The Dogging Diaries - XII free porn video

During these weeks I saw less and less of Ryan. He'd show up from time to time to run another ad or to spend the night with me, but it wasn't like it used to be. I was tied up a lot of the time in our bed; usually dressed in lingerie and sometimes simply naked. He'd bind my arms over my head on the bed and do cocaine from different parts of my body. Then he'd lift my legs, exposing my cunt and fuck me. Often after he was done using me he'd leave. I stopped asking where he was going after a while. He'd leave a few hundred dollars on the island and be gone for a couple of days. Twice he was so fucked up he left me tied up. Sounds sexy. It's not. I had a lot of free time, plenty of money and nice clothes and eventually I started hanging out with the girls again on a regular basis because I had no man to care for anymore. I'd leave the house in Versace with eight hundred dollars in my purse and I'd take the girls to the ritziest places in Boston. We'd be dressed to the nines, completely passable and spend the nights getting completely wasted and flirting with rich men. I did anyway. Diary Entry: July 2009 Another Craigslist post. This time Ryan wants all of the guys in the room before we get started. He likes the line of guys just being able to knock, come in and then fuck me, but he's got it in his head that it would be hotter to just have it be a free-for-all. Whatever. Take my pussy boys, it's yours. I got a couple new dresses when I agreed to another dogging day. Got some shoes and lingerie too - a regal purple bustier, g-string and stockings. End Diary Entry Diary Entry: July 2009 Ryan told me to be ready because the response has been really strong to his latest post. I'm fucking doing all that I can. I'm not sure what he wants from me. I won't eat, I'll use an enema the night before and I'll loosen up my pussy with a few strokes from a dildo - same as I always do. I should be good. End Diary Entry Diary Entry: July, 2009 "Guys, guys, guys! Settle down. This girl will open her legs for the whole room. As long as you're treating her well and keeping her as the center of attention, she's yours to do with as you please. Just make sure you don't treat her too well." The room laughed. "You can fuck her, cum on her, cum in her, slap her, spank her, she's fucking hot and she will go all night if you can." I could hear Ryan getting the crowd of guys ready to do me as I listened through the closed bathroom door. The room sounded full. I'd be filled with hard, heaving cocks within ten minutes. I picked up the short straw with my French cut nails and proceeded to finish the lines of cocaine Ryan had chopped out for me earlier. "Now I took all of your opinions into consideration when I dressed her and I think you're going to like the way she looks." I checked myself in the mirror and casually wiped away a flake of coke from my nose. My auburn hair was teased to porn star extremes, while my eyes were blackened with kohl liner and smoky, purple, grey and white shadow. My lips were fat and plum. I was wearing 6" spiked heels, clear, with ankle straps around red painted toes and black fence net thigh highs. My silver miniskirt was only 4" long, exposing my black g- string panties and my wide, fuckable hips. My matching silver micro bikini top barely covered the erect nipples on my surgically enhanced DD tits. My midriff was bare, tanned, toned, tapering to my 26" waist. Glitter covered me. I was pure shemale sex. "So let me bring her out boys." The room cheered and Ryan opened the bathroom door, stepped inside and said to me: There's 19 out there. Then he dumped another cluster of cocaine onto the counter and began preparing two more lines. I began doing the math in my head. Nineteen cocks at roughly 10 minutes a cum - if each guy wanted to pop twice I was going to be fucked good and hard for the next seven hours. I picked up the straw again and put it to my nose, doing one line with my left nostril and the other with my right. I sniffed hard to get it all into my system and then looked at Ryan as a dog would her master. "Don't worry hon, there's plenty more," he said. "But you're going to have to work for it. You ready?" I retouched my makeup around my nose and then added more glitter to my lips, hair and body. Then I nodded and he opened the door. "Boys, I give you the dirtiest fucking slut you have ever laid eyes on - Kristy!" The room erupted in cheers as a hard rock song began to play on a portable player. I checked my face again and stepped out into the room a bitch in heat. I walked to the center of the makeshift circle, surrounded by a roomful of guys in various states of undress, their pendulous cocks ready for their slut. I played with my tits through my bra, teasing the room and prepping myself for what was to come. It didn't take long for the guys to break down any barriers they may have had about touching me, as the hands began to roam all over my body from behind. I felt my bra being unhooked and I slumped my shoulders to allow it to fall to the ground. I felt my panties being lowered and my ass being kissed. Soon after I was being kissed on the face and then on the lips as a single tongue pressed into my mouth. I leaned forward to allow easier access to my pussy and felt an anonymous mouth begin to tickle my aching hole. "I can't believe she has a dick," said one of them. "That's the prettiest fucking he-she I've ever seen," said another. I felt my head being pressed down and I accommodated like a good whore, lowering to my knees as a roomful of cock closed in on me. It was a gorgeous view, and my ego roared as the