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Tranny makes a colossal confession

shemale

Shemale tumblr is a rabbit hole that most of us in the community prefer to stay away from.  Not only is the drama so much worse than on regular tumblr –  the porn isn’t even that good.  I mean, really; there’s no way you’ll ever catch any self-respecting secret tranny sucking Mandingo cock in white pantyhose after Labor Day. 

But I digress.  The real purpose for my blog today is to share a story I’ve kept to myself all these years, the story of why I won’t ever go back to a Catholic church.  It’s not the liturgy, which I happen to really enjoy; I’m a slut for a well-sung anamnesis, just like the next girl.  It’s not the pretentiously exclusionary Eucharist; you’re either part of the One True Church or you’re going to Hell – accept it.  And it’s not even the pervy priests; I mean, unless you’re goth or Johnny Cash, dressing in black day in and day out is going to take its toll.  No, I’m referring to Ash Wednesday 2013, a date seared into my brain.  Still reeling from the surprise announcement of Pope Benedict’s impending resignation a few days earlier, I was feeling extra guilty.  Was it my fault?

When it comes down to it, it was just a comedy of errors, a matter of a drunk American tranny, a vengeful cardinal, and a play on words. 

But as much as I know I didn’t choose to do anything wrong – I couldn’t help feeling it was all my fault!

My brother is a priest.  He also inherited the family curse – faulty hearing.  Posted to the Roman Curia, he was in charge of the pontifical menu for special conferences.  Fighting a head cold that week, he didn’t quite hear it correctly when his boss asked him to fill out a purchase order for some cold cuts for a Transubsantiation Retreat.  It really was an honest mistake.  Instead of “sopreseta per la transustanziazione”, he wrote down “sorpresa della transsesuale”.  And that was how, the Saturday before Ash Wednesday, the Holy Father entered his confessional booth to find a surprise tranny. It would have been okay, really, except that the white-haired former Nazi Youth was a bit of a freak!

They found us early Monday morning.  His Holiness had the wildest look in his eyes, his rigid Prussian prick saluting, “Heil Camille!”, and it took two Swiss guards to get the censer out of my ass.  Two showers later and all of Il Papa’s poppers confiscated, he finally stopped muttering, “Tranny,” in Latin, but it was too late – I had broken him.  All this was bad enough, but it was the penance I was assigned that Wednesday which chased me away and will have your head spinning!

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