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! REPORT
Taking a walk on the wild side, at long, long last.
3D Render by crashworshipFrom the sage wisdom of Lou Reed:
“Holly came from Miami, F.L.A.
Hitch-hiked her way across the U.S.A.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs and then he was a she
“She says, ‘Hey, babe
Take a walk on the wild side’
Said, ‘Hey, honey
Take a walk on the wild side’"
Not Miami, F.L.A. More like Lubbock, T.E.X.
Like most boys from that part of Texas, he got involved in the two sacrosanct religions of cowboy country; rodeo and football. When he got old enough, he got the usual big truck. He walked with a swagger and talked with a drawl. He appeared to be everything he was expected to be. With one exception. He’s gay. He’d figured that out at an early age. This wasn’t catastrophic. He liked being gay. Wanted to be gay. What he didn’t like was having to hide it in a conservative and repressive part of the country.
He’d also discovered he liked girlish things. The hair. The makeup. The jewelry and accessories. And, the shoes. Oh, yeah. Those shoes. He really loved those shoes. Almost an obsession. And, the walk. He didn’t want to swagger. He wanted to strut like a model on a runway. Head high. Ass swinging. Arms back. Chest out. He wanted to flaunt. He wanted a feline slink. Don’t assume this made him trans. He liked being a man. Liked having a man’s body. Liked having a dick. What he didn’t like was being expected to use it on girls. He had another preference for how to use it.
Don’t assume this makes him a cross-dresser, either. He didn’t want to wear women’s clothes. Well, okay. The shoes. Those he wanted to wear. Really wanted to wear those shoes. He’d lived his life inside the prison of a closet. Wearing those clothes would seem like an extension that prison. Clothes conceal. He wanted to flaunt. To be on display. Besides, there’d be no hiding 6’4" of athletic muscularity. Putting women’s clothes over that would be ridiculous.
He was a femboy. A swish but not a twink. An odd combination of masculine femininity. He wanted to be sexy like a girl. Wanted to preen like a girl. Walk like a girl. But still be a man. Maybe this could only make sense to him.
His high school football had been good enough to get him a full-ride scholarship to play in college. He used that scholarship to get a computer science degree. Software engineering. After graduation, that degree got him a job in Amarillo which paid him enough to rent a really nice place, the first time in his life he had lived alone where he had privacy. A place where he could fully unwrap the girl inside him.
He started ordering makeup and had it delivered discreetly to a P.O. box. Shoes, Jewelry. Handbags. Clutches. He grew his blond hair long, software engineer style. That wouldn’t seem out of place. He devoured on line videos about makeup and hair. He learned to apply it. Learned how to style his getting longer and longer, lush blond hair. He took quiet pride when the women he knew complimented with envy his hair. He loved hearing that. Loved knowing that they wanted hair like his.
His early attempts as applying makeup and doing his hair were clumsy but he loved doing it. It made him feel sexy. It turned him on. He’d stand naked in front of a mirror as he did this, get turned on and hard. The farther along it got, the more turned on he got until eventually he’d stroke himself until he erupted all over the mirror as if some hot guy was doing it on him. This really excited him.
Inside the sanctity of his apartment, he could learn. He’d often repeat this process of making himself up in front of the mirror that his competence with applying makeup became routine. He began to understand color and how to coordinate with his shoes and accessories.
Then, after about a year of this, he stood, as usual, naked in front of the mirror applying lipstick, drinking himself in and inevitably getting aroused and hard, and he paused. He realized repeating the self pleasuring would leave him feeling empty afterwards. He was still imprisoned in his closet. All he’d done to make himself look fabulous seemed like a waste because he remained concealed in his self imposed prison.
