I live in an old Victorian home in New England. It's one of those multi-family houses that usually has the owner living downstairs and some deadbeat tenant like me living on the second floor. Just like in the movies, I'll be late with the rent and every time I come out of the house to empty the trash or get the mail, my landlady will be asking me for some money before I make it back inside. I'll just feed her the usual excuse about how I'm expecting a check from an imaginary relative or some other kind of bullshit - whatever makes her stifle that wrinkled yapper and leave me alone. Anyways, so my landlady had to move out the other week and go take care of her father down in New Jersey, which was fine with me. She informed me that there were going to be two middle-aged ladies moving in downstairs, which I was OK with as well. I'm daydreaming that some hot looking Bostonian versions of Sarah Palin and Ann Coulter are going to be moving in below me. They'll be constantly needing my help and I'll be like a fucking hero every day - totally cool with me. I didn't manage to get a look at either of them when they moved a bunch of heavy furniture into the house a few weekends ago. I looked down through the venetian blinds and only saw an empty truck on the lawn, while a bunch of boom boom bang sounds were going on downstairs. The next thing you know, they were gone. Finally, the day before they officially moved in, my landlady shows up and tells me that she didn't realize one of the "women" who'd be moving in was actually a transvestite. She looked really embarrassed telling me this but I assured her that I was a tolerant kind of guy and hey.......
I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area
Seriously, whenever I talk about growing up in the SF bay the first thing that pops into everyone's mind is gay people. Seriously, you can't say the name San Francisco without things getting real gay, real quick - especially online. Anyways, I never had any problems with the GLBT people when I lived there. There were never any gay guys hitting on me or bothering me and I never reached down anybodies pants and found a penis when I wasn't expecting it. Basically, there's a whole lot of different people that live there; Black people, Asian people, Mexican people, homeless people, winos, hippies, new-agers and all these wealthy cultured former rednecks and easterners that now live on the west coast. Of course, anyone who's never lived there assumes it's some kind of gay mecca when you mention the place. It's not like you drive across the Bay Bridge from Ghettoland and all of a sudden everything is pink with inverted triangles, rainbows and dildo shaped buildings when you get into the city. There's only a couple of really gay neighborhoods and that's about it.....
I'm a pretty tolerant guy. I assured my landlady that I was cool with everything and she went happily on her way. So the other day it's snowing like mad and the city institutes a parking ban where I live - like they do for any storm that's dumping more than a couple of inches. I don't have an "official" parking space in our narrow little driveway and I normally park out on the street. Of course when it snows, I get to park in the driveway - so they have to pull their car in further to make room for me. OK, now I finally have an excuse to interact with my new neighbors and see what the heck is going on with the ladyman. I knock on the door and it opens. Before I can even react to what I'm looking at, I see and smell this cloud of stale cigarette smoke pouring out their door like those ghost things that come out of the Ark of the Covenant in that first Indiana Jones movie. After my moment of being stunned, I see what is obviously a middle aged man standing there in the doorway looking back at me. Beyond a couple bumps in the chest area and a few earrings, there was absolutely nothing to distinguish this person as being a woman. "She" was missing four front teeth, probably hadn't washed her hair for a week and was as au naturale as one can get.....
I consider myself a tolerant guy
But I was honestly offended by this. I feel bad for
the guy her, being given those goddawful huge monkey man hands and male pattern baldness but if the idea was to get me all hot, bothered and thinking about a liberating session of kinky gender bender sex - mission failed completely. I never got to see the real woman that lives downstairs but the he-she-beast looked back into the house briefly after I asked a question as if someone was there. I didn't hear anything so it all looked pretty weird to me. These two alleged persons just kind of whisked in here while I wasn't looking and one of them is uglier than that Buffalo Bill guy in Silence of the Lambs. I wonder how many times "she" has been dancing around in front of the mirror with her penis tucked-in to resemble a vagina while saying "Do you wanna fuck me?" I wonder if this freak actually does have a roommate or if it's really just some trapped or hogtied victim of this Jeffrey Dahmer wannabee that's now living downstairs and making a really bad first impression with me. Who knows, maybe I have Norman Bates living below me now, which would actually be preferable to smelling a bunch of decomposing dead gay guys downstairs in their fridge. I wonder if Glade© air freshener will cover that up?
