Nandita To Nandini
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Sweet And Pretty free porn video
SWEET AND PRETTY
by FARAH DAYE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Six little vignettes about sweet and pretty girls who are not totally girls and
the boys who love them. The vignettes tell about the transgendered girls'
romantic hopes and dreams, their need for love and validation, and their most
cherished wishes. These sketches were written by Farah Daye, an artist living
in the Deep South. Farah has blended little bits of her own history and some
of her dreams into little sketches for you. She hopes that you will find them
enjoyable and stimulating. --FarahD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~1~
Have you ever seen a magazine or television ad spotlighting a breathtakingly
beautiful model and thought to yourself "Oh, Wow! I wish I were just like
her"? Did you wish that you had her enchanting face and her perfect body?
Her silky soft and translucent skin, her full lips and radiant smile, her
gorgeous outfits, coltish legs, her perfect, radiant hair? No, I am sure that
you haven't. At least not in the way that I do. How can I be so sure? Wait,
you'll see. I look at pictures like that with such deep longing. When I get out
of school and out of the house, I'll model myself on her. That would be
fulfillment. And that would be bliss. Her clothes are so tasteful and
glamorous.. Her makeup and hair are perfect. Everything about that woman
shows feminine grace and elegance. Men find her absolutely irresistible. I
want so much to be her. She is the very image of the woman whom I was
born to become.
Sometimes I feel that I want to be a girl with a sweet childlike look. I want to
look pretty and wholesome and have a radiant smile. I want to be like the
proverbial girl next door, the cheerleader, the popular one, and the vivacious
one. I want a cute boyfriend who loves me madly. I think I shall wear bright
trendy clothes. I shall have my hair lightened and wear it in a perky ponytail.
I'll work hard at staying sexy and pretty for my boyfriend and keeping him
happy and warm. She is the sweet and pretty girl I want to be.
I watch the Russian Ice Dancer gliding effortlessly across the ice with her
adoring husband. How I wish I was just like her. Look at her lovely fawn-
colored costume all covered with glittering sequins. See how she flies like an
angel when her partner lifts her up with one hand and circles the rink. Look at
her grace and ecstasy as the perfect lovers perform their romantic, ethereal
ballet on the ice. They look in each others eyes with such sensuous joy and
longing. She is so radiant and dreamy with her bright green eyes and pouty
lips. She is the woman I want to be.
I think that if I looked exotic and worldly, I would break men's hearts. With
my long black hair, sensual olive skin, and intense dark eyes, how could any
man resist me? I shall wear glittering bracelets on my arms, long golden
earrings and body-hugging silken gowns. I shall be catlike in my movement
and oh so seductive. Yes, I want to be a mysterious, dark-eyed, and exotic
woman.
I want to be an athletic girl with a slim, perfectly-toned body. I want men to
turn and look at me wherever I go. I want to have my pick of the strongest,
most handsome, and richest men, the ones who drive exotic cars and own
sumptuous yachts. I want to go out in bike shorts and a tank top and drive all
the cute guys wild. They would all look at me and I would simply love to
tease them while pretending not to notice them at all. I want to be a buff,
healthy girl like that.
I want to be a woman of power and influence. I want to wear glamorous silk
blouses and cashmere jackets. I want to wear my hair in a short, sophisticated
style. I want to buy all my outfits at Nordstroms, including my Italian shoes,
my formal gowns, and my power suits. I want to have my cosmetics created
to order just for me. I want to be very important so men will respect and pay
attention to me. I want them to follow me, fear me, adore and desire me. That
is the kind of woman I want to be.
I want to look like a romantic girl with the face of an angel. I shall wear
breezy gowns in pastel colors. I shall write dreamy love ballads and sing
them with an ethereal voice. Men will find my music and my image hypnotic
and charismatic. They will bring flowers to my concerts and fall madly in
love with me at first glance. That is the kind of girl I want to be.
I want to be a woman artist. I'll create new trends all by myself and make my
own rules. I'll wear peasant skirts and tie my long, curly red hair back with a
bright scarf. I will wear light makeup but my face will be as luminous and
beautiful as a cameo. My lovers will be sensitive, creative men and beautiful,
gifted women. My lifestyle will be joyous because it will have no bounds
That is the life that I want and the type of woman I want to be.
