Rape, “rape” and rape-rape

the mechanics of Rape 101.

it seems easier to describe how i learned about rape, so i will use my lived experience databank. since rape and sex are inextricably combined, i will start by using human sexual intercourse as my frame.

the first time i got pushed in was the evening of my 21st birthday. the lucky guy was my supervisor at work.

we became once or twice a month frak buddies.

sometime into the second year of our bootycall relationship, he hurt me.

he was reaming me good and i was literally deeply enjoying his pounding rhythum.

at some point, “something” internal felt painful and i asked him to stop. he didnt. i asked again. he kept pushing into me. i practically begged him, “please. stop”. he told me was just about ready to come… he kept thrusting even more, deeper, harder. my pain went up. so did his pleasure, apparently.

he came. didnt apologize. put his clothes on. thanked me and left…

that was sex rape #1. ill edit this in a little while and describe at least four more rapes along this wxample…


The following all occured to me about five-ish, maybe six years later… soon after i became a prostitute.


a date i picked up over drinks in a bar paid me half my street fee, and we went to his motel room.

he had the hardest penis eva. so hard i thought it was trick of some kind.

guys that do speed or drink can get crazy horny, but they also get whiskeydick. limp. half-hard. firming up, then losing it again. not this guy. oh no. he worked me so hard i was shaking. butt. he was almost superhumanly hard… hmmm. the entire time. he also didnt have the other half of my fee after he jizzed. double the butthurt for me. lesson learned. later i realized that he was probably on viagra…

the next three all occurred after i got off the street and went “pro”.

i had a sexy date who wanted to be my bf in a big way. but boyfriends at that phase in my life had to buy me a pussy or pay my bills. so.

he paid me to showup at his doorstep dressed like a playboy or hustler girl. all lipstick and miniskirts. perfect pedicure for his raging foot fetish. his big thing was fucking me all night on cocaine. one night as he was eating out my asshole, he put cocaine in me. didnt ask. just did it.

eventually he left the country. new regulars took his place along with my established clients.

one client i had was my youngest client i ever dared bring into my apartment. he was going to get some. but he power-raped me before i was ready, and left me bleeding for almost ten years.

my last client before i retired, was also my first regular. he claimed to love me and prnonounced my ass as the best pussy he had had for the last year and a half. he took his condom off at the last few moments (after a ninety minute marathon of sex) when he had become desensitized due to the condom, the friction, and repeatedly restraining his ejaculation.

he put his dick back in me in a splitsecond, and after a few frenzied minutes, jizzed his hep-B laden sperm into my rectum.

had i not been vaccainated against hepB, i would probably have it. likewise, if he had anything else, i might now have it too. if he had given me AIDS, i wouldnt have been able to srs with Suporn.

all five men were black.

the warriorcaste white guy that hurt me, didnt hurt me like the other five. he didnt even stick his dick in me. it wss the way he handled me that is so hard to describe…

he kissed me rough. he yanked my hair instead of pulling it. he slapped my body at weird angles. he slapped my breasts and gnawed on my nipples so hard i had to not cry deliberately. he flipped me this way and that. jerked off without coming while staring at me or slapping my tits with one hand. he slapped my face, but not the same way i like from dominant women. when his session was about over, he twisted me onto my stomach, forced my face into my pillow and came explosively all over my ass, asscrack, spine and hair.

then he left quietly…

i was left laying on my bed thinking to myself, “what the fuck just happened?”

the first five examples are rape, differently shaded, but still violation, which makes it rape.

the warrior white guy was just a Conan the Barbarian

Posted in artificial persons, feminism, porn culture, prostitution, radical feminism | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

why we feel the moon



once i watched an episode of the tv show, COPS. a reporter was interviewing a las vegas patrol officer about policing during a fullmoon and made references to lunatics and fullmoon fever (it was a fullmoon in that episode).

the officer very casually and professionally explained that according to police statistics, the occasional uptick in fullmoon calls was due to more hours of light for people to make use of for partying or whatevers. but no. nothing mystical or supernatural about fullmoons and social behavior.

after i heard his response to the reporter, i thought, “Speak for yourself!”

a long time ago, when our solar system was forming, we did not have eight planets in peaceful orbit around the sun.

our system may have had dozens of planet all dragged into the sun’s gravitational depression in local space fabric – circling and spiraling, and in some cases – careening or colliding into each other.

one day a small planet called ‘Thea’ caromed off of a planet called ‘Gaia’.
a good portion of it probably survived and shot out of the system.

the collision was perfect. too glancing of an impact, and they would skip off each other like billard balls. too direct a hit would have ended both protoplanets. but just-catastrophic-enough of a strike occured, causing both planets to meld into each other. they literally traded matter. what parts of poor Thea that got caught in Gaia stuck around as bits and pieces of both worlds swirled into an accretion disk. parts of that disk fell to Earth. what stayed condensed into the Moon.

both Gaia and Luna create depressions in the local space fabric. those depressions overlap. the Moon also perturbs all fluids on the earth, but its gravitational sway is most readily observed on the oceans and the tides.

