I descended into that impish pit three times this week. I always choose the time the joint is full of kids, because I need the practice. I think it's the lifetime of self hate that allows me to subject myself to this with an almost masochistic ruthlessness, ha ha:D. Because it doesn't get easier and to prepare and leave the house is still pretty hard, not to mention terribly time consuming. Once outside though, I enjoy it immensely.
Today I dressed as a woman to the hilt and painted my face the best I could. I looked quite good. Better than many-a genetic woman I'd say. The problem is they all know me and they know I'm just a guy in drag. The crowd is generally quieter now, as my looks are quite persuasive. Some kids want to express their sympathy but are a bit afraid of peers and uncertain how so they greet me theatrically but with obvious goodwill, that's cute.
A pretty thirteen yo maiden threw a shockingly venomous "You faggot" from the depths of a crowd at me (for the phoneticians' pleasure it's a juicy "buzerante" in Czech:D).
But now comes the big difference to my previous adventures here. On HRT I feel much more like a woman, not a trespasser or an impostor like I used to. I was therefore able to smile and laugh straight into their faces when plowing through the crowd. At the moment, my girl was untouchable and invincible.
But still, this was my very first experience of what a) sounded like a genuine hatred and b) felt like making a stand against adversity and it hit me quite hard. When I finally docked at the table with my lunch, my hands were trembling so much I had trouble eating my soup:).
And I went to the manager of the place and asked her to change my name in the ordering system to my female name. She happily obliged:).
Today I dressed as a woman to the hilt and painted my face the best I could. I looked quite good. Better than many-a genetic woman I'd say. The problem is they all know me and they know I'm just a guy in drag. The crowd is generally quieter now, as my looks are quite persuasive. Some kids want to express their sympathy but are a bit afraid of peers and uncertain how so they greet me theatrically but with obvious goodwill, that's cute.
A pretty thirteen yo maiden threw a shockingly venomous "You faggot" from the depths of a crowd at me (for the phoneticians' pleasure it's a juicy "buzerante" in Czech:D).
But now comes the big difference to my previous adventures here. On HRT I feel much more like a woman, not a trespasser or an impostor like I used to. I was therefore able to smile and laugh straight into their faces when plowing through the crowd. At the moment, my girl was untouchable and invincible.
But still, this was my very first experience of what a) sounded like a genuine hatred and b) felt like making a stand against adversity and it hit me quite hard. When I finally docked at the table with my lunch, my hands were trembling so much I had trouble eating my soup:).
And I went to the manager of the place and asked her to change my name in the ordering system to my female name. She happily obliged:).