I have modeled myself after all of those women at different times. Many
pictures of me show my metamorphosis from boy-child to woman. Yes, I
was born in a boy's body but that was Nature's cruel mistake. I'm dedicated
to correcting that mistake. Soon I will be like one of those women on the
inside and outside too. I think I like the woman artist best of all. She'll be an
artist of fantasy and bright magic. I've gone far down the path and left the
boy behind forever. Except for one lingering anatomic detail, I am nearly like
her already. And you'd have to search for that!
~2~
The little boy gives his mother a puzzled look. She explains patiently that they
have to leave their apartment as quickly as possible. Her ex-husband is
vindictive and unstable. Moreover, he threatened to kill her. She has seen
some of his friends drive by her house during the day to keep track of her
whereabouts. He may be coming at any time to hurt Mommy. Daddy wants
to take her son away from her. Mommy will have to change his hair color,
she explains, and ask him to wear certain things so nobody will recognize
them. He loves her and would do whatever she asked. He doesn't want to
see her get hurt any more.
Later in the afternoon, two people walk down that street. One is an
androgynously dressed young person, perhaps a woman though it's difficult
to tell. She's wearing a baseball cap, shorts, and hiking boots, and has a
backpack slung over one shoulder. The other person is a little girl who's
holding the adult's hand. She's wearing a short blue dress and tights. Her
long red hair is tied back in a ponytail by a blue ribbon. A car drives by
slowly but takes no notice of them. The surly-looking men in the car are
looking for a woman and a boy.
That was the first time that the boy dressed as a girl. After their escape, his
mom often played what she called the dressing game with him. He pretended
to be a girl and tried to be as perfect a girl as possible. She would try to find
something that gave him away. She helped him get better and better at the
game by teaching him little mannerisms, facial expressions, and typically
feminine phrases to say. He became very skillful at it because he and his
mom enjoyed their game so much.
She was delighted. She had become very disenchanted with men. It gave her
a comfortable feeling to know that her son would not grow up to be a
swaggering, macho male. He would never hurt women when he grew up. He
would have a deep understanding of their feelings and experiences. She
needed to know that he would be kind and gentle for her peace of mind. She
wished him to experience both sides of the gender equation.
By the time that he was 12, he wanted to spend all of his time at home as a
girl. His voice had the timbre and pitch of a girl's voice. Seeing his well-
practiced girlish movements and gestures, you knew that all traces of the boy
he once was had evaporated. He had neither boy possessions nor boy
interests. For a long time, he felt that he merely masqueraded as a boy in
school. It seemed unnatural to him because he went everywhere else as a girl.
He and his mom had ceased to use his birth name, Allen. The new name they
used was Alicia. He would soon use the name Alicia in school. It was to be a
fresh start in another school district.
Naturally, he asked his mom questions about the future. "Mom, when I grow
up, will I marry a girl or a boy?"
"Oh, honey, you can marry anyone you want to!"
"Well, which one is the best?"
"Alicia, if you want to live your life as a woman, you might still fall in love
with another woman. The two of you would want to be together. It will be so
much harder for you if you fall for a man."
"But Mom, you fell for a man, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I don't do that any more. I have always been comfortable in love
with both men and women."
"Mom, if I liked a man, would he want to hurt me like Daddy hurt you?"
"Oh Honey, not all men do that. Some of them have too much of a certain
chemical in their bodies that makes them stupid and mean. It's called
testosterone. When that combines with alcohol, sweetheart, it's terribly
poisonous. It makes them hurt other people."
"Well Mom, do I have any of that in me?"
"Not very much, Alicia dear. It simply didn't get a chance to develop in you.
And the little shots you get twice a month help it go away too."
"Oh good! I don't want anything in me that would hurt anybody's mom!"
Both of them had tears in their eyes. She pulled her sweet daughter closer and
hugged her. She knew in her heart that she had done the right thing.
~3~
Look at the boy who is barely out of his teens. His ears are pierced in several
places. He wears silver tassel earrings that nearly touch his shoulders. In the
other spots, he wears glittering studs. His reddish brown hair is shoulder
length, layered, gently curled, and prettily highlighted. His makeup is subtle
and tasteful; from the dusty rose shade of lipstick to the perfectly applied
eyeliner and mascara. His foundation and blush give him a radiant glow. This
boy is not really a boy any more. He wears a dark blue dress whose length is
just four inches above his knees. The short dress has a subdued and romantic
floral pattern. Such a pretty boy s/he is. S/he wears sheer blue tights and blue
ballet-styled shoes with chunky one-inch heels. Such a sweet and pretty
thing. A boy whose gender now reflects only the feminine.
