Talk with Tonya

Get Yourself A Fancy Pair

2011-09-30T19:14:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have followed me on Twitter (@TonyaCD), you know that I have been spending the last few months working on a bunch of mental health issues with a professional head shrinker.

Part of that has been diving in to the clinical why vs the actual what of cross dressing. During my introspection on the matter, I've been struck once again with the idea of breast envy.

It's no shock that most cross dressers, and I imagine a larger pool of men beyond that, are envious of a nice big pair of alluring breasts. Not just attracted by big beautiful boobs, but actually envious.

As cross dressers, we've spent countless hours filling bras with of shapes and sizes with every possible substance we could think of to give us that ultimate bosom. Full enough to fill the cups the bra, round enough but not so round as to look like basketballs, and heavy enough to bounce and sway like the real thing when we strut down the hallway in our high heels. Bird seed, water balloons, spare lingerie and breast forms (both cheap and expensive). There is not much that we haven't considered as a possible mammary substitute.

Nor are we alone in our quest for the best bustline possible. So many women who were not naturally blessed with bountiful boobage go through the same sorts of experiments to augment what they have. Usually they are already working with something of a bust to start with; so for them it's a matter of pumping up the volume. Think about all of the push-up, padded, and structurally amazing undergarments that are for sale in every women's department across the land and you'll see what I mean..

So why is that? It is my considered opinion, after 20+ years of both cross dressing and beast admiration (at least in Western culture) that breasts are the ultimate symbol of sexual power for women. There are anthropological arguments for this too. Large breasts are an indicator of a woman's likely success as a mother. Men are biologically drawn to to them, and women want to emulate them.

Ask any woman with big boobs and she will tell you the power they have. A peek, a shimmy, a squeeze. Just the possibility of getting inside a woman's can get men to do any number of things. Sure there are downsides; the back aches, the lack of eye contact, the jealousy from other less endowed women. But for many that is out weighed (pun intended) by the magic power of boobs.

So where penis envy seems to be about having the sort of power a man holds in this world, I think breast envy is about tapping in to that sexual power that a woman yields.

The mere outline of tits under a top can make a cross dresser feel like they are tapping in to the secret reserve of sexual mojo that women hold in our society. Men may make the moves, but women make the rules when it comes to se

How about you? Do you have breast envy? Ever dreamed of having big, bouncy boobs? Or do think I'm way off base?

Oh crap! Now robots are taking over and doing our cross dressing for us. Fuck outsourcing!

2010-12-14T15:05:00.001-08:00

Who Knows?

2010-08-25T17:43:00.000-07:00

Who knows?

Who knows about your crossdressing is a common theme in the world of gender bending. It's usually couched in conversations lamenting about a wife or girlfriend who who doesn't know and speculation that she would freak out if she found out. (Assuming MtF cross dressers here) And while I am thankfully not in that situation anymore, I have been and my heart goes out to all of those out there who live with that fear.

On the other hand, none of the rest of my family and none of my friends (save 3) know about my secret life. Only my wife, and even then she doesn't know the whole of it. So to some degree I still share that worry.

(To be fair, I also don't know the intimate details of the sex lives for most of those same people. I have no idea, for example, if my cousin likes it rough or if some of my fellow band members are in to food sex. And now that I've typed that, I don't think I really want to know that. )

However, this post is not a discussion about who does and doesn't know about our panty proclivities. There are lots (and lots) of other posts on the web about that. I want to discuss a different angle, one that may be unique to cross dressers. I want to explore the question of who you want to know about it.

A quick review of cross dresser erotica quickly shows that the theme of "getting caught" runs deep in our makeup (no pun intended). There are seemingly endless fantasies on the web about someone coming in to a room and finding us hip deep in a pair of panties. Sometimes it's a wife or girlfriend, sometimes it's a neighbor. But in an overwhelming majority it is a matronly figure who stumbles across our secret life. It's a mother, an aunt, an older sister, or some other female authority figure. So why is that?

My own tastes include some very rich fantasies along those lines. While they aren't about my own mother in real life, they do often feature a motherly figure. Sometimes it's my aunt,who got me started in cross dressing with her knowing non-intervention (and brief active encouragement) of my youthful curiosity in lingerie. I'ver also role played over the phone with a previous girlfriend about a nonexistent older sister who dresses me up to shut me up. What is it about these archetypes of female power that cause them to star in our deepest, most closely held inner porno movies?