thought of all of those dicks being there for me burned into my brain. I opened my mouth and took the closest one inside it, reaching out with both hands to begin stroking two other nearby cocks. The pussy licker behind me must have maneuvered himself onto the floor because I could still feel his tongue probing my ass as I switched to suck another meaty shaft. I was doing what I was born for; sucking dick after sexy dick on my knees in a state of complete objectification. I belonged to them. It wasn't long after that they lifted me up and laid me on the bed and I fully realized what was about to happen. On the bed, naked and open, there was no going back. I was trapped within a sexual circle of horny men, each one determined to fuck that little whore's brains out when it was their turn. I was on my back as one of the nineteen fed me his cock while another lifted my legs and prepped my cunt with lube. I left my legs in the air and stared at the ceiling, realizing I would be in this position or one similar to it for the next several hours. My inner thoughts were put on hold as the first hard cock slipped inside my anal ring. The fucking had begun. I moaned in ecstasy and even a little pain as he drove his cock deep inside me. My cunt didn't have any time to react and his initial thrusts were rough and uncomfortable. As I had done so many times before, I bore down on the dick inside me and allowed my body to catch up with the intrusion as my eyes rolled back in my head. I worked the cock in my mouth deep down my throat as I took two others in my hands, savoring the emotions charging through my body. I was "airtight" as those boys had joked during my hooker days; my ass, mouth and hands filled with hard, swelling pricks. My unknown cunt-stallion picked up his pace to a full blown rage, fucking my ass with everything he had. I looked up and could see my 6" clear heels and my painted toes draped over my first cock's shoulders as he took his slut to the hilt. I looked at him and smiled, watching his toned belly heave and fro as he pistoned in and out of me. I could see the tension building in his face before I closed my eyes and concentrated on all of the cocks touching different parts of my body. With a grunt the first cock was pulled out of me and I watched as he jerked it two or three times before the first of a thousand ropes that day splashed onto my midriff and breasts. My hole was open for the next one and it only took a moment before my second rider climbed onto the bed and pressed his hard stick into me. God I love an assembly line. "That's it baby, fuck that tight hole," I cooed, taking my mouth off a cock for a brief moment. "Give me that fucking dick, yeah." Then I shoved my blowjob back down my throat. I fucking needed it, but he pulled it away from me - he didn't want to cum yet and wanted to get in line to fuck me. Thankfully he was replaced with yet another one, black this time and incredibly wide. He stuffed it into my mouth roughly and I gagged on the size for a second before recovering. Then my black man grabbed hold of my ears and began driving his delicious meat down my throat through brute force. I choked and wheezed and the drool began to pour out of my mouth as my nose began to run. He slapped my face and I took his whole cock, slipping my tongue out from under it to lick his hairy balls. I gazed up at him and could see the triumph on his face. I had given him control of me and he took it fully. I was a useful toy. On and on the onslaught went in my pussy. Cocks were driving me and drilling me and when they had had their fill their purple engorged heads would flare and fire their seed onto my belly, tits and neck. Heavy thick streams were filling my mouth, pouring their delicious milk down my throat. There was an outburst when one of the guys exploded inside my cunt, the first time that had happened that day, and it divided the room for a short while. Some guys were pissed that my honeyed hole had been spoiled. Others clearly didn't care, as my now cum-slicked box was filled yet again with seven inches of delicious man meat. The thought of a man wanting me so bad that he would willingly slide his cock inside my cunt as a random stranger's seed leaked from it made my mind reel. I was a goddess. "Take me," I shouted. "Take that fucking dirty cunt! I need it. I fucking need it. You fuck me now, yeah fuck me, take that hole!" I screamed as I slapped at my new rider's thigh. I was over the edge, a one-woman assembly line, constantly aware of a cock near me that I could hungrily stuff into my mouth or stroke with my hands or open my pussy for. In time my body had warmed to the challenge and even though the angle they had me at wasn't optimum, I could feel my orgasm build and then starburst through my whole body as first the droplets and then the ropelets of cum began to flow from my soft clit. "Oh fuck yeah!" I screamed. "Fuck yes, oh, I'm cumming!" The room thought this was hilarious and news of my cum spread through it quickly. Another cock exploded in my ass and then another one on my tits. A second orgasm, this one far easier to achieve ricocheted through me as the ropes of my own milk freely flowed from my body and mixed with the man-juice now coating my body. I was an animal now, running on pure lust and abandon. My next cock wanted me doggie and I was flipped onto my stomach and then set on my hands and knees as he entered my gaping hole. I welcomed the change of position and lustily crammed another cock in my mouth as he began to bang away on my cunt. I could hear the cum sloshing around inside me as he took me to the hilt. "Fuck, oh yes, fuck," I