A young man watches the beautiful feminine boy dress and prepare for their
date. He watches the lovely girlish boy unravel her satiny tights and ever so
slowly fit her long, silky legs into them. Her movements are sensuous and
catlike as if to tease him. He watches as the girl touches her developing
breasts. The young man is fascinated to see the transformation effected by the
cosmetics and the carefully styled hair. She is totally feminine now. He
comes up behind the subject of his fascination and gently strokes her hair.
She sighs. Then she turns around slowly, smiles prettily, and kisses him.
Their tongues meet and play together. She is becoming a woman, a beautiful
and sensual woman who arouses the passions of her boyfriend.
~4~
Look at the sweet and pretty girl who is not totally a girl. She looks at herself
in the mirror to touch up her makeup. She gently brushes a few stray hairs
into place. Now she spends a moment or two deciding on a perfume, finally
applying a tiny drop on each wrist. Almost done, she steps back for an
overall inspection. The thin straps on her black opera gown are to her liking.
Her platform sandals are shiny and stylish. The lovely girl adjusts her
earrings and takes one last look. She is such a sweet and pretty girl, this girl
who is not totally a girl. Her date is due any minute. He is a cute guy and
they make a lovely couple. A final bit of well-practiced primping and she is
ready. Her date knows that she is not entirely a girl and he adores her just the
way she is
They'll go out for an elegant dinner and then to the Ballet for a performance
of Cinderella. Their seats are in the first row of the first balcony. Those
wonderful seats give them an ideal view of the stage. What she wouldn't give
to be one of the graceful dancers on stage! Throughout the performance, he'll
keep his arm around her.
When the ballet is over, he'll ask her if she wants to go out for a few drinks.
She'll say that she'd like to change into a more casual dress and shoes first.
She would love to go out after that. Would he mind if they stop by her
apartment and then leave from there? It will only take a moment to change her
shoes to a pair that's more comfy for walking and to slip into a different
dress.
Secretly she knows that he won't want to go anywhere after they reach her
apartment. You see, she knows that all she needs to say is "Would you be a
sweetheart and help me unzip my gown, please?"
~5~
I ran away from home a few days after my 18th birthday. Along with a few
personal things, I packed as much of my sister's clothing as I could stuff into
my backpack and one suitcase. Five days later I was 3000 miles away in
Berkeley. I had a thin frame and delicate facial features for a boy. After I had
my own place, I colored my hair and highlighted it. Then I blow-dried and
brushed it for volume and combed bangs to complete the new look. With just
a little bit of makeup, I had a cute, naturally feminine look. After a few days,
I found work as a waitress. A sweet boy who was also a wonderfully
understanding hair stylist cut my hair in a layered style with just a little bit of
highlighting added. I presented an image of an attractive, perky waitress and I
was very happy. The wages were horrible but at least I wouldn't starve.
Moreover, I would never go back to living as a boy. I was comfortable in my
identity and with my outward appearance.
During the next several months, I was only read once. The fellow in the
booth asked me to sit down for a moment. We weren't supposed to do that
with customers but it was late and near closing time. I didn't think anyone
would mind.
"You've done a hell of a skillful job on yourself, Candace, or do you prefer
Candi?" he said. I was startled that he had read me and knew my name. As if
reading my mind, he said "Your name is on your pin, doll."
I felt a little foolish and blushed. "Ah!" I said, "and how did...? I started to
ask how he read me but let it trail off.
"I manage a club in the City, dear. All of our girls are, you know, after
market remakes." He smiled at me and I smiled back. "You can make
yourself some serious money waitressing there. Tourists come in and drop
huge tips. After a while you might become an extra in a revue if you're into
that and have the talent."
"Oh, of course I'd love a better paying job. I hardly make anything here.
Look, I've had tons of dance lessons, jazz, ballet, even ballroom."
"Well think about performing later on. Lets see how you do as a waitress
first, okay, Hon'?"
