In the past week I had my appointment with the therapist my therapist had recommended. John had taken the day off and was able to drive me there (a 2 hour ride from home). I wouldn’t have been able to drive by myself, because I was shaky and nervous. I hadn’t really slept much during the nights before and was a total mess. I didn’t know what to wear, because I thought if I dressed as a guy, he would not believe me, and if I dressed like a gurl, he would not take me serious. I ended up with trying to dress neutral, which only led to a deeper feeling of worthlessness and dysphoria LOL So after he had witnessed an outburst and then a cry attack, John told me what to wear: a pair of jeans, a shirt and a cardigan, very low-key. I was so thankful for his advice that I cried a bit more. Oh well.

Once in his office, I was getting even more nervous. We had to wait a while, then he greeted us and said he wanted to talk to me alone, if possible. I though I could not make it, but he was kind and said that if I needed John, he could come in in an instance. After the introduction he asked me why I was there, and I thought he was joking, because my therapist had talked to him beforehand. He insisted he wanted to hear it all from me, so I asked him how much time he had LOL He told me not to worry, so I just started talking about…everything, I guess.

I told him about the abuse and that I’m diagnosed with PTSD and other mental disorders and that I’m not capable of living alone (why did I say that?) and that I suffer from eating disorders and selfharm and all that other stuff as well. He just listened and made some notes, but did not interupt me. I thought I was doing it wrong and got nervous. This went on until I had a complete blackout, like I didn’t know who I was and why I was there and nothing. He saw it and asked me about it, but I couldn’t answer him. He asked John to join us and he just grabbed my hand and rubbed my back. Immediately I burst out into tears again. I felt so ashamed, but I couldn’t help it. The therapist got me a glass of water and it took me some more minutes to calm down a bit.

With John by my side, it went better. The therapist wanted to know for how long I’ve been in therapy now and what kind of therapy and all, and I was able to answer him. He wanted to know since when we are together and how we met. Then, finally, he asked me to tell him about my dysphoria. Suddenly I felt a block. I thought if I told him, he would just tell me I’m crazy in the head, but John encouraged me to be open about it. And so I told him what I had told to my GP and my therapist and all the plastic surgeons as well. That for years now I’m feeling the need to alter my body to have boobs and a really tiny, impotent dicklet, but that I don’t feel like a woman and don’t want any surgery down there. That I’m jealous with all the T-girls and want to be like them and that in everyday life I love to dress like a girl, but not for sexual reasons only. He asked me about my beard and my sex drive and my sexlife in general. I felt ashamed to tell him, but I knew that John loved the fact that I had to tell a foreigner what a bitch I am, and that again encouraged me to be honest.

He asked me about how I feel during sex and if I am active. I told him I’m never active and never was (anal passive, oral active, of course). I said that I don’t feel like a woman and that I don’t know anything about how a woman should feel, but that I feel taken and that I love this feeling. He asked me if I masturbate and to which fantasies, and I told him that most time I’m in chastity, but when I masturbate, I think about being taken as well, and I was very honest and told him about my torture fantasies as well. He asked me several more questions about my fantasies and our actual sex-life, then he wanted to know more about chastity. Why, when it started, why again LOL how I cope with it, how everyday life is with it and so on.

When he said he had some questions for John, I was thankful for that break, because I felt exhausted. Although he was very nice and open-minded, it just was so much.

He asked John about how he copes with my disorders and how everyday life is for him. He wanted to know who of us was responsable for taking the first step into BDSM and John told him that it was the two of us and that we both have been into that lifestyle before. He was a sort of impressed by the fact that we have had our wedding (in Germany it’s called eingetragene Lebenspartnerschaft, which is not exactly the same thing as a marriage, but as the law has changed since then it could well be that we might get married officially some day). He emphasized that stable relationships are very important, yet a bit rare among people with my background. Then he wanted to know for how long I have those issues with wanting boobs and all and how John gets along with that in our everyday life. My husband was cute πŸ™‚ He told him that he loves me no matter what and that indeed his desire increased ever since. I mean, is that cute?