whimpered. "Oh, give it to me. Oh, use me. Oh." "Give her this," said one of the guys, reaching over to slide the straw and the plate of cocaine under my nose. Those in the room who could see what they had done laughed. I was a pathetic coke whore. This proved it to them and only added to sense of decadence permeating the room. For their benefit and mine, I did a couple of lines while the cock in my ass continued to pound away on me and the streams of cum once again poured from my tiny clit. The queue slowly worked its way through me as I took more heavy and thick streams of cum on my back and in my cunt. At one point I looked over at Ryan, his mind many miles away in some dreamlike sexual state, and the look on his face told me everything I needed to see. His conquering of his slut was now complete. I let that image of Ryan fry into my brain and then refocused myself on my own body and the task at hand. Another dick appeared, fresh from fucking my ass, the head purple and ripe and angled at me as it splashed six ropes of tangy cum into my face, coating my eyes and taking away any last shred of dignity I may have had. Yet another orgasm for me as cocks nine and then ten had their way with me. By now I was covered in spunk. It was in me and on me everywhere and I was at times both slick from new coatings and sticky with old ones. They had been rough with me, pinching my nipples hard and slapping my ass and thighs as they rode me to orgasm. Then I felt my pussy being stretched to the point of discomfort. Through cum coated eyes I watched as two of my roomful patiently worked their cocks into my pussy at the same time. I moaned, first in pain and then ecstasy as they slid past my anal ring and deep inside me together, stretching my cunt to its breaking point and ratcheting up my debasement even higher. As these two enormous dicks sawed away at me I was completely at their disposal, squealing like the cum pig I am as rope after rope of my own cum being drilled out of my clit, pooling on the sheet below me. I was being milked and powerless to stop it. I was gone, fully raptured inside a sexual space of multiple orgams and complete animalistic debasement. They could have done anything they wanted with me as I swooned and bore down on the massive rods in my pussy, angling them just right to drive into my prostate and milk it towards another orgasm. "Take me," I squealed. "Fucking take me. Take your slut!" The double penetration seemed to go on for hours. I was open and pliable and let them take me as they wanted, stuffing my mouth with the next available cock, while the two in my ass took me to new sexual heights. Finally they reached their boiling point. One of my studs pulled out of me and jerked his cock off on my tits, while the other fucked me hard and deep for several strokes before exploding inside me. He pulled out and I could feel my cunt gaping. It was enormous, loose and dirty and open and still hungry. I missed the full feeling and pleaded to get it back. "Fuck me. Somebody please fuck me." The room heard my call and yet another dick slid inside my abused cunt. I thanked him and jammed my cum covered face into the pillow, concentrating all of my energy on my bottom. I wanted another cum - for myself and my lover - and I was going to have them both. My cunt was loose but my pump had been primed and I got the angle just right and shrieked again in delight. "I'm cumming! Oh fuck yes, I'm fucking cumming again!" I shouted, my throat hoarse from screaming through the marathon. "Don't ever stop fucking me!" On and on it went. More cum in my face, on my tits and in my pussy. I took all the slaps and the pinches as they came, each guy taking his turn trying to add some pain to his pleasure. They slapped me and hit me and even bit me at times. One guy tried to spit into my mouth. Another tried to take my shoes off so he could fuck me with one of them. I was a dirty whore to the room - my true calling - and each one conquered me and used me to the fullest. I was wanton, completely oblivious to my own surroundings, caring only about the next cock and my next cum. I never wanted the line to end. When it did, a full six hours after we had begun, I lay on the bed coated in cum, my legs a shaking and battered mess, the cum from all of those men literally pouring out of my cunt with each breath I took. My pussy was loose and yawning. It had been savagely fucked and left for dead. And still I wanted more. The sadness I felt when it ended is like nothing I have ever experienced before. I wanted nineteen more. I could have handled it. At least, at that second I thought I could have. Thankfully, I didn't get the chance. Ryan told me I looked beautiful when it was over. I felt that way too, until I was able to slowly make my way to the bathroom. Waiting for me in the mirror was as macabre an image as I have ever seen. I was covered in dried cum, my hair a rat's nest, my body battered, my makeup completely smeared and rubbed off, my nipples red and bloodied. I looked gaunt, my nose running from all of the cocaine and blowjobs and I had hand prints everywhere from all of the slaps. I stood there with my legs shaking, gazing at the disgusting image in the mirror, a broken woman staring back at me. Then I passed out. Evidently I went down in a heap because when I came to I could barely breathe and Ryan thought I may have had a concussion because I slammed into the bathroom door when I fell. Ryan was over me when I came to and helped get my heels off so I could get into a warm bath. I couldn't stop my legs from shaking and I remember that the water actually turned a milky white