Consequences II Male Privilege
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Female Privilege free porn video
Author's note.
We often hear the term "male privilege" almost always in a derogatory
way as if there's something inherently wrong with a man taking advantage
of certain aspects of his gender. However, we rarely hear the term
"female privilege" and this could lead one to believe that there are no
benefits to being female. In fact one could argue, and it may well be
true, that the term "male privilege" was coined by a female, one with a
massive chip on her shoulder who overlooked all of the benefits she
could reap from her own gender.
But, of course, "female privilege" is alive and kicking. The privilege
to be treated as a lady, to be cared for and protected. The choice to
pursue a career or raise a family. The ability to dress as you want to
dress, even in clothes usually associated with (or even borrowed from)
the opposite sex without being viewed as a pervert. The opportunity to
enjoy close & intimate friendships with another woman without being
labelled as gay.
I have wanted to write this piece for a while to express both my
frustration at the way many genetic women squander the benefits that
their gender affords them but, more importantly, my admiration for
transwomen and the struggles they face for acceptance in their true
gender. This is not a story in the traditional sense but the thoughts
of a transwoman as she prepares to go for a coffee with her best friend.
Please therefore join me as I step into Teresa's shoes to tell her
story.
AJ
----------
Let me introduce myself. I am Teresa but my friends call me Terri. I'm
a 35 year old woman, single and with no kids. I've been told that I'm
attractive and a great catch for someone but I guess that the right
person hasn't come along yet so any time I get to spend with friends is
a gift. Today, I'm meeting my best friend, Sarah for coffee.
OK, I've got a confession to make. What I've just told you isn't the
whole story. I am Teresa but that's not always been my name. For the
first 25 years of my life, I was Terry, or to be more precise, Terrance
(but only my parents ever called me that and only usually when I had
misbehaved). I'm a transwoman, physically identical to any other woman
you meet and, whilst I'm single, it's not out of choice. You see
although becoming a woman has given me more joy than I ever thought
possible, it's also brought pain, both physical as my body was
surgically changed to that of a woman, and emotional as relationships
ended and prejudices from all angles were faced.
Anyway, enough of my sob story. I'm meeting Sarah in a couple of hours
and it's time to decide what to wear and get ready.
Bath or shower?
When I was very small, I remember walking into the bathroom while my
mother was having a bath. The lights were out but she was surrounded by
scented candles, their flames dancing up and down and the aroma of roses
filling the air. Luxurious bubbles and rose petals floating on the top
surrounded her and as she stepped out of the bath, I breathed in the
beautiful scent of roses from her expensive bubble bath and wanted to
smell like that myself.
"Can I have a bath too?" I asked my mother.
"Of course darling. Go to your room and get undressed and I'll run it
for you," she replied.
I rushed to my room to get undressed and ran back to the bathroom as
quick as I could but when I got back, the light was on and there were no
candles, no rose petals and just my cheap "Superheroes" bubble bath
making a half-hearted attempt to cover the surface with a sticky foam.
"But I wanted a bath like yours," I cried.
"Only girls should smell of roses," came the reply, "what will people
think if you smell like a girl?"
But I'm Terri now. I can have a rose bath, or a lavender bath or any
other scented bath whenever I want and the only comments I get are from
people telling me I smell nice. I've endured a lot to get to this point
- name calling, physical threats and people staring at me, just because
I'm trying to live an honest life. It's not my fault I was born with a
boy's body but a girl's brain; I didn't abuse other people who are
different to me so what gave them the right to abuse me?
Yes, I fought long and hard for the right to walk down the street
smelling of roses but time is moving on and I don't want to be late so
it's a quick shower and towel dry for me before I start getting dressed.
Lingerie or underwear? I can still remember how, as a teenage Terry, I
used to look through my mother's clothing catalogues and the lingerie
pages always gave me a thrill. Gorgeous models, some wearing lacy bras
and panties, others wearing basques. How I wished I was one of those
girls. My mother had quite a collection herself and, one day when she
went out, I went to her underwear drawer to see what I could find. As I
took out a particularly sexy bra and panties set (I became aroused even
at the thought of wearing them), I was convinced that, just by putting
them on, I would become one of the beautiful girls in the pictures but
all I saw was a bulge where they were flat and a pair of rolled up socks
where they had breasts. I sadly took them off and put them back but, of
course, my mother knew they'd been worn.
