Men of the Skull Interlude VIII: Raven Angel

 Another book chapter which began as blog entries.

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Interlude VIII: Raven Angel

Saturday, January 14, 2012 Obama Bid to Cut the Government Tests Congress

Then came a late "New Years Eve Party" at the Raven in New Hope.  This was hosted by my friends Jen Bryant and Victoria.  They'd done these big parties there before, but I didn't attend.  In fact, I'd never been to the Raven before.  I hadn't planned on going, but suddenly I had the opportunity, so I took it.  I didn’t realize that I’d meet someone who would change, no: define, my life that night

So that day I went up to Amanda Richards to get my makeup done.  After all, they were expecting maybe a hundred girls there so I wanted to look my best!  I wore my favorite LBD and a little... help.  My friend Linda Lewis told me about a way to get the best cleavage from what the prosthetic breasts I had: the Miraculous bra by Victoria’s Secret.  It would give me great cleavage AND increase my size by 2 cups (making me an E cup).  So that was my “secret weapon” going in.  For my first time there, I wanted to turn heads!

I arrived after a ninety-minute drive from Amanda's.  The bar was beautiful!  Carved wood and stained glass.  Several T-girls were there already, and I fell into conversation.

At dinner, I sat with my friend Victoria…

Suddenly a woman plopped into the empty chair beside me, as if she’d stepped in from a brighter, glossier world.  She was polished in every detail: a sleek chin-length blonde bob held by a sparkling double headband, makeup done in that effortless evening style that made her eyes seem larger, her smile warmer.  She wore a strapless metallic dress—white, gold, and silver, and a black shrug with a small brooch framed her shoulders.  Even her jewelry felt intentional, a quiet shimmer of gold at her neck, wrist, and ears.

Lisa and me, that night.

The effect was unmistakable: confident, stylish, utterly feminine.

Wow- this woman was everything I wanted to be.

She was drinking Miller lite straight from the bottle.  She looked at me and said "those bitches at the bar think drinking beer from a bottle isn't feminine.  Well, this is what I say to that!"  And she chugged one down.

She finished, looked at me and smiled.

“Oh, I like you!” I said. 

She introduced herself: Lisa Empanada from Baltimore.  As I’d previously lived there, we bonded over that, and she had a similar warped sense of humor.  Talking to her was like talking to someone I’d known forever.

I didn't drink much as the road home was one favored for drunk driving checkpoints, and I don't think walking the straight line would've possible in heels, sober or not! 

Oh-the bra was a hit.  Success!

Then, after dinner, the music started.   Lisa went to dance, but I didn’t. 

I won't say it was loud, but my fillings rattled out of my teeth.  So, I went into a “quieter” side room, where twenty some guys were sitting around a grand piano singing show tunes: extremely well. 

I left around 11, but not before saying goodbye to Lisa, who was owning the dance floor.  My cover story to my wife was I was at work, so I needed to be cleaned up and home by 1:30ish. 

But I was thirsty.  Two doors down from the Raven was a Wawa (mini market chain around Pennsylvania).  I drove over and just walked in like it was nothing.  “Walk in like you belong there” as I’d been told.  Mind you, I'm dressed to party: low cut dress, high heels, dramatic make-up.  No one even blinked.  No one accosted me for being a “guy in a dress.”    

No one cared.

Wow.  I'd actually gone into a store with no issue.  What was I so afraid of?  Granted, it was in "friendly" New Hope, but it was still an achievement for me- a first.

Drove back to the hotel, cleaned up, and was home at 1:30 on the nose.

So began my relationship with Lisa.  We talked a LOT as we moved forward through our lives.  She would come up to Pennsylvania for Laptop Lounge, and I visited her in Baltimore.  We would hug and laugh when we were together.  It wasn't until later that we cried.  Lisa became a Sister to me: close as blood.  Closer.  We talked about everything and anything.  Finished each other’s sentences. 

And laughed.  Oh, how we laughed.

That night at the Raven didn’t just give me a new friend.  It gave me insight: a glimpse of the woman I might become.  I didn’t dare have the words for it then, not really.  But something in me shifted—quietly, decisively.  The next months would take that spark and turn it into motion, and by the end of the year I would begin changing in ways I had once only whispered to myself in the dark.

 

Monday, December 10, 2012  Justices Weigh Race as Factor at Universities

It was another rainy, cold day in Philly, but for me, it was a great one.  A significant one.

 On December 10, I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT).

Me- on Estrogen.  Becoming a woman in body as well as mind:  A dream come true.  Lisa had begun her hormones just days before me. It felt fitting, the two of us stepping into our futures side by side, even from different cities.

That morning, my "big sister" Mel picked me up extra early, as my appointment was at 9 am, and traffic into Philly is always brutal.  She drove because my license was still suspended from a post Laptop DUI back in August.  We arrived down at the Mazzoni center area at 7:30. As Mel knows the area well, she led me to a really nice coffee shop she likes.  I had diet coke.  We sat and talked for a bit about current events, and about the future.

At 9 AM, I checked in at the Mazzoni Center for my 9:15 appointment.  Within minutes, I was in a small examination room, waiting for Dr. Goodman.  They are quite efficient there.

Dr. Goodman came in and asked me a few questions.  He went over the possible risks of HRT and asked if I understood them.  I signed consent forms.  He emailed my prescription to the Walgreens next door.  I normally don't use Walgreens, but this one gets all drugs at a discount, and by me paying normal price, the difference goes to help pay for others who don't have insurance.

So by paying normal price, I get to help others.  Win-win.