At the end of what were 2.5 hours he said that from what he saw and heard that day it is quite clear to him that I suffer from “non-specific gender-disorder” (what a weird term, don’t you think?). He thinks that I need another kind of therapy, because my issues in everyday life arise not only from my PTSD and the other stuff, but also from this. Hearing him say that was a total relief. So much that I had to cry again. He told me that I am not alone with this problem and that there are others like me out there, who don’t identify with being a “real” male or what I call Alpha and who want to be impotent and some even want to amputate their dicks (which I knew before). He said he will write an expertise about it and he recommended a colleague of his for another one, because if I get two expertises to say the same thing about me, I will be able to get medical treatment as well. I asked what exactly this means, and he said that with two expertises I can go to a doctor who will make a test whether I’ve got a male genome, and if so, I can receive blockers for my hormones and, even more, female hormones to help me reach my goals.

I was speechless! I asked him if he didn’t think that this would make my disorders worse, and he replied that he thinks if I don’t do it, it will make my disorders worse… I am so happy right now, I can’t believe it! He also told us that I didn’t have to change my name or my gender, but that I’m free to do it, if I wanted to (I don’t want to…I have made peace with my name and surely I don’t want to be female). Moreover, he recommended attending a self-help group (there is one nearby) and he said that he will talk with my therapist about how they can help me to get to help I need.


For the first time in a couple of years I feel like I can see some light. It was so good to be heard and taken serious, and it was good to hear that I’m not just insane. When I asked him why I feel like I feel, he said that they don’t know why, but that sometimes it’s just in the genes and sometimes it’s caused by abuse and sometimes nothing of that is true, but that in the end it didn’t matter. And that only how I see myself matters.

To tell you the truth, when we came home, I just wanted to eat something and then sleep.



Thailand Changed A Lot

Thailand was an overwhelming experience. In more than one aspect it brought me to the verge and it also pushed me over it. First of all, Thailand is completely different to everything I knew before. As you guys know, I have started tavelling not long ago, and even though I’ve been to America, I wasn’t really prepared for how different Asia is. It’s overwhelming in many aspects. The climate was hard to handle for me, because it was warm and humid and sometimes I felt like I couldn’t breathe or would just breathe in warm water. I was happy to be in air conditioned rooms whenever I could. Then there’s people everywhere. If I ever thought the town I live near by was crowded, I now experience it as quite empty. Especially Bangkok was so full of people that I was really glad when we were in the hotel and I had some space for myself. The food was amazing. For me it’s always a bit challenging to try new things, but this part of our holidays was just beautiful. I have tried so many fruits I have never even seen before, and they had delicious vegetarian dishes everywhere. Of course they also had super gross stuff like insects and frogs and I don’t know what. Next, Thailand has a special smell. I guess in Germany we are just no longer used to the smell of waste gas like we had back in the 80ies, but in Thailand (or Bangkok so to say) that’s totally normal. For me, incense sticks, waste gas, sweet fruits and the aromatic body and hair oils people use there form a kind of olfactory memory of Thailand. The Thais are very friendly and keen to help, but for me it was hard to accept that their kindness always feels a bit submissive as well. Maybe that’s just a sort of cultural question, but having to cope with submissive people is always a challenge for me, because usually I am the most submissive person around πŸ™‚

For me personally, the most challenging part of our holidays was the confrontation with all those beautiful shemales and ladyboys. And there’s a lot of them. They have a sort of natural beauty and grace I do not own at all, and most of them (or at least those on display) are really unbelievably beautiful. To be honest, some are so beautiful I was surprised they were not naturally born women. Amazing and totally stunning, but also very intimitading. I know I mustn’t forget that most of them have been on HRT for years and I’m not, but nevertheless I had to struggle tremendously. Seeing my husband flirting with them, fucking them, kissing them was vile, moreover because he kept comparing me to them, like “oh, your dick is still way too big”, “anyway she HAS tits”, “now THAT’S a nice gurlpussy” and all that stuff. Yeah, it made me wet, but it also hurt, of course, like it was supposed to.