"It was just for a bit of fun," I protested.
"These are for girls, not boys," came the reply, "and if I ever catch
you going through my clothes again, your father will get to hear about
it."
But I'm Terri now. I can buy my own lingerie sets whenever I want
without shame or embarrassment. I still get the sensual thrill from the
feel of the silk and lace as I put them on and, as I admire my
reflection in the mirror I know I was made for womanhood. But I went
through unimaginable physical pain to earn this right. How can it be
that you hate a part of your body, a part of your body that gave you so
much pleasure as a teenager, so much that you'll endure any amount of
pain to have it removed? How can it be that having a part of you
removed makes you feel whole? I love the fact that even the tightest,
skimpiest panties fit properly without an embarrassing bulge and it was
worth every minute to achieve that.
But today, I'm seeing Sarah. Hand washing the delicate lingerie sets
after use is such a pain so I'll save them for another time. This bra
and pants will do. They don't match but no one will see them. Right,
what's next?
Stockings or socks? I can still remember looking at girls in primary
school wearing nylon tights and thinking how grown up they looked. I
used to look at my own legs in my short trousers, all battered and
bruised from the rough and tumble games we used to play and wish I could
have their legs, flawless and smooth. One day when I was a teenager, my
friends and I found a pair of discarded tights and they dared me to put
them on. Of course, they'd been discarded as one of the legs had a
ladder in it but, as I removed my trousers and put them on, I loved
their smoothness and the excitement I was feeling was obvious for all to
see.
My friends started laughing and saying how much I seemed to be enjoying
wearing them before starting to chant, "Terry's a girl. Terry's a
girl."
Needless to say, the more I protested, the worse their taunts got.
But I'm Terri now. I have a drawer full of stockings and tights. Thick
opaque pairs for cold winter days and sheer pairs in all colours for
special occasions. But, in seeking the right to wear them without
shame, I lost my family.
"As far as I'm concerned, our son is dead," said my father as I told him
of my transition plans, tears streaming down my face. And my mother sat
by him, stone-faced, nodded in agreement and said nothing to defend me.
If that's how much my happiness meant to my parents, then in all
honesty, I'm better off without them and every time I feel the
smoothness of the nylon as I slide the hosiery up my legs, I realise
that their loss was a small price to pay to be who I am now. But I'm
only seeing Sarah today and I don't want to risk laddering yet another
pair so socks it is. Time to choose my outfit.
A skirt or jeans? I used to play with the girl next door and, one day,
when we were round at her house, she said she wished she had a sister.
I was only five at the time and I said, "Can I be your sister?"
"Yes you can," she replied, "but you'll have to dress like my sister."
How I loved playing at being her sister. I wore a pretty dress and
white ankle socks and black patent shoes and we held hands and skipped
around for ages before playing with her dolls. I loved to spin around
and see the bottom of the dress fly up and thought the clothes were much
better than the boring ones I had to wear. Her mother thought we looked
cute and asked me what she should call me. I told her that my name was
Susan and that's what she called me for the rest of the day. When my
father came to collect me, he went mad and said I could never go round
there to play again.
"But what's wrong with wearing a dress?" I asked.
"Dresses and skirts are for girls," he replied.
"But my friend Kenny wears skirts," I protested.
"Kenny's from Scotland and they're kilts," he replied.
But I'm Terri now. I have a wardrobe full of skirts and dresses in all
styles. I love the freedom that some skirts give and the way that
others which are more figure hugging show off my womanly curves. The
financial cost of getting to this point was high; not only did I have
the expense of the surgeries but, as soon as my boss found out what I
was planning, he fired me. We didn't have the discrimination laws we
have now in those days so I went from a high salary as a successful
salesman to living on benefits. I lost count of the number of
applications for jobs I submitted but even those who gave me an
interview suddenly lost interest when they found out I was trans. It's
only through my own determination and persistence that I'm working again
but I'm still not earning as much as Terry was.
