The Good Girl

Watching Master leave every morning is the hardest part of my day.

“Goodbye! I love you! Please come back home to me!” Are all of the things I want to say but I can’t speak, so silently I sit and watch in adoration as they leave me.

I have things to keep me occupied and entertained while they’re gone but usually I just sleep. Entertainment is just a distraction from my real desires, to be with Master. I have a really comfortable bed and a pile of luxuriously soft blankets and pillows so lounging in bed isn’t so bad.

Most days I don’t wear anything except for my collar unless its cold. Master doesn’t like me taking my collar off. I don’t know why but it pleases them for me to wear it so I am happy to do so. I try to make sure I’m awake everyday just before they get home so I can be sitting ready and waiting and I like to make sure my collar is sitting just right.

Maybe Master will notice how good my posture is and how perfectly my collar sits around my neck and will say those two words I crave more than anything. They don’t always notice the small things but they almost always seem happy with me and most days that is enough.

I can eat throughout the day but I like when Master feeds me. They don’t seem to mind and I like to show them how much restraint I have by not eating all day while they’re gone. Again, I think my intent goes mostly unnoticed but that’s okay too because I like when Master feeds me anyway.

Sometimes in the evening Master is busy working. I don’t know what they’re doing most of the time but I can tell it’s important so I sit nearby and watch, just pleased to have Master home with me. Some evenings Master isn’t busy and I get lots of petting and pampering and love. Those are my favorite nights but nothing compares to the times when I hear those two wondrous words. I still remember the first time I heard Master say them.

It was a weekend so Master spent all day with me, those are my favorite days. I hadn’t been with Master long and they were trying to teach me some things. They kept telling me what they wanted me to do but I didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense to me. I tried what I thought master might want of me but I just failed.

I could tell Master was getting frustrated but they kept it in and remained patient with me. There was some punishment but then always affection after so I knew Master wasn’t really mad, just letting me know when I did something bad or displeasing. But then I got it, something clicked and I knew exactly what Master wanted of me. So I did it and Master was ever so pleased.

They leaned down and whispered into my ear “Good girl!” Pure ecstasy. Hearing those two words from Master is all I live for.

Rejection and Failure

I’m told all the time by people on the internet how beautiful or pretty I am. I do not believe it. I have filters, and makeup, and good angles all to help create the illusion of beauty. That’s all they’re seeing, right? Or is there really more there that I can’t see?

What’s worse is what happens when I start to believe them? What if they’re wrong but I start believing the compliments I’m given? I think that is the hardest part about being a trans woman: Getting glimpses of yourself, your true self, and really starting to let you be you then to only have it yanked away again.

As I progress further into my transition from male to female, my highs are higher but my lows are lower. And the false sense of security gained from very delicate confidence is often shattered. Living behind the false male persona for so long has made being myself very difficult. Nothing really mattered before because I was never failing, I was never being rejected, the false persona I wore like a shield failed, not me. Having to deal with rejection and failure as myself for the first time as someone who is nearly 30 years old is not easy to do.

Most people deal with the terrible parts of life much earlier and develop their own coping mechanisms long before reaching my age. I’m a 29 year old woman with the emotional fragility of a 13 year old girl.

The magic portal: an almost empty promise.

It’s an odd thing being transgender as a child with no knowledge of gender. I had a concept of boys and girls and was aware of some of the differences but only in the way a small child could be. So what was it exactly about girls that made me wish I had been born as one? I honestly could not tell you at this point.

What I do remember is wanting to be one. I remember going to bed every night and staring at the space between the two window panes in my bedroom. I focused on the black metal of the frame, darker than anything else in the room, even with the lights off, and I prayed. I stared at that spot every night as I went to bed and prayed it was secretly a portal and that if I could just go through it, I would come out the other side a girl.

I guess even as a child though, reality set in and I gave up on that fool’s dream. I knew that no matter how much I wanted that to be possible, there was no way I could become a girl. And eventually I stopped praying that prayer and stopped dreaming that dream.

I gave up on myself for 20 some-odd years and finally woke back up on the other side. It may not have been a portal in the sense I imagined with the wonderful and beautiful imagination of a child but it was a portal…in a sense.

When I gave up on myself, I hid that part of me, the deepest realest part of me, and developed another persona. That persona was the vessel by which I traversed the portal. Tucked away in my own mind, I rode out the years almost forgetting who I really was and in some ways, never really learning who I was.

But I still did it. I managed to survive the journey, I made it through the portal and have come out the other side a woman.

The Wheelchair

Contained within this single item, were all of her doubts and fears

Constantly though, she had it forced upon her and had to be brave

Consumed by hatred and denial for all of these long, long years

Constrained by the lies told by friends and family, she was just a slave

But when has the world ever been fair?


Misguided, she never knew her destination

Mistreated, she never realized her potential

Misunderstood, she never achieved salvation

Mistaken, she never felt reverential

What could she do other than despair?


Predetermined no longer, she began to ask questions

Predeveloped, she began to cast her form

Predefined no longer, she began to fight the oppression

Predelivered, she prepared for the oncoming storm

Quietly she prayed her little prayer


Translocating the truth with the lies

Transforming, she began to learn how to be

Transposing her enemies with her allies

Transcending, she at once was finally free

No longer would she be pushed around in her wheelchair


For the first time in ages

She stood and walked on her own

Went slowly through all the stages

And through all the hazy darkness she shone

No longer would she be pushed around in her wheelchair