Depression

AdobeStock_50031686-650x433Yes, once again. Hormone Replacement Therapy has its joys and its drawbacks. I can only explain my occasional depression by the hormones, as otherwise I should be ecstatic every day. I’m happily married to the love of my life. I love her in real life too. I have friends who care for me and invite me to sail, to attend fun theme parties. I live in a beautiful home and have exciting adventures in Second Life that I would never attempt in Real.

Yet here I am. Listening to live music at Beau Belle Coffee Shop and crying uncontrollably. Well, I was. I’m OK now or I wouldn’t be able to type haha. <sigh>

There are days like this I think I’ll just chuck the whole thing. Pour my drugs down the toilet and flush them away just like I’ve flushed away my life in this vain attempt to be something apparently God didn’t want for me and I feel will never attain. Burn my dresses, toss my wigs in the trash and lock myself away in a small cabin in the Appalachians or something. (Notice I didn’t mention my heels. A girl’s gotta have something.) I wonder if they’ll deliver pizza up there? My tastes are simple.

Ever have days like this? Where nothing is worth it?

Fuck.

I’ll be better tomorrow.

Nightmare Solved

black-and-white-crying-girl-sad-Favim.com-1347828A while back I posted explaining to the person I love the reason for my — shall we put it mildly and call it distrust — of men. Not A Pretty Story. (Trust me… don’t read it.) I had the pleasure last night of discussing my first books (T-Girl in the Office) with a friend who had been reading this 9-book series. As noted before this is a romanticized version of my life. So she asked if one of the events was true. The scene of my near-castration at the hands of a gang of assholes. Sadly it was true. We talked about it for a while and I explained it had finally been figured out that I suffer from what I consider a mild form of PTSD. I’ll leave that diagnosis to those military types who have suffered real, actual trauma, not my piddling little panic. Nevertheless, it affected me and my life ever since. It has defined me. The result was a recurring nightmare. I’d wake up screaming at the top of my lungs. My dog doesn’t even wake up any more hahahaha.

In talking about this with her it slowly dawned on me: I have not had the nightmare in… I can’t recall the last time! I cannot recall!!! And I don’t want to think about it other than to note its demise. I can attribute this to one person and one person only. My love. I will call her Kelly here. My Second Life wife. Through her love and her love alone, her caring nature, calming demeanor and the fact that I know had I been with her it never would have happened. She would move heaven and earth to prevent it. I now realize that not all men are assholes who want to hurt me for no reason other than that I am different. Kelly would stand between me and any attack… physical or verbal. There is not a doubt in my mind. My darling, I could not love you more. Thank you for being in my life, SL and RL.

 

 

Lovely Time of Year

snapshot_003The oncoming autumn is always a wonderful time in my eyes. The leaves changing, the air cooling. Not so much in the South but still to a lesser degree. In Second Life it was a beautiful afternoon to sit on the beach with my honey and talk serious relationship matters. It is comfortable to have someone to listen to your concerns. And to listen theirs.

That’s all. No great thoughts today. Just content with my life… happy for the first time in quite a while.

Thanks, darling.

Quiet Night in Second Life

cloud_001Sometimes a gal’s just gotta lay back on the beach, turn off all music and talking and distractions to listen to the eternal sounds of the sea. The gently rolling waters… the overhead gulls… crickets. Peaceful. Time for reflection.

So what do I do with that time? Take a picture and post my thoughts. I think I may have missed something.

Bad Sunday

324278d15325d9994f89aaa2f22a82e390822035017ff3a3792efc6299ffcbd1My church lady friends gathered for breakfast last Sunday and asked me to join them. I swear to god that priest will not get off the transphobic high horse. He had brought the trans subject yet again. (I don’t attend any more. This is the subject the ladies chose to discuss, bless their hearts.) So during breakfast I was fucking bombarded with the same damn questions I’ve answered a thousand times. I know we should be patient with CIS folk. To many of them we’re like something dropped from outer space or something. And I don’t mind responding to any serious queries. I’m pretty done with “did you cut your penis off?”-type questions, though. My complaint… what upset me… was that I am plowing the same field over and over. They’ve asked me these things. Several times. I ended up daintily wiping my lips of egg yolk and saying “thank you for asking me to breakfast,” and leaving. I was just exhausted.