Fuck if I know. And it's not for a lack of research, deep thought, and consideration. I've been wondering about that for a long time. And I'm sure I'm not alone.

Based on the responses I got from my earlier post entitled "Transference" I seem to be mostly typical of the MtF cross dresser. So I'm guessing that you the reader (if you are a sister of the lace) have had similar fantasies that started a mom, aunt, older sister, or some other MILF like character and wondered what that was all about.

Let me share a few theories that have crossed my mind on this over the years. You can comment below and tell me what you think. Also feel free to share any other thoughts on the topic you may have.

My first theory has to do with acceptance. Society is not kind to the man in a dress. We are made out to be either the punchline to a joke or treated as a specific sub species of the gay man. And neither are right for the majority of us. Sure these are those guys who do it for the entertainment value, and most of those men are gay. But almost nobody is interested in drawing subtle distinctions when it comes to crossing gender lines. If you are a guy in drag you are either hiding from the landlord in a sitcom or probably had a cock in your mouth the night before.

Therefore, the idea of having the most nurturing and accepting figure in our lives actually accept our cross dressing is a powerful fantasy. After all if the person who is most expected to love us unconditionally can't hack it, then we must really be screwed up. On the other hand, if she embraces our fetish then perhaps we can feel a little less outcast from the world at large.

My second theory has do to with the desire to be mentored. For many of us, cross dressing is about exploring the feminine side of our personality. But since we were raised as boys that will grow in to men, we were never really shown how to use our softer side. Our cross dressing is (arguably) an overcorrection of that missing education. So now we are seeking to self educate what it means to have and explore a feminine side. In this case, our need for a strong female in our fantasies may come from the desire to have someone show us the way. And who better than a mother/aunt/sister figure? I suspect that this is the place where "let's play dress up games" erotica comes from.

My third theory I call the "gateway drug" theory. This is the one that I've had therapists suggest most often. It basically states that the more you do something (anything) as a human being, the more you become numbed to the sensations it produces and therefore you seek out stronger and stronger sensations. This is the argument for calling marijuana a gateway drug. Once you get tired of smoking pot you'll have no choice but to step up to stronger drugs that produce bigger highs. I suppose that is true for some slice of the population. Mostly I think it's bullshit. I'll grant that addictive personalities seem to work that way, but I doubt that everyone has this in them.

But the rational is that once I found simple softcore porn stimulating, but now I need increasingly more exotic and taboo variations in order for it to be exciting. By that logic every octogenarian out there would need furry midget unicorn bondage rape porn to get off. (You're welcome for putting THAT image in your head. .)

But these are just some guesses. I'm not a psychologist. I'm just a dude in frilly knickers who has some fantasies that color outside the lines that polite society has established as the boarders for normal.

So who knows? Why is it that strong females figure so prominently in our erotica? If you have a thought I'd love to hear it.

Mike submits to an inspection

2010-07-05T19:38:00.001-07:00

Transference

2010-05-20T15:02:00.000-07:00

One of the issues that I've struggled with as I've tried to connect with other cross dressers over the last few years is the question of being called transgendered.

In short, I don't consider myself transgender. To me that term refers to someone much more committed to living life as their gender of choice that is at odds with the one assigned to them at birth. And I'm not that person. I'm a guy who likes to cross dress and explore the feminine side of his personality; but at the end of the day when I've had my fun and games, I'm okay with still having my original plumbing.

Please permit me to expound upon that and explain myself.

When I started to cross dress during my early teen years, it was most decidedly a sexual experience. I discovered the allure of panties, stockings, and other womanly trappings just as a new hormone cocktail was flooding my body. Like Adam and Eve after eating the forbidden fruit, I suddenly became aware of my own sexuality and the sexuality of others. Not that I had any idea of what to do with it. All I knew was when I did this or rubbed that it felt too good not not keep doing it.

My first experiences with cross dressing came from a desire to emulate what I perceived as pure sexual energy upon seeing beautiful women wearing soft, colorful lingerie in the pages of purloined softcore girlie magazines. Also, there was not a lot of modesty in my house growing up, so I was also accustomed to seeing my mother and aunt in states of partial undress. These became the archetypes of womanhood for me, so seeing them in their underwear was like peeking behind the curtain at a play and seeing something you're not meant to see. (Yes, Dr, Freud we are all well aware of you thoughts on the topic. You may sit down now and let me continue my presentation.)

