The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 4.

Part 4.

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I am wearing some lovely patterned leggings. I do yoga in them with my personal trainer, Sebastian. He’s a very good sport and I know he likes the way my body moves. He looks at me at times with a sort of lustful hunger, and I have to say I enjoy it.

But before I go too far telling you about Sebastian, let’s go back to Rose – so much older than myself and a woman who knew very decisively what she wanted. She would dress me up, make me up and then use me like I was some sort of toy for her amusement. In every respect I was bought and paid for. The degradation and the humiliation came right along with the discomfort of allowing her to do things to my body that certainly weren’t covered in my biology studies in high school. It was disgustingly wonderful.

Rose had figured out that a body, any body, is capable of physical joy and if she worked with it in a certain manner and when that joy was experienced no one was about to complain. Phrases like ‘sexual orientation’ get to be pretty meaningless in some circumstances. I remember asking her one day, after she’d used me to the delight of one of her friends, who she’d invited to watch, whether she thought of herself as straight, or bi or lesbian. After all here I was, on what can best be called ‘the receiving end’ of her passion, dressed as a woman (or in that instance if I remember rightly a schoolgirl), for the amusement of one of her girlfriends.

“Am I Straight, bi or lesbian?” she repeated with a laugh. “Yes.”

And that really was about it for ‘sexual orientation’. I stopped asking myself the same question at about that point, too. After all, exactly who is served by such a label? Those who are so insecure in their orientation that they need it affirmed at every opportunity? Are they not precisely the people that are most disturbing?

Sebastian has been helping me with yoga for a few years.  He is a product of the west coast of Canada. For those that are not familiar with this, it basically means he is a second or third generation hippie, blended with millennial entitlement with a healthy dash of tech and hipster thrown in. He’s also very open minded. Well, you’d have to be with a sister named Rainbow.

“You need to let your hips open a little more, Fiona,” he said as he moved my pelvis a little deeper into a pose. “That’s it. Breath through your hips and move from your cerebellum. Isn’t that so much better?”

He will have me hold this position for two minutes and then press me a little further. Over time the body settles into the shape one has chosen. We will then hold the position for five minutes in silence. He often advises me to meditate on the sound of the stars at this point. Gradually feeling of discomfort are displaced by feelings of something almost euphoric.

After a full seven minutes in the position my hips feel as though they are aflame. Now, as Sylvester explained to me as I described this to him on one occasion, he’d experienced some burning in his groin however a short course of antibiotics from Feldman’s Pharmacy usually clears it up nicely. I didn’t take a lot of comfort from this.

After an hour of yin yoga my body and my mind are refreshed and stretched. And I am going places in both my body and my head that surprise me.

“Isn’t it amazing how answers come from the universe, Fiona,” said Sebastian as he lay down in shavasana.

Sebastian is right though. 

And I have some solutions for my members. It’s all quite clear to me now.

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