The transexuals I have met in the real world are ordinary folk. Some male to female transitioning people look like they might be your mother. Their haircuts are cheap and plain, they are to fat or too thin. They lack stage presence. They are, acutaly, like you and I only they are in transition or have transitioned and so their experience of the world has been informed by this.
I watched some pornography today where male to female transexuals pre-op, stroked their penises, touched their breasts, shook their round and sexy arses in the air in full view of the camera. They were exotic creatures, beautiful by the standards of the magazine-hounds. I remembered a documentary I had seen on people who like amputees, but what they really meant was people who like incredibly attractive women who are thin and blonde and shapely and have had a limb removed.
For my money I preferr the transexuals who look like your mother. I prefer the idea of them struggling to be a woman or a man in a world that has fought against their womanliness or manliness. I like the sharp smell of their struggle captured in the synthetic fibres of their homely frock. I identify with them so much more than the women with the wasp waist and the round arse and the perfectly structured tits. Their humanity makes them lovely.
Our humanity makes us lovely.
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