#crossdressing
To begin with,
We have YOU,
And we have Me.
And we also have THEM, THEY, THEIRS THOSE, WE AND US.
As well, we have:
SOGIES
Asexuals
Allies
Intersexes
Bisexuals
Lesbians
Gays
Homosexuals
Pansexuals
Queers
Straights
Heterosexuals
Gender Binaries
Afabs
Amabs
Agenders
Androgynes
Gender Blenders
Bigenders
Cisgenders
Cross-dressers
Drag Queens
Drag Kings
Enbies
Gender Dysphoria
Gender fluids
Gender Non-conformists
Gender Queers
Gender Variants
Non-Binaries
Questioners
Transgenders
Transitions
Transsexuals
Two-Sprits... and
LGBTQIA+
(Flora and Fauna?)
Does Genesis have anything right?
Nov 30, 2023
Nov 30, 2023 at 10:35 AM UTC
Carrera scrawling his notes for the
‘War for Australis Incognita’ sat beneath
a lush fruit bearing tree; Bob’s plan for the boy
seeming to going be into effect despite Bob’s
abandoning his original plan for him.
Charlotte putting the boy in shorter skirts
and matching the light lavender fabric
with purple stockings and red garters.
The boy’s bustier barely held his
flat-chested frame and she had pulled the
laces straight and true tight around his
torso squeezing the breath out of him
to give him cleavage where none was
to be had. Pinning his longish hair
into pigtails, scrubbing his face clean
with an astringent cold cream and applying
powder to his smooth face over which
she painted rouge, eye-shadow and lipstick.
Seeing Carrera writing busily below
the glistening red arctic apples, Nancy
approached the distracted writer.
Carrera was lighting his ***** pipe
when the boy whom for all the world
resembled an attractively winsome female
came over and sat with him.
“Excuse me, sir, may I ask the greatest favor of you?”
Not recognizing the boy despite having
never seen a teenage girl on ship
Carrera hastily pocketed the smelly pipe
and turned his attention to the big blue
eyes before him. The lips were thin squiggly
lines that spoke is a whiny rasp
that was not entirely unappealing.
“Yes, my childe, what can I do for you?”
“I would certainly love to eat of the tree
growing above you but alas, I cannot reach
the sweetest fruit. Would you be so kind
as to hoist me up so that I may gather
a few you would perhaps share with me?”
“Why, of course, girly. Here, stand on my
shoulders,” said the poet kneeling to allow
the slim fellow to plant a hobnailed boot
onto his broad shoulder. Carrera couldn’t
resist raising his head once the boy
was up on both shoulder reaching for the
ripe apples of a new sort, the boy using
his petticoats like a basket to catch the
fruit he could swat from the low branches.
Carrera was staring straight up his petticoats
to the visible stocking tops and garters.
Carrera’s mind swimming with fantasies
of derring-do and adventures that he assiduously
avoided any first-hand knowledge of,
his gaze locked on the baggy breeched bottom
below the boy’s skirts, Carrera thought he’d
been struck by something like love at first sight.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 4:03 PM UTC
Neither girl nor male… So what am I? Am I the so-called perv aiming to invade the wrong bathroom? Am I a heretic aiming to impose my wickedness onto the world? Am I the clocking stares they give me? How about the result of a broken home or a broken heart? Does my mere existence force you to reevaluate your identity? When all I'm trying to do is figure out mine. Neither girl nor male… So you tell me where I am to relieve my bowels. Or am I to stitch them shut for your comfort? While I'm at it, shall I stitch my eyes shut as to not burden you with running mascara; which further assaults my "feminine façade"? I'm sorry to burden you with my fake ***** of which a second of labor (turning your head) would relieve you of your distress. I'm sorry you'd rather slave away starring and clocking them. Clocking me. I am sorry that I was born male yet refuse to live up to such expectations. I am sorry that despite my best efforts I cannot pass for how I feel. Believe me—for the life of me—I am trying. As punishment for lack of natural ******* I stretch my skin to form a pleasing cleavage. As punishment for having the wrong body type, I wear a cage around my abdomen two sizes too small that cuts into my rib cage dare I seek the comforts of sitting down. As punishment for being born with a male anatomy, I crunch my disheveled sack of nerve endings between my chaffing thighs. Dare my body have the audacity to ***** itself for any reason I bend the muscle, in such a way never intended, between my legs just to have one less aesthetic reminder as to what I am not. Your clocking stares painfully remind me that I may never be seen as how I see myself. But ****** do I try. Until I do, I am condemned to be neither male nor… female.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 4:05 AM UTC