Not to date myself to much, but it was the fashion aesthetic of the late 1970's and early 1980's that held sway over my newly developing sexual tastes. There were two aspects of style that effected me the most. First was the trend toward the exaggerated. Big hair, extreme makeup, bright colors. To this day, my tastes in women (and indeed the woman shape myself in to) still have aspects of that style; large breasts, strong lipstick, soft round hips, and hair that goes on for days.

The second was was the fashion style of the women's undergarments of the day. Pick up any Playboy magazine or Sears catalog of that time and take a look. It's filled with soft, shiny nylon, full cup bras, sexy panties that still have a some coverage value, and slips with lacy details. Even now, my own lingerie drawer is filled to overflowing with same sort of stuff.

During those early years, all I was doing was simply relishing in the sheer erotic pleasure of putting those things against my skin. I was trying to tap in to the sexual energy that I saw in those beautiful women on the pages of magazines and in my own real life. I was trying to emulate their sexuality, not their gender.

Thinking back now, I imagine it was like trying to learn kung-fu by watching old kung-fu movies (something else I did at that same age in my life). I was never going to be a Shaolin master by watching Punch of Death any more than I was going to be a super sex vixen simply by putting on a pair of pink briefs and stuffing up a bra.

It was not until I moved out of the house at 17 that I took my cross dressing to the next level. I was finally free to be more open about it and to engage in it more often. It was during this period that I worked up the wardrobe, nerve, and relationships with certain friends to go out en femme. And that continued for years. But during all of the parties, dancing, and such that I did in drag it was never with the thought that I wanted to be a woman. At least not full time. All I wanted at the time (just as I do now if I'm willing to admit it) was to tap in to that deep vein of pure sexual energy that I discovered when I was twelve; to be the white hot center of lust that no one I set my sights on could resist.

Over the years my surface goals have changed in terms of my cross dressing. I still wanted to tap in to that center of my sexual energy, but it was much less important that everyone else in the room wanted to tap in to it with me. Eventually I got married and my wife, who knew about my fetish before we got married, soon discovered that she could benefit from my desire to cross dress. And we kept it in the bedroom since there wasn't a need to go outside to feel the heat of that energy.

Then, about four or five years ago, I started to discover my alter-ego. I think she has been there all along but only now was I learning of her existence. I learned that she was able to swim freely in her sexuality in ways that the more masculine part of me could not. So I let her loose, and that is the Tonya you know today.

I love Tonya. She is an escape valve for me. In her I can do and be things the rest of me is not. But in the end I don't want to Tonya full time. I am perfectly happy with her hanging in the wardrobe where I can reach in and put her on like a favorite pair of comfortable jeans anytime I like.

Getting back to my original statement then, I don't consider myself transgendered because I lack both the commitment and desire to spend all my time as Tonya. I don't feel like I was born to the wrong body. While I'm increasingly comfortable with letting Tonya be a larger part of my life, I still enjoy many of my masculine aspects and have no desire to cast them away.

This is not to take anything away from those out there (perhaps even in my audience) who DO consider themselves transgendered or who are uncomfortable in their male bodies. In fact my feeling on the topic is that I dilute your cause if I lump myself in with you. I'm simply not as committed as you are to living my life en femme. I'm just a part time resident in your world.

However, just for the sake of closure I will say this. I consider myself to be omnisexual (much better term that bisexual if you ask me) and so I guess I should extend that out to say that I'm also omnigendered. Is that a word? It is now.

A New Type of Blog

2010-05-20T14:21:00.000-07:00

I'll tell you what, blogging is a weird animal. I've stopped and started so many blogs for myself (both as Tonya and as my male self) that I've lost count. And yet I keep coming back to the medium.

Today, I have rebranded and revamped this blog to be a new type of outlet for me. Moving forward I plan to going to comment on my self-exploration as try to discover what it means to be a cross dresser in a world that is often not sure to do with people like us.

I say people like us, because I imagine my readership to be other cross dressers and those who know and love us. I'd also hope that you will engage in the conversation and share your thoughts on the topics. It's as a community that we have the opportunity to shape how we view ourselves and how others view us.