So yes, I feel that I have earned the right to wear skirts and dresses
whenever I want. But there's an icy wind blowing today and we're only
going to the local coffee shop so jeans will do fine. Now, what to wear
with them?
Blouse or chunky sweater? I'll never forget the envy of the girls I
felt in secondary school as our bodies started to change. I remember
going back to school after the summer holidays and noticing how some of
the girls had clearly changed significantly during the six week break.
Blouses which a couple of months earlier hung limply were now being
stretched as they struggled to cover what was blossoming underneath and,
whilst I had to wear a shirt buttoned up to the top and a tie, their
open necked blouses gave a tantalising glimpse of what was inside. The
problem was that I, too, had breasts - thanks to gynaecomastia. They
weren't very big but big enough for others to notice and with enlarged
nipples & areolas, they definitely looked unmistakably feminine. Whilst
privately, I wished they'd grow and fill out my shirt like the girl's
breasts did, publicly they were an embarrassment and gave my friends a
ready made excuse to mock me.
But I'm Terri now. Thanks to breast augmentation, I now have a pair of
boobs to be proud of. Perfectly proportioned with the rest of my body,
I can wear what I like without any embarrassment or shame. But whilst
breast augmentation solves many problems, it brings with it a whole set
of new ones. Whilst gynaecomastic breasts can be hidden with binding, a
pair of D-cups definitely cannot and immediate social transition
straight afterwards is a must. Genetic women have a lifetime to learn
the ways of the female but transitioners must not only learn how to live
in their new gender but also need to forget everything they learned
about living in their old gender, all in a very short space of time.
Misgendering, sometimes accidental but often deliberate, is commonplace
and it's not easy to remain impassive when, inside you are inconsolable
from hearing a male pronoun used to describe you.
But that's all behind me. In a low cut blouse, my breasts look just as
good as those of the girls at school but today's a day for wrapping up
warm so chunky sweater it is. I'm nearly ready now, just have to pick a
pair of shoes.
Heels or trainers? If there's anything that defines a woman, it's high
heels. As a child I can still remember hearing the "clicketty clack" of
high heels on the pavement outside my window and marvelling how graceful
the ladies looked as they walked past on their slender stiletto heels.
When I was young I used to try to walk in my mother's shoes which, of
course, were far too big for me. At first, she just laughed but then
she used to get angry and shout at me to take them off.
"High heels are for girls, not boys," she declared, "and don't you ever
let me catch you wearing them again."
But I'm Terri now. I've got around 50 pairs of shoes in every
imaginable style and I love them. Heels of all heights, court shoes,
sandals and boots - I've got them all. I particularly love my 4"
courts; nothing beats the feeling as you slide a nylon clad foot into
them and experiencing the increased height and reshaping of the calf
muscles that results. But, as you already know, I've faced an uphill
struggle for the right to wear these whenever I want. As Terry, I used
to enjoy going out for a beer with my friends. We'd talk man's talk -
sport, cars, girls etc. But then I told them I was transitioning and
things changed. Even though I was still presenting as male, the
invitations to join them soon dried up and if I tried to initiate an
outing. "Sorry Tes, I'm busy at the moment," would be the inevitable
reply. Of course, they're all married with kids now and the last thing
their wives would want would be for them to have a night out with
another woman regardless of who she once was.
So yes, I wear my heels with pride, I really have earned that right.
But it's only a quick coffee with Sarah and they do make my feet ache a
bit so I'll go with the trainers today. Oh, I nearly forgot. Hair and
makeup.
One day when we were very young, my little sister and I sneaked into our
parents," bedroom and found my mother's makeup case. We opened it and
saw that it was full of lipsticks, eye shadows and all sorts of other
cosmetics. My sister asked if she could make me up and I said she could
as long as she let me do her make her up afterwards which she agreed to.
Twenty minutes later we'd finished and went to show our handiwork to our
mother. Confronted with two preschool children with all sorts of
cosmetics smeared over their faces, she wasn't at all happy and said
"Terrance, go and wash that stuff of your face immediately and don't let
me ever catch you playing with it again."
