time to chat

My oh my.. much as I'd love to chat all day and all night, I find that time runs away with me and the months roll by like crazed rollerskaters with large blasting rockets stuck up their bums.

I've got a few free daYS so I'm determined to write some new rubbish any day soon, ok!!

'Gee', they said. 'What you fussing about? This T-gurl thing is easy'.

'Oh. really', said I. 'Easy, is it!'

'Yeah', said they. 'Just go to a lingerie shop and buy some stuff. If anyone asks say it's for your girlfriend but they won't. Ask'.

'Ok, if you really insist. But what about the make up thing and the outfit, voice and the walk?'

'Don't worry about it. Nobody notices any more'.

So I tootled along to the nearest lingerie shop. Agent Provocateur was round the corner from where I worked. The shop girls giggled at me mercilessly and sold me panties three sizes too big and a bra that wouldn't fit round a telegraph pole. Still, I struggled into the stuff and decided to go for a walk. It was raining hard and it was then I realised that I didn't have any shoes. Let me correct that. I had shoes.. but they were all men's shoes.

I went back the next day to complain.

'Gee', they said. 'No wonder you're complaining. No-one ever said this T-girl thing is easy.

three scenarios

Reading the posts, I can see it's a regular battle for many T-girls to hang onto their identities. How often do uncertain gurls fill up a black bag with all their T-clobber and lob it into the skip only to rush out a day later to the local lingerie shop and re-stock their T-cupboards at great expense? Sigh. It's so sad.

Here's my advice. If you can say 'YES, that's ME' to the following three scenarios, then you really have to stop fighting yourself and get with the T-programme.

Scenario one: without fail, whenever you make love to a GG you imagine that you're the one being penetrated. You're riding a big hard horn, it's deep within you and you're luvvin' it like a bitch - never mind that the horn belongs to you!!!

Scenario two: you suffer from peculiar bursts of hots and colds and cry much too much for a man-thing. That's the hormones raging, deary. When you stop battling and accept yourself, the tears will all but dry up. Which is good, yeah! They cause such terrible bags under the eyes...

Scenario three: sometimes, at a club or party, a man thing will stroll by exuding a rich cloud of pheremones and, without warning, you go weak at the knees and your tummy starts trembling. Of course, you blame it on a spot of Mumbai tummy. But you don't fool me, girlie! I can pick out a T-girl from a crowded line up with just a glance. Admit it. You fancy the pants off him!!

C'mon all you undecided. Life is pain. No-one understands us. But for heavens sake, if you're T don't fight it!

another ferrero rocher squashed by a runaway truck

I know this may sound arrogant, particularly to some GGs, but if things had turned out just a little differently I could have made a fabulous and utterly adorable wife for a man-thing.

I may be crap at fixing cars, putting up shelves and identifying football teams (admittedly stuff a modern lager swilling gurl needs to know) but I am, dare I say it, an accomplished cook, a fairly talented interior designer and know just enough about horses and hockey sticks to get by. Most importantly, I know how to play the perfect hostess and make a party go with a 'swing swing boom boom'.

I can listen to man-things for hours on end without showing the least trace of boredom and I also know how to flatter and make them laugh!

But I'm not talking about settling down with Terry or Fred into a miserable grey little council estate in the back end of London.. no, no, no, gurls. I'd have to aim a little higher for it to work.. at least an ambassador if not a euro lottery winner!!

return to a dying planet

Wow.. the last few months have been all about living rather than blogging. No much time to sit and type idle thoughts or deliver my T-rap.. just been updating my Flickr site and that's time consuming enuf.
Soooooo.. soon as I get a minute there's lots of fun and horror stories to relate. I'm one of THOSE gurls.. by which I mean, crazy and scary things just seem to happen to me. Eeeeeeeek!

Lucia - shallow as the grave

Lucia has been spending more and more time under the ground. Is it presentiments of mortality or just my love of that damp earth smell.. I can't tell?? For some one so in love with life, I'm always amazed at the level of pronounced morbidity that runs through my head like a drain pipe.

Just last week I went for a stroll arounf the back streets of a quieter part of London and came across a shop with a display devoted to caskets, coffins and elaborate headstones. I must have stood staring for fifteen minutes, all the time imaging myself laid out gloriously in repose with a long line of admirers queueing to pay their last respects. As I lay there, looking translucently delicious, wreathed in the cold tendrils of death, I fancied I could hear their tender words as they shuffled past in sorrow:

'Stupid tart, she had it coming!'

'Good riddence to the filthy little pest!'

'Disgusting perv, someone should have done her in years ago!'

Just then, I was snapped from my reveries by a little old man who shuffled up next to me at the shop window. He asked softly. 'Have you lost someone, dear?'

Naturally, Lucia ran off into the night, screaming at the top of her mind.....

comings and goings

Gosh.. looking back over my last few musings I realise what a Blog Bore I've become. I mean... gawd.. who want's to hear all about my lovelife.

Haven't you got lovelives of your own to go too!!!???

So, I'm gonna try and resume normal cheeky service for a while. I say 'try', but I'm still so hung up on my new man-thing. When he's with me, I can't explain, he just literally takes my breath away.

