Trannysaurus Heterodoxy:  Crossdressing Humor

Okay, it’s no secret I kinda-sorta like my sissy boys bunches and bunches.  As I’ve said before, don’t knock it if you haven’t seen a hard dick behind a pair of cute panties.  This time I’ll add:  Don’t be so quick to judge if you haven’t gotten to know the heart that beats behinds that bullet bra.  I have.  And guess what?  It beats just like yours or mine … maybe even perhaps a tad more passionately and honestly. 

I stand by a man’s right to play at being a girly-boy now and again, when it’s suits his/her fantasy or maybe just when the moon is pink and full.  When it comes to KINK it would behoove us to remember: 

Everybody’s kinky, everybody’s fine.  Your kink is funny.  And so is mine.

Two guys are changing in the locker room at the gym, and one of them notices that the other one is wearing a bra and panties.

"Hey, Joe, how long have you been wearing women’s underwear?"

"Ever since my wife found them in the glove compartment."

A straight man, a trans-sexual, and a crossdresser were drinking coffee together in a trendy cafe and watching the passing crowd. A very busty, well-dressed, and attractive woman walked into view. "Look at those tits," exclaimed the straight man getting up from his seat for a better view. "Doesn’t she move beautifully", sighed the trans-sexual enviously. The crossdresser drank some coffee and observed, "Her lipstick is all wrong for that dress."

Transvestite:  A guy who likes to eat, drink and be Mary.

Bigfoot is really a solitary transvestite wondering the Pacifice Northwest in a vain search for heels that fit.

A boy goes up to his father. "Daddy, what’s a transvestite?"

"Go ask your mom," he replies. "HE should be able to explain it better."

A nun gets into a cab and the cab driver won`t stop staring at her.  She asks him why is he staring, and he replies, "I have a question to ask you, but I don`t want to offend you."
She answers, "My dear son, you cannot offend me. When you`re as old as I am and have been a nun as long as I have, you get a chance to see and hear just about everything.  I`m sure that there`s nothing you could say or ask that I would find offensive."

"Well, I`ve always had a fantasy to have a nun perform oral sex on me."

The nun responds, "Well, but you have to be single, and you must be Catholic."

The cab driver is very excited and says, "Yes, I am single, and I`m Catholic too!"

The nun says, "Okay then, pull into the next alley." He does, and the nun fulfills his fantasy. But when they get back on the road, the cab driver starts crying his eyes out.

"My dear child, why are you crying?"

"Forgive me sister, but I have sinned. I lied, I must confess I`m married and I`m Jewish."

The nun says, "That`s OK, my name is Kevin, and I`m on my way to a Halloween Party."

Q.  What’s the difference between a transvestite sailor and Monica Lewinsky’s wardrobe?

A.   When you have a transvestite sailor, you have a dress on a seaman.

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We’ve done this before … the boys … the girls.  But it’s been quite a while and, well, the more the merrier.  eh?  In case you don’t know how this works, it’s really just a list of people I wish would call me for phone sex.  And who knows?  Maybe a few have already and I just didn’t catch it.  I have talked to a few relatively famous person a time or two.  Even or three or four.

And don’t you dare even ask who.  My lips are — as always and ever will be — sealed.  Kissing and telling are such bad form, I’m sure you’d agree.  Particularly if I were telling about Y O U!  So thank your lucky stars I am a discreet .  (Did you catch that, PQS?  The "discreet" part, I mean.)

This time, it’s a jumble of hes and shes.  Maybe I’ll surprise you:

• Keith Urban … An Aussie vaquero!  Hotttt.
• Ted Neeley … Yeah, I’d do Jesus. 
• Isabella Valentine … Have you heard her voice?  Seriously sexy.
• Jon Gosselin … Just to castrate him and then rip out his new "bachelor" earrings.
• Anderson Cooper … He’s just a cute as a button.
• Blacked Eyed Peas … Yup, every one of them.
• Emma Thompson … Because  a certain someone would go absolutely bonkers.
• Naughty Blonde  … Who is so cute I want to pinch her cheeks.  Yes, those cheeks.
• Piers Morgan … He fascinates me.
• Leonard Cohen … I’m smitten.
• Pink … We could be BFFs!
• Kaws … Or maybe one of his ashtrays would do.
• Charles Osgood … I already spend my Sunday mornings with him, so why not?
• Rod Blagojevich … Because the guy has got a set, if ya get my drift.
• Johnny Depp  … Oh, yeah.
• Jackie Warner … My perfect husky-voiced lipstick lesbian.

Of course it’s all in good fun.  What I’m really saying is that these are people I find interesting and/or admire and/or think are hot.  But you were smart enough to know that without me spelling it out for you.  Right?

Peace out.