After picking up the drugs, Mel drove us out of the city.  After lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen in King of Prussia mall, she drove me home, where I read the information that came with the drugs:  Estrodiol and an androgen blocker: Spironolactone.

I sat at my computer, and, after doing a little online research into the drugs as well, I opened the bottles and put the prescribed dose in my hand.  The pills were tiny.  One blue, one white.  Blue and White.  How appropriate for a Penn State gal. 

Then, I downed the pills with water.  And like that, my future quietly began.  The dosage was low.  This is just to see if my body can handle it. 

Then the next day it was back to the hell of retail during the holidays

HRT.  A new dawn.

 

 

The Raven closed in October 2019.  It's now a parking lot.

 

Even the small dose of estrogen started causing changes before switching to the full dose a month later.  My skin was softening.  My temper calming.  And, behind my nipples, breasts began to bud.

 

Asked about HRT

 In conversation with a closeted transwoman (Terri- I wrote about her on TG Forum HERE), she asked about how it felt when I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT) back in December 2012.  (I wrote about that HERE.)  

She wrote "That must have been quite an experience starting hrt."  I replied "Anticlimactic.  I didn't notice changes but others did.  The first "felt" effect was pain in my pectoral areas."

I thought about it, and it's been a while since I wrote about this (HERE for example).  Like, many years.  I forgot how much of a "Holy Grail" HRT is for so many.  Funny what one takes for granted after a long time.  Of all things, HRT.

So, what was it like?  

As anyone can tell you, it's a slow process.  First, the drugs have to build up in your system, then they take effect.  Like a cisgender girl, the effect is then gradual.  I didn't just wake up one day with big boobs!  (That would've been hard to explain!)

The first thing I felt was a sense of calm as the testosterone weakened.  My anger flares weren't as constant.  I had a haircut for my trial in September, but was letting it grow out since.  I'm guessing the hormones were taking effect, as people said I looked different.  They asked me if I was losing weight (I was, but not much.)  I'm guessing the main reason for their comments were my skin "softening."

Early February 2013, I felt a, well, thickness under my nipples.  They began to hurt a little.  The pain would become a familiar one.  That was my breasts budding.  As they grew, it continued to hurt.  Not badly, but noticeable.  I started wearing t-shirts under the polo shirts I'd wear to work.  Soon, they wouldn't be enough either- the nipples were protruding.  No one said anything, but I noticed.  I invested in some pressure shirts people use for exercising.  

May 18, 2013: first time out without forms

Wearing a bra without forms was a watershed moment (wrote about it HERE).

As the date I chose grew closer, I learned that one pressure shirt wasn't doing the job any more- so I started wearing two.  Ugh. I also wore baggier shirts when at work to "cover" my breast development.  people didn't notice my skin softening.  I told people I was growing out my hair to donate it to "Locks of Love."

January 2021.  I think the HRT worked!

Now it's been eight years.  Having breasts is something I'm used to- but am still thrilled to have!  Some people say my face changed a little, but I don't see it.  In any case, it's been one hell of a ride!

Sophie Dolls Up

I haven't felt feminine in a long time.  I decided to do my makeup and do the best I could.  I also decided to take pictures as I did it for the sheer hell of it. 

So here they are, all of Sophie's makeup secrets!

Step One.  I've showered, shaved and dried my hair.  This is what I look like after I do all that.  I still see a guy in the mirror.  

Step Two:  I've used a curling iron, and done my best to get some VOLUME in my very fine hair.  meh.

Step Three: Ok, some blue blocker and eye shadow (I used pinks.)

Step Four: Eye liner and foundation around muzzle

Step Five: Eyebrow work and mascara.  I tried false eyelashes again and failed miserably.

Step Six: Coverup around eye sockets, then some white in the corner to "bring it out" since my eyes are very deep set.

Step Seven: Some subtle contouring around the oval of the face, either side of my schnoz and cheeks.

Step Eight: Even with big boobs, some make up contouring can be fun.  I should've blended it more.  Not that anyone is looking.

Step Nine: Dress time!  I always put on whatever I'm wearing before doing my lippie.

Step Ten: Ok, so red lipstick isn't subtle, but since my eyes are, why not?

Step Eleven: Jewelry and a smile completes the look.

So, what do you think?

It's funny.  I still see a guy in the mirror most of the time.  Yet, after I doll up, sometimes I see a woman in the picture, and I can't believe she's really me.

So I had a little fun with photoshop after doing these.  I'm trying to get back into practice with it.

Took off a LOT of weight, half my forehead, and the scar.

So, there it is dear reader.  My day so far.  I feel much better than when I woke up.  I just need to feel like a woman sometimes.  

announcement

I am probably going to end this blog.

At its height, the blog averaged over a thousand hits a day, and did so for several years.  But for the past year, it averages under a hundred- and the posts getting the most hits are the ones serializing Men of the Skull.  Maybe because I cross post to a couple of PSU facebook pages.

Then there are the nasty comments, including my all time Fave:

As I'll never be able to afford any surgeries, my transition has stalled.  This morning I contemplated de-transitoning, but I'd rather die than go back.  So it's not like I have anything to write about that anyone will read.  I can only post so many pictures of my breasts, which is all anyone seems to care about anyway.  My flickr account gets 100 times the hits the blog does (and why do I still have that?)

I wrote a final entry a few years back.  I'll update and use it soon.

In any case, it comes down to this:

No one reads.  No one comments (aside from trolls.)  No one cares.

Not worth my time and tears.

