Wednesday, June 27, 2012

"Girly Girl: Random Post #1"



So I'm taking my first break from the true story stuff I've been posting. 
As you can see by this Picture to the left, my goal is to be, what some people call a "Bimbo", but what I like to say is "Girly Girl."
I'm not offended or even opposed to being called a bimbo. If that's the term you are comfortable with go ahead and use it. Honestly, I think being a bimbo isn't about being stupid. Most Bimbo girls are smarter than they let on. Some, of course, are not all that bright, but it's not important at the moment. I'm not writing this to defend or put down anyone. I just want to talk about why being a "Girly Girl" is my goal in life.
I know my dream of being a club going, hot, big breasted, blonde is a bit superficial to some. And, I fully admit that this dream may be a desire to overcompensate for not being born a genetic female.
Sorry, but it's something I can't and wouldn't want to stop.

If you have read through my blog, you might have come across a post where I talk about wanting to be a cheerleader in highschool and how I wished that I could have been a popular girl. Since highschool I have grown up a bit, but I still wish and pray with all my heart that I was pretty and popular. Just look at the three girls in that photo. Those girls are doing what I find fun. As a guy, I hate dance clubs. I hate dancing. At least that's what I tell people. While I am busy declining invitations to hit the clubs and dance while getting tipsy, in my mind there is a girl dying to go.
I love the idea of hitting the dance floor and feeling sexy while a Lady Gaga remix makes me lose myself in the moment.

You might think since I want to be like the three girls above, my goal would be the girl in the front. She is appealing with her huge boobs, straight blond hair and cute face, but if given the choice I'd be the girl in the middle. The one on the right seems too Paris Hilton for my tastes and the girl in front is beautiful, but a little too "Bimbo" for me. So, I'll stick with the girl in the middle. Her hair is amazing and her boobs are just right. She seems more interesting and less forgettable to me as well. Most guys would 9 times out of 10 choose the girl in front as a date or to just have sex with, but I'm looking at something else. I'm looking for the girl I want to be when I'm moving my body to the beat of that Gaga remix.

This pic is me in a perfect world though. Something about this girl and the way she is such a girly girl, but still her expression says she has a sense of humor, a little mischief and she is confident. Not to mention I adore hoop earings with dark hair.
My goal is to be like her and I will.
When I'm Rebecca outside as well as in.


"A Bit About This Blog"

     So I'm taking a break from my personal stories so I can let you know where I'm going with this Blog.
The first few posts have been about me and random memories from growing up and living with gender issues. I'm hoping to continue these stories and trying my best to keep them in chronological order. I'm sure at some point I'll start posting a few stories randomly as I remember them.

I started with personal stories for two reasons. The first reason is that It's easier to write about myself. I can get used to blogging this way and let you know a bit about me in the process. The second reason is in the hopes that others who are dealing with gender issues, like mine, will be able to relate.

Beyond posting about myself (even though I'm completely self absorbed) I am going to post about a variety of things and try to make this blog as entertaining, informative and helpful as possible.

-Trying to keep up with the best places to shop online and offline.
-Giving advice on fashion and the tips and tricks of putting together an outfit and building a wardrobe.
-Makeup tip and tricks
-The hygiene that every girl knows about shaving, nails, hair, etc...
-Pop Culture, music and movies that girl's and women care about
-The celebrities and role models in the female world
-Transgender issues and news. As well as transgender film and literature.
-Other Transgender topics of a personal nature such as coming out, transition, sex life, love and How to become a woman.

I am trying to keep everything as PG-13 as possible, but I make no promises. The openess and honesty I want to give to my readers may leave me with no choice other than to move to R rated material. I probably won't show XXX pictures or videos here, but there might be discussions, postings and stories with a sexual and graphic tone. I believe that sex is a big part of life and if I was to shy away from it would be counter productive.

I hope you enjoy what I have here so far. If not please check back now and again to see if I'm getting better.

