Tina's Diary (3)
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and tribulations of a
If you have honoured me by following the
previous selections from my diaries, then you
will have learned that there are about 5,000
transsexuals in the UK who have had or are
To put this into perspective this is the
same as the number of known languages in
the world, the number of golf courses in
Europe and about the number Jesus had to
feed with loaves and fishes.
In case you fear that the world is going
to be populated with gibbering gluttonous
golfers, you can be reassured by a suicide
rate amongst transsexuals of nearly 50%,
due to the slowness of treatment and
general harassment and bigotry, together
with a murder rate sixteen times the average.
You will also have shared with me the
embarrassment of my wearing female-form
prosthetics and will have gained a rough idea
of the time-frame involved in transitioning,
from first approaching my GP, the
involvement of numerous psychiatrists,
through the Real-Life Experience to that
glorious moment when I am eventually
wheeled into the operating theatre.
All in the mind?
The involvement of psychiatrists is in itself a
misnomer. In the UK, as with most of the
rest of the world, transsexuality has been
confirmed as a physical and not mental
disease, although mental problems often
arise as a result of being a transsexual.
In the coming months I hope to
highlight different periods in my own,
ongoing, two-year transition by once again
dipping into my diaries... after all... I am the
kind of person to whom things happen.
Everything detailed in these excerpts is true.
Even now, as I look back at the past few
years and forward to the next, remaining
months, I am ever more aware that I have
indeed made a 'life-changing' decision,
involving a multitude of different treatments
- so many that it would be impossible to
remember each and every one.
However, like many girls, I have kept a
diary - it helps me make some sense of the
various goings on...
cop a look at the
tits on that...
Date June Place Lancaster
Perfected breast massage
Got yet more xpensve boobcreams
Pls let there be growth, or
is it an oversized pimple -
God knows, investigate
At the beginning of my controlled Real-Life
Experience, one of the first things that I, as a
transitioning transsexual, associated with
being a woman was an enhanced breast. In
this, at least, I bore a similarity to that very
different creature - the Trans-gendered
However, apart from a few 'lady-boys,'
or those 'chicks with dicks' out for financial
gain, most transvestites will happily settle for
the aforementioned chicken fillet or some
other padding for the bra. As a typical
transsexual, however, I desperately wanted
the feel of real flesh and accordingly
searched avidly for any means possible to
boost the size of my bust.
Boobs, tits, bazookas, puppies...
The male fascination with the female breast
has led to an array of names. Men are proud
to be known as either a leg- or a tit-man,
very occasionally being kind enough to
consider an alternative body part. For myself,
I yearned for the day when my breast
measurements might warrant anything more
than a passing nod.
And so, like other small-breasted
women, I often found myself spending more
than I ought on ways of increasing my cupsize.
Creams, lotions, pills, even suppositories
- the ready availability via the internet of
such a bizarre array of tempting goodies
(each guaranteeing miraculous growth)
blinded me to reality.
Throwing down the magazine that I had
been reading, I woefully examined the empty
larder that stared cavernously back at me. I
had been reading an article where, prior to
breast augmentation surgery, the would-be
recipient was advised to wear a bra stuffed
with a certain poundage of oats, pudding- or
Keeping abreast of things
Well, let me tell you, I soon found that this
was not as simple as it sounded. Scribbling a
quick shopping list, I made my way down the
long and winding hill to Lancaster's town
centre and its array of shops.
I don't know about you, but I always end
up buying more than I expect to, and it was
two hours later when I finally retraced my
steps towards home. It had not been a
successful expedition. Although I had spent
the week's shopping budget, I did not appear
to have actually purchased anything that was
on my list. OK, I must admit that I had
received a number of wolf-whistles, and a
few cat-calls, but the fact that they had been
followed by exaggerated laughter suggested
that maybe they had not been of an entirely
What made matters worse was the fact
that, by the time I made it back to my rented
digs, I was being followed by a flock of
waddling seagulls! Maybe one of the bags
containing the rice had burst - it's not
something that I could recommend nor
would I intend to repeat in a hurry. Mondays
are Hell may have been one of the working
titles for Ian Fleming's novel Moonraker, but
on that particular day it was a sentiment
with which I fully empathised.
A letter from America
On my return I discovered a heavy Jiffybag
upon my doorstep, together with a pale blue
letter, both weighed down with a collage of
colourful stamps. While I had been gone, the
postman had delivered an overseas packet
along with an eagerly awaited airmail letter
from my father, only missing his 'one delivery
a day' time-slot by four hours.
