Home, home on the ranger

Ah, I did indeed have a Texas Ranger once, shortly after my totally triumphant return to Vancouver. Sadly, he was forced to return to the US of A and I was left to begin my new beautification project which included almost everyone in the entire city.

I missed him deeply for a second or two, I really did, but Vancouver needed me more.

I began to establish my reputation as the world’s leading beauty expert in a typically modest fashion. It was to be several years (and surgeries) before I could open the Kink Klinik. In the meantime, I rented a chair at a salon in my neighborhood. By night I continued my studies, worked on my ultra glamorous night club act, and did whatever else a girl needed to do to survive.

At that point, I still walked like a woman but talked like a man, if you know what I mean. I had decided to live the gay lifestyle and was cross-dressing regularly. Of course, on me anything looks completely divine and I’ve always had luscious cleavage, even before I bought my hooters. I wasn’t all that happy with my boy equipment but it took a few years for me to really decide to become a woman.

My epiphany came one day at the salon while I was shampooing a particularly gnarly head of hair. I was up to the elbows in suds, rubbing away enthusiastically, when one of my bosoms popped loose and landed in my client’s eye! I quickly swooped up the offending foam morsel and tucked it discreetly away. Luckily my client was so blissfully enjoying my shampooing technique he barely noticed the interruption. Needless to say, I was more than a little mortified and found it difficult to concentrate on his haircut in my lopsided condition.

After my client left–tipping generously as I always recommend one does if one is looking for a truly suitable do–I spent a moment rearranging the boobies. This was really when I made the decision that produced the gorgeous woman I am today. I went to my doctor that same week and began the regime of hormone therapy.

The hormones created the effect of puberty all over again. The positive thing about it was that this time I felt I was getting it right. I developed lovely little bee sting breasts which were quite sensitive to my constant touch. I grew moody and dreamy, a Pampers commercial on TV could make me weep. And how I pined over my long gone Texas Ranger!

‘Homo, homo on the ranger,’ I would sing plaintively under my breath, staring out the salon window and fingering my budding bazoombas. ‘Where the queer and the something-something play. Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy, they’re gay.’ The female hormones seemed to imbue me with a brilliant poetic quality as well.

During this time I was strictly dressing as a woman. I cleansed my closet of all my smelly boy clothes and filled it with fabulous frocks. One of the other requirements of my transformation was that I go to a therapist twice monthly. I must say my dears, I found these sessions terribly trying. I blame Harry Benjamin for my anguish, I really do.

My therapist seemed to be some kind of a sexual deviant, if you want my opinion. He obsessed over the details of my sex life and was more interested in my penis than I was.

“Do you have sex more then twice a week? More than three times?” he’d ask breathily, wisps of steam rising over his smudgy spectacles.

“Do you masturbate?” he’d leer.

“Do you have sex with men?” I’d notice a distinct quickening of his breath. “Or women?” Big exhale. The man was sweating!

“Do you use your penis to have sex?”

That question almost sent him right over the edge and on into ecstasy every time he asked it. I swear I could detect a furtive hand movement under his desk, but who can prove these things? I found talking to him completely unnerving and offensive to my essential daintiness but no therapy equaled no boobjob. What’s a girl to do?

I suffered through these sessions in order to achieve my womanly goals. I’d advise anyone to do the same. The end result is so supremely worthwhile. Just LOOK at me!

And now, darlings, I must love you and leave you breathless and panting for more. There is suddenly quite a bit of action here at the Kink Klinik. Many lost souls have descended in search of beauty miracles. I must leap to their rescue and whip them into some kind of shape, so to speak.

Adieu until next time! Ciao for now!