Kisses and big hugs
Rebecca

P.S. Aren't the mary janes in the photo above adorable?
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"Pretty And Popular: Highschool Hardships" (Part 1)

WARNING: This post contains some talk of a sexual nature:

Yes, I admit it. I promised to be honest and I can't go back on that. I could lie and say that all I wanted was to be a girl. Even if that meant being a nerdy, un-cool, unoticed goth girl. But, once I hit highschool I noticed that not only did I want to be a part of the popular click, I also found myself interested in the hobbies, fashion, topics, and the complete world that these girls seemed to live in.




I often went to sporting events in highschool. Most people I was friendly with knew that I wasn't a big sports fan. I'd get asked about my reasons for attending from time to time and I usually answered with one of two excuses I kept in my back pocket. The first being boredom. At fourteen years old, there isn't much else to do besides the occassional school sponsored activity. The second excuse: Support the home team. I knew one or two athletes and supporting them was actually something I did out of true friendship.
But, Despite the truth that I did enjoy rooting for my buddies, I only attended so many games/matches because of the cheerleaders.
Yes, I know it seems to be the overly-feminine dream of every guy who dared to try on his mother's panties. But, to me it was something else. There was something attractive about the sport itself. And yes, cheering is a sport. It's athletic, team oriented and a lot harder than most people give it credit for.
I know you're reading this thinking "C'mon....You liked the outfit. Don't lie." And to that I say "OF COURSE I LIKED THE OUTFIT" I am after all a fashion and clothing obsessed type of person. I will say that the sport of Cheering was the majority of my desire to be a cheerleader, but the skirt and cute white sneakers were also an attraction.
Sadly (depressingly), I never took up the sport. There were 3 or 4 guys who cheered at my highschool, but they were muscular and just physically opposite of what I wanted to look like. If I was going to cheer I wanted to be the girl above. She's pretty, probably the top of the pyramid and once again I have to mention the cute outfit.

Being a cheerleader wasn't the only thing I thought was cool about the popular girls. The list was seemingly endless.
I remember the cafeteria as being especially tough. In class I was only with girls my age. Girls who hadn't yet figured out their style or grown completely out of that awkward stage. But, when in the cafeteria I was in a mish-mash of girls from all grades. It was absoluely amazing to see what the senior girls were wearing and how they acted. These were young women. These were girls that were soon to head out into the world and begin their lives. The girls in my grade couldn't wait to be like the senior girls. I couldn't wait to be like the senior girls and when I observed these older and more mature role models I was in a trance. I studied them and how to be like them. But, at some point the trance would break and the truth would sink back in.....I would never be one of the senior girls.

The constant reminder that I wasn't a girl and wouldn't be one, at least not for a long time, made me sink deeper into depression. The front row seat to the development of girls and the living hell that was going on with my own changes and development was too much to bare. Obviously I look back and regret not throwing caution to the wind by starting to transition. Even more obviously I chose to stop showing up.

To Be Continued.




"Guys Or Girls Or Something Inbetween"

