The Counsellor

Afternoon People xx

Y’all good? Nope? Tough. I am. And at this moment in time that’s all that matters. I am a living and physically breating human being, with a brain. At least I think it’s a brain inside my head, anyway. I had an EEG (Electro Encephalograph for you big heads) when I was a kid, and they said there was one there. Does that mean they found one? Or did the woodworm hide within one? Who knows, currently, I don’t.

You see, the result of my recent doctors appointment has sent my head into a tailspin. I mean; how can I, the master of all things female (Yeah I’m a player and I’m goooood at pucking up women) actually BE female? This just doesn’t compute – At all. I’ve spent all of my adult life living as a man, fitting in with men, enjoying the company of men, flirting with men…

What? Nah, I didn’t just think that, did I? – Nah…

OK. Just what is going on inside my head? I am a man, I need woman. I need to f… Am I Bisexual??? This went on for days. I mean seriously, I’d never had these thoughts before. Although I’d never been told I was a woman before, at least not by a doctor anyway.

Come on, right, Men are always calling each other Queer; “You’re a woman you are, Man up?!”, and, “Oi! Gayboy, get your arse over here and fix this! You broke the server, you get here and fix it” – Commonplace quotes in my life, especially on a night shift in the data centre. Did I tell you I worked in IT? Probably not, but I do; have done for years… But still; Men are Men. We’ve played footie together, got muddy, scored goals, hugged in the showers… Mmmm… Get out of my head!! I need to see a counsellor, this is not right…

Continue reading “The Counsellor”

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Meet the doctor…

Hiya gorgeous xx

So as mentioned in the last post; my name is Martha and I’m a Transgender Woman (Tranny as I will refer to myself from now on). I was born on the outskirts of Liverpool, England in the mid 1970’s. Born into a dichotomy (big words?) were Men worked either on the docks, with a spanner & ratchet, or down a mine. Women were still to be found at home or, for those brave enough, a cursory job on the Radio blowing Taxi’s to their pickup and drop off points.  Men were Men and Women were in the Kitchen, and that was the way it was. Anything else just wasn’t Rugby…

Now a family member identified as Homosexual; my Uncle. Now known as Christine – ask me not when his name was Peter, because I’ll never be able to answer you. But he was a brilliant drag act, took to the stage amazingly well; people from all over the country came to see him – They ran a mile when he lifted his skirt (or their shirt) but that’s a completely different story. However, in the local community, he was ostricised. Nobody would speak to him only family members and close friends. That hurt me to watch and when I realised I was different, I also realised I couldnt go throught that.

I didn’t need to, my childhood was horrific enough as it was. My brother was a constant bully, my sister was constantly whinging at my mum, my step dad was constantly trying to keep the peace and my mum just gave up & went to work to get out of the way of it all. Life was good financially but hard socially.

I was bullied, horribly – The details are not for this post. I became a geek in order to hide from it all and was bought countless technical toys to do as I pleased with. Most ended up in bits at the hands of my brother but you can’t have everything. I hit a career in technology and did rather well for myself at one point; even elevating myself into the middle classes (woo hoo). But that didn’t last, something was never quite right. I mean, maybe it had something to do with that right wrist; can’t be certain but I remeber breaking it when I was a child and it never recovered, it was always limp…

So computers didn’t work out, life sucked, I’d had enough and I moved away – Best thing I ever did. Moved out to the green jungle that is the east of england; and settled in a village on the outskirts of a small town not too far from the coast, known as Peterborough.

Well I got out of IT and took a job with a HR company. Why HR? No idea but it paid reasonably well and they were probably about the only employer in the area who would take me on. So I settled into the job, life settled down, all fine and dandy.

Nah, something was wrong.

Maybe it had something to do with the 10 inch, black, vibrator I found myself using a lot when I was stressed? Not sure, but coming from such a dichotomy; Men didn’t use such tools on themselves. They had a tendency to advertise they had one, usually strapped between their legs but they weren’t the recipient of its services. That fantastically improbably feat lay to the women. Of which I was beginning to wonder about myself; limp wrist, 10 inch co.. I mean vibrator, sway when I walk, you know; random signs (gangnam style – hey! sexy lady!) ahem.

So one day, I left work and decided I was going to sort it out once and for all. I was going to have a weekend to remember; if I could and stuff the consequences, that way I’d know for sure. Man, woman or beast; come and get it, or give it, anything goes… And it did. A long way actually – 200 miles to be precise. The only clear memory I have of that weekend was waking up midweek to my boss screaming at me down the phone as I hadn’t been seen for 4 days.

The fact that I was semi-naked in my car; on the sea front, in the resort town of Brighton with my 10… well, speaks for itself. Phone down, new call. Doctors.

“Hi, do you have any appointments available for tomorrow morning please?”, I said.

“We do”, came the reply, “But it will be with the new trainee doctor who has just qualified? Would that be OK?”

“Sure”, I said, “Why not, if no one else can fathom out whats wrong. May as well give the newbie a shot”

And the appointment was arranged.

The following day I turned up and went into the consulting room. Sure as you can bet you have a mother, she was new. I’m not sure about the green as we sit here today; but she was definitely cabbage looking – If she was any more scared of a patient she’d have ran a mile. But she greeted me with a smile, and she was really nice to me. I wasn’t to her though; not at the start:

“Hi, my name is Jennifer. What seems to be the problem?”, she said warmly.

“I woke up on Brighton seafront with a 10 inch vibe inserted into me, yesterday morning – Do I strike you as Gay?”, I said in return.

