Reminder

Yesterday, I needed to buy some small things for our holidays, such as sun block. When I returned to the car, I came across some homeless. They asked me for money and I gave them what I had handy. I always try to give them, but I almost can’t bear how they remind me of myself. But I always ask myself whether that is still me? It seems like running away from my father and rather living among the homeless took place in another lifetime. When I think about how easy it would have been to get lost, to become an alcoholic and to die in the cold, I feel sick. I was lucky, because my brother went to search for me after our father had committed suicide. If he had not been there for me, where would I be today?

Homeless always have so much to tell and their stories don’t really vary a lot. It’s always about abuse, about loss of profession or family and of finally losing one’s self-respect. Drinking or taking drugs doesn’t sort the problems out, and some have massive issues with their mental health.

When I returned home, with that smell of dirty clothes, sweat, urine and cigarettes still in my nose, I didn’t feel good because of all I have now. It was just a reminder of where I come from. I just hope I will never get there again. It makes me grateful and dare I say, I little bit proud of myself. I have a job, I earn my own money, even if it’s not much. I do my chores, I don’t drink or smoke or take drugs, I am clean and take care for me. I go to see my therapist, I eat regularly, I don’t sell myself anymore. I take care for my husband, I wash my clothes, I try to be a good person.

I feel sorry for them and I wish I could do something about it, but I know that some of them have even lost their sight of another lifestyle. Some just give in. It’s the shame and that you lose hope. You lose yourself.

I guess today’s entry is a bit odd, but I just want to write this down as a reminder for myself that I have really survived what he did and that I have a life worth living now.

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Gurly Things

On Saturday during breakfast, John announced that in the evening we’d go out for dinner and that he had planned a little surprise for me. Of course I was eager to find out what exaclty it was, but he didn’t tell 🙂 So the day passed by as usual. About 20 minutes before we wanted to leave, John caught me in our bedroom where I was about to dress. He tossed something on the bed I didn’t recognise in an instance, uttering “put that on”.  When I figured out what it was, I was a bit speechless. He had thrown me a sanitary towel. Uhm. He laughed mildly. “What is it?”. Uhm, I dunno, didn’t expect that. He smiled. “Gurls have their times, right?” Yeah, right, but… He just smiled faintly, nodded in the sanitary towel’s direction and left me standing there. I was puzzled, but took it up. It was thick and soft. Well, I’ve lived together with women and I’m used to having those or tampons around in the bathroom, but there has never been the need to touch one of them, or even to wear it. My mouth was dry, when I shoved it up my panty. It didn’t really fit well as the panty is obviously already a bit tight with my clit in it and I feared it might stick to my trousers.

When I had them on, I felt strange, because my bulge had become very eye-catching. And it also had an effect on how I walked. John was waiting for me downstairs and just grinned when he saw me. “You’re ready?” Uhm, dunno, can’t I just…. He pretended he didn’t hear me, took our jackets and left. I followed. On our way to the restaurant, he let his fingers wander, feeling up that bulge. I had not expected that it would turn me on like it did.

I presume the dinner was awesome, but my thoughts were only with that sanitary towel and the constant, subtle touch of its softness against my hard clit. Back in the car, he allowed me to touch myself, but only above my trousers. I got so wet, I was actually glad to have that sanitary towel. At home, we barely made it to the bedroom. I was so horny! John took his time as usual, made me dress up in a garter belt and a bra, with that panty still on. He gave me a severe spanking, using a horsewhip, then taking care for my tits by clamping and rubbing them. Ugh. I’m not able to cum by nipple play alone, but on Saturday I thought I was not far from cumming. It was so freaking hot. He began touching my clit through the panty and his not so little surprise, then pushed the sanitary towel aside and fondled my clit with just one finger while little but powerful stimulators were placed on my nips. I don’t know how often he actually edged me. It’s difficult for me to cum by having my clit rubbed like a girl and without real wanking, but I was so aroused, I finally anaged to experience an orgasm that shook me fiercely. Oh boy. You know, if John’s in the mood to allow me to cum, then he enjoys driving me nuts and fuck me only afterwards, to make me savour it fully and crave for his cock even more. Ugh. After he had climaxed, he made me suck him clean, then pulled me near. I was a bit sore, especially on the back, but I was so thankful and well, high on love 🙂

When we had both calmed down a bit, he told me that he wants me to wear a sanitary towel all weekend and to refresh it each time I go to the toilet, just like a woman would. I did. To be honest, that was connected with a lot of confusing feelings. On the one hand, I liked his idea. He’s very detail-oriented, even in our games, and it showed me that he’s really O.K. with be cross-dressing and all. On the other hand, it was annoying to have that bulge down there, and I felt a bit abashed and ridiculous, which again led to severe arousal 🙂

Yesterday evening, when John finally allowed to put the last sanitary towel away, he pulled me near and said that I’ve been a good gurl and that good gurls are allowed to wear a bikini during the holidays. Ugh! He had already bought one! I totally freaked out, like, you know, dancing around in the house 🙂 He knows my size and he had bought a bikini with one string around the neck and one around the chest-line so that I could make it fit me perfectly. The bikini panty also has little bows on both sides. So cute! He told me that of course I don’t have to wear that bikini at the pool or when we’re on the beach, but that he’d love me to wear it in our room, just for him. I’ll happily do that 🙂 Well, and at the pool I’ll be wearing a shirt with my bathing trunks, because I bet all the marks from the horsewhip won’t be gone until then.