So that was how I came to work at the Club. It was exciting there! I had to
dress in a cocktail waitress uniform to deliver drinks to leering tourists. I
wore fishnet hose and uncomfortable platform shoes but I didn't mind. The
customers loved it. They knew that the waitresses weren't genetic girls. If
anything, that seemed to make them even more rude. They'd reach out to
pinch us or grab our butts as we walked by, often while their wives were
grinning. We looked positively conservative compared to some of their
garishly bleached, helmet-haired, and overly made up wives or trashy rent-a-
girlfriends. Because the tips were so fat, we put up with their behavior.
Besides, if we said anything to the customers, we'd be fired. If we wanted
huge tips, we had to wiggle our butts a lot, squeal, and pretend to be
embarrassed. The tourists ate it up. They'd stick 20's and sometimes 50's in
our bosoms.
We were encouraged to flirt with them. It was all part of the show. I loved
that part. It was so much fun to daydream myself in the part of the pretty and
pampered suburban wife of one of those men. Yet I hoped that one day I'd be
on stage as a dancer. Then I'd be free of the boorish tourists but that seemed
so far away then.
I shared the dressing room with five other girls. We treated our work very
professionally. We played a role and performed an illusion. I was surprised
that out of our little group, only two of us lived full time as girls. Two others
were married and two never said much about themselves. Those two were
very flamboyant. Most of us called ourselves drag queens but they liked the
term shemale. I thought that term would make me feel less real so I just didn't
use it. I was an actress. The other girl who lived full time partnered with a
male. I had no real idea of which I might relate to though I thought about it all
the time. I anxiously needed to be validated as a girl and wanted whatever that
meant. While I was very curious about being with a man, it was a little
intimidating. Still, I had to admit to myself that I had crushes on the other
performers. Naturally, we all did a little flirting and vamping with each other.
We were an affectionate sorority.
I knew who I was. I was a woman. I lived as one. I looked like one so the
outside world treated me like one. It didn't matter what body characteristics I
had at birth. That was just Nature's mistake. I dreamed of getting out of
waitressing by becoming a showgirl. I'd have independence and fame, and
best of all, adoring boyfriends. I dared to dream that one beautiful day one of
them would fall in love with me, and take me away to a carefree life.
~6~
The girl across the table from me is stunning. I can't take my eyes off her.
Her large gray eyes with their long lashes look deeply into me. She has wide,
pouty lips highlighted by sensual burgundy lipstick. Every detail of her is
exquisitely beautiful. Her auburn hair falls a few inches below her shoulders.
She has it styled with bangs, gently layered, without a single hair out of
place. Elegant gold teardrop earrings and a thin gold necklace finish the
perfect picture. She wears a simple black dress with a modest v-neckline and
cap sleeves. Its simplicity highlights her beauty and draws my eyes to her
face. I love her soft, smoky voice. She is a woman any man would desire.
"Sweetheart," she said, "I'm ready to leave. If you like, you can come over
to my condo for some coffee and we can listen to music."
"That would be great, honey," I answer. I feel so blessed by her interest and
attention. She is no ordinary woman. To be accurate, she is an exceptional
woman but she is not a genetic female. Larissa, my exquisite girlfriend,
works as an entertainer, a male actress. She is an exceptional impersonator
and a gifted club singer. If you saw her, you could not help but comment on
how sweet and pretty she is.
We are very much in love. Our souls touched when we met and then
intertwined. They were like two bright balloons whose strings raveled
together. Then, forever joined, they floated up toward the moon. Gender was
not important. We transcended gender. It was just an appearance to us, a role
that society forced us to play, something not innate that should not stand in
the way of true affection.
Larissa smiled at me and gave me little butterfly kisses on my cheek. I wanted
to pull her to me and kiss her fully but it wasn't possible in the restaurant. We
stood up. I helped her into her coat and we headed for my car.
I was fascinated by every detail of Larissa's appearance. She wore delicately
patterned black silk pantyhose and elegantly simple shoes with a stylish,
choked silhouette and chunky two-inch heels. This woman I loved was
always the essence of good taste and classic style. As soon as we were in my
car, I kissed her. Our tongues met and we kissed passionately. She sighed
with pleasure, ran her fingers through my hair, and very softly touched the
upper portion of my leg. Then in a final tease, she ran her hand over my lap,
paused midway for just an instant, and smiled mischievously. "I love you,
Larissa," I said. "And I adore you, Sweetheart," she whispered. She blew in
my ear and licked it once. Then she said simply, "Let's go home!"
With much love and hugs to all my pretty friends,
--Farah Daye, 1997
(C) 1997 Farah Daye
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