the moon has no innate illumination. it has albedo – the light from Sol reflected in cold rays deviod of most of the Sun’s strenuous radiation.

the mass of the moon is partly ancient proto earth. its gravity acts like a vaguely eccentric pendulum on the earth’s gravity well, creating waves and oscillations in gravity itself – which is omnipresent.

we humans are made from stellar matter congealed into this planet in elements. we have electromagnetism. our weight, is our condensed elements, most of which is water! we have gravity and are affected by same. we are held together by weak nuclear bonding at the atomic level where particles whip around cores not dissimilar to planets circling the sun.

some of us can feel something of those energy and matter connections. i know i do. i can feel the energy of the moon tugging on me and it puts me in this i-can-feel-the-moon-doing-something-to-me state for days.

and with respect to the fact that a fullmoon does provide more light which might trick our nocturnal sleep circuits somehow, giving us more time to party into greater states of whatever. it does not satisfactorily explain why i will wake up at one a.m. wide awake, feeling as though im being looked at somehow – and i get out of bed and its totally cloudy and dark everywhere.

still im compelled to look straight up at the overcast and overhead sky and pan my eyes around. after a minute or three, the darkness fades translucent and a dim milky sphere appears momentarily, right above me – exactly where i felt it would be.

Posted in astronomy vs astrology, cosmology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

the insanity of the term “cisprivilege”

(and why this made-up term is really bullshit made up by trans-centered and clueless transactivists. Julia Serano comes to mind, actually, as do her neophyte glomlings) http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/cisprivilege



(LGBT, neologism) The social advantage enjoyed by those who are cisgender/cissexual.

Who uses the term “cisprivilege” and what does it mean to them? Transwomen use this term without having any idea at all how profoundly offensive it is to born-females. What transwomen mean when they say born-females enjoy “cisprivilege”

  • You can grow your hair long and NOBODY questions you! omg!
  • you get to wear dresses and pantyhose and paint your toes and nobody calls you a fag!
  • shopping for high heels. srsly!
  • having doors held open for you by chivalrous dinosaurs
  • getting “dressed” in feminine clothing of any kind, especially little black dresses
  • being a cheerleader, or Hooters girl.
  • going to a bar and having all your drinks paid for, and cigarettes gifted by, your orbiters
  • lipstick and gloss and sparkly blush or eye shadow…so girly!
  • sweet sixteen parties! why can’t boys have them! so unfair!
  • all-girl slumber parties! #ragenvy
  • vaginas! and boobs!
  • being Daddy’s little girl and getting a new Camaro for your seventeenth birthday. Wow!

Here is an incomplete list of the social “advantages” of so-called “cis” sexual females.

  • having the Amber Alert system named after you!
  • FBI rape statistics. Look them up!
  • female-only rape shelters
  • being a college-aged woman, going for a walk in the woods with a politician boyfriend and never being seen again
  • female genital mutilation
  • foot-binding
  • wife-burning
  • being acid-splashed or beheaded by your father for failing to obey Shariah
  • being hunted down and killed by your brother or cousin, as an “honor killing” for dropping the hajib and dating Western men
  • “want some candy, little girl?” says the creepy pedo in the Buick pulling up alongside a fourth-grade girl walking home from school
  • being abducted out of a shopping cart by a ball-cap wearing man while mom is in the next aisle over, and disappeared, never to be seen again
  • losing your virginity to your Dad, Uncle, Grandfather, brother or cousin
  • first period, (menarche) occuring during the first class of the day in junior high! is that blood on your desk chair?
  • periods, period! cramps, water weight, swollen ankles, swollen abdomen, weird food cravings and aversions, being “pissed-off” (all freakin day!) moodswings, aunt flow, blood clots, ew! pads or tampons laydees?
  • the morning-after pill. The condom broke he said, time for Plan B, girls!
  • creepy gynecologists and your pelvic exams!
  • being locked into your father’s basement from age twelve to age twenty-two, and bearing or miscarrying one or more of your Daddy’s rape-babies.
  • being sold by your family – works for royalty, all the way down to the peasantry
  • having asshole MALES scream at you and shove pictures of feotuses in formeldahyde in your face as you walk into an abortion clinic to terminate a rape or otherwise unwise or unwanted pregnancy
  • ectopic pregnancy. ouch!
  • PCOS. how do you like my Captain Morgan and my she-goat? hey transwomen, got the name of a good electrologist?
  • dying while giving birth. it still happens in this country and it was once a very common way for women to die. Still common in underdeveloped countries.
  • being killed or having a male stalk or attempt to murder you, for becoming a feminist. It’s more likely than you think, right trans?
  • Being the exclusive prey item on a sociopath, psychopath or narcissists serial killer murder spree wanted list: Ed Gein, Ted Bundy, Donald Neilson, Gary Leon Ridgway, Dennis Rader, and my personal favorite, Gentleman Jack the Ripper, stalker and killer of prostitutes
  • Being a widow, with no surviving family, forgotten and alone in your house at the end of a street.
  • being homeless and pregnant, or pregnant and headed to prison!
  • not having medical pros or law enforcement take you seriously when reporting medical or criminal events
  • being mansplained to by males in your family, friend circle or professional peers
  • and so much more!

