moonstruck

(c) Maty Dio

You excite me even when you don’t
In Marks and Spencer’s underclothes and more so in nude with your marvelous bottom crowning the area below your tiny waist wrapping your hips with the bulk of a loveable sizeable mount to grip
I’d love you filthy in white Victorian bloomers and no less would I love you chaste in an erotic corsetry
And nursing bra
I want to see you smutty in a nursing bra with high waisted knickers and hand embroidered hems
Grandmothers’ drawers, not so brief briefs, step-ins and scanties, nice retro panties
I am in love with your soft small roundness
Underworn overexcited reclining declining requesting receiving
You excite me blinded by a ruffled silk scarf and when you stare into my eyes
Fucked
Loved
Plowed
Respected
Desired
Tired and wired
Fired by expectations
Venus on the run from the gods in an all too favorable planetary alignment
I want you now, I want you later
My bread, my butter, my cake, my grapes and cheese platter
Apply this sentence to your wounds every day for the best dressing
Hungry, I’ll dress my side dish of a salad and have you undressed for my main course
Marinated
Dressing undressing confessing regressing
You are the oyster
And the world
My clam, the mussel’s pearl in sea juices
Scrub you clean before I pop your lid
And if you ever hid, unhide
From me
Defriend my mind
I want you after dinner in mint condition and as my aperitif
Dirty and clean and without lingerie the addict I am I’d forfeit the riches for the poor to spend the remaining lifetime with you
I want to drink you eat you
My last supper
Revive you after
The plain, the boring is all excitable
Clear crystal minded
Sharp
Bohemian
You’re mad – you accuse me with a giggle
But isn’t everyone at loss of mind convinced of their invincible mental clarity?

once upon a paradigm

I bought a little vintage hair clipper
Scissor style
I am so in love with it
I find it perfect for my beard and upper lip clearing
It keeps it at the ideal length

The small town afternoon was sprinkling with a summer rain and the freshly erected market was beginning to collapse back into cars
What a pity
I could stand in the rain and browse through the vintage treasures of the happy looking bearded old chap under his dripping tent for hours
‘You hold it like this and squeeze the handle and clip away, I am here today only, I regret, but you can visit my antiques shop in..’ – he mentioned some small town not too far away, yet far too far, as I am not a car owner any longer and I am sorry about not having brought more cash to buy the antique reception tabletop bell and another zillion of useless crap from his makeshift store
I am a sucker for all things vintage

‘Mamiiii’
I hear from the background while I crop my face
‘One minute’ – I answer without a second thought in that nonsensical fashion that parents do, when one minute never means one minute and I continue cutting
There is no rush
Life is full of days
Snip Snap
The stubble is thickening steadily after the last shave two days ago
The hair is falling onto my own reflection; I hold the mirror on my lap, trying to clip the difficult bits under my chin

Reflection upon reflection upon the tense past and loose future
Hair clippings and photoshopped images

I don’t see myself somewhere when it comes to the future
In fact I don’t see myself anywhere
I don’t see myself full stop
I perceive myself
I’m guided by instincts and emotions
I smell the passing steam of present instances that doesn’t exist any longer as each new second ticks away

I miss the old clocks
The palpable noise of passing time
Let’s return to the times of old where moral values stood high above the social networking and the tangible reality was as good as capable of being handled or touched or felt and virtual meant nothing more that practical, being actually such in almost every respect

Perhaps I am not a person, but an image of some long lost ghost having returned to claim his never experienced momentum
Filling his capacity, furthering growth for as far as it can stretch

I have no perception of myself in terms of some obsolete visual picture
I see myself red, dark and purple

I have a perfectly blank mind and hearing others define their selves and imagine themselves with grandchildren on their knees as grandfathers  with pipes and rocking chairs and fireplaces.. I wonder whether I should wonder why I fail to wonder
Am I missing some very important and indivisible part of imagining future?
Does it make me poorer in mind?
Is my fantasy second class citizen to the mass projections of the retirement age?
Disarmed, do I need the imagery of nonexistent future cluttering my mind for some essential pseudo-requirement?

I thank my invisible past for my unseen future.
And I love a mixed word salad with my meal.

trenchant enchantment

enthral me
and she did
day by day word by word letter by letter
my magnetised thoughts directed towards her
gravitating to enchantment
tasty thaumaturgy of rainy summer nights
to the unknown
and I find myself writing about acacia’s smell
inspired and visited by the muse
amused and touched by emotions
so far so good

I warned her I am an illusion yet she does not believe quoting my palpability
she touched me
deep within the borders I framed out for my emotional safety
I don’t bare my soul any longer
I don’t undress my intimate thoughts
nor do I indulge in cathartic purging of my inner sentiments although I do give her the rest of me
I keep that small part to myself never to lose my mind again
as it almost happened when I let the wrong hands do the safekeeping
and the safe turned into a prison cell
and impunity into a straight jacket

could one live the dream and what does it take to tie it down and not to lose it?
chain it, bind it with invisible tape or hemp cord but without entrapment
volatile thoughts explosive ideas
can one touch the ether and how carnal does it taste?