from all of the cum washing off - and pouring from - my body. I sat in the tub for almost two hours, reheating the water whenever it seemed to be cooling. Then, with my legs completely gone and barely able to stand, I was forced back into my 6" spiked heels for the drive home. I managed to get to the car, completely pigeon toed and cramped and by the time we got home the pain was so bad I had to crawl on my hands and knees from the garage. Gone forever are the days when Ryan would have carried me. End Diary Entry If I had balls (pun intended) I would have simply ended The Dogging Diaries after the above entry. That was my original intention as it was the last time I wrote in my journal for some time. Like a lot of things, once you stop doing them it's hard to start again and with my life in a state of flux I never made it a priority anymore. I moved a few times and I thought my journal was lost, a victim of my unrest. It turned out my entries were safe and sound on a flash drive in one of those plastic storage tubs for a few years before I got curious and actually plugged the flash key into my computer and realized my journal was still intact. Understand, I never wrote with the idea of posting my diary. It was just a personal exercise, something to catalog my transition and my life. Becoming and being a tgirl is a unique journey. It's full of highs and lows, firsts and lasts and quirky little life moments that make it all worthwhile. My journal is littered with entries that are not included in this online version because they didn't always work in a narrative format. And, once I got the idea to post them I elected to focus on the entries that told my story in some kind of semi-coherent way. A word about the diaries in general ... I've gotten a tremendous response, more than I ever could have predicted. I've made new friends as a result of it and I've pissed plenty of people off too. Both are OK with me. I'm just thankful you took the time to read them. In the course of posting the entries over the last few months, two central questions have been posed to me in various forms over and over: 1) Is this real? 2) Are you OK now? I'll answer both of those questions in a moment. As a result of this process, I've become very friendly with one reader to the point where we talk almost every day. He thought it would be great once The Dogging Diaries was completed to allow him to take on the role of Joe Public and ask me a series of questions about the diaries to clear up any loose ends he felt were worthwhile and to dig a little deeper into certain areas of my life. I'm all for it and I told him to feel free to ask me anything he wants and he can expect my uncensored answers. I and am happy to report those questions are due to me in the next day or so. Once I have a chance to answer all of them, I'll post them here. As for the two questions above, my answers are easy. Completely, and read on ... The Dogging Diaries - Epilogue For all intents and purposes, that last gang bang was the official end of my relationship with Ryan. Whatever was left of the warm feelings we had between us was certainly not going to be able to withstand a fucking from nineteen men. Nothing can come back from that. The level of respect on both sides is gone. After that fucking, I was a wreck for days. I was passing blood. Everything hurt. Ryan didn't want to see me in that state. He said it was "unbecoming," so he wasn't around much. I had to figure out what to do on my own. I was deeply concerned about my own health, and yet, with no health insurance what could I do? I slept a lot and tried to heal. I cried a lot; not over Ryan certainly, but over what my life had become. Two weeks prior to that day I was out with my friends at one of the nicest restaurants in Boston. I was in a Versace dress and killer heels and flirting with some of Boston's most eligible men. And yet, shortly after that I was on my hands and knees taking it up the ass for anyone who wanted me. The contrast was striking. My pussy was seemingly destroyed. I had a lot of problems health-wise for weeks. I was a mess and for a time I wasn't sure everything would recover and be normal. Unfortunately, the weight of this realization was too much for my drug- addled brain to handle. I stayed at Ryan's for several more weeks, seeing him occasionally when he showed up. Both of us were civil when he did, and while he hadn't asked me to leave, it was obvious if I wasn't up for being his slut then I wasn't welcome. He wanted to take me "dogging" again a few days after the nineteen guys but I refused for health reasons and later he talked about setting up another hotel gang-bang but it never came to pass. Once I said no to those things he completely lost interest. It took me weeks to recover from that day in the hotel and, with Ryan nowhere to be found I reached into our coke stash and drugged my low self-esteem and pain into oblivion. I became a recluse. I'd be fucked up for days and then I'd come to for a day and try to get my life back on track. But I was paralyzed because I had too many problems. Should I find a job? Where should I live? What should I say to Ryan? It felt like the sky had fallen. I'd sit there and think about all of these things and not act on any of them. Then I'd pour some wine and chop some lines and fade off into my alternate state. When my friends found me I was passed out, naked save for a pair of heels, on my kitchen floor. My friends, Shauna and Amber and I had evidently made plans to go out that night a few days before. Apparently, I was coherent on Tuesday of that week and didn't remember anything else until the