by Jazmine Jagger
The word ‘Transsexual’ will often evoke judgemental thoughts of porn, prostitution and perversion. To the wife of the average blue collared male –who found out about me– we are nothing more than a breed of drug addicted, filthy pole smokers.
As a little boy I dreamt of high fashion, haute couture and designer heels. I would sit in mummy’s walk-in, prancing around in her olive-green, Karen Millen, Mary-Janes. imagining a life where my lofty gait on a catwalk in Milan would wow crowds of onlookers. The sound of the front door slamming shut would indicate that mum was home and the dream would disintegrate from my grasp as my strut turned to a sprint out of her room.
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