I watch my heartbeat under the protruding bone of my right ankle
vein
pumping blood
drumming life
does that make me more tangible?
more real?
less illusive?
not dreamlike?
I smell your unwrapped clove scented cigar and think of you laying across my lap
two bare half moons over my knee illuminating the night in my bedroom and I am instantly aroused
a lifebuoy for those lost in their mind
Ahasvers of never ending thoughts and unanswered questions

who suffers more, the one who is always awaiting someone or the one who never expected anyone?
I ponder Pablo’s dilemma and in the Nerudesque mode, I write you a poem
smelling your unwrapped clove scented cigar, thinking of your bare arse
and
of your coarse laugh
of course

love is the loss of reality
exemption of clarity
immunity of sanity
freedom of rules
perseverance of madness

I am finding myself falling again
catapulted into the universe
free-falling in love
I may let you beat me to my senses and awaken the beast

Bisous. Je t’embrasse, Chat Sauvage.

transfiguration

when I don’t sleep I dream
the potent cocktail of the past images dimly lit by the ignis fatui and interlaced with my dreamy fantasies propels me into some unexplored dimension
how many are they and where does the innocence end?

I’m not me
or perhaps I am
subject to the one of the worm holes I have crawled through
my mind is far detached from the biodegradable wrapper
it is contained within

reality tastes blank
point and shoot
the past with the not so distant quondam ghosts has all but vanished
the present escapes me with each Polaroid moment
fast moving
going going going gone gone gone slowing slowing slowing down down down stopping stopping almost halting misleading to continue moving fast fast fast faster faster faster going going going gone
gone
puff in a cloud of smoke
and the future is nothing more than a draft anthology of creative thoughts

memories don’t exist
delusory images of the altered states of mind according to our wishes and desires and needs and cravings

he wanted me
I wanted her so badly
she wanted someone else
he is a man
I am a woman
she is a woman
I am a man
Who am I?
what when where and why should it matter

I’m no one you should know and ad ultimatum I am just a phantom of the illusive existence I seem to be leading
life behind the mirror that’s in someone’s purse
make-up and keys to an alternate world that we can chose to belong to or to refuse to enter

I was born I live I’ll die
how simple life is before we fill the spaces with the needless banter and populate the infinite cavities of our bare existence with unnecessary issues and problems and troubles and difficulties and look for solutions to all that
that does not need solving nor resolving
because it does not exist anywhere else but in our minds

I was born
and at first I morphed into a sexy woman
my name was Martin
a handsome boy name

tango with Tenga or as good as it gets

I had the most explosive orgasm of my lifetime
with a can
once you get over the fact that you are having sex with a plastic junk housing a silicone vagina it might turn into quite a mind blowing experience

my partner is Tenga
she is black with red stripes and her Hard Edition Deep Throat drives me to a roaring ecstasy
literally

unlike with the others, I’m not a considerate lover
after two weeks of knowing each other her tight opening has a little tear
she is always ready and lubricated and does not object to any of the intimate juxtapositions I subject her to
and with the opening of a lid, she is always open to gratifying my carnal desires

do I satisfy her?
I don’t have to care
does she satisfy me?
absolutely

size matters and I did not believe I would have been able to penetrate anything or anyone but upon reading of a recommendation on FtM forum I acquired the Japanese made ‘men tool’
please note: I’m not admitting that I have a problem ;0)

the airtight plastic container filled with ever so gliding lubricant became my fuck buddy
and after having experienced most possible female climaxes.. this one I was unprepared for
whoever that did not verify all ends of the climax spectrum and concluding that the female climax is better than the one experienced by males is talking rubbish
one would have to be able to experience personally both sides of the climax before making verified conclusions subjective to his/her own realm

my first encounter blew my mind
my brain activity transcended into another dimension, the physical was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and the curiosity killed the cat
La petite mort was devastatingly satisfying

on a side note, I used to own a phantom penis that has stopped making its presence felt as my erectile tissues grew under the androgen therapy
testosterone replacement enlarges them by several centimetres
genetics are at work the same way as with facial hair or alopecia
with regular pumping of the erectile tissues and using of dihydrotestosterone cream which I buy from a pharmacy abroad, the neophallus of a size of a micropenis makes my days and nights
the cis men can have a laugh about FtM penises of a size of a thumb but when you are starting with a size zero, every little addition makes a sizeable difference
and inability to penetrate the potential partner with my lack of endowment.. makes Tenga so much more valuable in being able to experience the erection that is maintained stable and remains steady
grasping the penis with chunky plastic and giving you a full fist of erection to hold and a climax to unleash upon you
and as I am a man with a vagina, there is no other way for me to experience the penetrative sex from the point of the giver with the original plumbing equipment as designed by mother nature
Viva la Tenga!

am I an arsehole for admitting my enjoying of the benefits of sex without having to deal with the PMS, pre-PMS and post PMS dramas and requirements and needs and wishes and wants of women I have no feelings for?
digging strawberries out of the snow in December, making her pancakes at 3 am or zooming through the town at midnight looking for whatever she wants
that will hopefully calm the aggressive estrogen enhanced beast dwelling inside of her is all within limits
if one is enamoured which I am not

my current self imposed block from falling in love again can only crumble by enchantment without prior appointments
and so i play the solitaire
not one on one
but one only

I’m just a regular guy who works to provide for the family, has his hobbies, paints a little, sketches a little, writes a little, plays some guitar and tries to sing, browses the net for the news that aren’t available mainstream, cooks, cleans and cares for the kids
and masturbates to the after hours straight porn falling asleep a few seconds after
in fact, addressing hypocritical neighbours of mine.. I am a wanker, but it might very well be you, the world at large so loving to dissect my everyday life, multiplying the gossip by three and twisting it a few times to spice things up a little, that are the ones with the problem

get a life
or.. get Tenga

voice transition

Clip 1 – 1 week on testosterone
Clip 2 – 8 months on testosterone

Clip 1 – 2 weeks on testosterone
Clip 2 – 8 months on testosterone