Bras and the terrifying things that are in them.

Made you look !

Sorry, cheap trick. Point is, since I have started phytoestrogens (Estrogen like substances that come from plants) I have noticed , errr, changes.

ONE: I am WAY more sensitive to things. No, I am not weeping every time someone spills a drink, but things that I could have laughed off in the past bring me to tears. Not complaining, it isn’t like being depressed (which is PAINFUL, period, no other words describe depression) it is like feeling a vibration in the world and when the vibe is wrong, your tear ducts seem to alert you. And I have been told by a genetic female “Welcome to my world”, thank you sister, that is so much more appreciated than you will ever know.

TWO: My boobs are tender and they hurt. They are growing, right now they are less than swollen mosquito stings, but the shape is there, a slight roundness and swell around them shows the shape of things to come. YES, I am damned excited at growing breasts, but this tenderness is a bitch ! So my dearest wife, Sara, recommended I grab one of her sports bras. MAZELTOV ! (And I am basically a protestant, Mazeltov was the precise feeling) oh my gosh, when you put those girls in check it feels great ! Had I known this I would have worn a bra when I was lifting weights to keep my pecs in control (Wait, I did but I did that for sexual excitement, I thought I was still a cross dresser back then, ahhh, the innocence of youth) I felt like I had discovered the new world ! All day I have been wearing this thing and my boobs haven’t been sore once !

Okay, so right now, all those poor pubescent females in my school when I was growing up (!) I AM SO SORRY, I beg your forgiveness ladies. Seriously. And it isn’t just the boobs or the sensitivity, now that I have some background in biology etc, wow, what an asshole I was.

And how wonderful you were not to kill me in my sleep (math class, English class, language class, PE, lunch – I slept through them all) All I can say is God help my ten year old son if I ever hear of him teasing some young girl about her body. Of course, I just recently told him about me, his response ? cool. That was it.

Maybe there is a chance for him after all.

Call me what you shall, my heart knows it’s true name.

Okay, I went to the Veterans Administration, like many girls in my position, my younger days were filled with trying to prove how much of a man I was. I spent 7 years as a soldier. My job description ?”Kill People, blow stuff up” the name of the job was “Light Weapons Infantryman” and I was good enough at it to receive several pieces of paper that say how honorable I was at my job. A couple of ribbons, a medal or several and scars that will outlast many of my positive contributions to this world.

But I digress.

Point is, I had a mole that was doing all the bad things we read about so it was time to go in and get it taken care of. Dr. K (A wonderful young fellow, but oh my gosh, just a wee bairn – so young I wanted to give HIM a lollipop for being so good during my visit) he applied liquid nitrogen, just so dermatology wont yell at him for not doing his job (what ?) and we talked. It was hilarious, after I got over my initial nervousness. I was having such fun with this one. here is kind of how it went down. I requested a screening of my blood to make sure I was healthy enough to start my HRT regime (yes, buying them over the INTERNET – VA does not handle gender issues well, and I do have enough chemistry, biology physiology and anatomy to read such things, self prescribed is bad, but at least I have some training) and helped him figure out the difference between TS TG and CD, then, well, he needed a little more info.

Dr. K – Okay, Mr, uhh, Ms, miss ?

Me – Dr, I am married, Mrs is appropriate Ms is also good.

Dr. K – Okay, and your last name is “R****” (pronounced R***y – it is a French spelling of an old Irish name, O’R*****y) Do I call you Peter or, uhh, (cough)or just stick with Ms.

Me – Dr, I am wearing women’s slacks, yes, they are Gloria’s (Vander…oh never mind, I am such a designer whore) but my overall appearance today is masculine, you may refer to me as Mr R****, Peter or hey you, just don’t call me late for dinner (grinning). If, however, I am here in makeup and women’s clothing, it would be incredibly wonderful if you would refer to me as Ms, Mrs R**** or Sindee. But don’t put yourself out. I do not envy you your job. You have real work to do rather than screw around trying to figure out who your addressing.

Dr. K – Well, Mr R***, I am a little new to this, sorry if I appear to be having an awkward moment.

Me – Dr, I just admitted all this to myself less than a year ago, if you think this is new to you, you ought to try it from 5 inch heels sometimes. My whole life to this point has been a series of awkward moments.

At which point, my dear wife, Sara, can no longer contain herself and laughs out loud. She has been trying not to interrupt because she is worried about possible cancer but having to sit on the sidelines while the good Dr and I dealt with our issues of discomfort, well, it was too much for the poor girl. She later admitted she almost peed herself.

Truth be told, trying to talk to such a young Dr about it almost made me pee myself.

I hope I get him again soon, he reminded me of Anthony Edwards, especially the almost stutter.

On Being Sindee – Chapter 2

Okay, so I am NOT a cross dresser. I am, however, trans gender, I wish, sometime, to transition to being a woman. Obviously I will not have ovaries, fallopian tubes etc, but, for the most part, I wish to resemble and live as a woman. Full time. When this journey started, I thought I may *only* be a cross dresser (Okay, even I am laughing at the “only” – that’s just too damn funny).