Therapy continued for a few months and I was happy everytime I went. Not just happy, but obsessivly joyful. I started doing my best girly voice and crossing my legs as soon as I sat down across from my new friend and therapist. I made sure to talk about my feelings and to try and fit in a bit of girl talk by complimenting her outfit or telling her "I just love your shoes." Her acceptance and encouragement gave me the courage to start buying CDs from female artists. I started privately watching the shows on TV that all the girls in school talked about. These small triumphs convinced me that I on was on my way to becoming female. But, when she began asking questions that I had avoided asking myself, even at my girliest of moments, my true awakening began.
I never considered my sexual orientation as anything other than straight. I had spent so much time and energy on girls it seemed unlikely that I was gay. I assumed if I liked boys I would have at least noticed one boy by now.
The subject of my sexual orientation hadn't been brought up since my first session. Honestly, I'm suprised it took so long for my therapist to ask again. I can only assume she was letting me decide when to have that talk.
I was going on about looking at clothes online. I often (and still do) browsed online stores and put together outfits in my mind. I had mentioned it before, but this time I let it slip that I was on a site featuring crossdressers. Nothing pornographic as I was sure to make apparent to her. I mentioned the cuteness of a crossdresser I had come across. I meant it with innocence and was mainly thinking of the style of dress and how much I liked it. Quickly and without warning the question was asked and she asked it with a sense of certainty. "Did you find him attractive?" The wording of the question was what threw me the most. "Did I find 'him' attractive?" I thought. The picture was quickly clear in my head. The pretty, well dressed, femininity was attractive. I knew I liked that. I knew I liked girls.
I had been quiet for what must have been 20 seconds when she broke the silence "Do you fantasize about any girls at school?" "Sexually?" I asked. "Yes."
I knew the answer. If a girl was in my fantasies she was usually a friend. I had never thought about sex with a girl....but I never thought about it with a guy either.
The image of the pretty crossdresser was in the front of my thoughts again. It stayed there throught the session.

We ended without a final answer. The rest of the day was spent alone in my room. I couldn't shake the photo from my mind. I had touched myself to the photo before. That was a fact. I just didn't know if it was the idea of crossdressing, transgenderism or an attraction to the person.
Suddenly, as if just considering the notion of a sexual attraction to that crossdressed 20 something opened a door, I started fantasizing.
I thought about his lips. I thought of kissing, touching, giggling together and the thought of our shared desire to be female was a very arousing addition. The thought of his body and mine touching became the thought of our erections rubbing. This was what I wanted. What I needed.

At my next session I told my therapist the fantasy. I told her the denial and despair after I had oragsmed. I never used the word Gay or any other label and honestly I still didn't know if I was Gay, Straight or Bi-sexual.
I assume that we would have discussed it more and I might have eventually figured out what I truly wanted, but in an almost cruel act of God I had to stop seeing my therapist at the end of the year. Money and transportation became an issue.
I did love therapy and when it was gone I was crushed. 6 months after leaving I was offered by my folks to find and start up with another therapist, but I declined. I didn't think I could come out again or even open up like I had. In retrospect I regret not at least trying.

"Being A Girl, Once A Week For 60 Minutes"



 
 Eighth grade was awful. I had to spend the year in a new house and start over at a brand new school. Of course other people facing my same situation might have tried reinventing themselves. I thought of that. But when you are only one town over it's hard to become someone else.
So I arrived with my male facade intact.

This was the first year I became truly depressed. I was cranky, short tempered and my grades went from a few As and Bs, mostly Cs, all the way to a string of Fs. I did no homework most of the year. I made a couple friends, mostly guys, but some girls who I kept at a distance by saying dirty remarks and giving them the occassional slap on the ass. I played the part of an unambitious, macho asshole very well. It wasn't hard. It soon became a natural defense mechanism that I would use for many years to come. I got away with it too. The girls who I was so rude too always laughed it off and never took offense. They found me to be an asshole for sure, but I was funny and I never pushed it too far. Of course pushing it too far was never my intention. I pushed them just far enough.

A few months into the school year and my future looked bleak. If I didn't at least attempt to try, there was going to be consequences. I'd be held back in the Eighth grade and once again I'd have to go through the motions of fitting in and tricking a whole new group of kids.
It was suggested that I see a therapist and even though I was 100% against the idea, my parents and the school were the one's making the final choice in the matter. And, just like that, I was in therapy.