It’s [Not] That Simple

I need to write some things down, because I feel overwhelmed by it all.

Probably it’s ridiculous that it took me so long to find a compact term for what’s going on inside of me, but when a friend uttered it, I felt like “wooops?!!”. Cross-dressing. I have come upon this term so often, but never used it for myself. I don’t get why and I think it doesn’t matter, but know I feel comfortable with it. So, I’m a cross-dresser and live out my feminine side with being Ginny. Moreover, I’m obviously a kind of sexual transvestite, because I get turned on by female clothes as well. Thanks again to W and thanks for understanding that I needed a term for it!

Yesterday, when I was at work, there occured a stupid situation I would have liked to avoid. Usually I get along with our customers very well. Some explicitely asked for me to serve them, because they like me and that flatterns me of course. I like my job and I seem to know what people want or need before they know it themselves, so I guess being a waiter and shop assistant is the right kind of job for me. But there are also people I don’t really get along with well and I try to avoid them. Most of them remind me of my father, for example because or their gestures, their voice or even their smell. Some of them trigger bad memories, but usually I’m able to cope with it or to go away and tell my boss I can’t handle it. She know about what my father did and we have an agreement that I tell her when I can’t serve a person.

Yesterday, there was a customer who was very rude. It’s an elderly man who obviously has issues with not being able to do anything he’d like to. He was very rude to me and started to make comments about me. First, I thought I was stupid, like, why would he say that? I just tried to stay cool and kind and just do my job, but that seemed to provoke him. So, he got louder and meaner and that was pure stress for me. I was a bit shaky, but my boss was not there. I was alone in the café with just another colleague in the shop-area. I thought, come on, don’t be silly, you can cope with him. But he kept complaining about his coffee which was “too cold” and about anything else. I didn’t want to debate with him, so I apologised for the cold coffee (which was hot!!) and brought a new one. Still, my boss wasn’t there. The man shouted for more sugar, and I brought him some, asking as polite as I could if I could do something else for him. He didn’t even look at me and just said something extremely rude. I think of myself as a kind person and I can take a lot, but that was so mean, it just left me speechless. I went into the kitchen and had to cry. When my boss came in, she asked what had happened and I told her. She went over to that man and said that he needn’t pay for his coffee, but that she wants him to leave and only come back if he had learned better manners. I love my boss for her courage!

You know, it’s nothing new to me, getting called names because of my mere existence, but it’s always a shock-moment if it happens. It made me sad and feeling unomfortable in my own skin. I felt like a worthless, ugly person, a ridiculous thing, not a real man nor a kind of woman, just ugly and fucked up. It made me so, so sad. I was really glad when my shift was over. I lack souvereignty in those moments. In the evening, my brother called and I told him about that man, because he heard something was wrong with me. And he said that I should take good care for myself, because out there are so many people who will never accept me as a gay and cross-dressing person. I could hear he was worried about me, but moreover, I could hear he accepts just what I am, even if we often have our issues with each other. That finally made a bad day good. Sigh.

Mojos And A Journey

Yesterday, I was invited over to W’s, who had planned to make so called Mojos with some friends. Mojos consist of a piece of fabric that is sewn or wrapped up to a little pocket, then filled with herbs and other stuff and finally closed by a ribbon or by sewing. The finished cushion can the painted or emboidered. Mojos are made to serve a magical purpose, like supporting a wish to come true, for health and so on. W showed us an old Mojo his Grammy made almost 50 years ago! 🙂 After making a Mojo, one can bring it to a God and ask him to take care for the purpose it is connected with. After that, you can wear it around your neck or carry it with you in your pocket or place it in a place that’s meaningful to you.

I put in mine: dried dadelion petals (reminded me of Lord Shiva), a tiny shell (for Ginny), a bit of black pepper (protection), a piece of root (have forgotten what it was exactly. Connected with the root chakra), a bit of sugar (to see the sweet side of life) and a pinch of earth I have brought from the gardens at work (for growing). I guess if you’d brew a tea out of that, it would be disgusting LOL

I am not very talented in sewing, so I just used a ribbon to close it and added some symbols by painting them on (Shiva’s eye, a flower and a heart). It turned out quite nice. When we were finished, we put all the Mojos on a plate, added flowers, booze and cookies and prayed over them and asked the Gods to send their power into them.

Afterwards, M made dinner for us. So delicious! I have never eaten yam before. It reminded me of a kind of potatoe, but I guess John wouldn’t be delighted if I’d ask M for the recipe 🙂 When I returned home, I felt so good, like full of good conversations and good food 🙂

Yesterday, my sweet husband has booked a one week trip for us, last minute. From Feb 28th to Mar 5th we’ll be in Fuerteventura. It’ll be my first flight ever and I’m nervous as hell, but John said that if I manage to cope with this situation, then I’ll be able to go anywhere with him. I know it’s one of the things he wishes for most, just to be able to see as much of the world as possible. After our trips in the past, I’m a bit more confident that I’ll make it, even more because John said that if I do, he’ll have a nice surprise for me 🙂 So, I’m off now to write down my luggage list and get my chores done.

