and powerful, the shadowed among the others. He raised his forearms up closer to the camera eye to reveal one forearm with the word Guardian and the other the word Angel. His trademark name: Guardian Angel. He was known as such but in other lands was known as the Boogieman he joked. He displayed his handgun as if to add to the imagery and to convince my questioning mind. He smiled again, binding my thoughts to his will. He was leaving; he typed, Wednesday for Mexico and would not be back for two weeks. He painted colors that revealed more danger in the area of the country to which he would be travelling but wanted me to believe he would return, safely and unharmed.
I could not escape from this man and I knew there was no point in trying. I submitted myself to this story, his tales of power and death. I allowed myself to believe what seemed fantastic to become real. He assured my doubts and drew me further into his control. He used his power over me and his intelligence to dominate the chat window. He wrote of his degree in psychology and an additional degree in what I think was engineering but what seems to have since faded in my memory in only the days since. His educational achievements brought him out of the Mexican drug territory and back to an American homeland; painting a picture for me that seemed more approachable and additionally soothing, quieting, reassuring.
He seduced me then, entering my desires with a force that took control from my mind and between my thighs. I could feel his words, deeply; my mouth and body became wet with want; my hands bringing myself satisfaction. I could smell his heat hovering over my body, overpowering any resistance I might muster. I ached for more of him and willingly released any sense of inhibition. I used the camera to drink in his hard and powerful will; our naked images burning redness throughout the darkened room. He peaked before my eyes, thrusting his flow, shooting his passion and letting it drip down his swollen flesh, my mouth wet, my needs only teased with this touch-less passion.
We parted, not right away, slowly, gradually, as if to have spent time more time together. I was captured, entrapped in his web. Left to sort out the tale as told. He’s in my mind now, toying with me in my dreams, holding my heart, leaving me still questioning his truth. He’s with me when I wake up; teases my thoughts during the day. I visit him by looking at his face, his eyes that silently call me. His body draws me closer each time I drink him in, I lie in bed, close my eyes, touch his flesh and smell his heat. How do I live with this desire? How do I disguise this want?
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To link to this blog (MBm2fWidow) use [blog MBm2fWidow] in your messages.
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