I was living in Los Angeles at the time. I was living alone for the first time in my life and was now in a situation where I might let the girl inside have an item or two. So I began to purchase items to express my feminine side and soon found myself wanting to experiment with wigs.
I knew I would have to find a wig that worked for me as a black sissy. I had some ideas of what I wanted but how to get what I wanted was the question.
It just happened that a new wig shop had opened close to my house. Being in a black neighborhood it clearly catered to black women. I saw wigs in the window that caught my fancy. So I picked a time when I felt the store would not be very busy and got up my courage and went in.
I must have looked an odd sight: a young black man walking into a wig shop. The store owner, who happened to be a very nice Korean woman, met me and I told her I was looking for a gift for my girlfriend. OK so that was a lie. She let me look around and after a while I found a wig I liked.
I asked her the price so she took it down and told me. She gave me a closer look at the wig and told me about it. She told me about the construction of the wig and the type of hair it was made of. I was sold. i could hardly wait to get home with it.
And then she said, with no change of facial expression, “You try on?” I was shocked and repeated that it was for my girlfriend not me. She simply smiled and said again, “You try on?”
I don’t know if she didn’t understand me when I said it was for my girlfriend or if she somehow knew that she was dealing with a fledgling sissy. I hesitated for a moment. i didn’t know what to do. She however pressed on. “Come,” she said and led me to a private corner of the shop.
For the next 45 minutes she helped me try on several wigs. She offered her opinion and we fell in with other. She taught me about texture and color and blending and styling and how to frame my face and care for hair. She taught and i learned. I became a regular customer and we became friends.
It was an important step for me. Not only did I gain an ally but I found a teacher. It was one more step along the road that would eventually lead me right out of the closet.
Black girl—white cock. That’s what I was doing today.
I certainly can relate to this. One of the things that I had to come to terms with early in my life as a sissy was the two categories of guys. 1) guys who want to fuck and 2) guys who want to be fucked.
I was not prepared for category number two. At first I didn’t understand why a man would want to be fucked by someone who was, by all appearances, female. My way of making sense of this was to say that there are men who are attracted to strong dominate women. That idea of dominance is acted out sexually by submitting to the act of being penetrated by a woman. These men like feminine beauty but also want sexual power and dominance in a woman and so the woman in a strap-on or the “chick with a dick” are irresistible for such men.
When you take this culture’s fascination with the myth of big black cock and this culture’s masculinization of black women and combine it with potent image of the trans woman as “the best of both worlds” you create a powerfully attractive draw for men in category two: the big-dicked, dominate black t-girl.
I was unaware of this when I began to explore my own sexuality as a sissy and a trans woman. For every one guy who wanted to bed me, I was meeting 4 guys who wanted me to bed them. In those early days I was stupid enough to answer questions about penis size (and in those pre-hormones days I was almost considered “well-endowed”). In chat rooms I would play out my fantasies while the guys would be trying to get me act like a top. However I found no pleasure in that.
I finally had to take a tough line. In my ads and profiles I had to constantly say I don’t top. I refused to talk about my genitals. If a guys brought up being topped I would simply stop talking to him.
Let me add that I am not against men in category two finding sexual pleasure. I just don’t want to have any part of it. I admit that there are times when I’m angered by men who approach me as though I’m a domme, even though I’ve done nothing to give that impression. Still I wish those men well and I hope they find what they are seeking—-but I’m not the one.