Tuesday, November 01, 1994

Diary: Bitter Regrets

Rereading all of that is vaguely arousing, but not as much as when I wrote it.  I seem to be saturating my need for transvesticism and transsexualism.  How unfortunate.  Or is it?

As expected, I am a bit shocked about what I wrote.  I am not at all turned on by the homoeroticism right now.  I can only think of pussy.  I want some pussy.  I need some pussy.  I need to fuck a nice, lovely chick.  But can I?  I somehow doubt it.  What is going on here?  Am I wrecking myself, or what?  Let me explain.

For a long time, I have found it impossible to get aroused when I'm with a girl.  Not that I've had much opportunity.  But I am not as turned on by them as perhaps I should be.  I danced with CC__, and with B__ and with Br__, my band's groupies, and failed to get a woody.  Br__ and C__ aren't exactly my type, but B__ is, despite her age.  I can't imagine fucking her, though.  I was so damned uncomfortable when Cr__ started making out with me last year.  I felt nothing.  Nothing at all.  S__ scares me.  She's cute, but I can't seem to feel horny for her enough to move on her.  I don't even think I like her anymore.  She hurt me so badly!  I can't forgive her for that.  I have a problem with women.

Ever since Br__ dumped me so horribly, I can't take sex seriously.  It all seems to me to be a big mistake, an illusion that the whole world avidly believes in.  It's such a facade.  I can no longer think of sex seriously when confronted with the reality of it.  It used to be so easy to idealise girls and worship them from afar, romantically, and when I finally got one, I maintained the fantasy.  She was such an actress.  The whole time, she was playing a role.  I recall that time when she freaked out on the phone and ran screaming out of her apartment brandishing a knife.  I raced up there, worried at first, but somehow, at the back of my mind, I knew that I had nothing to fear; that she was totally safe, not at all serious.  It was the type of thing you see in a play or a movie.  Real people don't take things so seriously.  Indeed, she didn't.  I found her later, and she admitted that she felt foolish, knowing that she wouldn't do anything with that knife.  I knew it too, but I was just as bad as her by playing my own role.

Now I notice that people all around me do the same.  I get nostalgic at times, watching the game unfold in front of me, and I hope for fortune to throw some sex goddess my way.  Then, as I watch more closely, I begin to realize that it's all a fantasy, a way of looking at things.  A woman, I once thought, is a totally different species.  Socially, we segregate ourselves by sex at youth.  Only later do our hormones pull us together.  If not for that, perhaps we would stay away completely.  As we mature, we keep these strange ideas about the opposite sex, and idealize them.  When we fall in love, we feel like they are goddesses.  We worship their diferences, because their physicality makes them something else.  I spent fifteen months thinking of Br__ that way.  She was a woman, an entity on her own only in that she was female.  I couldn't care that she was human.

Now when I look at a girl, I see instead the similarities, and lose sexual interest.  What's the use if they're essentially the same?  A girl farts, shits, pisses, pukes, eats sleeps, etc. just like I do.  There's nothing romantic about a couple of mounds of flesh on the chest, a tiny waist, big hips and a fleshy hole in the crotch.  It's all human skin and fat and bone, It's all just like me, only built differently.  When I think of tits, they seem to me to be nothing more than lumpy globs of fat with nipples on them.  They're not so great.  But when I see them, I am at first seized with intense desire and curiosity.  It slowly fades.  A cunt is a smelly bloody thing.  It's not sexy in and of itself, either.  Women seem top be soft, sort of childlike-featured adults.  Big fucking deal.  I imagine a girl sucking me off, remember that she must have done it many times before, and the romantic feeling disappears.  The same with sex.  How can it be special?  It's just genital friction, marinated in illusions of romance, steeped in fantasy.  It has no meaning.

S__ tells me about the guy she fucked at some trailer park on Victoria day weekend when she and her boyfriend annually break up.  What's the attraction?  She fucks another guy.  She abandons every thought of the guy to whom she has attached herself for five long fucking years just for a meaningless fuck.  Why did that bother me so much?  Why did it make me so jealous?  I used to jerk myself thinking of fucking her, and then, all of a sudden, the idea of her fucking the trailer park guy pops in and I go flaccid.  Why does it bother me?  I think it's because it so cruelly shatters my illusions of a somewhat permanent relationship.  How can she betray her boyfriend like that?  I have no problem imagining her fucking her boyfriend.  But anyone else?  It's painful.  Perhaps I feel grossly inadequate at the same time.  Why not me?  It's both, I guess.  Come to think of it, It must be the latter.  The former is just a redirection of negative emotion.  But it's partially valid, too.  I feel so jealous when I think of it that way.  Oh well.

The point is that reality has no place in sex.  It's a fantasy world.  That's why I enjoy dressing up in girl's panties so damned much.  It's totally unreal, and there's no way that my fantasies can get shattered, because there's nobody there.  It's futile to put girls on such a pedestal.  The only charm they have is the hormonal fantasy they come close to.  They are only as good as they are similar to the ephemeral dream-girl.  That's why I don't even bother.  I'm so tragically picky that I can't even imagine dating a girl right now.  It's just too god-damned painful.  It's so shattering.  I don't like having my illusions destroyed.  Sure, it enlightens me, but to what price?  I'm sure I'll get over it soon.  I just have to sort it out some more.  This is very helpful, this writing.

