Hello it’s me again again! I’m posting twice in one day? Gasp.
BTW. If you dont wanna read a lot of text, stop reading cause this is going to be a long one. (tehee). I try to space things out so it’s not a huge block of text.
Well I guess I have to make up for lost time.
To be honest Chansluts is a love and hate relationship. I love it because it was here I found people like me, some were pretty as fuck and some were ugly but didn’t give a fuck.
That’s so great beauty is subjective. What turns you on turns you on.
Why do I hate? I don’t know, I think it has to do with my style of whoring. I don’t want people seeing my weenie or my butt hole. I’ll show you my cute panties but when I first started posting it was more "heres what I look like now, how’s the progress". Dont get me wrong, I love it when people get turned on by me. BUT LOL what do you expect this is Chansluts! (chan chan i guess)
Anyways, sorry if that was confusing. It’s a hard feeling to express.
Now for what this thread is about. Age said this may be a healthy outlet and I think I agree. Basically I am doing what I do best here: ATTENTION WHORING.
TL;DR Rina's Story: Part One
I have had a nice life by modern standards. I have a full family, nice house to live in (for now), and food to eat. But it never made me happy.
The picture is my arm. It is a portion of the road map of scars covering my body. Most of them are self-inflicted. It’s sick but it’s another Love/Hate thing. To me it reminds me of the sorrow I experienced and it gives me sense of resolve. On the other hand, they disgust me at my immaturity and lack of respect for the life I have lived.
This dichotomy of emotions is a perfect description of my Life. My life is like a big ugly self-inflicted Scar, and the only pity I deserve is none.
I was born in South Korea. Some small town mostly populated by farmers of some kind. My parents were farmers but I don't know for sure. When I was born they believed I would enjoy a better life with another family (that’s what I’ve been told). So I was sent to numerous foster parents as a baby.
When I was 4 months old, I was adopted by American Parents. I was then sent here. I grew into a rather mischievous child. When I was a baby, I've been told I was always laughing or giggling. I was a ball of energy that never stopped moving or squirming.
I won’t go into every single detail so I will start when my Gender issues began. For some reason as kid of 7 or 8. I always envied the girls. I had an old book that told a story of an old man deciding who to reincarnate into. He chose to become a girl. I was fascinated by this.
I remember being a Ring Bearer at a wedding at I couldn't stop looking at my cousin's pretty white dress and stockings. Why wasn’t I dressed like that? I would quickly repress those thoughts. How can a boy be a girl? It’s not possible. I thought I just lucked out.
Where I lived being transgender was, not surprisingly, taboo. People only made fun of them or shunned them (which is rather typical everywhere). So of course I followed suit. So of course I was very confused. My fascination changed to something different. I then began to be obsessed with stockings. I spent a lot of time figuring out how to get some from my mother. I would even draw maps and diagrams of how I would do it. I have no idea why but it seemed like a big deal at the time. I even still have the drawing somewhere in one of my notebooks. I slowly snuck out of my room and checked if it was clear. It was, so I crept into my parent room and pried at the door of their closet. I knew where they were but stealing was a new concept for me. I looked through the blue basket full of stockings and panty hose. Some were still in their package. I took one of those. They were a nude color. I began to wear them under my clothes.
I wore them to preschool and they just made me feel more comfortable. I kept wearing them until when I was playing with my sister (who is substantially older) saw them under my jeans and socks. She said “do you just like the feel of them? Do you like how soft they feel?” This is all I remember. From then on I stopped going to school wearing them and just did so in private. It was my secret no one had to know. No one did. Until now. :D
Please join me for part 2 and my woes with school, racism, and bullies.