He’d reached his tipping point. That’s when, with little hesitation, he grabbed the keys to his big truck, tossed them into a pretty clutch, strode out the door, into the hallway, down the elevator to the garage into his truck and then just drove. It was very late at night and Amarillo is the kind of place where the sidewalks are rolled up early. As he drove around in his truck, he saw little traffic, but this journey was both terrifying and exhilarating. Like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
Eventually, he parked and sat for awhile, engine idling. He switched off the engine, got out and started walking, in all his gay, towering, muscular, imposing, femboy glory. At last, his longed for walk on the wild side. He was free. He was finally liberated. He was finally who he really was. It was so late at night, he saw no one, until... Without hesitation, he made a move. The guy was dumbfounded, stunned and incredulous. Like a deer in headlights. But made no attempt to resist. Just went along with it, so totally flummoxed was he.
This was maybe the most remarkable event of that night. He was no longer a virgin. At long last. That final, cathartic step over to the wild side. He also realized that who he now openly was wouldn’t work in a place like Amarillo. He needed a move to a place where he could live openly among like minded men who could appreciate his quirky, unique sexuality and persona. A place where he would be understood and maybe even celebrated.
A year later and he’s settled into the comfortable, like minded community of West Hollywood, C.A.L. Working for a studio which does special effects for film and video games. Many of those he works with are gay. He feels very much at home there.
And, the sex. Lots and lots of sex. He had a lot of catching up to do. And, catch up, he did. With gusto.
Eventually he finds himself with a boyfriend. A stuntman. Gorgeous. A real man’s man. An absolute dreamboat heart breaker. The first time there eyes met, his now boyfriend made right for him and they’ve been inseparable since. He’s adored by his boyfriend, who loves to take him out to show him off. Everywhere. Loves the looks they get as he's being displayed. He loves being shown off. His boyfriend calls him his “trophy bitch". He loves being called that. He loves being a trophy bitch.
At last he's where he always wanted to be and who he’s always been but without the prison of his closet. He absolutely loves living, loving and catwalk strutting on the wild side, head high, chest out, shoulders back and his fabulous ass swinging, swaying, a femboy feline out of his cage and into the wild.
“Holly came from Miami, F.L.A.
Hitch-hiked her way across the U.S.A.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs and then he was a she
“She says, ‘Hey, babe
Take a walk on the wild side’
Said, ‘Hey, honey
Take a walk on the wild side’"
Not Miami, F.L.A. More like Lubbock, T.E.X.
Like most boys from that part of Texas, he got involved in the two sacrosanct religions of cowboy country; rodeo and football. When he got old enough, he got the usual big truck. He walked with a swagger and talked with a drawl. He appeared to be everything he was expected to be. With one exception. He’s gay. He’d figured that out at an early age. This wasn’t catastrophic. He liked being gay. Wanted to be gay. What he didn’t like was having to hide it in a conservative and repressive part of the country.
He’d also discovered he liked girlish things. The hair. The makeup. The jewelry and accessories. And, the shoes. Oh, yeah. Those shoes. He really loved those shoes. Almost an obsession. And, the walk. He didn’t want to swagger. He wanted to strut like a model on a runway. Head high. Ass swinging. Arms back. Chest out. He wanted to flaunt. He wanted a feline slink. Don’t assume this made him trans. He liked being a man. Liked having a man’s body. Liked having a dick. What he didn’t like was being expected to use it on girls. He had another preference for how to use it.
Don’t assume this makes him a cross-dresser, either. He didn’t want to wear women’s clothes. Well, okay. The shoes. Those he wanted to wear. Really wanted to wear those shoes. He’d lived his life inside the prison of a closet. Wearing those clothes would seem like an extension that prison. Clothes conceal. He wanted to flaunt. To be on display. Besides, there’d be no hiding 6’4" of athletic muscularity. Putting women’s clothes over that would be ridiculous.
He was a femboy. A swish but not a twink. An odd combination of masculine femininity. He wanted to be sexy like a girl. Wanted to preen like a girl. Walk like a girl. But still be a man. Maybe this could only make sense to him.
