Got ‘Em

Yesterday, I had my nails done and just wanted to leave a quick note before rushing into the weekend. It took about forever (2 hrs!) to have them done, but I enjoyed the whole process, although it felt a bit weird to be the center of attention. The nail artist was very kind. She had helped me with my first and very clumsy attempt to put on nails by myself and I guess going through that together somehow made us feel a bit familiar with each other LOL Anyway, she was very interested in why I wanted my nails done and why I have not been there in a dress this time. Uhm. Probably it was the first time I tried to explain what it is about Ginny and Blaubeermann. She was very open about it and I felt comfortable. At least she told me she works for quite a lot of shemales and transgender, so that it was not really embarrassing.

I have chosen a clear, but slightly pink nail polish, but I have to admit that once having crossed that border, I was considering a really pink nail polish with glitter in it LOL It was good to hear her say that the nails somehow fit me as I really do not have especially manly hands, you know, I’m quite petite, at least for a man.

John and I met for lunch afterwards and I was excited to find out how he likes the nails, and it turned out that he was quite turned on by them. But as he had to go back to work, I went home alone, dressed up and when he returned home, well, you guess what.

Today, I’ve been especially nervous about going to work. My boss just grinned when she saw the nails, and my so-workers did either not see them or were okay with them. I guess I have baffled some customers LOL

As the nails are quite short (only slightly longer than I use to wear mine), it’s uncomplicated to do my chores with them on, but the nail artist suggested I might wear rubber gloves when doing the dishes and mob.

Everytime I look at my hands, I really admire the nails and the feeling they give me. It seems like I’m more aware of every gesture and movement and I feel gladly gurlish and somehow glam. This evening I will find out how my family thinks about them and I’m nervous about it. Since our last argument, my brother said he stopped reading here because it annoys him regularly, so that I suppose he does not know about the nails yet. I’ll see, but I’m prepared for not the most positive reaction.


I’m Getting The Nails Done And W Is To Blame :)

This week, my best friend W returned from his holidays at home in the U.S. and today we met for lunch and a long chat 🙂 I have missed him very much and there seemed so much to have happened since the last time we spoke to each other. Apart from John, he’s the one who understands me best (and knows me best as well) and I’m always keen to hear his opinions about things that bother me.

So today, after he burst out in laughter about this artificial nail adventure, we talked about my wish to become more gurlish, without giving up who I am. Actually, Blaubeermann and Ginny/Gina seem to mingle more and more, and I begin to understand that this “girly” part of me had always been there and actually is a very important part of my gay identity. I always knew I was different from the others and when I fell in love with a classmate and we had finally sex with each other, I knew I was feeling like the “girl”. Just without the urge to actually be a girl, physically. I wanted to be the “weak”, the “beautiful”, the “receiving”. I put that into quotation marks, because I feel it’s just a prejudice that women are weaker, drawn to beauty and considered the receiving part in a heterosexual relationship, but anyway. For me, it made and still makes sense. When I thought of myself in the far future, I did not see a man’s man, you know, like being the feeder of the family, telling others what to do or things like that. When I managed to see myself in the far future anyway, I saw myself as the “wife” of a (how I’d call it today) dominant man.

It’s a bit sad, but having had this close yet very painful relation to my father, I did not dare to show how girly I really felt. I knew that if I’d be more than just a toy, a stone or another lifeless thing, things would have gotten worse. There were times when I was convinced I’m in love with my father and that finally some day he would stop hurting me, when he’d see how much I strive to be a good boy/fuck toy, but I have never dared to behave girly or even gurlish.

When John and I met, it was clear from the beginning on, that I’m the serving, submissive part. Not long after we began playing chess in the café, he told me that he’d like to be served (although I presume he referred to tea and snacks at that point of time LOL). And yeah, I liked it, and I liked that thought of him as a hard-working man coming to me to get appreciated, even admired, served and taken care for. So, it all began to develop quite naturally. It was me to do the cooking and the dishes afterwards, to take care for his pleasure and convenience. He went and still goes to spas, sauna and massages regularly, and he encouraged me to take are of myself, too. I began using hair conditioner for example and tried to look the best I could for him. When we met, I still used to hurt myself regularly, but it wasn’t long until he told me that I am his and that he’d regard it as disobeience if I’d damage his property. Maybe it’s a bit weird, but starting to see myself as his property actually helped cutting down on injuring myself, and the pauses between each attack grew longer. Concerning what I did during our holidays, I’d say, it still isn’t over, but the pauses keep on getting longer.