That orb is one of my many ghosts at home. I am never truly alone, its a wonderful feeling !

Yeah, that’s me again, I should put some really pretty girls up here but oh well. I deal with it daily, your only here for a visit, take a pepto and enjoy. And no, I do not hate myself, just wish I would be a lot further along with the hormones and the transition, but it took me this long to make my decision and accept it so a little patience on my part is not out of the question.

Back to my friend asking if I was gay. You know, these labels are tough, especially when we have to put them on ourselves. I mean, we do not HAVE to, but we do. And yes, I DO think about, “How would I answer when asked what am I” ? Am I CD, TS, TG, Gay, Lesbian, Bi ? Or, because I wish to have a man and am becoming a woman, does that mean I am straight ? See the problem ? Actually, I prefer women. That round softness and wonderful smell is a favorite of mine. So, for now, since I am a boy in a dress, I guess I am straight. Now, when I transition, and become a woman, I still love women, will this make me a lesbian or even bisexual ? Again with the damn labels. It is a never ending process of pigeon holing oneself, or allowing others to put you in a convenient cubby.

And, to top all this off, I have no insurance so my only avenue for help is the Veterans Administration. And my GAWD do those people love labels, if you take a drink, your an alcoholic. If you experiment with marijuana, your a drug addict, a hardcore one because you admitted to trying ti a couple of times. If you get into a fist fight because some ass wipe tries to take your purse while your dressed en femme you are labeled “Violent” and YES, there is a red flag on your record for that kind of thing. Violent ? Honey, I am of the school of thought “I can get more money and replace those ID cards, I hate fighting” but because I spent 7 yrs in the infantry and have no problem pulling a trigger on a person who wishes to pull a trigger against me, I am violent.

Yeah, labels, wonderful. here is a label I wish someone would hang on me.

Kind, loving, caring and sympathetic.

I can live with that label

Love Sindee

P.S. I love me, I spent 51 years so far becoming me and what I have isnt half bad. When you love yourself, you find there are no reasons to apologize for yourself. I like that !

A new day

Okay, so I was up all night at my trans gender space. It’s like Myspace without the weirdos. A safe place for TG, TS, CD and friends. I love it there, all the ladies are, simply put, gorgeous. I look at them and I feel fat, ugly and etc, but they support me and give me confidence. So hanging out there I get a new perspective.

How I feel, not how I look (to my eyes)

I mean, let’s face it. When your born male, and attempt to dress female, there are going to be some things that get lost in the translation. Voice, vocabulary (yes, men and women have a different vocabulary) walk, sitting, etc . Face it, boys aren’t trained to be girls in today’s society. So we grow up as boys, even though most of us know by early grade school we enjoy woman’s clothing more than we enjoy men’s clothing. And that’s where we learn to get into the closet and stay there.

Some of us are gay, yes, some of us are bi-sexual and some are straight, just like real society, there is no one definition, sexually, of a boy in a dress. We are people. We are your brothers, fathers, husbands and maybe even your co workers. Please, however, don’t think that just because a steel worker is named Bruce and admits he enjoys a nice hot bath that he is probably a flaming cross dressing sissy. One, Bruce might pound you into the ground if you mentioned it to him, and even if he does wear a dress, what does it matter ? He is Bruce, a co worker of yours, what you have in common is that you both work steel. What you do in your bedroom should be kinda private, unless you really feel the need to discuss that. Maybe a therapist is a better choice for those conversations.

Point is, you look at my posts, one of them actually has a picture of me (Lavender blouse black skirt long hair, you’ll figure it out quick) So, if you were out at Starbucks, and she was standing behind you in line waiting to order her rooibos (oh try it, you won’t be disappointed, tasty) and finish writing her next article would you be willing to shout out “Oh my god, it’s a guy in a dress” Probably not, unless, for some reason sweetie, you feel threatened, then you may.

Am I going to run away ? Am I going to fight you ? Am I going to even acknowledge you ? Answer to all of the above is no. I won’t. I dress for me, not for you. If you enjoy what you see, give me a compliment, I am learning to take them without blushing to death (it’s a common malady, death by blush – horrible way to go) and if you don’t, keep it to yourself, unless, of course, I just put lipstick on my nose, THEN say something for God’s sake ! Toilet paper on my heel ? Yuck – go ahead and get my attention (Sindee, girl, are you the flagship now ?) Did I just tuck the back of my skirt into my panty hose ? HA ! Jokes on you, I wear thigh highs. Let me know.

Understand, if you saw me in Levi’s and a t-shirt, you might be a little intimidated, I am a big guy, 6 ft 200 lbs. I play a gunfighter so I have a look, so to speak. But when you say hello you will find I am amiable, chatty and very friendly. Same goes for Sindee, she is friendly, chatty but a little more reserved than I am. She tends to think before she speaks. A good thing when you are wearing heels and not tennis shoes. Also, she is a lot more intimidated by out doors. She has spent almost 48 years in a closet, she is a little reserved.

So, when your out and about, and you see a boy in a dress, give a little, relax your views. Try and see past the makeup and dress. You may just make a new friend.

And it won’t make you gay, either

Sindee