Why must I be so hung up on this fantasy of femine perfection?  Is everybody simply a slave to an ideal?  Do they constantly strive to find that perfect person, and fail miserably every time, only to try again and again?  Don't they realize how impossible it is to acheive something like that?  Perhaps many do, yet they can continue.  I myself have such a clear idea of what I want.  That's how I fell in love with S__.  One must want to fall in love for it to happen.  People like my buddy E__ fall in love constantly.  I fall in love once in a blue moon.  I don't want to fall in love because I know that it will fail.  Why bother?  Sure, I can get sex.  If I do end up being such a good friend too, I'm fucking a friend.  Somehow, I realize now that I am no longer in love with S__, it seems disrespectful to want to fuck a friend.  It's sort of insulting.  It's a failure to see a person for what she really is.  I don't know if I could fuck her if she gave me an opportunity.  I could be such a good friend of hers, or I could lose all respect for her now that the veil in front of me has been removed.  I think that I have lost a lot of respect for her since she threw herself at J__ right in front of me.  Oh, how she wounded me!  How could she?  She broke my heart without even knowing it.  That makes me realize even more that girls are just like us.  Unlike my ideal, a real girl can be aroused by a whole multitude of men.  That's totally fair, but it seems unfair.  Why should reality be so different from fantasy?  How can I relate, when these fantasies are innate?  What can I do?

It seems that there are two options: live in a fantasy world, or live in reality.  Fantasy seems awfully enticing.  It's all under my own control.  But reality is after all reality.  I can count on it not to ever change.  It's unpredictable, spontaneous, fulfilling.  Fantasy is not.  Fantasy, however, can be quite rich.  where else can I envision this perfect woman?  She does not exist in reality.  Real women are too real, too intense.  A dream girl, however, I can't touch.  I need the touch of other humans, especially sexy girls.  Or silk and lace.  I can decide right here, right now, whether I want to just fantasize for the rest of my life or actually confront reality and get aroused without any fantasy.  Impossible!  Let's just live the dream if we can. . .

I'll live the life that I want.  I'll drive home from the university where I teach, pull the Porsche into the garage, and go into the house, dressed in my suit, and say hello to my wife, who does something on her own for her money.  She'll kiss me hello, and follow me into the bedroom, where I remove my clothing and put on some of her lingerie, which I select.  She'll stay clothed, and I'll just masturbate constantly as I worship the ground upon which she walkes, lick her feet, serve as her little french maid.  I'm her slave.  For all the time we're together, I'm hers.  I keep my body shaven and my hair long like hers, and I put on jewelry and makeup like hers, and perfume.  I'll be female for her.  I'll even fuck her as she wants me to.

Physically, she's blonde, has firm fist sized tits, long silky legs, and lots of agressive spirit, and at the same time, lots of logic.  She thinks just like me.  She fantasizes about me, about me wearing her clothes and being her little lesbian bitch to fuck.  She must be somewhat meatier than S__, but without an ounce of fat on her body.  Her skin has to be as pale as mine, and as silky and hairless as is humanly possible.

On a more realistic level, I am seiously considering ordering lingerie through the mail.  Whenever I get any kind of catalogue, I'll order a one-piece swimsuit, a bikini or two, silk panties, lace panties, both with matching bra, two one piece undies, one silky, the other lacy, a garter belt, and stockings to match.  I'll get varieties of colours.  That's pretty much all I need.  When I have my own place, and I isolate myself, I'll shave my body hair to be totally femininely smooth, and live like a girl for a week or two.  I'll wear only girls' clothes, I'll wear makeup and perfume, and maybe even skirts and dresses.  I'll be masturbating constantly.

But I'll probably lose interest after a while.  I'll regret it after I drop my first load.  But I'll have to press on.  I am determined.  Doing this will either purge this from my system, or make it my sexual staple.  Thinking about it makes me hope for the latter!  How kinky it is, how depraved.  I want to dress up like a girl again.  How fantastic!  I simply can't adequately describe the feeling of wanting to be a girl.  I want to turn more and more into a girl every time I masturbate with girls' clothes on.  After a couple of thousnd times, My dick will fall off, and I'll have a fully developed cunt in its place.  Then I'll go and get laid.  But I want to return to manhood each time, just so I can do it again.  I love the way it humbles my masculinity.  This is exactly what homophobia's all about: the fear of becoming feminine.  I'm not afraid.  I want it, badly, but only temporarily. 

God help me though, that I'll never have the guts to do this with a girl, or even to let anyone at all know about it.  That's part of the attraction, though.  While I do it, I imagine myself sachaying femininely, confidently, as a faggoty transsexual wearing lingerie, pretending to be a girl.  Let them drop their jaws in amazement as I show how unafraid I am of being feminine, of showing my own femininity.  They're afraid of it.  They'll never understand, because, they're so concerned with being male.  I'll suck them off just for kicks, even though it doesn't turn me on to think of men, just to see them squirm as they realize that a man is doing it, and they enjoy it just as much.  The horror!  HAHA!  Then I'll go and cavort with girls, giggly and frivolous, but just as feminine.  Then I'll come all over myself from the experience.  It's so naughty to think of being feminine.  Men are afraid of losing their masculinity, but they don't realize how cool it is to be a girl.  Argh! I've got to get those little black panties on!

I can just imagine it: in my isolation retreat, I get a visit from a man unexpectedly, and I seduce him.  I tease him, letting him think that I am a girl for a while, and at the last minute show him my dick, and let him understand the power of femininity.  It controls mankind.  Although that's not the end for which I seek it.  Now, off to bed, and a nice set of undies!