(Journal clip from 9/2/03)

"I'm talking with some customers about the joys and features of the I-Vibe Rabbit. Okay, they aren't real customers, just a regular showing the store to a friend who was curious. All the same, it's a steadying influence. I hear the door and glance up. My stomach drops out of my body and the air leaves my lungs, even as I smile brightly and call out a greeting.

Simple low-heeled black shoes, low-rise women's jeans with a flaired ankle and thighs tight enough to watch the pulse, fitted black knit shirt with long belled sleaves clinging enticingly to a moderate bustline, maroon lips, heavily lined eyes, gel slicked "boy" hair proudly displayed, glasses.

Fuck. Me. Gently. Instanly, my pulse races and my boxers are not near as tidy as they were only five seconds before."

Here's another subject that's never far from my mind. Call it a Crusade, if you will, and I the White Knight. How can I begin this, simple and to the point? I like male to female transvestites...alot. In fact, I've sworn never to get involved with an "ordinary" male again. If he doesn't enjoy the feel of stockings, he's not for me. And it's not enough to do it for my pleasure alone. They have to enjoy it as much as I (it's very hollow otherwise). "Why?" has been asked before, but I'm not sure I can explain. Why does someone prefer a specific hair color or like a certain sort of music? More accurately, why is anybody attracted to (insert gender here)? I could theorise about my primarily masculine nature needing to be balanced by female softness, or other words to that effect. Quite simply though, it makes my blood boil.

Oh, the beauty of a woman with the strength of a man (as I've often been known to say). What could be more perfect? The smell of cosmetics, the sensual line of a garter strap, and under it all, the boiling lust of both genders. Male and female come together as one, but in a different form than myself. How could I resist it? Besides, female clothing is beautiful, erotic in itself. Powders and paints are a charming artiface, as are corsetry and precarious heels. Real women are beautiful, make no mistake, but there is something mysterious and delicious about lovely ladies with secrets in their skirts. Even if there is no sexual attraction to the individual, I'm drawn to male-to-female crossdressers. There is some feeling of kinship there, a facination with that form of expession and what it suggests.

I suppose it's somthing you feel or you don't. Some people must think I'm about sick right now, but I canna' help it. I've gotten almost as much shit from people telling me my desires are "wrong" as most TV/CDs get themselves. I've read much on the subject, account after account and it saddens me. So many relationships lost because not everyone sees this subject as the object of beauty I do.

All that heartache, and why? Because, it seems, most women don't want their lover to dress. This is incomprehendable to me and it brings tears to my eyes, seeing all that beauty go to waste. They cannot continue with their "defective" lovers, when I (and there are other's like me) desire the very thing they're chucking to the dogs. It's more than just the clothing, it's the mentality. The clothes alone are about sex, the mentality is something I must have in order to love fully.

This is not a sometimes thrill I crave, but the life I want to have. One day, and for the rest of my life, I'll get into bed next to a genetic male wrapped in the softness of a silk nightgown. Not because it's a "kink", it's just me.