I've Seen this Face Before

I initially posted this last night on facialbook after a long day.  I think I should develop it a little further.  Because I have nothing else to do after sending out a bunch of resumes.

By now, most Americans have seen his face.  His name is Nick Sandmann. He's in 11th grade at Covington Catholic High School.  I'd link to the school, but they've taken down their web page.  Can't imagine why.

Why does this hit me so deeply? Because I've seen this spoiled kid's smirk all of my life.

This is the face of every bully who picked on me as a kid, knowing he'd suffer no consequences for his actions. It's the smile of a person who enjoys hurting others.  I've written about my bullies, and how they affected my life.

It's the smile of a kid who knows that, no matter what happens, he will lead a charmed life. This is the smile of people like Kavanagh and his ilk, knowing that they could rape a woman at will.  (Anyone remember Stanford rapist Brock Turner, who got a slap on the wrist?)

This is a kid who knows that he has tacit permission to be racist from his president- he absolutely believes he is superior to any non-White.

Now, predictably, he is crying "victim" (because that's what being a Republican in the US is about today- claiming that their white superiority is the victim of the big, bad Left Wing Conspiracy.)  I won't link to his excuse.  Find it yourself.

America's Indigenous people have dealt with this for centuries.  MAGAts will say "we conquered them- get over it."  Again, if a person in non-white, they are not human to the far right.

Native American Journalist Association president Tristan Ahtone wrote:

“In terms of education on Indigenous peoples and history in the U.S., it’s designed to erase us,” he said. “I think back to my high school and I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t just file a lawsuit against the place, for some of the stuff they were teaching. Not only was it offensive, but it was wrong, incredibly wrong. It should be criminally negligent to teach kids some of this stuff.”

Oh, and Central Americans are descendants of Indigenous people as well: Aztecs, Maya, Olmec, etc.  Another reason for the MAGA people to hate them, aside from skin color.

The man facing this hate?  Nathan Phillips, Native American Elder and Vietnam veteran.  Think he's scared of punk like this after combat experience?

More about the kid, lest I get sidetracked.

He is there to tell women what they can/cannot do with their own body. Because he is superior to any woman.  He, and his classmates were bussed there BY THE SCHOOL to participate in a "Right to life" rally.  As in "we care about the unborn until they're born, then who cares" rally.  Also known as "We white men want to tell women what they can/cannot do with their own body" as I wrote above.  He is a right winger by definition, and, by wearing the symbol of racism and hate, is a 45 cultist.

Will there be consequences?  Are you kidding?  (Again, see "Turner, Brock") Bet this kid already has a lawyer and an agent for the multi-million dollar book deal he'll sign.  MAGAts around the country will raise millions more for him.  He'll go to a religious school or University of Kentucky, and never pay a cent.  I'm sure Fox News has already booked him.  After all, he is a hero to racists everywhere.

Still, that smile... that superior shit-eating grin...

I've seen this face all my life, but never more than since 2016.  I wonder why?

(That's sarcasm.)

Breasts: One Transwoman's Perspective

I've now had four different transwomen ask me to write about my breasts.  I've been reluctant to do so, as I don't want to write something cheap and sleazy (if you want to see how I handle "sleazy," check out my stories on Fictionmania.)  So, the challenge is to write about my breasts while maintaining some kind of class.

Right.  Human female breasts are also known as mammary glands.  I should probably start with a dissertation on what breasts are, how they function, how they develop, etc, but that would be extremely dull and pedantic.

What do you mean "that's nothing new?"

Grumble grumble.

http://www.thinkingpinkfoundation.org/anatomy-breast

For some people, Breasts are the symbol of womanhood.  People can see them from a distance, and guys... well, I'll come back to that.

Prosthetic boobs- Raven January 2013

Anyway.  I began HRT on December 10, 2012.  As with everyone, I started slow then increased my dosage under a doctor's supervision.  I noticed a tingling sensation, then itching of my nipple area after around a month.  Then, soon after, I noticed a thickening behind the nipple.  I remember my "Big Sister" Mel saying "you can stop now- after this it will be very hard to turn back."  I started wearing compression shirts under my work shirts.  Eventually, the shirts were no longer enough.  During this time, my chest would occasionally hurt or itch.  I'm told that this was my breasts growing.

My breasts grew steadily.  One night in May 2013, I went to Angela's Laptop Lounge.  I was still wearing breast forms at that time.  A friend of mine said that my breasts looked comically large.  I slipped under the table where we sat, and removed my forms.  I haven't worn them since, and sold both of my sets of breast forms on ebay some years ago.  I still have the famous "prosthetic" in storage.

First time without forms- just me

That night, I went back to my motel room (where I was changing back to my drab self) and, after stripping down to my panties, I looked in the full length mirror.  I still had on my wig and makeup.  It was the first time I saw a Woman looking back at me.  I cried tears of joy.  I had BREASTS!  They weren't forms or a prosthetic- they were me!

When I first started as Sophie, I knew what I Wanted to look like: big hips, long hair, and big boobs. And it was starting to happen.

Every month since beginning HRT, I have taken pictures of myself, chest up, to track my development.  I still do this today.  It's amazing to see how I've changed over time- not just the boobs, but also my face and skin.

Many women in my matrilineal line were "well-blessed" by Mother Nature.  Due to lucky genetics, so am I.  My breasts kept steadily growing.  Now, five years later, I am blessed with natural DD cup breasts.  Yes, I know how lucky I am.