To tell you the truth, I expected to come home from these holidays and be convinced about having breast surgery. But it seems this trip has opened up new topics to think about instead of making anything clear for me. If God or whoever would ask me “how do you want to be like for the rest of your life?” I’d have to say: just like them. A beautiful ladyboy, lean, nice tits, beautiful face, petite and perfect for my man, with a supertiny cocklette that doesn’t even get hard anymore. I could never reach that goal just by having my tits done. I fear that would just make me a man with tits, like some sort of freakish monster. I don’t want to be an man with tits. I don’t even want to be seen as man with tits, though I like chubby boys with moobs, but I wouldn’t want to be one. I want to be seen as a ladyboy or shemale, not just a crossdressing man with fake tits. But that implies my only option is to find out whether or not I’m trans which I thought I’d be not. Wouldn’t I hate my cock if I was really trans, including wanting to have it removed? Well, I love my cock, I love having (and not using) it. I love the thought of having a useless, tiny clitty cock, and that’s what I want. If I’d be trans, I’d be allowed to go on hormone replacement therapy in Germany, and then sooner or later I’d be impotent. That would be so awesome. But I don’t want them to cut it off. It would be very nice to still have it, but all useless. I would really love to develop natural boobies and have softer face lines and all, and hopefully a bigger ass and all in all more curves. Moreover, I don’t want a legal name oder gender change. I love being male and I have made peace with my name, given to me by my father. In fact, my name has a special meaning for me nowadays and I had to fight hard to get to that point. I wouldn’t want to lose my name to be Ginny 24/7.

Yeah, so at the moment I’m more confused than before our trip, and I have already talked about that with my therapist who suggested I should go to see an expert for transpeople to find out if I might be trans without wanting to have a vagina surgery. Even the thought of that makes me cringe. So obviously I will have to work so much more on these things to find out what I am and which way to go. John and I talked so much about that stuff in the past few years and I’m so glad he doesn’t feel pestered. For the moment I’m leaving out the question whether or not HRT would have an impact on my mental issues, because I think that’s something I can still deal with later. I’ll keep you updated.

Try Not To Hurt Myself

Yesterday evening I had a chat with a T-gurl from the U.S. We’ve been texting for some months now and she has told me that it’s her biggest dream to be allowed to go on chemical castration by testosterone blockers, and later on she wants to take estrogen to develop a more female physique and yes, boobies. Since last week she has accomplished her first goal and is now on testosterone blockers. She told me her doctor fully approved of her decision and that he supports her thoroughly. Well, I have to admit that I feel a bit jealous and even sad. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad she can fulfill her dreams and all, but I still feel like here in Germany there’s nobody there to support me. If I was a transgirl, then things would be different, but there’s not much understanding for people like me who don’t fit in. I had even one doctor telling me I should decide whether I wanted to be a man or a woman. I mean, seriously? Sometimes I feel it would be the best for me to “just” give up being a part time boy, part time gurl, but I can’t. When I try to stop being Ginny, I get depressed and tend to hurt myself, so what is it good for?

Saturday night John and I attended a private BDSM party. Beforehand he told me I could suck and fuck with whoever I wanted, but no cumming for me, not even Sissygasms. To be honest, I’ve become quite successful in cumming by being fucked alone and I love it πŸ™‚ Anyway, by the end of this evening I could add a lot of points and stickers to my list, and I felt so good and used afterwards. Lately I’m thinking a lot about the fact that I can really feel myself when I get used and that I have difficulties to feel myself in everyday life. I guess there are more psychological explainations for that, but I like to think of myself as a whore who feels happy about herself when she’s doing her job right.

At the moment I sincerely consider if chemical castration might be a thing for me. It would make erections harder to archieve and softer in general, so chastity and sissification would feel more natural, and it even could lead to some sort of breast growth. But on the other hand, I’m still really concerned about the fact that a low testosterone level might make me more depressed and lead to more self-harm and stuff.

Next month John and I will be in Thailand and in some ways I fear being confronted with all the beautiful ladyboys there. I know I will envy them. Before we go there I will go to see a surgeon in Poland who obviously doesn’t care if I’m not trans and maybe after the holidays in Thailand I might finally come to a decision due to boobies. For a while now I find it hard to deal with the impulse to cut or otherwise hurt my flat chest, but John keeps telling me that if I add scars to the scars I already have, it might keep doctors from wanting to perform surgery on me. Yeah, I know he’s right, but anway, it’s hard. Especially when John denies to hurt me because he thinks I’m too open or vulnerable.




