A Eunuch's Love Life

The more personally intimate blog of the love life of an androgynous but not sexless eunuch in this post-modern world

Monday, June 16, 2008

Loose Ends ROCKS

I just ended a very wild and windy night dancing up a storm at Phoenix (Loose Ends) where I fell in love with the DJ Matt Vaughan all over again ; )

And of course, tiny world that it is, I know his boyfriend, and no more can a lady say, but we'll always have the Oxford, darling ; )

I started this wintry eve trying to pull a job on the strasa, but it was dead workwise. Mind you, I'm glad I was there, for I helped save a girl from an abduction.

As soon as I saw this colleague being manhandled by a chap trying to drag her to his car, I began marching as fast as I could on killer stilettoes (which is surprisingly fast) ; ) and since he was still pulling her as I approached, I beeped my horn, the one on my coat you naughty things, and the rapscallion retreated to his compensatory sports car and took off.

Glad I was there.

Then I went back to singing "Wam, Bam, I am, a Man", and so had to go and dance.

Phoenix ROCKED. The bar was closed by the time I cycled there from Meryl, but my fabulous tall friend with impeccable self-style, Faggot Rooster, ushered me with the promise of a few more songs, and the DJ excelled this with a whole hour and a half of hot dancing toons, and I was in heaven rocking out on heels like a superstar at my own private party with all the purty people.

I truly felt the love.

Kudos, y'all!

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Sunday, June 15, 2008


Last night, after spending an hour naked with me, my customer asked me if I'm a man or a woman. I told him I'd had a sex change, but he still wanted to know if he'd just had sex with a man or a woman. I told him it makes no diff to me whether one says I have a prostate or a G-spot, and he could choose what sex he thought I was, if it really needed to be one or the other. Whatever.

I more or less see myself as a boy with a replicunt, but I have to deal with a society that has other ideas about what a boy is and isn't, and apparently I have been unmanned, for recently I was booted off Manhunt (an internet dating site for men) for allegedly being a woman and "therefor" (presumptiously) not a man.

When I had my boy bits, all of me was a boy, not just the boy bits. Losing them changed not my history, my brain, my XY chromosones, my skeletal structure, my adam's apple, my voice, or even my facial hair (although admittedly it did slow down my beard growth, but it did not remove it entirely).

I do share a lot with that group of people in our world treated badly for being women, and I also identify with that, but I also recognise my identification with feminity preceded me identifying as transsexual, for before that I was a girly boy, which is still a kind of boy.

I went with Best Friend and his boyfriend to a public swimming pool today, and used the male showers with them, because not having bulges in my chest or groin means I can cop flak from the gender police in either changeroom, and I'd rather be with my friends. Sadly, I felt uncomfortable about taking my bathers off in the shower (and therefor looking different and disrupting the atmosphere charged with male sexuality), and about leaving them on (and therefor looking different and feeling like a freak). I wish I'd had the cajones to just take them off, and assert my right to wash like anyone else, even if I don't fit the gender binary.

I pray that next time I will be braver about being true to my own truth and ignoring society's gender binary assumptions.

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Thursday, June 12, 2008

adult schmuck raker

Seeking to expand my chances of meeting someone who might fancy me beyond the parameters of my social scene (which is almost exclusively boys only into penis), I put an ad on two internet dating sites, one gay, one straight (I mean, being a boy from the waist up, and a girl below, I gotta try and adapt to the gender binary however I can)... and the standard of responses is poor enough to send me out to the streets for some real life customers, who are generally far better looking than the 100kg neckless wonders trying to pass their bodies off as "average" (and they may be right, God help them) and Gods! How can a 25 year old look so schmuckish???!!! Jesus, I might not get Mr 20YO Nepal again tonight, but I can do better than these frumpy fools, and get paid in the bargain. Laters!

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Wednesday, June 04, 2008

From Nepal with Love

After yesterday's depression that I related to lack of intimate lovin', I woke up today despairing of abject poverty, and resolved to go out tonight to the street, to maybe kill two birds with one stone.

It wasn't easy leaving my gorgeous housemate, who was happily drunk and trying to make me stay longer with him watching a movie, but I was resolved, and kept getting ready for an hour or so, leaving later than I'd planned, but in time to get to the strasa for peak hour (1am).

As I cycled across town, I prayed to God in her Aphrodite personae to bless me with a customer.

I was barely on William Street five minutes when a cute little twenty year old Nepalese boy propositioned me with a buttock squeeze, and I took him to the safe house brothel that I had previously been banned from.

(The Anti-Discrimination Board recently finalised my complaint with this safe house brothel, which I had avoided since they illegally demanded a certificate of my HIV status, and I got a letter of apology from the management yesterday.)

Anyway, this tasty young lad decided he liked me being older, and sorted me out with a good half hour's rogering, and now I have enough money to pay my tab at the local shop, buy some baccy, and pay back my neighbour, and my prostate is no longer screaming for attention ; )

Part of me still wistfully wishes I could get intimate lovin' other than as a street whore, but on the other hand, ya gotta go with what works.

Thanks be to God!

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Tuesday, June 03, 2008


Crap. I've crashed now, can't sleep, keep thinking I have no hope of hooking up with any guy I actually fancy. My brain is stuck in the old "all gay guys want someone with a penis, all straight guys want someone with boobs, and the bi guys want someone with penis or boobs, and I have neither" routine, except now I know I can't grow boobs, cos I am just completely uncomfortable with them on my body.

I am envious of everyone who can hook up, all my friends who can hook up on the internet dating sites, or at parties, or dance clubs, or Sex On Premises Venues (all of which I've tried extensively and heartbreakingly failed at), all my friends who have lots of sex and all the sex partners they want, and even those who are satisfied with cybersex or webcam wanking. I am envious of all those who can get the kind of sexual human contact they want. I am even envious of those who can pay for sex, for I am too freakish even for working boys (as I found out a couple of years ago when I was lonely and rich).

And I feel despair because there is just nothing that works for me except maybe standing in the street in the cold for hours in stilletoes being bored mindless and occassionally getting picked by some stranger who only wants me as a sex worker for a discreet half hour or two.

And I hate not being able to sleep, and having my brain stuck in such depressing thoughts, locked in the pain of emptiness, loneliness, skin hunger and hopelessness.

Geez, I hope it's just S.A.D, Seasonally Affected Disorder, caused by the onset of Winter, and time passing will change my mood or circumstances. Right now my only consolation is that eventually I will be dead.

Phooey. Enough with the Depression! Where's my Mania?!

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