day they showed up at my house - a Friday. I don't know exactly what happened. A drug overdose is certainly possible, but I can't say for sure. The night they found me on the floor, I lied to them both and said Ryan and I had been up until all hours partying, and while I learned later they didn't buy it, neither of them had any idea just how bad things had gotten. Still, I was convincing enough to let the night continue and before long I was on my way to the shower while they waited for me to get ready to go out. I turned the shower on and slipped into my bedroom where I chopped out the four biggest lines of coke I've ever done and blew them away. These were my darkest days. I was in a terrible place, lost and confused, unsure of who I was and what I wanted to be. I was a coke whore and a former hooker. I had been fucked on camera for money. I regularly gave my body to random strangers who didn't deserve it. I had engaged in anonymous, unprotected sex with hundreds of men. I was unemployed, without health insurance and alone. In this particular case, I was both literally and figuratively fucked. When Ryan threw me out in early September of 2009 I climbed onto a public bus in a $400 Cache dress and Christian Louboutins shoes, my mascara running down my face from the bitter inevitability of having no place to go. I took the bus into downtown Boston, carrying as much of my wardrobe as I could and deposited myself and my remaining belongings on the front step of Amber's apartment. For those brief moments, unable to reach my friend and carrying everything I owned in a couple of cases, I was homeless. Hours earlier I was in a seven-thousand square foot house with the keys to an $80,000 Mercedes. How the faux mighty had fallen. Amber took me in and I am forever grateful for that. We agreed that I needed to find my own place and set a tentative length of my stay at a week. I had a week to find a place to go. I had eight grand in my purse. Against her better judgment I rented a room - not an apartment, a room - in Cleveland Circle on the outskirts of Boston proper. It had a shared bathroom with six or seven other tenants, each with their own rooms. The place was filthy but the rent was cheap and I could pay week to week. Believe it or not, it was the exact arrangement I was looking for. I didn't plan on staying long, the whole place kept to themselves and when I saw a couple of butch lesbians disappear into their little one-room love nest I figured it had the alternative slant to keep me safe. I cleaned out a local supermarket's supply of Fantastik and Windex, threw on some latex gloves and a do-rag and went to work. HOW TO LAND A GUY IN 114 DAYS I had the clothes. I had the charm and the gift of flirt. I had the looks. What I didn't have was a lot of disposable cash, time or a real vagina. And that last one was a fucking problem. I admit life is easier for pretty tgirls. I didn't make that rule, nor am I trying to be arrogant, it's just the way it is. But life, or the real easy road in life ... belongs to pretty genetic girls. The super hot ones don't even need a bank account. Like a prized thoroughbred in the paddock, every eye is on them. Well, after all the work I had done on myself and the hormones and the surgeries I believed I had the aesthetic horsepower to run with the mustangs. Unfortunately in this case, what I also had was a clit ... and in the land of the rich, eligible, status conscious, reputation conscious, ego driven existence of the single, successful guy, a clit on their hot girlfriend is not something most men are looking for. For a little while I tried to convince myself otherwise. I had seen so many guys fawn over me I came to believe that everyone just naturally would. I was wrong. Tgirls are a niche. Four nights a week I would doll myself up and get to some of Boston's hottest night spots early so I could skip the cover and get a prime seat at the bar. I was in swanky places, looking swanky and hoping to find the right Mr. Swank for me. Sometimes the girls would come with me, sometimes I was alone. Didn't matter. I struck out swinging. Sure I met guys. I met lots of them. I let a few of them fuck me and passed on plenty of others. There's a selection process when it comes to this sort of manhunt that works both ways and isn't for the faint of tgirl heart. I got made once at the bar by a guy who loudly announced there was a "he-she" sitting in his seat. Good times. Inevitably when I met guys, we'd flirt and they'd ask me out and if I thought they were worth pursuing I'd tell them when they called that I was trans. I figured once I got that out of the way I was good to go. A lot of guys eliminated themselves on their own at that point. It wasn't their thing. To be honest, I figured telling them on the phone, away from any social pressures they would feel at a bar would increase my chances with them. They thought I was fun and pretty - that's why they asked for my number - so why wouldn't they be down for a date with me? It's not like their buddies needed to know. It didn't work. Alas, tgirls are special, and it takes a special type of guy to have that type of interest. I debated this endlessly with my friends. Finally we decided that we should hang in the more alternative areas in town. That perhaps I/We were in places that were too straight. I met a lot more men that were interested in me and didn't care that I was a tgirl that way. The downside was, they weren't what I was looking for. Given everything I said in that last paragraph, it's interesting to me that one night, back in too-straight-ville, I met Jonathan. I'll get to him in a minute. I