Ok, I've been asked many times what it feels like to have breasts.  Well, often they feel like nothing at all.  Seriously.  They are simply a part of me and I don't notice them.  If they bounce, I notice them.  When I feel them (breast exam, etc) I feel the pressure of my hands.  The nipples are very sensitive, and, if I'm not wearing a bra, they rub against the fabric and can get irritated.  When my arms bump into them, it feels like they've hit a soft muscle.  Being hit there hurts, but nothing compared to a shot "down low."

When wearing a bra, I feel the underwire and the shoulder straps.  And after eight long hours, removing the bra feels soooooo good!  It's liberating! The underwire is gone, and the cool air caresses them...  Heaven!

Cotton bra.  November 2017 "development" picture

So, is there a difference in sensation between the male breast and the female breast?  Absolutely!  It's like comparing a Whisper to a Scream.  Seriously!

Still all of this are matters of mere fact.  How do I feel ABOUT them?

Well, for me, breasts are the symbol of womanhood (with hips right there behind.)  (Get it?)

I have always wanted breasts.  In my mind, growing up, breasts were the most feminine attribute (remember- this is all I could see about women.)  I was in 7th grade when many of my classmates started to undergo puberty- both male and female.  I saw the girls beginning to blossom into women, and I felt left behind.  I was a late bloomer as it was, and seeing them growing hips and breasts made me very depressed.  I knew that would never happen for me.

Girls take their puberty for granted so to speak.  It is their birthright- they become women.  It's simple biology.  Girls become women and boys become men. 

I didn't WANT to be a man.  I was female- I knew it, even if I dared not ever breathe a word of it. 

They left me behind. 

So many years later, while my life was crumbling around me, I took the steps I Knew in my heart I had to take. 

Now?  Now I have breasts- big ones.  They are literally a dream come true- as I often through my life dreamed of having them.  I wanted them so badly.   I still get a thrill looking down and seeing them there and knowing they are real.  I often go topless around the apartment (my roomie and bestie, Linda, is probably tired of seeing me flop flop around.)  I do this because for one, it's cooler and I sweat easily, and for two- I just love seeing them.

Is this why I prefer low cut tops?  Partly, yes.  But that's mostly to give a Very Feminine indicator- to show all that see that I am a Woman.  Does it work?  Not really- I'm still misgendered often at work.  On Saturday, I had a guy misgender me twice while he stared at my boobs.  Seriously??? 

Late November before a shift: feminine indicators

I've been working on this blog entry for a week.  I'm finding it hard to put my feelings into words.  Transition is a very emotional process- I'm finally on the path to becoming the woman I've always known I am.  To be lucky enough to have been blessed with that which I've wanted all my life... I really can't describe how happy I feel about it.  So few things in my life make me happy- bring me joy.  Having my breasts is one of them.

I hope this answers your questions, ladies.  I wish I could articulate it better. 

Be well.

Birthright Perspective

I was speaking with a coworker today.  She is graduating from Rosemont college with a Masters in Publishing.  She told me that the customer I just served was a Rosemont student- going for an MA in Creative Writing.  My coworker had heard this person, who teaches English locally, read her final project.

It was titled "Calm Your Tits."  It was a comedic look on how boobs are a pain in the butt.  She said it was extremely funny.

I asked how boobs are a an impediment.  She said they get in the way, they make things more difficult to fit, guys stare at them, etc.

I smiled.

I see it as a difference in perspective.  

Women grow up knowing that someday, they will grow breasts.  They will eventually menstruate.  They could become mothers.  They know these things will happen, as these things are their birthright.  This is how the human female reaches adulthood.

And to some women, their breasts ARE an annoyance.

But to me, and transwomen like me, breasts are a Godsend.  When we are teens, we see the girls blossoming and feel left behind.  We spend our lives wanting- needing- wishing- that we had that which they take for granted:  Womanhood.  

I started hormones in December 2012.  As most people, I started on a low dose, but eventually increased it.  I had no idea how the hormones would affect me.  I mean, I had an idea- I know biology after all- but how would they affect me personally.

As it turns out, I hit the jackpot when it came to my chest.  Large breasts run down my matrilineal line.  I am lucky and I know it.

Yes, I'm a goofball

It's nice to have SOMETHING go right.

I waited my whole life for my breasts.  I never thought I'd have them.  I thank God that I lived to see the day!  Do they get in my way?  Not really.  Are they inconvenient?  If you mean having to wear a bra- oh darn!

There are many parts of womanhood I will never experience.  I can never give birth, as I don't have the equipment, and never will.  That means that everything associated with the female reproductive system is foreign to me- such as periods.  As I can't afford surgeries, I will never experience having female genitalia.  

I transitioned mid-life, so I will always, physically, walk between genders.  For me, womanhood is earned Every Single Day.  It is something for which  I strive.  

That gives me a different perspective.  

Not right or wrong- just different.

Be well!

 

Requiem for a Relic

This may sound frivolous.  Stupid.  Inane.  But here it is anyway.

When I went to the Southern Comfort Conference (SCC) in September 2013, I was reeling.  I'd just been thrown out of the place I was living by my MIL.  I was living at the charity of a friend.  I didn't realize how this road trip to Georgia would change my life.

Before that all happened, I agreed with my dear friend Stephanie S. to sponsor bringing Trans Icon Linda Lewis to SCC.  At this point, I hadn't met her- just spoken on the phone a few times.  On the second day of the conference, blasted by a hangover, I met Linda.  I was star struck.

After a quick lunch, Linda, myself, and Devrah (Linda's roomie for the conference) went shopping.  I drove.  First we went to a makeup store, so Linda could help Devrah select a proper makeup "palette."  We then went to a nearby mall.  While there, we went to Victoria's Secret.