What transwomen mean by female “cisprivilege”: “omg, you totally get to be feminine and nobody questions you, your sexuality or your state of mind! plus boobs! and vaginas!” what females understand as “cisprivilege”: femicide, sexism, rape and oppression

Posted in feminism, gender identity disorder, gender identity politics, reality, shared boyhood | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 64 Comments

My encounter with a transgender woman in the women’s locker room


It was the whistling that clued me in that there was a man in the women’s locker room. I had just finished my lap swim, and I was taking a shower when I heard whistling in the next room over. I thought to myself, “what the hell?” and “it must be the janitor”. And because I had no desire to walk unclothed into the locker room with a man present, I dallied and continued my shower. I assumed the whistling would stop in seconds because the janitor would finish quickly and get out. But the whistler kept whistling, so I kept showering.

I kept listening for the expected sound of the locker room doors crashing open and shut as the janitor departed, but it did not happen. Cautiously, I wrapped myself up in my towel and peeked around the corner of the shower room into the locker room.


The whistler was a six foot tall woman in late middle age. Her back was to me as she stood at a locker arranging her things. I knew instantly, that she was trans. Given my past history, I had no desire to be seen naked by a late transitioner. I ghosted over to my locker and grabbed my bag and darted to a changing stall.

As I was putting my clothing on, a young Asian woman had come out from the lap swim and started showering off. At this point, the transwoman ceased whistling, and I could tell by the sound that she had sat down on the bench to change.

The Asian woman, probably twenty-something, finished her shower quickly and walked naked from the shower to the locker room, toweling herself as she went. At this point I came out of the changing stall, dressed in my street clothing, sans my socks and sneakers which were still in my locker.

I glanced sidelong for a split-second at the tall, broad-shouldered transwoman as I approached the benches. The transwoman was gawking at the Asian lady as she was getting dressed. The woman had her back to the transwoman as she finished drying off and began dressing, so she did not see what I saw. I saw The Gaze. The gaze I had avoided by dressing in the changing stall, when I realized that the whistler was a transwoman.


The transwoman continued to disrobe and put on her own bathing suit in preparation for her swim. But as she did, she continued to gaze at the Asian woman as she got her clothes on. I saw the whole thing out of the corner of my eyes. The Asian girl looked at the floor. The transwoman looked at the Asian woman. I shot glances at the transwoman. The transwoman never looked directly or indirectly at me, perhaps because I was clothed.

Very. Very. Awkward.

I suspect that the transwoman frequented another public swim location, and that her appearance at the pool I liked to go to was a result of maintenance at the one she attended. I had no desire to share that locker room with that transwoman again, and I avoided that particular pool for a couple months afterward in the hopes of not encountering her again. I haven’t yet, so I assume it was either a random encounter or that she frequented a different pool.

The main point of the story is, whistling in the women’s locker room. Dead giveaway that there was a man in there. Only it was a transwoman. A transwoman who could not keep her eyeballs off the young Asian girl, whose back was turned to the transwoman as she got dressed.

Even though that transwoman is recognized as female and did not have a penis, she doesn’t belong at the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival any more than I do, for the reasons I described here.

While I know that some women do whistle, that’s not the issue I am trying to highlight. The problem was the fifty-odd years of living in a man’s body, with a brain bathed in male sex hormones and a culture that teaches men that women’s bodies are theirs for the gazing at.

A transwoman may claim that she feels like a woman inside, but transition and a sex change does not remove the lifelong Patriarchy socialization that conditioned the transwoman to feel entitled to gaze and gawk. And I do mean gawk. There is a difference between a transient glance at someone else in the locker room, and the long, lingering, scanning stare that the transwoman played over the Asian woman’s body. In this case the transwoman’s actions spoke more about her socialization than her feminized body or her identity.

This example that I share with you highlights why places like Michfest are important. They give born-females a chance to organize and be away from both Male Gaze and the man-culture that encourages women to be the gazed-upon.

Posted in gender politics, shared boyhood | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

Before you transition: a word about mental health

One of the best suggestions I can give anyone, male-born or female-born, who wants to transition to the opposite sex and take on opposite gender roles in a binary-gendered world is this: Get your other comorbid mental and emotional health problems sorted out first.

Here is a politically incorrect but scientifically accurate insight. We are not all chemically imbalanced all the time because of our genes. The burden of proving this is on the very same people who have a vested interest in getting you on as many treatments for all your supposed disorders as they can, for as long as they can. You have heard of this term ‘maintenance treatment’. It is a euphemism for psychiatric medication user for life and that is what corporate pharma wants you to be, because it makes Big Money and for no other reason than that.