still stand by what I said before. I only know three tgirls who have met men in the straight vanilla world and landed them. I'm talking about guys that had zero predispositions to tgirls before, met the tgirl, thought she was a genetic female, found out she had something extra in her panties and still said, "I don't care. I like you." Can we have a fucking round of applause for these guys? They deserve it. I was instantly attracted to Jonathan the night we met. I wasn't doing any writing in my diary at the time, so I don't have the play-by-play, but I remember this night like it was yesterday. It wasn't dramatic or overly romantic or anything. It just sort of happened. I was sitting with Amber having a drink at the bar in a trendy Boston seafood restaurant when he came in alone and ordered a bottle of wine I recognized as costing a small fortune. My antenna went up. Jonathan was a hottie - short slightly messed up hair with some gel in it, a couple days worth of scruff (yummy) and a sharp suit. Thirty-five ... ish. Tall. Blue eyes. Good build. A panty dropper. Amber was closer to him, but it allowed me to be looking at her, while still looking past her, directly at him. Since she was turned towards me, she'd essentially have to turn around to talk to him. I could be more subtle. Eventually we made eye contact and then he started to join our conversation. By now Amber had obviously noticed too and the Great War of the Tgirl Pussy 2010 had begun. The buxom brunette versus the busty blonde. Don't look for it in the history books. Just accept that there truly was another Civil War fought between two hot t-chicks in a Boston Restaurant. I haven't seen such ruthless competition for a single dick in my entire life. That girl can fucking flirt man. I love her to death but let's just say fake eyelashes are not supposed to bat that often. I found out later that Jonathan prefers brunettes anyway, but it was my knowledge of wine that sealed it for him. Jonathan was perfect. Everything I could have ever wanted. Funny, personable, decisive, handsome, rich, all of it. It appeared to be a mother load - every girl's wet dream. He asked me out and I said yes. He called and I told him I was a tgirl and he said he didn't care. We went out to nice restaurants and I got to wear my prettiest, sexiest dresses and be squired around by a guy who seemed to have life by the balls. He made his money in real estate and owned several commercial and residential properties around the city. Just the properties alone were worth tens of millions. He had a staff and some personal assistants and some hangers on who seemed to be there to do him favors. Of those three tgirls I know who successfully managed to land a guy, the third one is me. I'm the only one it didn't end well for - surprise, surprise. Although I suppose in the end, it did. Let me explain. Jonathan and I went on our first real "date" on a weeknight. We had some drinks and appetizers at a small, upscale Boston bar. I had my major flirt on and he could not have been more charming. We had a blast and he asked me a lot of questions about tgirls - the hows and the whys and all of that. I didn't know it at the time, but he had dated a couple of T's in the past and his ignorance on the subject was staged. At the time though, I was smitten. I saw him again that Friday; the same night I passionately gave my body to him in the hotel room he had rented. Jonathan was a good lover; attentive, soft at times, rough at others, with a full 8" of delicious dick that caused me to swoon. I loved bending over for him. He made me feel so sexy throughout almost all of our entire relationship - when we actually saw one another. I'll get to that in a minute. He was into me and I was into him and it didn't take long for him to start making noises about us moving in together. I was all for it, but I never pushed him and I went back to my shitty Cleveland Circle room with a smile on my face. It took weeks for him to actually stop talking about it and ask me. Finally, it happened. Kind of. He brought me to a gorgeous one floor apartment in a Boston brownstone (not too far from where coke boy Tom lived) and asked me if I wanted to live there. I was ecstatic and hugged him and kissed him and all was well ... until he mentioned that it was a gift for me, and that he wasn't going to be moving in. I asked him where he'd be and he said he was keeping his place. It didn't make a lot of sense but I didn't ask or push and next thing I knew I had a beautiful new place to call home. It was a dream come true. Awesome boyfriend, awesome place to live, awesome life. Like Ryan, he had rules too. I should have known right then and there it wasn't going to work out. Thing is, Jonathan was so passive-aggressive that it took me a long time to figure out his rules actually existed. If he came over and I wasn't ready or wasn't dressed sexy enough, he never made a big deal about it. He'd just suggest that I "look so sexy in heels. Can you wear them for me?" or "you look so pretty in the shorter dress." Shit like that. And it worked. I was never in anything but heels again when I knew he'd be coming over and my dresses, short to begin with, became microscopic. If I wasn't ready when he got there he'd say things like "you really need to be ready when I get here. I had dinner reservations for us tonight and we're not going to make it." And then we'd have to stay in and I'd spend the rest of the night on my knees trying to make it up to him. There was always a teaching lesson with him. A passive-aggressive lesson that ultimately left me feeling like I needed to do better next time. In my