The therapists office was small. The waiting room had a pile of magazines to flip through. The sound of the clock ticking away the seconds was heard just above the small noisemaker beside the closed door. I hated this. What if this woman in the other room can see right through me? What if she notices the way I walk and calls me out? What if she just outright asks me if I wanna be a girl?
What do I say?
The door opened and with a quick goodbye to her previous patient, she came over, said hello and invited me in the room.
Butterflies were once again in my stomach. I tried fighting them back.
I sat down on a futon and the older blonde woman sat across from me with a gentle smile on her face. She began with simple questions and I gave short answers. My mind wandered and the butterflies fluttered.
I noticed her dress. It was a long maxi dress with a floral print. She wore a thin sweater over her shoulders. The outfit was complimented with bold costume jewelery. Her shoes were gorgeous embroidered black heels. I couldn't stop stealing glimpses. I was giving myself away.
About fifteen minutes into the hour the butterflies became an empty feeling. The questions were getting more personal, she was digging deeper. "Are you depressed?" She asked, her smile changed into concern. "I'm not sure." I whispered. She assured me that no one could hear anything I said. She told me I was her last patient of the day and that the waiting room was empty. "Anything you tell me is confidential, and if I tell anyone I'll lose my license."
Five minutes passed and the pit grew deeper. She was asking about moving, about the new school and all I could do was stare at her high heels, answer yes and no.
"What did you like better about your old school?" "Friends, I guess." Of course that wasn't true. I was one town over. I saw my friends all the time.

It was about 30 minutes in and the pit in my stomach wasn't going away. It was worse than the butterflies. It grew deeper and I felt more and more empty. I looked at the clock. I'd wasted a half an hour and if I didn't say something soon I knew I'd have that pit in my stomach all night, maybe longer.
I kept telling myself "Just say it. Only 30 more minutes. Let it out"
My eyes watered. "You can tell me whatever is on your mind." She said as she handed me a tissue.
I took the tissue and held it tight, rubbing it between my fingers, feeling the fibers tear apart.
"I think I am depressed." My body was shaking and I couldn't control it. The tears in my eyes latched on to my lashes. "It's about being...." My voice cut out on me.
"Are you Gay?" She gently asked. "No.....I don't know." I replied. "You can be honest here. and you don't have to be certain of anything. If you want to talk about a feeling you have, go ahead."
My flushed red cheeks cooled for a moment. My body shook a bit less. "I don't like being a boy." I barely noticed a tear roll down my cheek. "I hate being a boy. I want to be a girl and it's so overwhelming." And just like that the secret was out. My body was peaceful.

We discussed my desire to be a girl for the next 30 minutes. She was more than understanding and extremely knowledgeable. By the end of the session I told her every feeling I had and every dream for my future.
I left and securely packed away my secret. I couldn't wait until my next session.


                                                                      

Monday, June 25, 2012

"The Allure Of A Girl's Life" (PART 2)



Let me start by saying that I am not still the fan of Britney Spears that I once was. I've grown up and moved on to new and better things.
I will admit that I still go back to her songs and videos from time to time and the sense of nastalgia is something I hope never changes.
But, instead of focusing on my current opinions let's get back to the late 90's.



My new friend, Amanda had me at the peak of excitement, not that she had any idea. I'm assuming she thought I'd see the music video and have the average reaction most guys had. She was way off. In fact, my reaction suprised me more than it would have suprised anyone else. It was an epiphany of sorts.

I ran home and was greeted by even more luck. A note on the kitchen table which read: "We are going to be home after 5pm. Went shopping. Love- Mom." It was official, something more was happening here. Whether the planets aligned or some gender dysphoria goddess was watching over me, everything was perfectly set for me to watch the video in peace.
I dropped everything. My bookbag made a "thud" sound as it hit the kitchen floor. I didn't make a snack or even get a glass of water. I was immediately in the living room, on the edge of the couch, remote in my shaking hand. I turned MTV on and waited.
Watching for over an hour, ignoring the other videos and chit-chat between them I sat with patience. Finally, we get down to the number 1 video and sure enough they announce "The Number One Video This Week Is Britney Spears-Baby One More Time!" I tried not to blink.

I'll spare the details of the video, as I'm sure most have seen it. (School-girl outfit and dance numbers set to pop music as Britney sings the classic hit around a highschool.) Yes, it's pop, bubblegum, light inuendo and I LOVED IT! I couldn't get the chorus out of my head. Not to mention I wanted to be, act and dress like Britney Spears.