If you want to transition, you could consider yourself pregnant with yourself. And why not? If you transition you will be a self-absorbed child/teen all over again, so why not give yourself the best physical head start on your new life?

Hormones are mind-altering, in addition to being body-altering. Psych meds are also mind and body altering. As long as you have psych meds coursing through you, it is unlikely that you have an accurate gestalt of your interior world. Because part of your current lived personality, as well as your ongoing thoughts and feelings, are due to ongoing psychotropic drug effects.

How do you find the Real You™ underneath a chemical screen of mind and feeling-altering drugs? How do you know which feelings are you and which ones were caused or controlled by drugs that are in your body day and night?

Do you see the problem here and the conflict of interest inherent in trying to figure out the causes of your moods and thoughts whilst simultaneously taking drugs that distort or mask your sense of those things? Do you really grasp the wild-card that you are introducing into an already unstable or unsure emotional situation by taking mood-altering substances all the time, when you are already taking other mood-altering substances all the time?

If you were unfortunate enough while you were growing up in the last twenty years to pick up one or more trendy psych labels, I strongly urge you not to transition until you honestly don’t own those labels anymore.

Bipolar disorder happens to be the psychiatric flavor-of-the-last-couple-decades and chances are, if you received this dx as a child or teen, you are not truly bipolar disordered. If you do the research, you will find that “real” manic depressives, the ones written about in Kraeplin’s work, are not you. Manic depression used to be a purely adult psychiatric problem that was only diagnosed on adults who couldn’t stay out of mental hospitals.

If you have some emotional lability during your day, you are not hypomanic. There is no such thing as a disease symptom of ‘hypomanic’. It was made up in the last few decades so it could be treated with, what else? Psych meds. If you think you should be labeled with bipolar disorder on account of being unable to handle your mood swings, you will likely have a hard time handling going on hormones.

If you got a bipolar dx because you are angry-manic or angry-depressed, guess what? Testosterone will probably only make that worse.

If you suffer from being ‘moody’ or having your emotions go all over the place, you may not be able to handle estrogen.

If you want to think of your emotions as being polar, consider that estrogen will cause those poles to go further up and further down. This could easily be misinterpreted in today’s psychiatric climate as having suddenly graduated from bipolar 2 to bipolar 1, which will only get you another script.

My suggestion is to learn to deal with the thoughts and emotions you have in your current body and mind before switching hormones, or you will likely go from being maybe occasionally bipolar-like to flat-out crazy and you won’t know what is going on. Is it stress? Is it your thoughts? Is it a bipolar mood swing? A hormonal mood swing? A psych med effect?

Your challenge will be that you are unable to separate your mood and stress problems—from the effects of the psych drugs on your mind—from your HRT effects. Consequently,  you may be forever lost inside yourself, unable to know or feel the Real You™.

You can comment if you like. But if you try to tell me about how your genes or your chemical imbalance make you a person with a label from the DSM, then your comment will end up in the spam tray. On account that, you actually believe everything the TV commercials and the flashy web ads told you about mental illness, and you could not be bothered to fact check the reality of all that stuff before having your say.

As a former sufferer of depression, I am very sympathetic to those with mental illness. But you will never convince me you have a “neuro-physical-genetic mental disorder” until you can post your mental illness gene assay test results to the tubes and prove it to me. Until you can do that (which will never happen), please don’t waste your keystrokes informing me from your medical expertise whilst regurgitating easily debunkable drug company advertising copy.

Consider this please: Do you really want to transition from being a male with mental illness, to being a female with mental illness? Or vice versa? Was that the dream you had of your new self? To be just as disordered in your born-again life and body, as the life and body you left behind? Think about it. Really hard.


Plastic Girl is not an MD and this post should be taken as opinion and not as medical advice.

Posted in gender identity disorder, transgender health | Tagged , | 5 Comments

on becoming a servant

Goddess watch over me

Goddess watch over me

When I went and started living full-time as Plastic Girl, I started my life, all over again. Because I was young, with no degree or trade, I had no marketable skills.

My resume had previously been filled with blue-collar stuff, like working in factories, doing janitorial work, temp work in construction, that sort of thing. I mean, once I was out of my teens as an adult, I left fast-food and pizza delivery to get into the 12-hour graveyard shifts of industrial labor. Such is the life of working poor. You take what you can get, and you make the best of it. When the labor demand dries up, you find another job.

In the post 9-11 world, blue-collar industry was destroyed in the slow downward spiral they call the Great Recession, or something. When I transitioned into Plastic Girl, I still had nothing but my blue-collar background.

When I went on to live my life “full-time” as Plastic Girl, I moved from my transition town to a new city for a fresh start, where ostensibly, no one would know me from my old life.

The problem was, I was no longer living in an unincorporated area on the edges of an industrial and warehouse sector. I was living in a Big Name City which has a clear middle and upper class, as well as a lower class. It really is a caste-system based (partly) on what skills you have on your resume. I had no white-collar skills on mine, to save my life.