When he came up with the wish (not sure whether it was really that innocent…) I should weare a lace panty, it seemed like relief, although I was scared and nervous about it. It turned me on, but it did more. And so, developing a more gurlish attitude was an evolution, not a real decision. I don’t even see myself as swishy, but somehow just like John’s wife/gurl/girl/slut/whore/Pferdchen/Schlampe. I just like him telling me over and over again “Du bist MEINE Schlampe” (you are MY slut), as it includes so much more than just sexual/kinky stuff. It says “you are mine and I’ll be your guard, but don’t you dare not taking good care of yourself”. I guess being his slut helps me coping with self-hatred and self-injury, with being abused and PTSD in general. Being his slut makes me accept my weird cravings and our kind of relationship more, as I don’t really seem to have a choice, as a slutty person, right? At least, that’s what I want to believe to make it all fit into my believes 😉

So, why am I writing all this down? Because W has convinced me to give artificial nails a go and live out my gurlish side even more. He said, at least anyone knows I’m gurlish, because I did not really manage to hide it like I thought I would LOL I’ll just try natural looking nails, just a little longer than I wear mine and only with a soft colour, if anyway. The artist said, I could remove the nails bathing them in a certain lotion (ace-I-dunno), so if it really goes wrong and I feel bad about them, I’ll just get rid of them. And, as W put out, I work in a space where a lot of handicaped/injured/really not normal people work, so that artificial nails might be the last thing to worry about LOL

Oh gosh, I’m nervous, but tomorrow will be the day. Wish me luck 🙂

Pride Flag

Mo has come up with the idea of creating one’s own pride flag. I thought I just might state my thoughts (if that’s okay).

I have never had anything with a rainbow on it to showcase I’m gay, although I am completely open about being gay. On the other hand, I too have never had anything to showcase I’m into BDSM (or masochistic/submissive, to be more precise) and I even find it strange to wear certain bracelets when visiting BDSM- or gay-clubs.

So I guess for me, it all boils down to the question whether or not I am proud of being gay (or having whatever sexual preferences). To be honest, being proud of my sexual/romantic orientation feels a bit odd, as I have not chosen to be gay or submissive. It was no decision I made and it sure was no achievement. It just happened to be like this and I feel there’s not much more to it.

On the other hand, I am well aware of the fact that being gay (or lets put it that way: not being heterosexual) and having sexual/romantic cravings which are a bit…remote…is understood to be of political interest. When gay men started fighting for their rights in the late 1960’s and the early 1970’s, it was thought that the private was political as well (as far as I remember, this slogan arose from the feminist movements, but that’s not my cup of tea). To keep that movement running, it was neccessary that gay men came out of their closet, and it sure was not as “normal” as it is today, due to §175, which said that whatever sexual intercourse between two males was sodomy and therefore banned. Lesbians have never been criminalized by the law in Germany, by the way, so the gay and the lesbian movements did not really collaborate for quite a long time.

I guess we owe those men who came out as gay though there was §175 still existing a lot, and I feel like today not coming out and not being proud of being gay is a bit outlawed. But nevertheless, I always think it’s odd that so many people are interested in who is gay (especially concerning celebrities and soccer-players), just to claim “well, that’s perfectly normal!”, after one has come out and therefore to prove it’s not! LOL! Just imagine some guy telling you he has fallen in love with a girl and your reaction would be: “wow, so you’re heterosexual? Congrats, dude, that’s awesome…but perfectly normal! Don’t worry about it! But…who’s…you know….the receiving part in your relationship?” LOL!!!

So, I guess being gay is not as normal as it should be and I understand that there is still the need for gay men coming out and showcasing being gay. Hopefully one day, being gay might be regarded as normal as it actually is. But to be honest, I myself do not want to be one of them. I’m not involved in the gay movement, I do not join CSD events and I do not talk to younger gay men about having safer sex or whatever. I myself am not especially proud of being gay, but on the other hand, I do not hide it. Well, or to be more precise: I just hide it if John wants me to. He’s out to most people, but there are occasions in which it is wiser for him to appear as straight, so that I back off a bit. I don’t want to explain that any further, you just have to trust me 😉

And last but not least I have isues with being proud of myself. Most times I see myself as a weak person who has not achieved anything. That’s okay somehow, but I regard a proud flag for myself as futile.

I hope my thoughts do not offend anyone.


First of all, I’ve gotten rid of those nails 😀 I’m quite pleased with owning my hands again. Anything is so much easier now. But when I had my fingers bathing in this whatever fluid, I asked the nail artist about getting artificial nails. If I’d go for them, they were supposed to stay on for about 4 to 6 weeks, depending on my nail-growth. I think that’s too long for me. Now. But to be honest, Ginny was very pleased with having her fingers bathed and filed. Uhm.

Second, when John returned home that evening, I immediately knew it was going to hurt. He was upset with employees, had had a bad day. Usually, this means I can fix it with listening to him, bringing him a drink or two and cooking something delicious. But otherwise, there are evenings like this, when I just know it’s going to hurt, until he feels better. I guess I can take physical punishments better than psychologial humiliation, although I like it. Best when he mixes things up, oh fuck yeah. First the hard and painful quickie when I tried to do the dishes. I guess I don’t need a lubricant everytime as I tend to get quite wet with precum when I’m aroused, but being fucked without any kind of foreplay is a bit demanding without lubricant. To be honest, it always reminds me of the feelings I had in my childhood, like it’s too big and it’s going to burst me open. I know I should not, but I like it. And yeah, I like it if I start bleeding then. It’s raw and it’s bad, but it makes it very clear who I am. I am HIS slut, period. No longer my father’s or anyone elses. HIS bitch and he can ride me like HE wants to.

