I used to go to transgender clubs with a part time crossdresser named Frank. He chatted online with a mutual transgender friend, and the friend suggested Frank contact me, since we both lived in Los Angeles.
When we first had lunch and met in person, he flashed his wealth in front of me. He made 20 thousand a week, and was a millionaire. He had his own business, and multiple luxury cars, some of them which he let me drive.
He told me he had done international business his whole life, and watched his father negotiate million dollar deals, and was engaged to a beautiful Japanese news reporter several years back, and he had seen many things in life that made it rare for him to lose in situations. His goal in life was to never lose. And he never did in front of me, on the surface at least.
Frank appeared very confident in all aspects of life, right down to chasing women.
He had me meet him at his warehouse one night, and we dressed up there and I asked him if he had gone out in public and explored his transgenderism. He said he had never gone out in public, and tried to suppress it, and that he got his fix, and quenches his “urges” by living vicariously through other transsexuals, particularly by dating and fucking them.
We used to go out to the transgender clubs, and he would tip the valet worker 50 dollars. Then he would ask one of the transgender girls to smile, and give her 200 dollars. The women flocked to our table, and we were the focal point of the party all night. The clubs quickly realized how powerful of a person he was, and his presence demanded attention.
He thrived off of that.
Fast forward to 2013, and I’ve been fulltime for 2 years now.
The only thing that sticks out about our former friendship, is that he was in so much deprivation and desperation. Pain. Suffering. Denial of self.
It was really quite sad.
On the surface, he looked like Margaret, with the perfect life. He had amazing clothes, cars, and commanded attention wherever we went. We always had a pretty girl with us on our arm when we went out.
But when the lights turned off and it was time to face the mirror, he was too scared to look. He was very much alone isolated, and friendless. He had no one. He was too scared to connect with anyone, afraid they wanted his money, afraid of his own transgenderism. So he kept running, and lord knows he had the money to sustain the running.
He said something to me that I will never forget: “There is no way we could ever be fulltime girls,” he said with seriousness in his eyes. “We are too strong as men, too established in our careers and social clout to give this up.”
Then he nodded and waited for me to agree with him. He flicked his cigarette ashes on the floor, and waited some more.
I nodded, more out of intimidation and fear, rather than truly agreeing with him.
He continued: “This is only a part time thing for us, and we can control our urges.”
I now realize I was hanging out with someone who was in an incredible amount of fear. Someone who was so scared to face himself, that he used, hurt, abused, and manipulated other women just to keep the defenses going.
The adored gentleman facade was nothing but a mask for an enormous amount of pain.
And back in 2006, I was in just as much pain, and unable to see what he was really about. So I went along with him on all his shenanigans and charades.
I have regrets about those days, but all I can do now is to own up to that. And say to my Mother in the Sky to bless those that I crossed and hurt.
And to bless, most importantly, Frank himself.
Olly Olly Oxen Free Frank.