Very soon after I started my new life, I ran out of money! Getting a nine-to-five gig where I could stand on my feet all day, forty-plus hours a week and do mindlessly simple and repetitive manual tasks for minimum wage was Freaking Hard! It just was not happening, thanks to Nine-Eleven.

In no time at all, during the course of using up my money for the job hunt, I became destitute. And due to my trans-related medical issues, I needed access to medical care. I found a GLBT-friendly clinic with a sliding scale fee schedule.

While I was in the waiting area, I met other transwomen and men. Some of these transwomen fell in love with me, on sight.

Others could barely believe that yours truly was in a free clinic for the underclass. Mainly because, to put it simply, I was young, white, healthy-looking, in good spirits and fairly confident in my identity as Plastic Girl. This made me magnetic, or something, because I attracted transwomen and chasers like nobody’s business.

The fact of the matter is, I was alone, in a new city, in a new life, and I had no friends. I accepted the attentions of some of these transwomen. And that is when I got my education about surviving Teh Street. Surviving being (truly) poor. Getting by, as an underclass.

There was a time when I thought people who applied for welfare were just too lazy or too unmotivated to keep striving until they got a job. I had always associated welfare as being for families of immigrants, or women with children. That was when I was younger, and stupider and far more mabtastic.

I found out from my new trans-friends, that I could collect a small stipend, food stamps and some vouchers for public transportation, if I was willing to humble myself in order to go to the city welfare agency, and ask for help.

So. Because I could not get a job doing what I knew how to do best, I destroyed my mab-ego-pride a little more, and went down to the welfare office to apply for welfare, right alongside those immigrants and single women with children.

I had never done anything like that before, and I felt ashamed that I was left with no other choice, simply because I could just not get a regular honest job. But I did it, and I qualified, and I got food stamps and the whole nine yards.

One day, one of my trans-girlfriends asked me if I wanted to make some easy money to augment my welfare stipend. Of course, I said “Yes”. So. Then we went to a bar that caters to hooking up TGs with MABs who like them.

My friend showed me the ropes. I watched her, and I learned. In no time at all, she had brought some older guy in his fifties over to our table. Turns out, he was willing to pay us each $100 dollars if we would let him watch us make out/make love while he fapped and did a bump of meth or two while fapping.

We brought him back to our place, and everything went according to plan. He was a decent guy to us both. We both “earned” our trick money that night, and it paid for internet, clothes, toiletries, that sort of thing.

My friend used to do the street walk scene. This can be very dangerous work. It is fraught with abusers, some of whom will think nothing much of pulling a knife on you when you get into their car, insist on a free BJ, and then kick you to the curb after he comes in your mouth. This actually happened to my friend one night, while I was inside the bar pacing myself on a glass of red wine, scoping out potential dates.

She picked up a trick from a sidewalk pull-over while she was outside having a cigarette (or fag, as you Brits say), and she was assaulted the instant the door closed and the car pulled away. The john left her without due compensation for services rendered, about four blocks away from the bar I was in. It was pretty awful.

I realized I didn’t want to do the street scene, if I could avoid it. I have done it a handful of times before, but, I trust my spidey-sense and so, when I would get a bad feeling about the vibe coming off a john who is scoping me, I walked back into the bar. It was much better and safer and generally paid better to screen my dates at the table over a drink, then to actually step up to a J that pulls over to the sidewalk for you.

My friend was not very good at saving money and nor did she have a head for business of any kind. So, she spent her meager street-walker earnings as fast as she got it. But I saw a better way to survive and thrive and get ahead and move up financially.

What happened over the course of two months was, I slowly saved up my bar-trick money, and then used it to launch my own business as a call-girl. Then, I got into hyper-femininity.

Within two weeks I had burned up all my saved money on a sexy wardrobe, makeup, grooming stuff, all the girly things a bottom girl wears to show menz she is a bottom.

During my first week of being a real call-girl, I made more money in cash for a few hours of work, than I made in a forty-plus hour-a-week job where I worked my fingers and back to the bone while standing on my feet all day.

With that kind of money, I got off welfare. I didn’t need it! I didn’t want to collect it, unless I really and truly needed it. My welfare stipend for a month was like, $220 dollars, with $100 dollars in food stamps to go with it. I was able to get into better housing of my own effort and new-found financial privilege. This kind of quick and easy cash under the table, upgraded my standard of living and consumption in no time at all.

I had my first ‘girl-friend’ date soon after I started advertising. I was called and booked for an appointment. I got ‘dressed’ and performed all the femininity rituals, including foot-hobbling and short skirts.

I took a cab to a Big Time Ritzy Hotel and was admitted to an amazing hotel suite with a near-panoramic view of the night-time city. It was, well, lovely. For that evening I was a faux-girlfriend and sexual servant to a (nice) VIP mab. He left me a white envelope with five hundred dollars in it. For four hours of work. Less than an hour of the total time spent with him was actual sex-worker stuff.