Thoughts About Tits

Tonight, I’m excluded from our bedroom and while John and Leo are upstairs, I have made my bed on the couch in the livingroom. I’ve been watching porn for quite a while now, I’m horny and greedy and feel a bit lonely. Just like they wanted me to. Ugh.

This week, we have talked very much about certain fantasies that keep haunting me and obviously John as well. For a while now, I have often worn those boobs made of silicone. I own to different sizes. One pair is obscenely big, the other is more decent, like an A-cup. I had to get used to their weight and their mere existence, and I guess the big ones are nothing for everyday usage. But the small tits are. Sometimes, if I don’t need to go to work or elsewhere, I wear them the whole day long. They need to be inserted into a bra to keep them in the right position, and they adhere to the skin as well. When I put them on, they’re cold (but I could put them in warm water if I’d remember that), but after a while they’re just warm and soft and become a part of my body.

Sometimes, it confuses me how much I regard them as a part of my body. Of course I still feel them and even if they’re small, they put some extra-weight on. But I really savour this feeling, and I like my body with them on very much. I like the curves they provide me with, even more if I wear a corset around my hips. In the last years, I have piled on some pounds, but I’m far from being, you know, curvy. And those boobs present me with curves. I like how my dresses and blouses fit with them beneath. When I wear my boobs, it is easy to feel glam and gurly.

For months now, I was only allowed to cum after extended tit play. Sometimes John rubs and sucks my nipples, but most times I just use small stimulators or suction cups, but I have been thinking about getting me a breast pump. I have read so much about men who were able to develop a bigger breast by using them, and some of them are even able to squirt a bit milk. Sometimes, when John sucks my nipples, I feel like I’d love to pour him some milk as a precious and very intimate gift. I like that fantasy very much, even though I question my sanity. On the other hand, there are some men and couples out there who live it out. Men with boobs, even men being able to give milk. Why shouldn’t I try it? Obviously, there’s no risk at all. Even if I’d manage to give milk and find out that I don’t like it, I can stop. It’s all about the frequency. If you want to give milk, then pump your breast several times a day for half an hour and in about six months there should be milk. If you want to stop giving milk, extend the pauses between milking until no more milk is produced.

Ugh.

Last summer, when John and I were in France, he said someting I couldn’t forget ever since. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have always thought that a person with tits and cock is perfection”. Uhm, yes. Could I be that person? Is it risky or even unhealthy? I mean, in a more psychological kind of sense? I would cross a border, but heck, I have crossed so many in the past. I still like being male and I love my cock, even though I like chastity and do fantasize about cock-shrinkage and castration. I don’t want to live as female, but the longer I play that Ginny game, the more it seems to me that it isn’t a game. I have no idea what exactly that means and I’m afraid that I experience this because of what my father did. But well, he never wanted me to be a girl, and to be honest, I have often wondered if he was gay as well. I don’t know. Is Ginny just an escape from the reality which is represented by my body? Or is Ginny more like….me?

Ugh…

A Gift For Me :)

While John and Leo are taking a nap snuggled up on the couch, I take time to write. It’s so good to have Leo with us, and I enjoy every single minute 🙂

Last Sunday evening, John surprised me with a cute gift. For a long time now, I’ve been wanting a Pandora bracelet. For those of you who don’t know about them: first, you buy a plain bracelet (made of silver, gold, chains or leather) and then you can add beads and charms to it. Each bead and charm is different. For example, you can buy little leaves of clover, hearts, keys and so on and beads made of silver, gold, wood or glass. So cute! I have adored them for ages, but I thought it would be too expensive and somehow ways too gurlish, as if my nails were manly 🙂

Anyway, John obviously listened closely. On Sunday evening, when I had just finished the dishes, he came over, pulled me near and told me that he loves me and that he knows that I’ve been struggling with a lot of stuff in the past weeks and that I’m still not really over having gotten my hair cut. Then he handed me a box, wrapped in pink paper. You know, in the past he has often asked me with what he could surprise and delight me, but most times I just told him that I’m happy and would not need anything special. When he generously decided I should have a new car, I was speechless, and so was I when I unwrapped the gift. It was a silver bracelet with a heart-shaped bead on it. So romantic, I had to cry. He said “I just wanted to say thank you”, which made me cry even more. Ugh.

He asked me not to go and buy beads by myself, because he wants to choose them and give them to me on special occasions like for the forced haircut. He added with a blink: “It shouldn’t be too easy, right?”. Right, Sir.

I’m ridiculously happy with my bracelet and wear it all day and all night. To my surprise, my boss, my co-workers and my friends just asked me about it but didn’t say anything about me wearing a women’s piece of jewellery. Seems they have accepted Ginny, even those who I haven’t told about her. That’s awesome 🙂