Did you know that the alcohol evaporates if you leave a snifter of cognac sitting out over night?  I discovered this knowledge just a moment ago, when I took a sip from the cognac I poured last night.  I passed out before I could finish it.  Tonight, the cognac doesn’t even taste sweet anymore.  It’s like drinking water.

So far it’s been two weeks of drinking in the afternoons and mandatory daily doses of marijuana smoking.  And the book is coming along.  It really is.  I am very excited to share this news with you.  I’m writing and editing everyday (except for when I’m scrambling around trying to get laid – but I mostly limit that to the weekends).  Between new essays I’m writing and blog posts I plan on incorporating into the book, I think I may have as much as half the book already written.

Half.  The.  Book.

I printed out the pages last week.  After assembling them into a binder, in the arrangement which I think will work for the narrative arc, and lugging this binder around with me around the house, scribbling notes whenever I am inspired, it feels like I am actually holding the prototype of a BOOK in my hands.  My book.

Dare I say it, I went from having no idea as to what direction to even run in to now seeing a fuzzy goal post on the distant horizon line. It’s blurry, but it’s there.  It’s a great feeling – knowing that writing a book is an accomplishable goal.  It gives me the momentum to write more.

I was in my bathtub, listening to Pandora on my iPhone, stoned, drinking white wine over ice, thinking about the next overarching theme to weave through my stories, when it dawned upon me that my memoir is all about ME.

I don’t think I’ve really spent time, hardly any at all, thinking about what the tranny experience must be like for you.

In fact, I think I may have been downright disrespectful.  I may have trivialized the plight of the guys who came to see me in the way I’ve told my stories.  Did I make fun of them unnecessarily?  If so, I do sincerely apologize.  I am a selfish asshole.  I’m self centered by nature.  I am a product of my people’s one-child policy.  The world revolves around me.

In the interest of growing up, and for the purposes of my book, I would like to hear from some of you who visit this blog regularly.

When did you first know?

Because it’s different from being gay, isn’t it?

You weren’t born this way.  In fact, at best this may simply be a fetish, a detour on your eventual destination of the wife and kids in the suburbs.  Or am I wrong?  I do know this for sure — for those of us born with penises (and revel in this birthright) — it is easy to separate sex from love.  We don’t get emotionally involved.  Tranny sex for you is more like licking the occasional ice cream cone — you don’t need to eat it everyday.  You can go for years without eating it.  Your primary occupation is women.   Tranny sex — You can take it or leave it.

I am interested in hearing your stories about your first time.  NOT so much the sordid details of your first sexual experience (I’ll be the one telling the sex stories, thank you very much).  Rather, I am interested in reading how your interest was first sparked.

Was it seeing an actual tranny on the street?

Was it an email spam with a link that you clicked on “by accident” that took you into the world of sizzling shemales and chicks with dicks?

Or was your interest piqued when you went for a “massage” and ended up being raped by the tranny masseuse — the shared fantasy of so many tranny chasers.  Really, you had no idea.  You thought you were only getting a back massage.  From a biological woman.  And now you’re deflowered, but it doesn’t really count because it was against your will.  

In any case, the world doesn’t know your story.  Not one bit.  Everyone talks about the trannies.  They get the special mentions in psychiatric journals.  But there’s really nothing about you — a fundamental component of the tranny experience — is there?

But the world wants to know.  I think the world needs to know.  Speak up.  Here on my blog.  There is strength in numbers.

As I’m writing this, I had a funny image come into my mind.  A guy goes into a support group with a group of men sitting in a circle of fold-out chairs.  His voice quivers, he is choked full of emotions, before declaring to the group, hi my name is donny and I like to suck off chicks with dicks. 

And the group responds, in unison, enthusiastically embracing one of their own, Welcome, DONNY!

So come on, tell me your story.  I am especially interested in the psychological part:  how your interest was first sparked, and the effect it had on you.  How long did you ponder it before seeking it out.  And, once you did experience it, how did you feel afterwards?

The world needs to know.  My book thanks you.

 

Tags: culture