Shopping with an Icon

At Victoria's Secret, I bought two bras- one of which was a navy blue 38C.  It was soooo comfortable.  It quickly became my favorite bra.

I wore it a LOT.

Well, today I put on my favorite navy blue bra.  It was a little tight and caused fierce cleavage (darn!) Then I went to work.  And maybe two hours into my shift, I felt something poking into my right side.  It hurt!

Yes, the underwire had poked through the fabric.

So after three and a half years, the navy blue bra was done.

It was my favorite not just because it was comfortable, or because it was flattering.  I even continued to wear it when I "outgrew" it (I'm now a full D.)

Why?

Because it represented something.  It was a tangible reminder of that trip.  A Souvenir of sorts.  On that trip, I met Linda, who would become my bestie and roomie.  And it was the last time I saw my dearest friend Lisa.  I still remember her smile as she waved to me after we parted.

With Lisa that Final Night

Two women, one entering my life and one leaving it- only I had no idea that either was happening.

Lisa changed my life.  And Linda has changed my life.

Tomorrow, I will put the worn out navy blue bra in a plastic baggie.  I will take it to my storage site, where it will be put in a box of mementos- well, actually a box of bras I don't wear.  I don't wear them because they are way too small- mostly B cups.  They were Lisa's.  Her widow Sandy gave them to me among many other things of Lisa's.  The navy blue bra will join them in their box: retired.

Because I absolutely cannot consider parting with it.  It is, for me, a Totem: a Holy Relic of a time now Passed; of a trip that represented a clear dividing point of my Life Before, and my Life Now.

Of two people who, with their presence in my life have defined me.

Lisa.

Linda.

Am I reading too much into this?  I don't think so.  Perhaps I am just frivolous.  Stupid.  Inane.

But there it is anyway.

Be Well.


***** See me read this entry HERE ******

A Strange Difference

I was thinking of this today at work.  Yes, sometimes my mind wanders.

Between my "re-awakening" in 2008 and when I understood who I truly was, I wore a HELL of a lot more stuff when dressed in feminine attire.

Here's an example:

Makeup by Amanda Richards of True Colors Makeup Artistry

In the above picture, I am wearing panties, a corset, the corset liner, Hip pads (a Veronica 5 from Classic Curves Intl- HIGHLY recommended!), high waisted panty over that to cover seams and corset laces, breast prosthetic (Proactive Prosthetics- amazing if you can afford the best), bra, pantyhose, skirt, top, boots, wig, Lee Stick on nails, jewelry, contact lenses, and had a professional makeover.  15 items.

I felt armored head to foot.  If I were wearing a skirt that moved as I walked, I couldn't feel it swishing for everything else I was wearing!

In the end, it really wasn't that comfortable either.

Now, compare to this:

November 2016

In the above, I am wearing panties, bra, pantyhose, skirt, top, jewelry, glasses, and heels.  I did my own makeup and that's my natural hair and nails.  8 items.  About half.

And THAT was far more comfortable.   And, I think, far more feminine.

Now granted, a MAJOR difference between then and now is that I've been on HRT for several years, and living my Truth full time for nearly three years.

I thought about how physically uncomfortable all that was- confining and tight.  And yet, if I wanted to be Sophie back then, that is what I did.  I had a definite idea of what I wanted to look like and worked toward that "ideal."  And that meant feminine hips, big boobs, long hair and an hourglass figure.  Yet, that one night a month, I felt so Free.  I was shedding the weight of my male skin and becoming who I really was.

These days, of all of the Sophie "ideals" I had, I only managed to get two:  Long hair (almost five years of growth) and generous boobs (yes, I KNOW how lucky I am.)  Maybe If I lost weight, I'd achieve a better figure.  Someday...

Obviously, the biggest change is that my male self is gone.  I move FAR more confidently as a woman.  Now I do everyday things as Sophie, and, while I think of how I walk, etc, I don't think twice about appearing in public in feminine attire.  Why should I?  After all...


... I'm a Woman!


Be well!

Christmas Curtain

Halloween is over, and, in retail, that means it's the holiday rush.

This is Hell on Earth.

I hate the holiday season.  I've said it many times, and here I'll say it again:

I

HATE

THE

HOLIDAYS!

And many of my veteran readers know why.

I'll be without family for the first time this year.  As in, no parents.  I won't see Wife or Daughter, because of MiL's hate.

Add to the that the unbridled hate and greed that will be unleashed on everyone who works retail.  Yes, HATE.  The party of Trump (GOP) has given license to its followers to uncork all the rudeness and hatred they used to keep corked up.  Most of them pretended to be rational, polite human beings- but no more.

They have become Savage.

I have noticed it over the past few months.  They became ruder and ruder.  And now, throwing Greed and pressure into the mix...

The other night I worked and was misgendered (despite wearing a DRESS that showed off my cleavage), yelled at twice, and in general sneered at.

I wore THIS... and someone still called me "Sir."  Seriously.

My dear friend Kimberly Moore suggests that I should "let the Christmas spirit in."

What IS the "Christmas spirit?"  For me, decades in the service industry killed any trace of it.  The commercialization of it (remember when the season started AFTER Thanksgiving?) and the hypocrisy of Republican "Christians" (War on Christmas, anyone?)  Destroyed it.

I guess the "Christmas Spirit" is fragile.  It exists in the eyes of Children, like my daughter, who, yet again, I will not see on the holiday.