That night I went to bed and my eyes refused to close. My mind raced and my lips mouthed the words to my new favorite song. I made myself a promise to be a Britney super fan, even if just privately. I couldn't wait to talk to Amanda. To discuss the shoes, the outfits and the music.
Somewhere in the middle of my frantic thoughts and happy excitment, I drifted off to sleep.


The next day I was more than happy to head off to school. I arrived early and was waiting in my seat before the teacher even arrived. I scribbled The name Britney on notebook paper. I dotted the eye with a heart and found myself writing it in bubble letters, drawing pretty designs around it. I started signing it as if it were my name. I was obsessed.
The class arrived and I watched Amanda enter the room. She smiled at me as she took her seat and asked if I had watched TRL. I reserved my excitement and simply said "Yeah." She smiled again and turned in her seat to face me. "Oh my god, did you see that Britney's video was number one?" Her question filled my stomach with butterflies. I wanted to open up and let out my excitement and just discuss every detail. Of course, I couldn't so I just gave another "Yeah." followed by "It was pretty good." "I know you think she's hot, don't you?" I agreed, which wasn't a lie. She was hot, whether I wanted to date her or be her was irrelevant. "All boys are so gross." She said, and it was as if she wanted me to agree, to just admit to her that boys were gross and that girls were so much cooler. The butterflies were flapping their wing in my throat now. Each one was a word trying to escape and form my first female sentence. "I did think those shoes were cute. Too bad your mom wouldn't get them for you." It wasn't what I wanted to say, but it was about shoes and about a Girlly, pop, music video and it felt good to say. Amanda agreed and looking at her adorable high heeled mules said "I still want to get a pair, but I'm happy I got these." "Yeah, They are super cute." I replied and then just before we could start a true Girly conversation, the teacher started class.

Each subject lingered. I sat in my seat paying no attention at all to the lessons. I kept glancing at Amanda's shoes. I looked at her jeans and her t-shirt and thought about how cute the whole outfit was when I viewed it as a complete package. I couldn't wait for lunch.....the chance to talk.
When the lunch bell finally rang, I went to my backpack and pulled out my paper bag. I walked back to my desk, but Amanda's seat was left empty. She was sitting in the far corner with a group of the girls and giggling and chatting and I was devastated. I ate with a few boys and they talked and I pretended. When lunch ended, class began and the day went on as normal as every other day, as if I had never met Amanda.

The end of the day was a moment I wish never happened. I was walking out the front doors of the school building when Amanda approached me. She asked why I was so nice to her. She asked if I thought she was pretty.
I told her she was cool and pretty, but that I was dating another girl from another school. It was a lie and even for a child it was childish. She didn't cry, she just seemed hurt and confused. She must have thought I was absolutely going to say yes. All the signs pointed that way. I was a boy in her eyes. A boy willing to talk about her shoes and her interests. A boy she caught stealing glances at her during class.
To her we had never had "Girl Talk". Realizing that was devastating. Realizing that she had been hurt as well...... was a lot to take in. I hated myself.

The weekend was two days of fear. Monday would come and I'd be back in the seat next to Amanda. I thought about dating her, but I didn't see her that way. Not because she wasn't pretty enough. I'm not one to turn someone down for superficial reasons and I've always been that way. I couldn't explain it. It was only a two day friendship, but to me it was the most exciting and freeing time I had yet to experience. I wanted a best friend and I wanted her to see me as one of the girls. She wanted a boyfriend.
Monday came and the morning hours were awkward. By the time the lunch bell rang, Amanda started talking again. We got along for the remainder of the year. We never chatted about Girl stuff again, but we were kids and kids get over things like that.