Hmmm, what's this tree trunk of a Tgirl been up to then. Mad things. Went up Oxford Street looking to buy a conservative party dress to get me through xmas (yes, fellas.. they DO exist) along with a little top and frock. Found a lovely rusched skirt in Mexx - can u believe they didn't have a 12 left in stock!! Back on the street I caught sight of a ridiculously sexy black faux leather dress in a tiny shop window.. and fell in love with it straight ways.

Strange really, just the sort of thing I wouldn't normally be seen dead in (ok, perhaps half dead with a pair of cold coins wodged into my eye sockets) but - how do those delicious Italian designers express it?? - it spoke to me.

I confess - It's wayyyyyyyyy to young for me, great shiny zip running bottom to top right up the middle and it's soooo damn short.. nothing left to the imagination. BF drooled when I modelled it for him but warned me (quite seriously) that I'd be done for indecency the minute I stepped out into the street, even with all my bits taped and tucked... eeeeeeeek!

happiness two

Happiness is an odd thing. You may be blundering along through life feeling quite happy when something appears on the horizon to make you a million times MORE happy. Happiness is so akin to sorrow... even when it fills you to bursting there's always room for more.

I've just had one of those evenings that's left me full of contentment and joy. What happened that could do this to Lucia?

Ho humm.. tough day at the office, dear. Crawled back from work in my man drag feeling fairly exhausted and it's only Tuesday. Couldn't be bothered to throw on a face or wig so I just scrunched down on the sofa in my nikks and bra. I wrapped a blanket round, set half a glass of Pouilly by my toes, and started to watch something brainless on the tv.

Brrrring brrring!!.. Wow, who else but the BF. Wasn't expecting a call 'cos he's so overloaded with work currently. After some cooing and purring at each other, I asked how his work was progressing and he groaned about a big pile of typing he had to get out of the way. Before I could stop myself, I volunteered to help out for the evening. He's soooo sweet and said something like, 'No way - enough workfor one day. chill out and enjoy yourself'.

But I can be a stubborn cow and, next thing he was zooming across London to pick me up. Gosh, I had to race like a lady ferret to get my face on and dressed and ready. Made a bodge of my bloody eyeliner like you do in a rush so I spooned on the Clinique foundation and effected a brill repair job.

Kept the BF waiting for ten mins, me still in bra and nikks when he arrived. When I reappeared he said he loved my outfit. Instead of casual jeans and sexi little blouse I wiggled into one of my black work suits and popped on a tight dark top to match the jacket and skirt. BF loved the outfit and joked, 'How he was supposed to do any work with me wearing THAT'???

Even though I was squealing inside for him to throw me on the bed, kiss and love me up all over, I fought back every one of my urges and insisted we get going. Back at his, I got down immediately to sorting out his typing. I'm not really quick but at least I can tap correctly with fingers and thumbs.. while poor BF is a neanderthal two finger typist heehee!

Awwwwww.. it was just lovely sitting in his flat helping him out, every so often sneaking a long glance so I could watch him at work. Girls, you must know that a man never looks more delicious and commanding than when he's hard at it, concentrating and solving problems. And me all dressed up like a company sec - kinky cow that I am! Wow, it was almost like one of my oldest Tgirl fantasies coming true. Don't tell the BF, but I'd happily sit there typing out pages and pages till kingdom come if I could just be that close to him.. yum yummy yums!!!

So, I did over four hours straight minus tiny break to fix him a cuppa and a little snack. He was so delighted with me, I could tell.. which made me feel like a princess!! Before he drove me back, there was barely time for a quick kiss and cuddle. I so so so wanted to stay but no way am I going to compromise his work, job and everything. As we pressed close together to kiss I could feel that pipe of steel in his pants.. eeek! It told me everything I needed to know...

and yes.. it was the happiest evening I've had since,, since... gosh.. I can't remember at all...

happiness one

Oh.. yeah. the whole miss world air head thing yeah. Before I can talk about happiness I gotta say my little piece.

Happiness, it's something I can fall so easily into like a man's arms or a feathery warm bed. But when I'm happy, I can never quite shift an underlying melancholia. It's to do with the state of our world.

Yeah, I know I'm gonna sound false as an acrylic nail - a regular 'I'm so morally perfect' stuck up uber bitch. But if you'll excuse the clichéd miss world myth at play here I can say - with hand on heart honesty - no sooner do I feel happy then I start to think about all the nasty thing happening across the globe. Iraq, arms dealing and cycles of starvation in Africa, cruelties to women in Saudi, the mindless greedy demented destruction of the fragile environment of our only planet.. our beautiful beautiful wounded earth.

C'mon somebody.. give Lucia a magic wand she can wave in the air and fix some of this bad stuff up once n for all!

brains in jars, hearts on fire

Biologically, I suppose that it's very unlikely that there's a planet orbiting a star somewhere in our limitless universe where Tgirls are the species in the majority. But there are times when I look online, and see the massed ranks of Tgirls out there, that I think I must be living on it.

It strikes me as odd that I can walk through central London everyday and barely see a Tgirl and yet, the moment I take a stroll through cyberspace, they appear in their zillions. It can only be that we all want to live in a cosy fantasy land, with our brains in jars and our hearts on ice.

I still think that us Tgirls, once we've abandoned bitching and hissing at one another and embraced our common core of lovliness, can add wonder and warmth to this cold world. We should stand proud with our cami knickers pulled tight over our sexy tight little bums, raise up our burning hearts and light the world.