he was alone for the first little while I was there and I observed pretty quickly he was lurking quite close to me and rather openly staring with the dull, squat glare of the incompetent predator. I knew why - considering the rest of the crowd was composed of gay males, troons, and charmless fat chicks. I know what the stare of the resentful, jealous, covetous AGP troon feels like so I made sure to flaunt my 100% natural femaleness in front of him, secure in the knowledge that I was way too confident for him to even brush close by me. my friends - normie girls with no real ties to the cult who were there for the same reason I was - wanted to know why I was laughing on the dance floor for no obvious reason.
later in the night he was joined by a cross-dressing desi pervert by the name of Jehan Kanga who has worked the 'QTPOC' grift to escape accountability for being a domestic abuser and rapist of his female partners (always mentally unwell overweight white girls claiming 'queer non binary' status to compensate for non-existent personalities), despite being a bog standard heterosexual male who gets a kick out of wearing women's clothing. this guy makes Alok Vaid Menon look hot. that night he was in the typical AGP pedo uniform of extremely unflattering pink satin frilly lingerie of the adult baby aesthetic. the two of them together were a fright, like caricatures from a low budget slasher.
later that same night I was taking a rest spell on the couches when a tranny lurched up out of the smokey shadows and plonked himself down beside me. after a moment I realised it was a tranny I knew and have a bit of a soft spot for. for a moment, given the abruptness of his appearance, I thought he had maybe heard somehow I was a terf now and was planning to confront me. I've kept it on the hush, but you just never know who's scrutinising your failure to declare JK Rowling the new Hitler in the cult. but no, he was actually genuinely happy to see me (after a couple of years) and wanted to tell me, in his highly drug-addled state, that my kindness to him had meant a lot to him back in the early days of his transition, when I was still a cultist myself. this encounter left me with a strange mix of feelings. I have really come to hate trannies in general, both male and female, but this particular person is one of the better ones. he holds down a stable job, having successfully completed his university qualification. he's a gentle and easy to get along with soul who (as far as I know, things may have changed) doesn't go around abusing and harassing women, or anyone else, for not swearing alleigance to the cult. he's pretty low key and has a good heart. it was shocking to see how he'd changed and how bad he looks now after a few years on cross-sex hormones. he's a taller person and had always been lanky in the past, with a fairly attractive face - could've been an extremely pretty fem boy if he hadn't been captured. now he has a huge gut and looks generally as though he's melting. I felt sad for him, but he seemed happy enough. I also felt like a lying cow, hiding the fact I no longer buy into his delusions. it was an odd moment. I can still remember when I bumped into him the last time and he was dating a TIF - a tiny little asian gnome - and told me very ostentatiously that he'd discovered he wasn't a lesbian after all, he was dating a man now.
well nowadays he has an older female partner; one of the sad, desperately earnest "bisexual" types who so keenly chase their 'queer' cachet through inexplicable dating choices. there is a type of female who populates queer spaces - attractive, slim, decent personality - whose potential is seriously disrupted by their eagerness to be 'kind' and 'good', meaning they're in ever-rotating relationships with whatever lame duck most plucks at their heart strings and poses no threat to them. these females are psychologically damaged, really heterosexual, and desirous of relationships where they feel in control, meaning their dating pool is mostly trannies and really sad dykes who don't like being touched. they were both high as a kite and the troon in particular was a sloppy mess. considering I was mostly sober and highly on guard for being accused of terfery, it was a pretty surreal experience.
I was sitting with a normie friend when the two approached us. a pacific islander woman who has extremely little experience with the alphabet mafia and basically none at all with troons. with zero malice or cruel intention, she referred to this troon I knew as a dude. despite his long hair, horse piss udders, women's clothing and overall feminised appearance - she knew he was male instantly and saw him as such. she was talking to his partner and I had to suppress laughter when I overheard her say "wait, aren't you straight?" . since this woman was there with a man, my friend's logical conclusion was that it was a heterosexual relationship. whether or not the 'dude' was in women's clothing. the troon's partner was like 'oh my god, no darling!' along with a laugh. it really helps to be an oblivious straight person in these spaces - it's impossible to be hostile to someone who clearly is sincere and bears no ill will - particular if they are 'of colour' and you operate from woke principles. my friend can blurt the truth out and they will all be tolerant and patient, despite the disruption to the narrative her innocent honesty causes. none of the troons there fooled her - to her, they were just men in women's clothing. again, there was ZERO malice or cruelty behind this. she just spoke the truth as she observed it, with the candour typical of islander culture. she was perfectly happy to accept them as men who like wearing women's clothing, but I realised she knew basically nothing about trannyism and had no sense at all that speaking the truth could be considered offensive to anyone. cue me once again cackling on the dance floor to my friends' confusion.
walking around my neighbourhood the other day, I passed a trendy little bar outside of which a tattooed, pierced TIF staff member was unpacking chairs. the stench of body odour that wafted off her and hit me full in the face was a good reminder to always hold my breath when passing troons, even if they are female. a lot of TIFs seem to take an odd pride in bad hygiene, like it makes them more masculine somehow to reek enough to make a girl's nostril hairs curl.
I had a run in with a TIM in my building as well, one I was going to write up quite extensively, but the inspiration has passed. a classic Prader-Willi subtype with the toad body, humpback and gap between the front teeth wide enough to park a cadillac in. I've seen him leave in full "female" garb a number of times, clearing heading to some gross BDSM party, occasionally with a couple of Dominatrix types he's almost certainly paying for in tow. but that day he was in 'boy mode' I guess, apart from his hideously badly done acrylic nails. because he was moving out.
in the process of moving out, he kept leaving the security door to the building propped open for long periods of time while he was back upstairs in his apartment packing things up. the security door exists for a reason. obviously if you are moving furniture from the lobby to your vehicle outside, you're going to have it propped open. but if you're disappearing backupstairs for five+ minutes at a time, common courtesy suggests closing the security door again for the best interests of other residents. I noticed it being left unattended as I went in out and out of the building doing my chores and spoke to him and the movers he'd hired - clearly the cheapest, and therefore lowest accountability option he could find, a couple of south american immigrants who barely spoke english and had no kind of branding on their clothing or truck - about how it was a security risk and to please shut the door if they knew they'd be going back upstairs for more than a couple of minutes. sure, it means you have to open it again when you bring a bunch of shit down on the elevator, but you're not the only person living in the building and the security door IS THERE FOR A REASON. ten seconds of mild inconvenience surely isn't too much to ask for right?
you already know it was. and a bunch of mail was stolen from the lobby during one of their long trips back upstairs. I confronted the troon about it and of course all he could say was that it was too inconvenient to him to close the door when he went back upstairs, no matter how long he was going back up for. just a typical self-centered, narcissist, selfish troon doing what they do: ruining it for everyone. in every encounter like this I am left taking whatever satisfaction I can in being the skinny blonde white woman they all wish they could be and rubbing it in their faces with my mere presence. but damn I was mad as hell that day. I truly wish I had said 'you will never be a woman' to his face. but at least that ugly fucker has to wake up every day and look at himself in the mirror. sometimes reality is its own punishment.