I would take a couple of these kinds of appointments a week. I would sometimes take quicky appointments at my home that involved various short and sweet sexual services, but my specialty was the “girl-friend” experience. This means, being a servant-girl and submissive to menz for a couple of hours. Being his “date” to dinner and drinks, and or whatever.

I learned to be a good listener. I learned to let guys talk and let them relax and enjoy my femininity and openness. I learned to please someone besides myself. And after awhile, I got good at it. De-stressing guys who wanted no-strings faux-intimacy with a girl they did not have to see ever again, was my job for the better part of a year and a half.

If someone had told me when I was eighteen years old, that I would be living as a woman and a call-girl in a Big City three thousand miles away from my rural hometown in a mere seven years down the road, I would have laughed at the insanity and imagination of the idea. But that is where I found myself, within five months of going full-time with my life as Plastic Girl.

When you are poor and you ask others for help just to stay alive, your ego goes away. It has no choice, but to die. This will change your personality.

Your ego gets shattered a bit more, with each and every new level you are forced to bend and yield to. You learn to say “please” and “thank you” and “I am sorry (if I offended)” with total sincerity, because, after enough repetitions, your submission will no longer be an act, but just a fact.

When rich MABs, or educated and business-type women look at you momentarily as you pass them by on the street on the way to the bank to deposit the money you made the evening before, you avert your eyes and look at the ground. Because, you know your place as a transwoman and prostitute.

Posted in reality | Tagged , , , , | 18 Comments

A lesson in trans-boundary fail

(MAB) pride doth go before a fall
The price of having an opinion, especially when it wounds mab pride, is to be endlessly assaulted and abused for it!

I knew when I made this blog, what the inevitable result was going to be. I was on the internet, a long time ago, and I know how things work here. I know, that all you mtfs are 1337 hax. I know this. :)

I can feel the stiff dicks of wounded trannies probing my defenses, trying to see how well turtled I am here, looking for any holes you can stick your dicks into.

I pretended like I was going into sanitization mode, by locking down two posts with passwords, AS ANOTHER TEST.

The passwords were weak, and there is no incriminating, personal information about me in them, at all. No personal data. No names. NO IMAGES OF ME. None of that stuff.

Both of those posts have been read several times today.

I can feel you thrusting your dicks on me. With each attempt to violate me, you only expose yourself to be a MAB. And a TERMINALLY DOODLY ONE. Stop trying to pretend to be women, if you can’t respect them!

The full Hexydezimal takedown.

The setup:

JH’s blog. I said, “Hi!” and H followed me back to my blog via profile linking stalking.

The psychology of passing.

(Hint. Boundaries are about respect and space.)

If I say or even hint, “Stop.” “Desist.” “This is bugging me.” “You are annoying me.” If I say anything like that, or take it all the way to, “Uninvited,” “Unwelcome,” that means STOP and GO AWAY. For REALZ.

Really simple, right? No.

Most WBW know a thing or two about oppression and humility so, if a woman gets told off, she may feel hurt, but, she goes.

Not so with a dude. Especially young dudes. Especially young wounded dudes looking for approval, mothering, whatever, because they are ego-deficient, unloved, not given enough attention, emo, whatever. Something is wrong with their mind. 

And such a person becomes a GIANT ENERGY HOG who can’t stop trying to get a response, reaction or anything. As long as you feed HIM, Even if, this energy becomes mean or bitter or angry, it is still attention and counts as food for a greedy male grubling.

You see, “Go away,” from a woman to a male is a challenge that means:

Let’s see how far I can insist and bludgeon and intrude, until I am completely hated!


Pool’s Closed.

More parlor stuff. I stood with my hands at my sides and asked him to piss-off.

He kept coming!

I said,  “I won’t stop you. You can keep coming, but it’s intrusion, and it’s only DESTROYING any chance of trust or respect from me, to you.”


I told him he had crossed the line into cyber-stalker-ville. That it seriously was time to get a clue and STOP. Enough is enough already.



Finally, it was time to for HIM to show everyone, trans, non trans, feminists, rad fems, random people, that I was dealing with a GUY socialized as a GUY who was INSISTING to ME and the ENTIRE WORLD that HE was a WOMAN.


And that, my friends, is how Hexy fell.

He was through, finished, with being any kind of TRANS-activist for ME. Because he was neither woman nor trans, he was a GUY, MBM. End of story.

During his ejaculation of wounded MAB pride all over my blog, Hexy, took it ALL THE WAY TO STALKERVILLE. Included in some of the posts he posted here recently (after he knew he was done with posting here days ago) were:

Threats that this was JUST beginning

That we were SO not done.

That he was bringing in BACKUP to intrude on my space, knowing he was unwelcome!


All threatening language to any woman on earth, right?

Not doodly in any way. Not at all.

Once his drag queen buddies started poking their dicks at me, I knew, I was getting GANGED UP ON by immature little boys, all for the purpose of soothing and stroking wounded MAB pride.