Angela

The Stupid Jerk I’m Obsessed With
Maggie Estep

The stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
stands so close to me
I can feel his breath
on my neck
and smell
the way he would smell
if we slept together
because he is the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
and that is his primary function in life
to be a stupid jerk I can obsess over
and to talk to that dingy bimbette blonde
as if he really wanted to hear about her
manicures and
pedicures and
New Age ritualistic enema cures and
truth be known, he probably does wanna hear about it
because he is the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
and he’s obsessed with doing anything he can
to lend fuel to my fire
he makes a point of standing
looking over my shoulder
when I’m talking to the guy who adores me
and would bark like a dog
and wave to strangers
if I asked him to bark like a dog
and wave to strangers
but I can’t ask him to bark like a dog
or impersonate any kind of animal at all
cause I’m too busy
looking at the way the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
has pants on that perfectly define his well-shaped ass
to the point where I’m thoroughly frantic
I’m just gonna go home
and stick my head in the oven
overdose on nutmeg and aspirin
and sit in the bathtub reading The Executioner’s Song
and being completely confounded by the fact
that I can see
the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with’s face
defining itself in the peeling plaster of the wall
grinning and winking
and I start to yell,
Get the hell out of there
You’re just a figment of my imagination
Just get a life and get out of my plaster
and pass me the next painful situation please
but he just keeps on
grinning and winking
he’s the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
and he’s mine
in my plaster
And frankly, I couldn’t be happier.

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Gawd!  She’s good, good, good!  We’ve enjoyed Ms. Estep’s poetry in the past.  Remember Sex Goddess?  Visit her website.  Buy, buy, buy her books.

xo, Angela

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This is a quickie.  Because, technically, I’m not here today.  Which means I’m not available for calls.  So if anybody asks?  You didn’t see me.

I did work this weekend and was very busy, so I am having a ME day.  Which really hasn’t amounted to much so far.  I went to the gym, did a bit of grocery shopping and met a friend for coffee.  Tonight I plan on relaxing with The Broken Window, by Jeffry Deaver.  If you like thrillers, give Mr. Deaver’s books a try.  This particular book has a four plus rating at Amazon … so somebody’s reading him besides me.

I’d been contemplating writing a piece which was going to be called IN DEFENSE OF KINK:  Rock On, David Carradine.  Because, between you and me?  That was definitely a case of kink gone awry.  And while I don’t participate in asphyxiaphilia, I know that it is much more common than people let on.  BDSMers are quite familiar with this type of edge play and the BDSMers who practice it understand its inherent dangers and adhere to stringent safety practises.  But even under the best of circumstances, sometimes things go wrong.  

It really pissed me off that the memory of this man whom I so loved in Kill Bill and my parents fondly remember as Grasshopper would forever be sullied because of the salacious headlines and internet chatter about this unfortunate event.  I detest that thing in we humans that makes us quick to judge and gossip and smugly condescend when our secrets are still safely in the closet.  The only difference between David Carradine and us is that he got caught in a most unfortunate way.  And yeah!  He happened to be in a wig and fishnet hose … but I’m so used to that, it’s almost vanilla to me.  So … no big deal.

I don’t like erotic asphyxiation and wished people didn’t  do it, but they do.  And probably people you know.  If there is one thing I know to the bone … it is that we all have our dirty little secrets when it comes to sex and what gets us going.  I just wish we were smarter when it comes to the dangerous and harmful stuff and that we would keep in our heads — instead of acting it out.

Let me tell you a little story about my real estate agent who for some reason has decided I’m a trusted confidant.  He stops by for coffee or the occasional margarita now and then, always telling me I have the best-smelling condo in the complex.  (I do have a certain affinity for candles, potpourri, incense and scent diffusers.)  Incidently, Thomas is very easy on the eyes.  He works out obsessively and has even had a bit of cosmetic surgery.

So out-of-the-blue one day Thomas shows up with the local alternative paper tucked under his arm, telling me he has a big secret that just has to tell me.  He has a second job that his family (whom I know, as they work out of the same real estate office)  doesn’t know about.  An avocation of sorts.  He goes on to explain that he is a male prostitute by night and to … "please don’t tell my mother!  I can trust you, Angela.  Right?" 

He proves it’s true by showing me his very own Masseur ad offering Discreet  Male Massages in that naughty little rag he’d brought with him.  Of course I was fascinated and asked a lot of questions.  Oh the stories I could tell you.  And maybe some time I will. 

But what I really want to get to is THE MEN.  THE MEN CLANDESTINELY SEEKING A HOMOSEXUAL ENCOUNTER.  Thomas told story after story of men who sought out his, ahem, services.  His little recondite cottage industry was robust and thriving.  He was actually turning down clientele, because of schedule overload.  What really fascinated me were the numbers of married men.  Doctors, lawyers and Indian Chiefs — they were showing up in droves.  Mostly married men on business trips, getting a little of strange on the side while away from the wifey and family.

What I’m trying to say is that everybody has their dirty little secret fantasies — and sometimes realities — and don’t you dare think for a moment they don’t.  Most people most likely slide through a lifetime of fantasized or actualized kink and no one is the wiser.  Some aren’t so lucky.  As sadly seems the case with David Carradine.  So, yeah.  I was going to write that piece.

BUT!  I wanted to get my ducks all in a row before beginning writing and did some serious research, which changed everything.  I’m sorry to say that I just didn’t like some of the other stuff I was finding out about  David Carradine.  It turns out that now, well, I just don’t like him very much anymore.  I’m not going into detail … it’s just too smarmy and sad.  The bottom line is I won’t be writing about Grasshopper.  But you can bet I’ll forever be fighting the good fight In Defense of Kink.

Love ya!  Off to read now.

xo, Angela

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Phone Sex Quote of the Day

Ya know, Angela, I was a good boy until I met you.  I can’t thank you enough.  — Mr. LB, who made me giggle with that remark.