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This sick motherfucker is just standing there looking semi-confused so I said a premature "thanks" for moving their car and offered my hand to "it" for the pre-requisite handshake. Ms. monkey paw kind of daintily handed me her fingertips to simulate the kind of handshake you'd normally receive from a petite lady, not someone who had gigantic carpenter's hands, so he did get half a point for that. I walked back upstairs with more questions than answers though. The next day I go downstairs and notice that there's a new name written on the mailbox for the newbies, which one could expect. The odd thing that caught my attention was the fact that it was a shred of duct tape with the name "C.E. Hollywood" written on it blue ball-point pen. What's the matter, did they run out of crayons? Since "she" introduced herself as Edie and the real woman roommate was allegedly named Cindy, what's that name doing on the mailbox? Is this some kind of couple? What the heck is going on here? A man who wants to be a woman doesn't have a sexual relationship with a woman. That shoddy name tag doesn't fool me, just like my lesbian trapped in a man's body routine doesn't fool lesbians.
They obviously have only one car and over the next couple of days I get a good grip on their routine. I only see "Edie" leave the house around 8:30am and go to work (I assume) while there's not as much as a peep coming from downstairs. I'm here all day long, 24/7/365, and when someone is home downstairs I know it. The water will run, you can hear it in the pipes but I listen and listen and all I hear is nothing. What in the name of god is going on down there? Is there really a Cindy? Is there some real, live bitch down there right now observing radio silence and listening to every damn thing I'm doing up here? It's starting to drive me crazy thinking about it but then I finally see her. She's middle aged and red-haired, a ginger lady. She's not all that attractive, a little homely but what in the world is the connection with these two? I remembered back when I was in high school and there was always that good-looking girl that was best friends with the 300 pound walking bacon party. Obviously, the contrast always makes the hot girl look even hotter standing next to Ms Piggy but this broad must think she's some kind of freaking leper to be hanging out with a watercress manwich like "Edie"....
I try to look at it from their perspective
But how can I really empathize with this? I realize the poor
guy gal got dealt a bad hand and was born a man - I know it's not his her fault. I'm sure that this Cindy lady is probably mentally scarred for life in some hideous manner that I can only fantasize about in graphic detail. I'm sure that her relationship with Mr Sister comforts her to some degree but what about my children? What about me? (I actually don't have kids) I guess I'm going to have to assume that they must be really poor and can't afford to get him some hair, tits and teeth. I can relate to that but it doesn't explain to me why in the heck they're paying into four figures to rent out the entire downstairs (plus basement). Couldn't they live frugally like me? Hey, one year of only paying $500 to rent some shit-hole built for two saves you enough money to buy tits and teeth for Buffalo Bill.
If I was going to be a woman
Look, I'm shaped like a football player and have hair on my back, if I was going to do this, I'd do it right. My god, look at Divine! That ugly motherfucker looks hot after a few hours of work so I'm positive that if I actually tried to look like a woman, you'd fuck me. You'd fuck me hard. Let's face it, most people who are ugly will normally try a little harder to be nice and to look presentable. Remember the fat girl that always went out of her way to make the guys like her? Who else would suck your cock for two straight hours? I think that
guy lady downstairs should be blowing me right now for that awful first and subsequent impressions. If I was going to call myself Estelle and take the hormones until I grew tits, I'd at least have the decency to wash my hair or to wear a wig. I understand that times are tough but if you don't have the money for the basics you should really just suspend being a woman until you can afford it, it's the decent thing to do. You're not allowed to be a "tomboy" transvestite, OK. There is no such thing. A real woman can refrain from make-up and being demure because she's still a woman. A man that slacks on the pre-requisites of the role is just another unhygienic guy who doesn't pay attention to detail and cannot rightfully be called a transvestite. You're some man who put on a pair of earrings. Obviously my old and painfully conservative landlady didn't pluck the word "transvestite" out of the sky, this Cindy broad must have told her that, so you're claiming to represent and you're not living up to it.
I have a couple of sick monkeys living beneath me and they're going to burn this goddamn place to the ground with their chain smoking. I suspect that they're going to start picking up young gay men any day now and perhaps leave them loitering unconscious on my stairway. Either that or "Edie" is going to show up in my bathroom wearing a red wig, stab me to death while I'm taking a shower and skullfuck the eye sockets on my severed head for about a week. All I do know is that I'm getting increasingly agitated sitting up here, typing away and wondering what the hell is going on down there - my dick is still extremely dry. I didn't ask for this kind of crap but I suppose a person needs to be tolerant. I suppose I'm that kind of guy.
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