And so, we have this page. Stalkerific. As proof positive that:


Proof? If you can’t stay away when asked, you are a guy, you are stalker material, domestic violence material, generally female-hating, woman-hating behavior. And when you get this kind of attack for asking to BE LEFT ALONE, the hypocrisy has to END.

When will stop, ever really mean STOP to a DUDE? When?


Thus, we all see here, that Hexy was a dood in a dress, that is transitioning in his mother’s basement; a dood who got his female socialization skills from fapping to pr0nz.

Freaking. Obvious.

And. He was trying to psychically attack and get more attention (FOOD for male grubs), from feminists who had been abused or were sick of dudes.


Trannies like *H, are the cancer that is killing trans. He had to go down.

*And LEXY.

Posted in gender identity disorder, gender politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 25 Comments

Rogue. Hunter. Phoenix. (Mean Girls 2)

Got. Another. One.

*Finishing up my lunch tray*

*obvious tranny is obvious sits down at the next table*

(Using my wraparound voice)

Me: “Hey there! I remember you!”

Tranny: (male voice) “Oh yeah?” (Sets his lunch tray down. Sits down/)

Me: “Yeah. Actually. We met at the elevator at the library, do you remember?”

Tranny (starts to mumble some response) {I dont care what he is saying, and I take charge of the interview right then and there.}

Me: “Yeah. I was loaded down with all my bags. The elevator doors opened at the bottom floor. You were standing right in front of me when the doors opened. You didn’t move. I said, “Excuse me!”, and instead of apologizing, excusing yourself, backing up, or standing aside like any real woman would do, what did you tell me? Oh yeah. You said to me “EXCUSE YOU”. “Remember?”

Tranny starts to response slowly…I cut him off again.

“Yeah, not only did you not get out of my way, after telling me to excuse myself, you then squeezed past me into the elevator instead of letting me out, and then entering. Remember that? You are not a female, buddy. Women don’t do that.  But an insensitive, inconsiderate asshole guy would do that. Yeah.”

Tranny: “It wasn’t me! I never did that! I have an evil twin walking around here sometimes.”

Me: “You are delusional.”

Me: “You are not a female, dood. You blocked my exit instead of letting me pass. It’s all on camera!”

Tranny: (literally sticks his fingers in his ears!)

*picking up my tray and grabbing my stuff to leave*

Me: (ana voice) “You are NOT a WOMAN dood. Too much PORN!”

Tranny almost flinches and says loudly, “What?”

I smile. He’s busted!

Me: “You are not a womannnnnnn!!!! bu baiii!!!111″

*disengages and heads back to food line for some seconds*

*This time, I sit next to a Chinese girl, an Indonesian elderly woman, and a Mexican mom.*

*I eat peacefully, and flick glances at Tranny stewing over my comments.”

*Tranny finishes his meal, and has the stupidity to walk right by me! Instead of, I don’t know, give me wiiidddee berth and walk arrroouund.  But no!*

*As Tranny comes within two feet of me, I snarl over my right shoulder*


*Turn back to my food, eat hearty!*

*Dispose of my tray, head to women’s loo*

*Do my biz in the stall*

*Tranny comes in!* MUAHAHAHAHA

*Throw water on my hair, face, brush my tusks (no toothpaste tho)*

*** Impulse tiem k!***

*WOOOOOOO* Banshee low volume!*

Tranny in stall: “What the hell? lol”

Me: “Hey that tranny is in here!” (keep brushing my tusks)

Tranny comes out of the stall! Then over to the vanity sink to my left!

Tranny: “mumble mumble” (something in my direction in his dood voice.)

Me: “WooooooOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” (so loud it richochets over and over off the mirror, the tile floor and the cinderblock walls of the tiny restroom.)

Me: “Can’t do that, can ya?!”


Tranny almost jumps out of his skin, bombarded by my scream from every direction.

Me: “You know why you can’t do that? Because you’re a man!”

Tranny flees my pee-space!!!!

*ten seconds later one of the head staff comes in*

(same staff I gave a compliment to about her smile the other day)

Staff: “Is there an issue?”

Me: “No ma’am. Just washing my hands and leaving.”

Staff: “That person just complained about you. That’s your first complaint. The next time we get a complaint about you, you get 86’ed”

Me: “Okay.” (exits the restroom).

*I leave the building*

(as I leave, I see tranny in deep agitated convo with Staff Lady)

*I walk about ten steps down the sidewalk, decide I am not done with either of them. Turn on my heel, reverse course, and march back to the main doors*

Me to Door Guard Woman “I would like to talk to Her,” glancing at the Staff Lady”

Staff Lady walks over to me

Staff Lady: “Yes?”

Me: “I would like to talk to you in private for about ten minutes, one woman to another, about THAT.” gestures in tranny’s direction with a flick of my index finger…

Staff Lady: “You know what, I am going to call a 24-hour cooling off period for you and I. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Me: “I am feminist. I document everything. I blog about my life on the street and I will blog about this incident.”

Staff Lady: “That sounds like a good idea.”