The next year I changed schools. I never saw Amanda again, but I hope she doesn't still wonder why I turned her down. I hope she didn't develop some insecurity from our brief friendship. I wish I could tell her the truth. I wish I could tell her that those two days impacted my life so much and that without our interaction I might have never begun experiencing the girl's side of pop culture which I have grown to love. I might not have even been able to come as far as I have with accepting who I am. Thanks and much love to her.

I hope you finally got those shoes. I'm still looking for a pair of my own.




"The Allure Of A Girl's Life." (PART 1)


My one regret about my childhood, especially my teen years, is the way I dealt with pop culture. I know it sounds silly. You'd think I would have bigger issues with my eventual downward spiral in school or my total lack of ambition. But, if we are being honest, it was my avoidence of any and all music, movies, t.v. and popular culture that was considered to be for girls.
Now, I understand that it's not the most important part of life. But, for me, it was a denial of myself. I LOVED everything about the world of pop culture and was drawn to it by some unknown force. And, yes I understand that many people out their, especially those of a different generation might think of me as stupid. I know that someone may disagree with the singers and actresses and role models I wanted to follow, but I am a child of the 1990's and I can't help that. I don't make fun of people who grew up in the 1980's and adored "Tiffany". Of course if I had grown up in the 1980's I would have been all about Cyndi Lauper, just so you know.

      I was around eleven years old when I noticed I could no longer relate to the other boys. I didn't know anything about sports and I wasn't into their music. It was the late 90's (about 1997). The past few years had been easy enough. I didn't have to know about boy stuff, and what I did know was the rare boy stuff I was interested in. But cartoons and a few action movies were no longer going to cut it in these new discussions about Baskeball players and the best and coolest new car. One of my schoolmates who always talked about his much older brother, came in one day with stories of the new motorcycle his bro had purchased. The guys gathered around with interest. I tried my best to pretend I cared, but I couldn't help drifting off into a daydream.
I often daydreamed, or spaced out, when in school. I found it hard to focus in most subjects. English came easy to me and so did History, but the rest of the day (especially during Math) I was lost. I gazed out of the corner of my eyes, sometimes I even caught myself staring straight at them. The Girls. But, not the girls exactly. I looked at their clothes and shoes and handbags with an envious pit in my stomach. Here they were, in the same room with me for six hours and they were not only developing into young women, but developing a sense of style. They had the new and most popular clothes and shoes. They talked about the things that 11 and 12 year old girls talk about and I was stuck dressed in uncomfortable, boring boy clothes while having to listen to boring stories about motorcycles and who swished a jump shot at the buzzer! Not Fair!

Toward the last few months of sixth or seventh grade (I forget which, it's not that important.) the teacher reasigned our seats. It was nerve-racking to say the least. I had gone most of the year building a boy-ish persona with the guys that sat around me. Now, all of a sudden I was going to have to be on my toes and pretend and build a reputation all over again. But, as luck would have it, I sat at the end of the back row. I was at least two to three desks away from any other boys and my closest neighbor sat to my right....her name was Amanda.
Of course if this were a dream journal the next part of the story would involve Amanda and I becoming friends and that would lead to getting my first make-over. But, since I'm telling the truth this is what actually happened.
She wasn't the most beautiful girl and she wasn't particularly well dressed. She usually wore the girl's t-shirt and a pair of jeans, but once or twice a week she wore these black high heeled mules. I loved them and I mentioned it, in the way a guy picks a girl up in a bar. It was something I'd seen on T.V. and it seemed to make the comment socially acceptable. I got an excited "Thanks!" She then began talking about them. Where she got them, why she liked them and how much they cost. I hung on every word with delighted interest. I tried to seem "whatever" about the whole thing, but she just kept going and even though it was mainly a one way conversation it was the closest I had come to real "girl talk" in my life. I managed to tell her that they were "cute" without it sounding too weird or feminine. I was loving this.
The conversation lulled for only a moment before she said "I really, really think these shoes are awesome, but I wanted the ones Britney Spears has in her video. My momsaid I couldn't get them though." I didn't know what she meant. I didn't know who Britney Spears was and I had never seen her video, so I quickly replied "Who's that?" Amanda gave me a look I'll never forget. She went from pure excitement to a puzzled expression of wonderment before I finished my question. "Don't you watch 'TRL'? it's on MTV." She couldn't fathom the idea of someone who didn't know Britney Spears, so when I told her I rarely watched MTV she wouldn't stand for it. "After school on MTV is a show called TRL. They show videos and you vote for your favorite. Britney is probably going to be number 1 again, so make sure you watch it." She had basically given me an order and I knew I had to follow it, not for her, but for myself.
The reason I rarely watched MTV sounds ridiculous these days. No one would think I wanted to be a girl if I was watching a pop music video, but back then I took no chances. I knew I wanted to watch Spice Girl videos. I had seen bits and pieces, but I kept the sound low, the channel flipping back and forth from the video to cartoons. I was horrified at the thought of someone finding me caught up in the music, maybe even dancing or singing along. But, now I had no choice. Now I had an obligation to Amanda. I did promise her after all. And, if I missed the video I'd miss the next day's opportunity to talk about Britney's shoes and maybe never have another girl talk again.
I couldn't risk it.
  