It will have a more serious tone than my twitter feed or my tumblr blog since but since I can't seem to keep a civil tongue in my head I'm sure there will be some levity along the way too.

I hope you enjoy the new direction and will share your thoughts as we move forward together.

Cheers,
Tonya

It's the most wonderful time of the year

2009-09-16T14:02:00.000-07:00

Well boys and (would be) girls, it's the most wonderful time of the year for cross dressers. It's nearly Halloween!

I was reminded of that just the other day when I went shopping to pick up a few items for the house and discovered that the seasonal section of the store was being set up with wigs and wands; brooms and bats.

It's the time of year when closet cross dressers get to step out on the town in all their pretty, sexy, or slutty clothes and strut our stuff. Think about how many big burly hairy nurses you've seen at Halloween parties over the years; or French maids with 5 o'clock shadows. They'll all claim that their wives or girlfriends "made them do it", but we all know the truth.

I'll be the first to admit I walked those aisles looking at all the new costumes, searching for just the right Pirate Wench, French Maid, or Dorothy from Oz outfit. Some of my best trips out en femme have been to various costume parties and I'm always on the lookout for a perfect outfit to wear to just the right type of party.

Sadly, nothing on that particular set of racks fit the bill, but I'll keep looking. And shopping for new clothes as part of the fun of cross dressing, right?

So if you run across a guy in an Elvira outfit this year at the office costume party be sure to complement him. But also make note of who he is. You can almost be sure that he'll be wearing panties under his boy clothes during the rest of the year and that could make for some interesting water cooler talk.

Off To The Drag Races!

2009-09-02T14:30:00.000-07:00

Funny things just hit me from time to time. Today it was the phrase "I'm off to the drag races!" A co-worker said it as he left for lunch, but it got me thinking about how fun a different kind of drag race would be.

Tonya's Drag Race Events

1) The Make-up Make up
In this event, contestants race to see how quickly they can make up with their wives or girl friends after being caught using her lipstick and eyeshadow despite being told to get their own. Reconciliation with their partner will be assumed complete when he is told to not do it again and gets to keep the make-up for himself.

2) Dress down dash
Here, crossdressers are challenged to see how quickly they can change from being fully in drag (with make-up and wig) back in to their male street clothes while their unsuspecting wives or girlfriends are coming up the stairs after getting home early from the movies with their friends. In the event of a tie, bonus points will be awarded for how well he managed to remove any traces of mascara form his eyelashes befoe she noticed.

3) The Skirted Sprint
The main event for our drag race will be a straight up 100 yard dash while wearing snug fitting knee length skirts and heels that are at least 3 inches in height. Runners must cross the finish line with no runs in their hosiery and the heels of their shoes intact.

What do you think? Do you suppose I could get any sponsors? I'm sure there are at least a few possible contestants in my readership. Are you one of them?

Interesting Album Cover I Found While Surfing The Web

2009-08-30T08:18:00.000-07:00

Maybe I should start a band after all!

Sunday Funny

2007-02-25T16:15:00.001-08:00

A trip to the doctor's office

2007-02-01T20:25:00.001-08:00

I have a medical condition that requires some medications that are a bit hard on the liver and as such I need to get regular medical checks of all sorts done on a more regular basis than the average 30 something might. My arms make me look like a junkie for all of the track marks made at my bimonthly blood draws and I don't stand a chance in hell passing a drug test because I have so many opiates surging in my blood stream. I mention all of that only to say that I also have a lot of trips to lots of doctors; usually one of my specialists. However once I year I visit my GP for a basic check up to make sure that the rest of my body is working the way its supposed to. Today was that day.

As I mentioned, I see lots of doctors but in the 8 years I moved to the island where I live I think I've only visited this particular doctor's office no more that 8 or 10 times. They are friendly people and I am always amazed that the staff seems to remember my name before I even check in. It was no different this time. I came through the front door and was greeted with a warm "Good morning Mr. XXX (name changed for the blog)". I said hello and after being checked in I only had to wait a few moments feigning interest in the Golf Digest magazine from 6 months ago before a nurse called my name and escorted me back to an exam room.