What a weird summer this had been, don’t you think? I guess the best thing you can say about it is that it’s probably over now. I hope we’ll have a nice and cozy autumn instead.

Today I went shopping with my crossdressing friend Andrea and oh gurl, I think I bought too much again. It’s actually quite funny how different the different sides of my wardrobe look like. On the one side I just have six pairs of trousers, some shirts, two jackets and some sportswear, on the other side there are tons and tons of lingerie, skirts, dresses and blouses. Why’s that? I guess just because female clothing is so much nicer to buy and wear than male clothing, isn’t it? It’s more colourful and interesting, at least to me.

For a while now I’ve been wearing female clothes to work as well and most people do accept that. I found out that wearing skirts or dresses for work is not as comfortable as wearing jeans and a nice shirt, just because I have to carry a lot of stuff around and well, some of the boxes are a bit dusted with earth as well, and I don’t like my dresses to get dirty. But to be honest, the hardest part of crossdressing is not overdoing it. I usually pass better when I cut down on frills and furbelows πŸ™‚

Some months ago I decided to have me cut a fringe, because of course I have the typical M-shaped hairline all males have and with that fringe I can hide that very well. Moreover, it added a certain femininity to my looks, even if I’m not dressed up at all.

So, during this autumn I’ll be wearing a lot of “leggings” and skirts and because I have found the perfect boots to go with them, I may even pass better. I’m so glad they now sell women’s shoes up to size 45 in some shops!


Goddamn Freak Me

Last Friday I had my appointment with the only doctor who didn’t refuse my request for breast surgery right away. John and I had travelled there the day before and checked in to a nice hotel. I was nervous beyond words and I guess my sweet husband needed all his patience to cope with my jumpiness and anxiety. We tried a bit sightseeing, but I actually didn’t see much. In the evening, John invited me to a restaurant, but I wasn’t really hungry. The night was awful and the next morning was even worse. I was so nervous I started scratching myself and so he always took at least one of my hands in his, even during the ride to the doctor.

Well, to put a long story short: there is no way I’m going to have breast surgery in Germany. If I was a transgirl, there’d be no problem, especially when paying for it privately. But he said he would not perform such surgery on a male, due to what he called his professional ethics. Even when I started crying and John told him for how much time I have wanted boobs now, he said there is no way.

When we left, I just felt nothing. I mean, why didn’t he tell me beforehand? I could have saved time, money and nerves. But to be honest, what hurt most was that he denied to perform surgery. If I was a liar, I could have easily told him that sure I’m a transgirl blah blah blah, then he would have said yes. And it really pisses me off to think I should have told a lie.

In the car on the autobahn I just cried. John still held my hand and was very soft and cute with me all day and night, but I just felt like shit.

On Saturday I only felt numb. In the evening, John and I talked other options over. As I won’t take hormones for some reasons, it’s just the question where I can find some doctor to perform surgery on me. I think, after considering my options, there’s only one real chance, that is having surgery in Poland. Sure, they have exquisite surgeons in Thailand as well, but that’s quite a long way to see my doctor in case any problems occur.

So, my next step will be to look out for a Polish surgeon who is fricking willing to earn some money by performing surgery on me.

At the moment, I’m not feeling well at all. The conversation on Friday has not only destroyed my hopes, it also left me again with the feeling that I’m just a freak. Like, not even such a “freak transgurl”, but just a disgusting freak. He asked me why I as a sane (LOL) male being would want boobs while other men are eager to have them removed if they develop some. I honestly answered, because I don’t feel male all the time, yet I don’t feel female all the time, but being a part time female person has helped me so much to live out my feelings, get into contact with my true self and live a happier life. He acted like these reasons were just rubbish. For me, they are not.

Each time I look into the mirror and each time I stuff my bras with silicone tits, I feel incomplete. I honestly envy transgirls for the changes their bodies undergo on hormones. If I wanted to have my telephone number tattooed on my forehead or if I split my cock in two, nobody would care. At the moment I just feel crap. Maybe that’s part of this journey to try to become more like myself, but I hate every single minute of it. I hate asking myself again and again why on earth my father didn’t kill me after he was done with me to prevent me becoming such a damn freak.