Later, being deep-throated and hit at the same time, gagging on anything, trying to breathe, drooling, fighting for air. Breath control really at its finest. Listening to his voice, sweet like honey and sharp like a knife. Being slapped in the face, being pulled near, no escape. It’s those moments in which I totally know I am HIS. Then again being fucked, painful and degrading, with my cock so hard I think it’s never going to be limb again, but not being allowed to touch it. And his whispering in my ear “tell me how much you want it, cunt. Beg me!”. I did. And thanked him.

Most time it needs two orgasms, sometimes four, until he is ok again and calms down. He then pulls me near, strokes and caresses me, even takes a tissue to whipe the blood off. He sometimes asks “did I hurt you?” and usually I reply “you did”. I am not to lie. Why should I? We both savour it. He fondles me, is very caring afterwards. Most times he lets his fingers wander, teases me until I thankfully cum. Do I feel like a worthless fuck toy afterwards? Like an injured whore who deserved what she got? Like he had a point in treating me like that? I can only reply a heartfelt YES to all of that.

Thank you, Sir. I’m proud to be YOURS alone.

Love really hurts.


It’s a bit of a wonder I can type LOL Yesterday, John and I went to do the shopping and while strolling through the chemist, he suggested I might buy glue-on-fingernails. Uhm. Ok. Or at least I seem to have forgotten how to backtalk LOL So, I spent my Saturday afternoon manicuring myself and then putting those plastic nails on top of my nails. Two things became obvious quite fast: I might have learnt how to put on make up, but that’s meaning nothing concerning artificial nails and there’s a reason why I don’t have a hobby like model making. Oh gosh. I guess the result was a bit poor, but John, who had witnessed my attempts and made fun of me while doing so, insisted I should paint them as well. He had chosen a bright pink varnish for me and so I gave my best. Well, to be honest I thought someone who uses to paint a lot should be able to perform better, but it looked awful. But obviously John thought it was fun having his sissy whore look so poor…

I have never ever in my whole life had long fingernails. I always admired women with long nails who dealt with their chores like their nails were short. Now I know it’s hard work, or at least some kind of magic LOL I have learnt how to walk with my ankles tied together and how to cook with a leather mask on, but doing whatever with those nails really sucks. John made me dress up and as if it had been in the screen-play, I ruined my tights. Great. He made me wear them anyway, then prepare dinner (it had gotten a bit late…). Later, he had me trying to masturbate without impaling myself. Uhm. Well, it worked, but I did not enjoy it, although I liked feeling slutty.

He had me sleep with these ruined nails on and spent even our lunch wearing them, then he allowed to take them off. Uhm, if that had been that easy. Although I had bought a remover, they just lingered. What else to say? I called my friend S for help and after her laughing rash, she admitted she had no idea. So she called another friend of hers and she said, I should rather go to see a professional than try to “somehow” cut them off because I might injure my own nails and get an infection. Great, yeah.

So now? I’m waiting for Monday morning to arrive so that I can call some professional studios around here and hope for someone having time for me. Then I’ll have to call my boss and tell her some lie why I can’t come to work on Monday. And guess what? John said I’ll hit them fully dressed up as Ginny. “No need to be ashamed, they surely are used to sluts like you”. Well, I hope so, otherwise they’ll at least have a good laugh. Moreover, John was thinking aloud about having me getting my nails done by them. I guess I’m not ready for that. Really not!

I think I’ll file that under “absurd accidents in my 24/7-BDSM-based relationship”. Quite proud of myself for typing that.

Repeat It

Yes, I’m doing it again and again and again. Got so tired during my therapeutic session today, I felt like quitting it. I know my brother would have gone mad with me and I know it wouldn’t be good for me, but at the moment I’m really fed up with talking it over and over again. I know I let the assholes win when I believe I deserve pain and humiliation, but fuck it, it’s the only thing I get aroused by! Sure, it’s just because I was abused. If I had not been abused, I’d probably like petting and kissing enough to get me going, blah blah. I’m so sick of feeling guilty for craving pain and degradation, for being brazen like I am, for regarding myself a whore. Each time I try to have something normal, I fail. Why should a normal sex life be desirable? Why should a normal life be? Why should I believe it would be good for me to like normal things, when so many things in my life are not? I can’t even eat or drink what I’d like because he ruined me.

During our stay in France, I had an experience I did not really look for, but when it took place, I savoured it. I have never made a secret out of the fact that I allow John to lend me to other men, but this time a guy paid for having sex with me. If I had had sex with him for free, it just would have been what I’ve done so many times before. If he had paid me the “normal” amount, I would have felt bad. But he just gave me 3 €, and that was exactly what made it so fucking good. Oh sure, I repeat what I did in my younger days, when my father expected me to have sex for a candy bar, and in my days on the street, when I was glad to receive 20 DM for it. But it’s familiar, and therefore I liked it. I like feeling like a cheap whore. I like BEING a cheap whore. No damn therapeutic session will ever change that. If you want to judge me for that, go ahead. At the moment, I don’t really mind.