As I walked to the bathroom sobbing at the savagery of my mother's
scolding, I saw her turn to my sister and say, "Let's go upstairs and
I'll show you how to apply it properly."
"Why did you tell me off and not her," I sobbed.
"Because she's a girl and girls wear makeup. Boys don't," came the
terse reply.
But I'm Terri now. I love shopping for cosmetics - MAC, l'Oreal, Max
Factor - I've tried them all. In fact it was the cosmetics industry
that was my lifeline; after being sacked from my old sales job, I
finally managed to get an apprenticeship as a makeup artist and now work
in one of the big department stores on the MAC sales counter. But I
paid an almost intolerable price to get here.
When I was 18, I was at a party and saw a girl that I hadn't seen for
over 10 years. We'd played together as young children but then drifted
apart before her family moved house and I no longer saw her at all.
She'd now grown into a beautiful young woman and, when she accepted my
invitation on a date, I couldn't believe my luck. We were soon engaged
to be married but, by that time, my transgender feelings which had
disappeared during the early months of our relationship were starting to
return and, as a marriage has to be built on honesty, I told her how I
felt. She tried very hard to accept me but, in the end, through floods
of tears, told me that her life plan was to be married to a successful
husband with two or three children and she could not contemplate life
with another woman. We called off the engagement there and then. So
yes, I've paid a big price to earn the right to wear makeup and have
long, flowing, feminine hairstyles but it's been worth it. I'm happy as
I am now but staying as I was would only have made me, and therefore
her, more and more unhappy.
But it's getting really late now. I've only got time for a bit of
mascara and clear lip gloss and I'll tie my hair back for convenience.
Just time to check myself in the mirror and then I have to rush so
thanks for listening.
Hang on a minute. I look like nothing's changed - jeans, trainers and a
sweater. I used to wear this type of stuff when I was still Terry -
heavens, even my name sounds the same! I fought long and hard for the
right not to have to wear this stuff so why am I throwing all of that
away for the sake of a bit on convenience. Let me make a phone call and
I'll be back in a minute.
"Hello Sarah, it's Terri. Look, something's come up this morning.
Could we make it lunch instead? Oh that's great, thanks. See you at
1:00."
Right, where were we. Oh yes, time to start again. While my bath is
running, I'll pick out an outfit. Right, this white silk & lace
lingerie set. I absolutely love it - it feels so good to wear and fits
perfectly. The bra will show off my breasts perfectly under this
blouse. Now for a skirt; this pencil skirt is quite a thick material so
it'll be quite warm today but I do love the way my legs brush against
the lining as I walk. Now, I know these knee high boots have a four
inch stiletto heel but they're surprisingly comfortable and easy to walk
in and I absolutely adore them as they go with anything. And with the
boots keeping me warm, these sheer black tights will be fine and the
split on the back of my skirt will give a tantalising view of them as I
walk. And why I thought I could get away without doing my hair and
makeup, I do not know! There's nothing better than smoky eyes and deep
red lips to make one feel good about oneself and I can style my hair
while I blow dry it.
I need about an hour to have my bath, get dressed and do my hair &
makeup and then I'll be off so thanks for the visit and for listening to
my story.
Sorry, what was that? Oh yes, who is Sarah? Well, you remember how I
told you about the girl who wanted a sister and I volunteered? That was
Sarah. And the girl who I met and fell in love with at age 18? That
was Sarah too. Whilst she couldn't cope with being in a relationship
with another woman, that didn't mean that she abandoned me and she was
with me throughout my journey. She guided me on the path to womanhood,
advising me on what to do and how to act every step of the way, and she
held my hand as I was wheeled to the operating theatre for my surgeries
and she was still there when when I woke up again afterwards. To say
that Sarah is special to me just doesn't do her justice, she's one in a
million as far as I'm concerned and I love her dearly.
My life is wonderful now and so is Sarah's. She's got the successful
husband and three beautiful children. But she's now also got the sister
she always wanted and I'm so proud that it's me.
Cayleigh
- 04.03.2022
- 29
- 0