Birthday Gurl

Monday was my birthday and John had taken the day off to spend it with me πŸ™‚ During breakfast he presented me with another bead for my Pandora bracelet. I totally love it and I change the beads quite often, but the one that always stays on is that tiny heart lock πŸ™‚

Right after breakfast he had promised me a little trip with a surprise, and he asked me to dress up moderately. I just put on foundation and powder, a bit of a bright eyeshade, mascara and a light lip gloss, and I wore bright stockings, a wide skirt and a matching shirt. He told me to wear flat shoes, so I put on girly sneakers. Over the months, my make up skills have improved, I think. I still struggle with my stubbles, because even if I have bright blonde hair, my stubbles are of a darker tone and shine through quite easily. I have considered having my beard removed with laser therapy, but to be honest I like it somehow and wouldn’t want to cut off the option to let it grow.

First, we headed into the city where John fetched a sort of picnic basket from a restaurant that offers such lunch service. So maybe for no one else in the whole wide world that might have been meaningful, but for me it was as he usually insists that preparing food is my job. Having not to do so on my birthday was a real gift for me and I thought it was unbelievably cute πŸ™‚

Then he drove us out of town to a sort of park. In fact, it’s a wildlife sanctuary where you can hike or just go for a walk and where they have a deer park and the possibility to go on guided boat trips as well. First of all I needed to see and feed the deer and OMG they were so cute πŸ˜€ John had taken his camera and I took about 1200000 pictures of them πŸ˜€ We strolled about the park, took a seat by the lakefront and watched birds, talking the time away. John suggested we might go on a boat and for about two hours we were ridden about the lake, learning about its flora and fauna and holding hands and stuff πŸ™‚

Afterwards, John fetched the basket from the car and we had our picnic on a bench by the lake. For me, that all was a sort of princess dream come true πŸ™‚

In the evening and after I had changed into normal male clothes, we met with some friends and my brother and his wife for dinner. I guess I’ve eaten too much that day 😦


Back From NOLA

For a week now I’m back from the U.S. I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to say goodbye before I went away, but as soon as March was there I actually had no time for anything, because there was still so much to do, and when I was back, I needed some days to get back mentally as well, though I think I might still need some time to sort it all out.

But first things first: my toe has healed up nicely and I was surprised by how quick it went eventually.

To be honest, it’s really impossible to just say some words about my journey, even more because it was the first time I was away from home that far and without John. In some sort of way it might have been a life-changing experience, in other concerns I think it reminded me of certain things I already knew but I tend to forget every now and then. When the plane was over the Atlantic ocean and there was no land to be seen for hours, I felt unreal, lost between space and time. Everything I know was far away, and I was heading to a sort of uncertain future (at least for some days, but it felt different), and I was glad W was with me there and I could squeeze his hand some times. I felt like I had accomplished something that was never meant for me, and certain aspects of my life suddenly seemed so far away. I guess I felt like I am no longer the fearsome boy I once was, and I thought of my father and wondered if he ever would have thought I’d see America and dare to be that free, to travel almost alone to see a bit of the world and rise above what he had in mind for me?

Well, you can tell straight away that that experience made me thoughful πŸ™‚

In some way the U.S. is exactly like we all knew it from the movies, in some other ways it’s very different from all these clichΓ©s. I found people are overall very friendly and open-minded, but that might be because W chose where we went and because we met so many people of his family and friends and so on. What hit me right after leaving the plane was the weather. It was quite warm and humid and I’m not used to that, even though W said that it was quite mild then πŸ™‚

We stayed at W’s auntie’s and I was nervous to meet her, but within minutes she had made me feel at home and I was warmly welcomed to her place, just like she was my auntie as well. I had brought her a present and I think she liked it. One of her sons had kindly given his room to me, while W was sleeping in a room with his other cousin. You know, I’m a people pleaser and try to make feel people comfortable and I guess that helped to break the ice immediately. Nevertheless I needed three to five days to cope with being in a different time-zone and I wonder how people like W and John get along with that so well.