I sat down in one of the two chairs and she began typing and clicking on the computer workstation, pulling up my records. Then she clipped gadgets to my ear and finger as well as strapped on a blood pressure cuff to my arm then clicked the mouse again. The cuff inflated and the workstation beeped with the sound of my pulse. A few seconds and the machine had all the data it needed. Anne (I checked her name tag while she leaned over to put all the stuff on. Also tried to get a peek down her blouse. No joy.) pulled all of the stuff of and asked me to stand on the scale pad. While the computer worked on getting my weight she noted aloud that my pulse seemed to be running a little fast. It's normal for it to be a little elevated from nervous tension caused by being at the doctor's office but this seemed a bit higher than that for me. What she didn't know what the real reason I was feeling nervous.

Earlier that morning before my wife had left for work she teased me about not spending too long in bed masturbating or I would be late for the doctor's appointment. I gave her some sort of passing chuckle and then headed off to the shower to make sure I didn't stink. While I was in the shower my wife had picked out some clothes for me to wear that day. It's not uncommon for her to do that so I didn't think too much of it. Especially when she includes a pair of frilly panties in place my boxers. It's usually a sign that she has chosen not to wear any panties herself and that when we both get home that day there is going to be some hot sexy happening. But this time there was a little yellow post-it note atop my pair of pink silky briefs. It said "I Double Dog Dare you to wear these to your appointment today!" Well how am I supposed to turn down a Double Dog Dare? I had no choice but to slip them on under my jeans and embarrass myself at the doctor. And it was those pink silky panties with three little flower appliques on the hip that was the real reason my heart rate was elevated as Anne measured my vital signs.

"Okay Mr. XXX, please strip down to your underwear and slip on the gown over there," pointing to the exam table. "Doctor Jones had to go down to the hospital on an emergency but Laura, his PA will be in shortly. She'll be doing your exam today." With that Anne left and closed the door behind her.

Now was the moment of truth. I could cop put and just strip naked and tuck the panties deep in my pile of clothes. There would be a moment of embarrassment when the PA discovered my totally naked under the paper gown but it seemed better than the greater embarrassment that would come when she discovered me wearing women's underwear. On the other hand Mrs. XXX was certainly going to want details when she got home that night on how my exam went and she would be able to tell if I had lied to her and said I'd worn the panties when I had not. No, there really was no choice. I stripped off my shirt, shoes and jeans and tossed them on the chair then picked up the paper backless gown and slipped it on.

I sat down on the exam table with my back toward the wall so that if anyone peeked in when the door opened they wouldn't see my knickers. Sitting there in my panties while knowing that I'd be found out in just a few moments was giving me a huge erection. I tried thinking back to that Golf Digest magazine to bore my brain but it was no use. The stiffy would not go away. All I could do was fold my hands in my lap to help conceal it. Just then there was a quick short knock at the door and a woman I assumed to be Laura entered. She was introduced herself and walked over to consult the computer for the details of my visit. "So it looks just like a basic checkup right?"

"Yup." I managed to not have my voice crack like a teenager and counted myself lucky.

Laura turned around and began her exam. It was a simple event. She simply poked and peeked in to all the holes in my head, listened to be breath with a extra cold stethescope that I am sure was fresh from the refrigerator where they keep them and then came the event I was waiting for. She asked me to drop my underwear and the bend over the table.

I stood up and reached up under my gown, hooking my thumbs in the waistband. I bent down and slid my panties around my ankles and then leaned against the table. I heard Laura snap on a glove and squirt some lube on to her finger. She placed her free hand on my back and then slipped her slippery digit right up inside me. Her fingering did nothing to reduce my excitement and I thought I was going to cum right then and there, but I didn't. She fished around for a moment more and then I felt her finger slip back out.

She took the glove off and washed her hands. "I'll give you a few moments to get cleaned up and then be back in to talk about the results." With that she was out the door.

I cleaned up and pulled my panties back up around by still raging erection then did what I could to put on and button my jeans. My shirt was not that long and didn't really hide the bulge either. I sat down in the chair again and waited. There was no way to tell what the PA thought of a man wearing such feminine underwear or what she might say, if anything about it. I waited a few moments more, fretting about the situation and at the same time feeling high as a kite from the huge rush of hormones when the door open. PA Laura entered with a slip of paper in her hands.

"Well Mr. XXX, here are all of the stats..." and then she rattled off all of the various numbers from my tests and were they stand against where they should be. "All and all I'd say that you are perfectly normal... including the panties." She smiled and winked. "I especially like the flowers." With that the visit was over and I came home, horny as hell.