My father, a uniquely irascible character,
had but recently emigrated to the USA and
used to make fun of his newfound
countrymen when they described themselves
as 'Americans', by asking if they were from
Mexico? A stickler for detail, he detested it
when people upgraded a country into a
The main point of his letter appeared to
be a rant against the makers of a famous
ointment for relieving the pain of
haemorrhoids. Apparently, he proclaimed, this
product used to contain 'shark and whale
sperm', and since this element had been
replaced by mere 'fish oil' he was convinced
that its medicinal properties had been
Still grinning at the contents of my
father's letter, I opened the other packet to
find a sample of a Japanese breast-growth
serum. This, so the leaflet proclaimed, had
been taken by pristine white glove from the
shelves, from whence it was laid on a feather
bed prior to being dispatched to me. There
was also a lengthy instruction on the
benefits of breast massage and the once in a
lifetime opportunity to buy a further supply
of serum for a mere £100.
Ay, there's the rub...
I carefully started to massage the serum into
my left breast, taking care to follow the
printed instructions and do three clockwise
rotations and then three in the opposite
direction - always ending by pushing towards
the nipple. My fingers gently traced over the
puckered bud causing it to stir into life. The
slippery lotion seemed to generate a
pleasant warmth, prompting a jealous
response from my right nipple. I began to use
both hands for the massage. How could such
a languid caress cause such an urgent
tingling? Before long my whole body was
pleading for relief...
Later, as I read the ingredients of this
miraculous lotion, the smile on my lips began
to fade and my face took on an overall
greenish hue. Hurriedly, I picked up my
father's letter, together with the list of
ingredients he had listed from an old tube of
his trusty haemorrhoid lotion. I compared
this with the overpriced ingredients from my
newly purchased breast-growth serum.
'Oh my God!' - it was true - they were
one and the same.
All over the world, trusting transsexuals
were lovingly massaging shark spunk, from a
potion made to cure piles, on to their
Now granted, some might even find that
idea vaguely exciting, and it is true that
these glistening orbs were unlikely to suffer
from haemorrhoids, but surely this was
against some part of the Trade Descriptions
'Sometimes I don't
think you want to be
a woman- I think
you just want to dress
like a tart'
Date June Place Nantwich
Too much travelling to latenight
and munches/meets! Good
news - had fab times...
Bad news - showed mum
Much needed respite from the rigours of
doing my PGCE. It's not the teaching, nor the
kids, it's just the general overwhelming strain
of being in the Educational System after 30
odd years working in the real world.
Also gave me the chance to attend, with
Helen, a few socials, munches and even a
couple of fancy-dress parties in and around
the Manchester Village - but more of those
The result of all of this frantic socialising
is that Helen took a number of photographs
of me to show how far I had transitioned.
Unfortunately, when I was showing my
mother pics of me trying to renovate my
house, I also passed to her ones of me
dressed for a vicars and tarts ball, as well as
me in an extremely short air- stewardess
uniform. Now, she knows that I have acted in
loads of films and television programmes,
including Channel 4's 'Mile High' prior to
transitioning, but nothing had prepared her
for an airbrush tanned me in black paper
panties. I knew I'd made a mistake as soon as
I passed her the packet of photographs. 'Oh
God.' I watched as her face coloured and
anger caused her lips to tighten until they
resembled a narrow railway track amidst a
furrow of creases.
She passed the photographs back to me,
but said nothing for what seemed an eternal
twenty seconds. 'Sometimes I don't think
you want to be a woman, I think you just
want to dress like a tart'.With judgement
passed she sniffed and bid me goodbye,
ensuring that she called me by my old 'male'
name, just to annoy me.
God, I feel very tired lately. It's a good
job that I believe that this is due to my
diabetes, and that I have faith in my
judgement when it comes to taking medicine
purchased off the internet. As it happens, it
was a faith that was fully justified, given later
Keep taking the tablets...
For those that want to know, I have looked
back over the past years and my original
regime was as follows:
2mg oestradiol (oestrogen or oestrogen v.
often used as HRT, but here acting as a
feminising agent for softer skin and other
50mg Spirolonodactone (often used as a
diuretic but used to stop testosterone
After 6 months, this had increased to:
100mg progestin (used, on anecdotal
evidence, to promote breast growth).
25mg Finistrade (used to prevent male
...plus tubes and tubes of hair-removing
Of course, this is on top of a maximum
dose of Metformin and glicazides, due to my
being diabetic. Throughout, my dear doctors
in Lancaster had continued to take me to
task for taking unauthorised drugs, yet also
monitored my liver - and kidney-function,
potassium levels and even performed a
By the time I went to hospital in London
as a fully active 'Pre-op Transsexual'
(considerably poorer but a little more
feminine), the hormone dosage had
No wonder I rattled!
I had to wait for a few weeks
before I found the true
reason for my tiredness -
a wait through which I hope
you will bear with me...