I have hated Christmas of old.  So, can I define the Christmas spirit?  It's SUPPOSED to be about the birth of Christ.  But it is a co-opted holiday.  It was originally a midwinter festival for several peoples, and the Romans coopted it to make it a "Christian day."  The Yule log, Christmas Tree, Santa Claus- all pagan from another era.

Is it about Family and friends?  That would be nice, wouldn't it?  How many transpeople are estranged from their families?  How many of us have few friends?

Guess that's out.

A co-worker defined it as "the joy of giving."  I can understand that.  However, I have given and given and given... my life has been serving humanity.  A special day just for it?  Sorry, I get no joy from it anymore.  I do it because it needs to be done.  And frankly, I'm tired of Giving and Giving and suffering because of it.

The Christmas Blues have been a constant in my life since I stopped believing in Santa Claus.  (I forget when that was.)  Yes, when I was a child, I enjoyed Christmas.  Our family was poor, but my parents did their best to make the holiday magical.  And it was.

Christmas makes me want to curl up in a ball and Cry.  Cry until I fall into hopefully dreamless sleep.  But every day, I'm faced with working retail.  With people telling me to "get into the holiday spirit."

I AM in the Holiday Spirit- but MY Holiday Spirit is far different from theirs.

Mine is Darkness.

Sorry.

Be Well.

Squish Squish

This morning, October 17, 2016, I awoke early. I had an appointment, which I'd made a month before.

It was time for another "rite of passage."  My First Mammogram.

A mammogram is an x-ray of the breasts, which is used to detect cancer among other spatial anomalies.  *activates static warp shell*  Women of a "certain age" are supposed to get these done once a year.  But I never have, despite having been "a certain age" since before rediscovering myself.  And also despite having cancer coming at me from both sides of the family... including breast cancer.

"Officer, are these the breasts of a fifty year old woman?"

But, to put it bluntly, I always wanted these breasts, and now I have them, and I don't want to lose them!  So, off to the doctor I went.

My appointment was for 9:45, but I was told to arrive at 9:15.  And so I walked into Phoenixville Hospital at precisely 9:15.  There was a sign on the reception desk saying I need ID, insurance card, prescription... SH*T!  

So back into the car, back to the apartment, grabbed the prescription, drove back, and walked in around 9:30.

"This prescription is old."  "Your name changed?  That's not on the insurance..."

Oh wonderful.

After a few minutes of explanation, I was sent to see a second person in a small, dimly lit cubby.  This guy was quite nice, didn't care about the age of the prescription, sorted out the name issues, slapped a paper wristband on me, and led me to...  the Mammogram room!

I opened the door, went inside, and was greeted by a nice older woman who took my paperwork.  I was asked to sit on a couch.  There was a TV on- the Rachel Ray show.  Seriously.


After a minute or three, she walked briskly past me saying "something is wrong with your paperwork."

I asked "what's wrong?"

She showed me the paperwork, which had my old name, etc.  Under sex there was an "M."  I said "I'm transgender."

She looked at me.  Heartbeat.  Two.

"Oh.... Okayyyyy," she said.  Then she directed me into one of two changing rooms where I was to don an amazingly stylish front opening hospital gown, then enter... the Room.

Chicks in New York pay top dollar for this!

And that's what I did.  The machine was HUGE.  It was a 3-D mammogram machine, which she said was brand new.  She had some paperwork to be filled out.  First question:  when was your last menstrual period?  I put "N/A."  Am I pregnant?  No.  Sign here, initial here, here, and here.

The tech asked me one more time:  "Are you pregnant?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

(Wait a second- was she insinuating that due to my fat tummy...?   Grrr!)

We started with the right breast.  Squish.  "Don't move- don't breathe!"  That took me by surprise, so I stood there without taking a deep breath, trying to hold what was left in my lungs.  Unsquish; machine rotates.   Squish.  Hold breath.   Unsquish.  Machine rotates back.  Left breast.  Squish.  Hold breath.  Unsquish.  Rotate.  Squish.  Hold breath.  Unsquish.  Done.

That's it?  That's all?

Results in a few days.

Back into the changing room.  Remove toga; put bra back on.  Put on top.  Out the door.

That simple.  Seriously.

According to the American Cancer Society, over 246,000 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year, and over 40,000 women will die from it.  You've seen these numbers already.  You've seen the pink ribbons.

As I said above, those of us who have transitioned have waited our whole lives for these boobs.  Why risk them due to fear or laziness?

In any case, it was easy, it didn't hurt (me- but I've heard the tales from others), and it's covered by insurance.  And, leaving the hospital, I felt so... feminine!  I am a Woman- and women need mammograms.

My boobs are only three years old.  They're real... and they're spectacular.  And I want to keep them.

So I got them checked.

Be well!

Syringe

This morning, after I woke up and sorted out my biological functions, my roomie and bestie Linda, reminded me that it was time to inject.  You see, we both take our estrogen by injection, and on the same day, every 10 days.

So this morning, I sat looking at the syringe.  In it, I had put my usual dose.  Now, I hadn't been awake more than fifteen minutes at that point.

I've been on HRT for over three years now.  The first six months or so, I was oral estrogen.  However, due to my concerns about my liver as well as my desire to get... things... moving faster,  switched to injecting estrogen.  And yes, things moved along very nicely.

I inject every ten days, alternating my injection site between my left thigh and my right thigh.  That means this time I inject in my left thigh, next time in the right thigh.  Got that?

In any case, this morning I injected in my left leg.  But, as I was saying, before I injected, I was sitting, staring at the needle.

Look at that enthusiasm!