desire to please, I just thought he was speaking his mind. But it got to the point where I HAD to be ready at 5:00PM every single day, dressed to impress and made up properly and ready to roll ... and yet we seldom went anywhere. I'd be all dolled up and he would show up and we'd have a drink and something light that I had prepared and then we'd have sex and then he'd leave because he had "business" or "was meeting someone" or whatever. And then there were his boys. Jonathan never wanted me to leave the house alone. I had told him about the rape and he said it was dangerous and I should have someone with me. So, whether I wanted some fresh air or had an errand to run, there was always one of his guys with me. Some I had nicknames for, like "Turtle" or "Salisbury," some seemed to just blow in with the wind. They'd drive me places and get me things. Once a week they'd deliver groceries from a prepared list I had made with Jonathan. Same items every week from the grocery, same items from the liquor store. He insisted I keep the spray tan going, so once a week I'd get a ride to the tanning salon with one of his boys. At first it was kind of cool, but over time it got weird. They were just always around. On a lot of weekend days, Jonathan and his entourage would come by my place for a sporting event. They'd watch it in my apartment. Again, at first, it was kind of cool. I'd get dolled up and make a bunch of fun finger foods and they'd show up and I'd play hostess and we'd have a great time. But it just kept happening and over time I think some of them viewed it like it was their own little bachelor pad - like a Hooters with trannies. I voiced plenty of concerns to Jonathan over the course of the almost two years we were together. Trust me, I didn't take the whole thing lying down. But he was shrewd and he knew just the right buttons to push with me to either keep me docile or distracted. Some were more devious - he dangled us being together forever, he dangled the fact that he was paying for my apartment, etc. Some were more subtle - one night I mentioned I get horny when I do coke and the next thing you know, there's a big bag of coke being brought to me by one of his guys. I complained I wasn't getting enough exercise and next thing I know one room becomes a home gym. All of this exercise equipment just starts showing up at the house. If I told him I missed the islands, would one of his boys shown up with a private plane? The whole thing was ridiculous. To be fair and unbiased, there were plenty of great times. We had many, many great and romantic nights spent making love into the early mornings. Jonathan knew when to go to the whip with me (truly) and when to be soft. He would tie me up and drip candle wax on me and use clothespins on my nipples and slowly flick them off of me. He always had devious sex games going on with remote vibrating butt plugs and things like that. He loved playing those sorts of games and I wasn't going to tell him no. A lot of my memories of our time together consist solely of me screaming in rapture and cumming over and over again. That dick was a champion and he really knew how to ride me with it. Just writing about it makes me wiggle. If the rest of our relationship was like those times things would have been different. He could be tender too. There were many nights he didn't fuck me - he made love to me and made sure all of my needs were met over and over again. One of the greatest things he did, and something I will forever be indebted to him for was suggesting I change my name. He wanted to take me to Aruba and obviously we needed passports and it was at this time he urged me to change my name officially and take a female name. Kristy was how everyone knew me, but it was never my legal name. My license still said Stephen on it. There's something special about taking a real girl's name in a tgirl's life. It does wonders for the soul. And it was his idea and his urging and his support that made it all happen. I'm forever grateful for that. And that's how a tgirl called Kristy officially became Alexandra. I never would have known how to navigate that process if it wasn't for Jonathan. Over time, through his passive-aggression and my willingness to please, we settled into a similar routine to the one I had with Ryan. I'd sleep in, work out, get chaperoned somewhere to make myself pretty; be it the salon or the manicurist or the tanning place - and then I'd come home and get dressed up in something sexy, he'd come home, we'd drink a little, eat a little, maybe do a little blow and then he'd fuck me. And then he'd leave. And I hated it when he'd leave. Over time I got suspicious. The guy just wasn't around that often. He'd come at strange times and go at strange times. He'd have his boys at my house a lot, always being nice but certainly watching me. No one ever made a move on me - they knew where their bread was buttered - but the whole thing led me to two simple conclusions: He was married and I was being kept. After years of hooking and years of dogging I was still basically a hooker. I was his pussy on the side that he kept stowed away at his little love nest. Oddly, and you may not believe this, but I never confronted him about it. I just knew deep in my soul that I right. He was married and I was his stashed girlfriend. Maybe I was the only one, maybe not. I never bothered to ask. I was a kept woman. It didn't sit well. Neither did the fact that I had lost contact with the outside world. I pushed back about this and he relented - a little - and I saw my friends a little more. But Jonathan was incredibly controlling. As a result, I