His high school football had been good enough to get him a full-ride scholarship to play in college. He used that scholarship to get a computer science degree. Software engineering. After graduation, that degree got him a job in Amarillo which paid him enough to rent a really nice place, the first time in his life he had lived alone where he had privacy. A place where he could fully unwrap the girl inside him.
He started ordering makeup and had it delivered discreetly to a P.O. box. Shoes, Jewelry. Handbags. Clutches. He grew his blond hair long, software engineer style. That wouldn’t seem out of place. He devoured on line videos about makeup and hair. He learned to apply it. Learned how to style his getting longer and longer, lush blond hair. He took quiet pride when the women he knew complimented with envy his hair. He loved hearing that. Loved knowing that they wanted hair like his.
His early attempts as applying makeup and doing his hair were clumsy but he loved doing it. It made him feel sexy. It turned him on. He’d stand naked in front of a mirror as he did this, get turned on and hard. The farther along it got, the more turned on he got until eventually he’d stroke himself until he erupted all over the mirror as if some hot guy was doing it on him. This really excited him.
Inside the sanctity of his apartment, he could learn. He’d often repeat this process of making himself up in front of the mirror that his competence with applying makeup became routine. He began to understand color and how to coordinate with his shoes and accessories.
Then, after about a year of this, he stood, as usual, naked in front of the mirror applying lipstick, drinking himself in and inevitably getting aroused and hard, and he paused. He realized repeating the self pleasuring would leave him feeling empty afterwards. He was still imprisoned in his closet. All he’d done to make himself look fabulous seemed like a waste because he remained concealed in his self imposed prison.
He’d reached his tipping point. That’s when, with little hesitation, he grabbed the keys to his big truck, tossed them into a pretty clutch, strode out the door, into the hallway, down the elevator to the garage into his truck and then just drove. It was very late at night and Amarillo is the kind of place where the sidewalks are rolled up early. As he drove around in his truck, he saw little traffic, but this journey was both terrifying and exhilarating. Like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
Eventually, he parked and sat for awhile, engine idling. He switched off the engine, got out and started walking, in all his gay, towering, muscular, imposing, femboy glory. At last, his longed for walk on the wild side. He was free. He was finally liberated. He was finally who he really was. It was so late at night, he saw no one, until... Without hesitation, he made a move. The guy was dumbfounded, stunned and incredulous. Like a deer in headlights. But made no attempt to resist. Just went along with it, so totally flummoxed was he.
This was maybe the most remarkable event of that night. He was no longer a virgin. At long last. That final, cathartic step over to the wild side. He also realized that who he now openly was wouldn’t work in a place like Amarillo. He needed a move to a place where he could live openly among like minded men who could appreciate his quirky, unique sexuality and persona. A place where he would be understood and maybe even celebrated.
A year later and he’s settled into the comfortable, like minded community of West Hollywood, C.A.L. Working for a studio which does special effects for film and video games. Many of those he works with are gay. He feels very much at home there.
And, the sex. Lots and lots of sex. He had a lot of catching up to do. And, catch up, he did. With gusto.
Eventually he finds himself with a boyfriend. A stuntman. Gorgeous. A real man’s man. An absolute dreamboat heart breaker. The first time there eyes met, his now boyfriend made right for him and they’ve been inseparable since. He’s adored by his boyfriend, who loves to take him out to show him off. Everywhere. Loves the looks they get as he's being displayed. He loves being shown off. His boyfriend calls him his “trophy bitch". He loves being called that. He loves being a trophy bitch.
At last he's where he always wanted to be and who he’s always been but without the prison of his closet. He absolutely loves living, loving and catwalk strutting on the wild side, head high, chest out, shoulders back and his fabulous ass swinging, swaying, a femboy feline out of his cage and into the wild.
... many thanks for the mention, very much appreciated 
Taking a walk on the wild side, at long, long last.
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Thu, Apr 09
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