I just didn't feel like jabbing myself this morning.  Wasn't in the mood.  After all, it hurts a little.

"Don't worry: this won't hurt a bit."

Now, Linda and I inject in different ways.  She takes forever to inject.  Me, due to my training (paramedic: long long ago), I just get it over with.  Boink!  Done!  Of course, I'm far more likely to end up bleeding from the puncture wound as well.

However, there is another impediment to speed: viscosity.  You see, the estrogen is very thick- like vegetable oil.  That makes it much harder to depress the plunger.  So, in my case, I have to use two hands.  The one to hold the needle firmly as I depress the plunger to inject the estrogen into my muscle.  The other holds the bottom of the needle to keep it from penetrating deeply into my thigh, as it really takes a lot of force to get that plunger down.  Once I finally get the needle in, it usually takes me thirty seconds to finish the injection.  

It feels heavy at the injection site as the estrogen is absorbed, and I massage the area briefly after injecting to help it along.  Sometimes, I need a band aid; sometimes I don't.  

So as I was saying before, I really didn't feel like doing this.  

Then I realized something.  

I was looking down at the syringe, and plainly in my sight were my breasts.  My beloved D cup breasts.  That were a direct result of injecting estrogen.  As was my softer skin.  Among other things.  

 Thank you Estrogen!

I smiled.  

And jabbed the needle through my skin.

Sweet, Sweet Estrogen.

SAGa of the Sports Bra

My "Big Sister" Mel has been on me quite a while to join a gym.  I was a member of Ballys for MANY years, but I hadn't gone in over a decade.  I can't say it helped much.  When I lived in Baltimore, I even attended aerobic classes for a while.  My two coworkers and I were the only males (well I appeared to be one) in the class, and received many evil eyes.

Back then, my workout clothes were shorts or sweatpants and an old t-shirt.   Pretty simple and easy.

Plus Plus Sized

Things are VERY different now.

So, at Mel's insistence, and my own need to drop a LOT of weight, I joined the local Planet Fitness.  I haven't gone yet.  The several feet of snow outside are quite a deterrent.

But there was another small hurdle.  Since the last time I'd been to a gym, I have changed a bit.  The most obvious changes hang on my chest.  Breasts.  And just a t-shirt will no longer do in public.

I needed a Sports Bra.

Simple enough, right?

Well, I'd never worn one before.  And had no idea what to look for in a sports bra.  I figured something to hold the Girls in place and hopefully make them look good in the process.  So I did what any reasonable girl would: I asked my friends on Facialbook about it.  Both facialbooks (one is my old "male" FB, which is family and old friends for the most part) had a lot of suggestions.

I was given ideas on what to look for, as well as where to shop.  The suggestions came from women of many different body types from skinny to voluptuous.  As I am rather stout and my girls are big, I needed a lot of support.

So, with all that in mind, I went shopping after work on Thursday night.  I went to the huge King of Prussia Mall, which is near the bookstore.  I figured I'd just bounce around there, looking for the bra.

I parked on the back side of the mall, near where my Fridays used to be.  From there, I walked into a very large sporting goods store.  Yes, it was a big Dick's.  I figured I couldn't go wrong with a big Dick's, right?

I have trained many salespeople in my day, and rule number one is always to acknowledge the customer.  Make her happy.  The customer comes first, right Dick's?  Wrong.  I was in there for twenty minutes, and, while I saw many employees, none offered to help me.  That's right, Dick's blew me off.

And besides, the largest sports bra I could find was (L).  I'm (XXL).  I guess this Dick's only likes skinnier girls.

And so, I Strapped on my courage, and walked off into the mall.  The first stop was a total Bust.

My second stop was Lane Bryant.  They cater to big girls like me.  The salesperson who greeted me was a very pleasant college girl who was at least an inch taller than me and was very beautiful.  She showed me their sports bras and I even tried a couple on. I looked around the store a bit, and also spoke to the other salesperson there.  Both were really nice and good at their jobs- giving me lots of Support.  But, alas, they didn't have my size in stock, so rather than Plunge into a bra that didn't fit, I decided to check another place.

My next stop was Victorias Secret.  I knew that the largest they had in stock was a 38 (I'm a 40), but I figured, the bra had to be tight anyway, so why not?

So I went in and was greeted rather quickly by a skinny gorgeous young woman.  I told her what I wanted, and she insisted I get a fitting... despite the fact that the very last time I'd walked into this store, I'd had one.  Ok, whatever.

So she took me to the fitting rooms, and I was introduced to a Bra Stylist.  She measured me and went to get some sports bras to try.  Now, I was wearing a dress, having just come from work, so when I tried these on, I was just in bra and panties.  And, um, I hadn't shaved my upper legs.  And I was wearing Grannies.  So the person came to check on me and I was frightfully embarrassed.  So much so that I'd begun to sweat.  Ick.  And the one bra had a broken zipper.

So the next couple of bras were brought in by another girl, this one a gorgeous blonde.  She smirked a bit.  And a third group was brought by yet another person.  By then, I'd had enough.  I found one I liked (38 DDD).  I have to say though, I really thought the girls must've been laughing at me, and that's why they kept sending new ones in: "hey you have to see THIS!"  If nothing else, I definitely felt judged.  I felt like a total boob.

But as the bra I selected fit well, and I thought looked great, I bought one.

Supportive

After all, it was getting late, so I was getting in just Under the Wire.