was mainly on my own; constantly worried about making sure I was ready and dressed to thrill at 5:00PM. Sometimes he'd show up. More often he wouldn't. I'd sit there waiting for hours in a hooker minidress, sipping wine and waiting for his key to hit the lock. And I'd be stuck waiting for hours. I couldn't change in case he came over. So I'd sit and I'd wait. And then around 10:30 or 11:00PM I'd get a message or a phone call saying he wasn't going to be able to make it. This happened once for three straight weeks. I was losing my mind to boredom. One day I pushed really hard for a computer, something to keep me in contact with the world, some way I could get news. He refused and only after a lot of screaming and several days of me being the biggest cunt I could be did he relent. And wouldn't you know a laptop showed up the next day. It was on that laptop in the summer of 2011 that I discovered what eventually became The Dogging Diaries on the flash drive. It took me a while to really lock in on publishing them. I didn't think they'd be that interesting to anyone else. Eventually, I got around to reading them again and came up with the idea to post them in a format that eliminated a lot of thoughts and ideas and other randomness in the diary and focused on my story. When I looked at them in that light I realized there's a pretty crazy journey in those entries and someone, somewhere might learn something from them. I also needed to have some contact with the outside world and maybe by posting the diary I could meet some new people. So, I published the first chapter, electing to start with the end because I like stories that do that. The response was overwhelming and I've made a lot of new pen pals throughout this process (you know who you are). I'm so incredibly thankful for that. Where was I? It got to the point where my life was mind-numbingly dull. Jonathan had become very controlling and we hardly ever spent any time alone anymore. He'd come over with his boys and I'd be expected to wait on them, wearing next to nothing and just smile and shut up. It wasn't a relationship anymore. I was the beer wench, literally, and it wasn't uncommon for him to call me "slut" or "bitch" in front of his buddies. He made me show them my tits on more than one occasion and one of the last straws came when he was drunk one night and made a big spectacle in front of his friends and announced to the room that he was going to fuck me. He dragged me by my hair into my bedroom and did just that, while a roomful of guys listened in. The true final straw came when he demanded I blow him in front of his friends. I did it, but I knew we were done. Cum laced with anger does not taste good. I needed an escape. A real escape given the amount of scrutiny I was under from his guys and there was no way I was going back to a room in Cleveland Circle. I thought about getting a "real" job but I'm not sure I'm cut out for that anymore. I'm a party girl no matter how much I try to deny it. I had met some tgirls from San Francisco a couple of years earlier at a tgirl conference and we had always kept in touch. I got back into contact with them and they were thriving; living a life on their own terms, making their own money as dancers and entertainers and generally living a fun life and making a ruckus. When they told me they had room for one more in their apartment, assuming I found myself a job pronto when I got out there, I couldn't have been more elated. These were my kind of girls - fun loving, kind, smart, sexy - and I knew this was the thing for me. I told the girls I was coming, packed my shit and left Jonathan a note. I went to Logan Airport in 5" stripper heels, bought a one-way ticket to San Francisco, dealt with the 85 security issues a one-way ticket bought with cash causes you these days and was out here on the west coast six hours later. That was February 2012. I wasn't sure at the time if it was a long vacation or a brand new start, but I'm still here. I found work as a waitress at a tgirl club and now I'm a dancer at the same place. I make my own money and am living life on my own terms. In stories, they say it's important that the main character be someone you can root for. If the character is flawed and makes mistakes, that character needs to fix those mistakes and redeem themselves at the end. That way the audience goes home happy. Well, I don?t think I?m redeemable. This is real life. I am who I am. As a result, I?m multifaceted. I?m a slut, a former hooker, a tgirl, a rape victim, a cocaine user, a hot piece of ass and a skinny bitch. I?m also self aware, a college graduate, a good daughter and sister, a loyal friend, an animal lover, a fighter for trans rights and an author. Shit happens in life. I?m just trying to live mine. I?m happy now, a good person ? and still very much a slut. I wouldn?t want it any other way. I?ll leave you with a few of the lyrics to one of the songs I?m currently dancing to. I think it sums things up to this point. Take it off, the paper is your game You jump in bed with fame Another one night paid in full You?re so fine, it won?t be a loss Cashing in the rocks, just to get you face to face Hey, you?re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good I?m on top of it When I dream, I?m doing you all night, scratches all down my back to keep me right on Baby girl, you want it all To be a star you?ll have to go down Take it off, no need to talk You?re crazy but I like the way you fuck me Credit: Buckcherry Thanks for reading. As I mentioned before, this is the end of The Dogging Diaries. A Q&A will follow shortly. Wet, Slutty Kisses Alexandra Moore