“No”, she said, “But I’d pretty much formed an opinion of you straightaway. And from that sentence I think I might be right. Lets go into a bit more detail..”

Erm.. What!

“Hi, this is doctor Lopez. Can you clear my patients this afternoon? I think I’ve found what I’m looking for and I’ll need to spend some time with this patient.”, She said to the receptionist when she answered the intercom.

Oh fuck, who is this woman? And what have I said??

“No problem Doctor Lopez, I’ll transfer your patients to Doctor Houston and I’ll leave you to get on with it.”

She turned to me and said: “Right, start at the beginning. Where you born again?”…

I am seeing a doctor, right? Not a shrink? No? Sure? I’m a bit confused. And that’s exactly what she said to me. You are a bit confused missus. What! Why is she referring to me in these terms? Missus, Hun, Darling, is she for real…

So I explained everything that I mentioned up above, in a lot more detail. And she continued to refer to me using female pronouns. And about two hours in by head is starting to hurt. I’ve got a banging headache, proper hurts. I’m in tears after reciting some of the things that I thought I’d never need to recite again (for some reason, I just did it? I can’t explian why). And if I was confused when I walked in the door, two hours later; I was a mess. I can’t recite the conversation as I can’t remember it but I don’t think it was all for public consumption anyway. She had a lot of notes in front of her, so I’m sure If I asked to see them…

“Nope. Not yet, anyway. First, I’ve got something to tell you”, she said.

“Okayyy, what?”, I replied.

“You’re a woman.”, She said.

“Fuckoff.”, I replied.

“Seriously”, she said, “You’re a woman. Now I know this is going to be hard to accept but there is a diagnosis that I have for you. And once you have it, and you start to deal with it; trust me when I tell you things will improve for you”.

“Fuckoff”, was my response, “Are you fucking serious?”

“Most definitely.”, said she, “You have a condition known as Gender Dysphoria”

“Gender fucking what!”.

“Gender Fucking Dysphoria”, was the response.

I’d never had a doctor talk to me like that before! And not least one half my age!!

Well, do you know what? I actually don’t remember what happened next and I don’t know if I want to make anything up about it either. I could do, I could say; for example, that I floated back to my car and it elevated itself off the road to a height of 200 meters and set about it’s course home, jet engies off. But it didn’t. I walked out of of the consulting room with an appointment for a senior doctor and a counselling session and that’s all I remember.

What I do know; is, that day, that one sentence changed my whole life. It was never going to be the same again. It set me off on a course of adventures I never believed were possible until that point.

This, is the story of those adventures…

 

The Journey Begins…

Well, hello there 🙂

How are you? I suppose I’d better introduce myself. I’m Martha – Or Martha Roberta Shitapple to give me my full title, and I’m a Tranny (Or Transgender Woman for those who are feeling Politically Correct). For the uninitiated; that means that I’m taking the journey from a living, breathing, one-track-mind human male to becoming a fully functioning member of the female elite. In my mind I definitely chose the better option, although there are those who would disagree…

Now you see, I never knew I was a Tranny (and I don’t use that term in a derogatory fashion, I really don’t). I honestly and truthfully can say that I never knew the truth about myself, on grandmothers grave I didn’t know. But suffice to say, it came as rather a shock when I actually worked it out – And shock being an extremely mild form of the expletive I used when the doctor actually told me. The real verbs are not for public consumption and my doctor still reminds me of them, to this day.

OK, well, how come I never knew when all the rest of the Trans community say they knew all along? Well I just didn’t – I hadn’t worked it out. In all honesty; and to save any embarrassment, I’d been too busy with my head stuck in-front of a computer screen to be bothered to work it out. And when it wasn’t stuck in-front of a screen, then my other head (guys, the one between your legs) was usually in control of the proceedings and wouldn’t let me work it out.

OK here’s the deal, you know they say the human male thinks about sex every seven seconds (on average), yeah? Well in my case it was probably closer to four and a half, on a typical day, when I didn’t have a horn on. Yeah, that damned thing down there would not shut up. I mean, if I hadn’t discovered computers when I was eleven years old and became complete and total geek; I could have ended up on the register easily enough, especially with the amount of times a day the damned thing kept raising it’s head.

Thank whatever religious deity you choose that that never happened…

What did happen, is that it gave me an interesting past – With an interesting story-line and, from the look of it, a VERY interesting future. You see, one of the things you learn, really quickly, is that you have to have a sense of humour in order to survive. You learn to crack off jokes like Billy Connelly on speed; in order to avoid situations that may cause the dreaded snake to become elongated – Yeah, I mean, as a man, you might think about sex every seven seconds but it’s NEVER a good idea to do something about it, every seven seconds; now is it? And you learn how to handle the various scenarios that will unfold when the trouser snake does make an unwelcome appearance (as in most social situations?). Yeah you get it. Laugh or cry, and if you cry, you die. And I didn’t want to die. No sir. Laugh it off it is.

Well that sense of humour is something I don’t, and never do want, to lose, it’s amazing to have. But that’s not a typical woman’s sense of humour; not a woman in her late forties – as far as I know. She’s usually grown out of that by now from what I’ve seen and she may be letting her hair down before the grandchildren take over but she will most definitely NOT be throwing out innuendo’s like they’re five pound notes from the money tree. Not unless your a Male to Female Transgender Woman, with attitude, who can’t quite let go of the old, male, persona?…

Grab a cup of tea and packet of biccies off the side over there, sit your backside down and I’ll tell you about the day this all started – The day the doctor broke the good news to me that I, Robert Kingsley, was about to become Martha, Roberta, Shitapple…

 

 

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