Bury me in a Pink Dress and Pearls

Do you know what real hell is? Hell is living in a six-foot high, totally masculine body with big hands and broad shoulders, knowing that you suffer with Gender Dysphoria. However, having natural breasts because of you large body is pure heaven. Just think, no breast forms. Because of that, you might say I’m one of those shemales without using estrogen. I was never endowed with typical male organs anyway.

I tried out some acrylic nails the other day. I loved how long they made my fingers look. They felt feminine, too. I took pictures and noticed my hands were still big. I learned a lesson about nail glue though. When I tried to take them off, I discovered I’d used too much on my thumb. I couldn’t get the nail off.



Yes I know they were crooked

With nail clippers, I trimmed it back, but I had to keep it on for two days before I’d weakened the glue enough that I could use my man’s pocketknife to pry it off. Gender dys-combobulation is fun ain’t it? There are times when I feel like a total woman and I’m happy. There are times when I feel like a fool, but deep down I wouldn’t change my feelings. My feminine side has taught me more about the gentle side of life, than I ever would’ve known as a man.

I relate to people better. I care more deeply about people. I love more, belch less, and even cry more. I can’t imagine making love without an emotional connection. (If I were making love at all.) I’m hooked on being feminine, I just wish I could convince my middle-aged male body.

I made a list of things I need to accomplish in a year. I want to be at least passable by the time I go to DLV next year. I need to get my teeth fixed, shave my beard, get a good wig, and I absolutely must lose my extra body fat.

Must a person have a prescription to use estrogen and testosterone blockers? It will be a bumpy ride, but I’ve been thinking about life as a woman. I’m convinced. I want to be one. At least let me look like one.

I look at pictures of me before my teenage years. I would’ve been a pretty girl. I remember walking and talking, using hand gestures with feminine flourish. I preferred playing make believe with Barbie dolls to sports every time. When I played make believe with my friends, I secretly wanted to be the girl character. Yep. Sounds like gender dys-combobulation to me.

Damn, it ain’t easy being green, but I’d rather be green than be some of the men I’ve known. What genetic girls see in those guys, I’ll never understand.

With love, Francine