Me: “Then we will talk in 24 hours. Thank you. See you tomorrow”

*i disengage peacefully, smile, and walk away no problem*


Posted in #StayClassy, artificial persons, clueless MAB, cyborgs and cybernetics, feminism, gamer culture, gender identity politics, transgender news | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

The TransGender Takeover: An analysis of the movement to trans all the babies

Sometimes you find a comment that stands in for entire blog post. I don’t have anything too inspiring to share at the moment. I am juggling a lot of balls these days…

At any rate, I have been trying to en-globe the entire transgender movement, and tie up all their strands in order to seal their fate but good.

However, this one comment sort, short-circuited my tapestry because it is essentially correct.


Left by a commenter on Gender Trender in 2013:

Oh, lord. Okay.

Doctor: “Ms. Jones, give it one more big push… the baby’s almost here… and… ” [baby cries] “All right! You have a beautiful, healthy baby!”

Ms. Jones: “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Doctor: “Oh, we won’t know until we do the brain scan.

——- later, after brain scan complete ——-

Doctor: “Ms. Jones, you have a daughter! But unfortunately, she has a penis. We can turn that into a vagina so she’ll never even need to know she was born in the wrong body. I can fit the surgery in on Tuesday. How does that work for you?”

*bolding and colored text added by me, PG


Essentially this is the goal of biological reductionist transgender advocates. Why?

Because they so wish they were a plastic girl who got medically neutered for her fifteenth birthday.

That simple. Really.

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

castle | coming soon: why i divorced a transwoman

I have nothing of value to add to today’s convo, except:

1. It is very difficult sometimes, to love all humans. I really want to ignite everything. I struggle with this daly.

2. I am back to finishing up “Pure Lust” by Mary Daly, my original copy was stolen along with my little black doctor bag.

3.  It is perpetual war against TGs… this hurts me, because I was retired from war… but duty calls, right teegeez? because you just can not FRAK OFF from women’s spaces even though 90% don’t pass physically, and almost 100% of you will NEVER pass mentally or emotionally, due to the patriarchy.

Posted in culture of offense, feminism | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

dear Trans Youth Family Allies | meet your nemesis | Never Again

Anatomy of a bad advocate group.

I’ve been analyzing the Trans Youth Family Allies website this morning, and I have an EXTRA SPECIAL WARNING ABOUT THESE SCAM ARTISTS

TYFA, About us:


Nothing there! The site does not immediately tell you whom exactly “us” is, and what qualifications “us” has to be running a transyouth advocacy site.

It gets better!

TYFA, Contact us:


AGAIN! Absolutely nothing about who “us” is. Nothing! Just solicitations for volunteers and your money. And a contact for Media

Recommended Reading:

A list of books which includes True Slaves and Mom I Need to Be a Girl, and “Transgender Explained For Those Who Are Not”


All crimes against children!

The only books for parents and teens and educators curious about “trans” should be:

Delusions of Gender

Gender Hurts

Our Blood

got it?

These people are screwed up in the head. Everyone at TYFA, you are permadecced.



Posted in Auschwitz, child medical experimentation, Eli Wiezel, gamer culture, gender politics, space police, woop woop | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

Sheila Jeffreys

I don’t understand why I do not get more contact from transwomen who want to tell me that they are reading Jeffreys.

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wicked webs and the strands of fate

michael whelan_sf_piers anthony_with a tangled skein (niobe)

please wiki: the morrigan.

so. now that my divorce is a certainty and i wont be “cruising” michfest (lol), i need to decide if im still going to get my first tatoo.

what do you doodz and gurlz think?

1. a full moon, or pentagram

2. a baphomet tat

3. a multicoloured octopus

4. certain yogic chakra in lotus form

5. a phoenix, raven, spider, wolf, cat, or wild boar?

Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Comments

Dissolved Girl | Black Dove

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the ontology of spiritual transition

If you are thinking about beginning medical transition, ask yourself, “what is my dream-self?”

What are you trying to manifest? What flaw are you trying to erase? Alternately, how will taking opposite-sexed hormones “convert” you to the opposite sex? And why bother transitioning from male to female, if you are never going to own up to past socialization training that taught you or indoctrinated you into unthinking entitlement or sexist or mansplaining,(i.e. correct-o-botism), then you know why you stopped transition when you became transgender-identified.

Was that your dream of transition/metamorphosis?

To become an out-and-proud transgender person with special snowflake sensitivity?

Look at the situation like this:

It takes bornfemales years even decades sometimes, to “know what it means to be a woman”. Yet (most) every woman knows she is female.

So where do you get off transplaining “what a real woman” is or is not, on twitter, youtube, or susansplace?

Especially when you just started transition at the age of thirty, forty, or fifty…


Incidentally, I hear that “Fifty Shades of Grey” is now out in theaters.

reality vs fantasy. the people that act out these parts… are acting.

ive actually lived parts of FSoG…

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Posted in astronomy vs astrology, babylonian era, fashion, rapeape mentality, women's reproductive health | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

dear Trans

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