"Do You Really Want To Be A Girl?"

DISCLAIMER: "Please don't judge this blog by this post. It's not my favorite and the rest will be much more fun, I promise."

Hi and welcome.
I guess you should know that this isn't one of those blogs that posts dirty pics and videos. I have nothing against that sort of thing. I actually like a few of them and I have even found myself obsessed with the purely sexual side of my femininity. If you get right down to it, my desire to be a girl quickly became a "sex thing" which caused me to eventually become beyond confused.
Being a young boy who wishes he could be a girl isn't considered normal and I knew it would outcast me if I were to ever tell anyone. But, as I grew older and gained more knowledge about other gender variant people, the confusion got worse.
There were so many different labels for me to consider: Crossdresser, Transvestite, Transsexual, etc...
How in God's name was I supposed to know who I was and who I wanted to be?

I'm sure you've read the articles that are meant to tell you who you are. So have I. Articles written by other "Transgender" individuals who claim that they're personal choices and feelings are a checklist for anyone who thinks themselves to be a true transsexual. Some say that if you sexualize your feminine feelings in any way, you can not be transsexual. This is neither true nor helpful. We all deal with our gender issues in different ways.
As a pre-teen or "Tween", as they are now called, I found myself reading every bit of information I could find online. I read every word of every article or diary on the internet. I connected with each one and for the first time I related to other human beings on a deep and emotional level. So why was it that I still felt out of place? I was scolded for masturbating when I dressed in girl's clothes. I was told I was just a crossdresser, even though it was so much more than putting on panties and getting horny. And I was told all this by people I thought understood me.
 I disliked my male body. I hated several "Manly" hobbies and activities, yet I adored plenty of the "Girly" things. But as you know, hobbies and interests don't define a person's gender. So all I had in my corner to defend myself as a "Real" transsexual, was something I couldn't share or show. I had only my feelings and my unwavering urge to be a girl.

Of course it's not smart to transition based solely on a feeling. I understood that from the first moment I learned about reasignment surgeries and gender transtion. But, to claim that I was nothing more than a crossdresser because I'm human and my only outlet for my gender issues was to sexualize them is irresponsible on their part. I had no one to talk to, no place to go and be myself. God forbid I find some relief.

Only you can answer the question of your inner gender and how you will deal with that. Remember that no matter what gender you are that sex and masturbation are natural. There is no reason why feeling feminine and beautiful is something you must not sexualize. That being said, make sure you don't base your choices on sexuality alone. Find time to let your inner gender out while doing non-sexual things. If you feel sexual just by acting feminine in normal average activities, give it time. It may pass and you may find yourself happily and naturally being feminine without becoming aroused.

I know this is a rather boring post and not nearly as informative as one might hope. I simply needed to vent and hopefully you won't hold it against me.  :)