We’ll be fine. They didn’t even know I was actually pissed. They are the only friends I have. But they can be a nosy bunch at times.

What really upset me is that when I got online to Second Life to meet my girlfriend Kelly I was all bitchy with her. Even simply left her at one point. I went back but she was properly pissed at me. <sigh> Let me tell you about this woman. She is the best thing in my life. We may have met in Second Life and spend our time there, we email and chat in Real Life, too. There’s a connection. The last thing I want to do is let out my inner bitch and upset her.

Let me tell you about this woman, Kelly. She is the best thing in my life. We may have met in Second Life and spend our time there, we email and chat in Real Life, too. There’s a connection that I haven’t felt in years. The last thing I want to do is let out my inner bitch and upset her.

The good news about is that Kelly bought a special spanking chair just for me, and after her work was done we went home and tested it out. It works! I’ll be able to sit properly by Wednesday heehee.

Club Futa Book 1: The Meet LIVE

club-futa-book-1Inspired by my SL experiences, Club Futa Book 1: The Meet is just the beginning of this series. The sexy young futa has been cast out from her family for having transitioned. Alone, broke, scared, she has a room at a fleabag hotel next to a  club. To escape the dreariness of the hot sheet hotel she goes to that club and meets two people who will change her life. An abusive domme named Tawny and a beautiful older African-American club owner Kylie.

Worn down by a life of disappointment Kylie is determined to stay out of the girl’s business even as she watches her leave with Tawny. But she was immediately drawn to the futa, her beauty and her demeanor moved her in ways not felt in years.

I wrote this in a new way for me. Not sure if I was successful, only reviews will tell me. A Facebook friend Michael Martine had shared a post on writing in first person. I realized that, unless I’ve forgotten, I’ve never written in first person. I’ve tried a few times but always went back and switched to third person after a few pages. So I decided on a specific approach: the main character, Kylie, is first person. All other characters are third person. Somehow I managed to get through this episode without throwing anything across the room, so I’ll continue in this vein for future books in this series.

Blurb

When Belle, a sexy young futanari wanders into Kylie’s club the life of both will take a turn. Kylie, a beautiful African-American is determined to stay out of the girl’s business even when the slimy Tawny makes a move on the demure Japanese.

Introduced to the rough end of BDSM without proper training and understanding, Belle feels trapped by circumstances. Can she break away or is she doomed to submit to an unfeeling domme? Will anyone come to her rescue? Does she deserve to be saved? Her parents had driven her from her home . . . why should anyone else care?

This is the first of a series noting the meeting of Kylie and Belle. How will their love progress?

This is a 7,200-word story of love and BDSM and contains scenes of hopelessness, abuse and interracial budding romance.

Excerpt

“This is going to be fun,” Tawny said as they walked down the wooden steps leading into the basement. The concrete floor had a glossy paint that reflected the glow from the incandescent overhead light hanging from a wooden beam. It was an unfinished space, basically just a large area for items the likes of which Belle had never seen. Their rough finish showed great use.

In the middle of the room was a large barrel. A terrycloth pad set on the top. Four anchors were spaced around it. It was obviously the center of attention and deserved its own glowing yellow light. It drew attention from the various buckles and hooks, and an X-shaped cross nearby. The light pooled in a circle around the wooden barrel darkened from sweat and blood.

“You know what this is,” Tawny said indicating the object. Belle shook her head negatively “Come on, with your culture? You’re Japanese. It’s in your blood.”

“I’ve never been out of Iowa, Miss.”

“Well, you’re going to like this. You are now my possession. You have submitted to all of my demands. This is your final exam . . . to see how you follow commands.”

Belle wanted to escape, to run up the stairs and out of this madhouse. But she knew there was no way. Walking out would put her in the hands of a hostile world. No money . . . no family . . . no prospects. She would have to trust her Mistress. It was a small price to pay for life itself.

Come join me in this erotic romance. I’m sure my agent will be fielding television offers soon. Be there at the beginning. Club Futa Book 1: The Meet available at Amazon.