New Orleans is a fascinating city and the first thing that came into my mind was the word FUSION. How often had W used that word to describe the city and the area in general, and now I know exactly what he meant. On the one hand, New Orleans is very modern and W claims that this part of the city is more or less the same as in most big cities in the U.S., on the other hand it is somehow old-fashioned and traditional, maybe even because they like to keep it that way to add a certain flair and fulfil the expectations of all the visitors, I don’t know. On several nights, W and I met with members of his family and friends to explore the nightlife. It’s just amazing! There’s music everywhere, in the bars and even in the streets, and it fits so well into that place. And I guess it’s that music- and bar-culture most people immediately think of when they hear you’ve been to Nola πŸ™‚

The other side of our trip was getting to know the more rural Louisiana whereas a part of W’s family lives away from New Orleans. W had organized a car for us and he drove us around, and we stayed several nights with another uncle of his. It was unreal to see the Mississippi and I was impressed by how huge that river actually is and how unreal the swamps are as well. It’s really a different kind of world there and I think I might have gotten a glimpse of how that landscape has influenced the people to become who they are now, and how much W’s spirituality is actually influenced by this landscape and its Devas or gods or however you want to name these energies as well, even though W now lives in Germany. I don’t know whether these gods were interested in me, but I thought I could sense them and I think I understand them better now and why it makes sense to deal with W’s gods the way he does. For example W always told me that a proper offering to certain gods or energies must contain the blood of a recently slaughtered animal. I always thought that this was odd and cruel, but having witnessed now that it’s part of the culture there to buy animals alive and home-slaughter them, it makes more sense to me (though I’d refuse to do so anyway).

In general I have learned a lot about W’s spirituality. He’s generous with his teachings anyway, but I had never really understood certains things, or I could never really connect to certain aspects. Having experienced this spirituality insitu now feels like finally having stepped through a door. Certain aspects of his belief always seemed spooky to me, like visiting graveyards to connect with the dead and gods that reside between them, and having experienced that sort of “rotten” charm each and everything automatically has in that land of swamps made it somehow easier to understand why death and symbols of death are so important. In some sorts it’s very different to my German heritage and I wasn’t surprised to finally think that all I have learned about W’s belief came alive there. To be honest, I myself felt a deep connection to W’s gods there as well, and to me it felt like for example the Jesus I experienced there with W is not the same like the Jesus that hung in the kitchen in my father’s house or in the churches in Germany. That “Voodoo Jesus” is more like a real person to me, with real characteristics, and I can talk to him and he would understand me, without the need for a priest between us.Β When we were back in New Orleans I got into a little shopping coma and bought some stuff to work with when I would be back home, like a little Jesus made of resin, prayer beads, candles, incense sticks and so on πŸ™‚ W told me that he thinks Lord Shiva and that Jesus fit well together, as they’re both connected to the sun, the light, the fire and so on, and that’s what I feel as well. In fact, I can’t wait for summer and hope to deepen my spiritual life a bit more again.

The best things about our trip there certainly were getting to know all those kind people, the area around New Orleans and Louisiana in general (at least a bit), experiencing my ability to be away from home and all things I’m used to, the boost that trip gave my own spirituality and the possibilty to spend so much time with my best friend and get to know more about his origin.

The morning before we went off, John had put me into the Birdlock and put a plastic lock on it as well. I was frustrated because wanking actually is one of my few techniques to calm me down, but he insisted I would not be allowed out. On day 9 of our trip I was feeling really down for a reason and when I called John and he heard how done I was, he allowed me to cut the lock open and wank one time, then to lock me in again. He had sneaked a second plastic lock into my case, so that I was able to send him a picture of me being locked in again after I relieved myself. I thought that was cute πŸ™‚

When we returned home, he picked me up at the airport (and M was there as well), and it just took until we were more or less alone in the parkdeck until he claimed what he had missed so long, but he let me wait for three more days until he allowed me out again. That was hard, but I loved every single second of it. It was good to be away, but it is good to be home again and an owned slut as well. I think all in all that trip again made clear what I ought to know anyway: I am his and I could never exist without his beautifully hurting kind of love. Moreover, it is good to be able to be Ginny again, because due to that idiot they now have ruling over them, I decided it would be much safer to travel as Blaubeermann only. I have missed my pretty gurly things πŸ™‚