I thought about my trip as I walked in the mall back to my car.  the salespeople at Lane Bryant had been so friendly that I wanted to buy SOMETHING there.  A teddy caught my eye earlier, so I decided to price it.  It was a fiery red with black trim, and they had my size.  And it was on sale!  I guess you could say it was a Demi-Annual sale.  Anyway, I went to the counter and bought it.  Yes, I was Hooked.  I spoke to the same two wonderful salespeople.  We started talking, and I told them where I worked.  they both started gushing- they both LOVE the bookstore and had wanted to work there.  Really?  Wow- they were both so good at what they did that I told them I'd put a word in for them.  (I haven't done it yet.  See: "Several Feet of Snow," above.)

I then went back to my car.  Tonight was my roomie and bestie Linda's turn to make dinner, so I headed back to the apartment.

The next night, SEPa was hit by a blizzard.  And I've been inside since.

So, I now have a sports bra, AND a teddy.  I'm running out of excuses as to why I can't go to the gym.  Aside from the snow outside.  A little later, I'll excavate my car from the mountain of snow in which it is entombed.  (Linda is outside shoveling out hers, and we only have one shovel.)

Oh, did I take any snow pictures during the blizzard?  Or of the teddy?

Of course!  I decided to get all dolled up and take many pictures.  Linda and I even made a video.

Baby, it's cold outside!

So here I am, snowed in on a Sunday.  I'm supposed to work tomorrow morning, so, as I said earlier, I have to go shovel out my car.

All in all, I had an interesting time shopping.  I wouldn't call it the Breast shopping experience I'd ever had, but I learned a bit and met some nice people.  All in all, an Uplifting experience!

Work appropriate?

PS:  Yes, I'm aware that as I lose weight, my boobs will get smaller.  So I may need to do this all over again someday.  But I'm not Deflated by that thought.  No, I'll just have a Cup (or two) of courage and go out again!

Three Years Out

Today, December 10, 2015, marks three years since I started HRT.  (That's Hormone Replacement Therapy, for those who aren't familiar with the acronym.)

Three years.  I'm trying to wrap my head around that.

Three years ago, I was still serving my license suspension for DUI.  I was still living with my Wife and daughter.  Lisa was still alive.  There were many people I had yet to meet.

November 2012.  I have no December 2012 pics.

My "Big Sister" Mel drove me down to the Mazzoni Center, as I couldn't drive.  I remember being just a little frightened, but more excited.  After I picked up the prescription, we went to lunch at California Pizza Kitchen.  She dropped me off back at the house, and I took the two pills: one blue and one white.  Estrogen and spironolactone.  Not long after, they would be joined by finasteride.

Things started slowly... until I started injections.  Then the changes came fast and furious.  By May, I was no longer wearing breast forms, and I had to wear constriction shirts to work.  My skin softened.  People began to notice differences, but attributed it to weight loss.

May 2013.  Laptop Lounge.  No forms!

Wife noticed the differences as well, but ignored them.  I celebrated them.  I was still only going out once a month, but felt so much better.  Then, one night after Laptop, I looked in a full length mirror, wearing nothing but a wig and panties.. Earlier that day, I'd shaved my whole body, which I'd never done before.  I was used to seeing a hairy stomach.  Without that, and with small breasts, makeup and wig, I saw, for the first time, a Woman looking back at me.  I cried.

Still, there was something wrong.  My injections were two weeks apart, and after nine days, I became angry, moody, and depressed- exactly what I was like before I rediscovered myself.  Dr. Goodman increased the frequency of my injections to once every ten days.  This solved that little issue fairly nicely.

August and September were horrible.  I was thrown out of MIL's house and Lisa killed herself.  I came close to falling into the Darkness as well.  But, thanks to dear friends, I am still here.

December 2013, at Sandy's house, wearing one of Lisa's push ups

In March 2014, I finally ditched the compression shirts when I went full time as a woman.  I was now Me.  That also meant wearing a bra full time.  I remember reading long ago that the difference between a crossdresser and a transwoman is that one can't wait to get home and put on her bra, while the other can't wait to get home and take her bra off!  There is some truth to this. But, I took it as a dream come true.  I had breasts, and needed a bra.  And like Donna Rose once wrote, she still enjoys putting on makeup because she's earned that right.  I feel the same way.

December 2014 at King of Prussia Mall

Since then, I keep growing as a woman, and the hormones keep working.  I am now a natural D cup.  Yes, I am very blessed by good genetics.  I will never have hips or, realistically, an hourglass figure like my friends Olivia and Kayden, but I will take the blessings I have been given.  One thing that makes me very happy is that my roomie and bestie Linda Lewis is now also on HRT injections, and is seeing wonderful results!  As it happens, we inject on the same day, so it makes remembering easier.

December 2015

As I type this, I am in my PJs.  Braless, as I usually am when at the apartment.  Reflecting back on the past three years, I ask myself- If I knew all that would happen when I took those two pills three years ago... would I still have done it?

If I understood all the life changes that this decision would cause; all the heartbreaks people would suffer, that I would endure, all the changes, would I have swallowed those pills so eagerly?

Absolutely.  This journey is one of many small steps.  There was getting my ears pierced.  Laser treatments.  Growing out my hair.  All conscious decisions, but all reversible.  HRT was where the possible futures diverged.  HRT was where my transition truly started.  Once I headed down this path, there truly was no turning back.

And now, three years later, I'm living my truth.  I have a woman's breasts and other features, and someday, maybe, I will be a complete Woman.  I love having breasts- it's everything I ever dreamed it would be.  I love being a Woman.  For the first time in my life, I love being Me.

I took the road less travelled by, and it has made all the difference.