See Gender Therapy: Day 000 to learn more about my hormone-induced journey of self discovery.
On Monday I wore my dick to graduation. (P.S. I went to a women's college.) Instead of paying the $80 to sit in a pool of black robes and walk for five seconds, then having the opportune seating arrangement to be pointed at and referenced appropriately, I sat with my family in the back corner of the gym. Okay not blood family but some of my favorite people.
My secret gender was only recognized a few times by some people at school. It is December so the graduates are a third the size as normal. After three hours of speeches and trying to stay awake we headed off to celebrate with sushi. I used the men's bathroom (twice) and felt great in doing so. At the dinner table we had loud, riveting conversations about physics and philosophy and IQ scores and about my preferred pronouns, at which the tables nearby were both offended and intrigued by. I proclaimed I was interested in no pronouns ("Actually I'd prefer to be introduced as Eddie and then use the third person or gender neutral pronouns.") and we continued on as normal, not missing a beat.
I have great understanding roommates, smart and confident and cute. Oh and my brother. They're a bunch who don't blink an eye at my eccentric tendencies, since we are all pretty much outliers; we each belong to some sub-subgroup and glow in the light of our own uniqueness. I appreciate my views on topics being challenged instead of my appearance, my behaviors being monitored and adjusted instead of my thought processes. I appreciate also that my roommates love to talk about dicks without being immature about it. Well, to an extent. My own questions about gender are things that they share and are interested in too. It's a comfortable place to live.
I have always considered transition since I was little. It wasn't just about being a guy, but about having the parts of a guy. I used to fantasize about waving my dick around like they do and speaking with low bass tones, like how the sounds reverberate around the room and how booming a shout or a bought of laughter can be. The muscle boost from the excess testosterone really does an impressive job on the body too. Broadened shoulders, narrow hips, strong thighs and calves and forearms. Your arms are permanently a size bigger than a comparable female of similar stature. The opportunity to build up your chest and abs into a firm pillow board is always a goal I found appealing.
While a lot of my gender dysphoria is focused on how my appearance effects others, I am also really concerned about my vagina. I don't really relate to my reproductive tract the way many woman do. In fact I've never really been too fond about how others see me in my female body.
While the other girls took pride in applying makeup to the faces and stretching tiny cloth over their bodacious bodies I did so merely because I was attracted to the way my body looked. While other women look forward to the day they get pregnant, give birth, breastfeed and nurture another human being, I get sick to my stomach thinking about how painful that would be. Seriously, oxytocin aside, a baby would permanently change my body, stretching it in ways I couldn't bare to stomach.
I never really dressed to attract the eyes of others. I still don't. I dress to impress myself. At times I've felt sickened by the fact that others look upon me as a walking vagina. Men and women, I don't feel safe in a society where sexual emphasis is given to our anatomical features. In fact, I might go so far as to say that I am fearful of the way others see me, scared of the fact that there are people out there who look upon me with lust, just waiting to talk me up and take advantage of my body. I hate feeling like a walking rape victim. Because I'm not. I am a human first, a female body second, and a sexual creature third, if those traits are even that important to rank that high.
I'm much more interested in how the anatomical structure of humans looks and functions. It amazes me the survival tactics our organism has developecd over millions of generations. I care less about how tight someone's vagina is, how big their ass might be, how smooth their cock would look, how bouncy their breasts are. Seriously, I care less about the sexual characteristics about other human beings (well, most of the time; I do not proclaim asexuality).
I really love my body, even though it is very feminine. I was never uncomfortable with my body as a child. I always thought I was strong and firm and beautiful. I loved to be naked all throughout puberty, examining the new and exciting changes taking place right beneath my skin. I spent a large amount of time just expressing myself passionately before a mirror, any mirror, all mirrors, just seeing the person that other people see on a daily basis.
My face is round yet square, at a certain angle almost strong, but at another simply cute. My nose is small and my cheeks are high upon my face, my lips are permanently pressed and fleshy and large. My eyes are wide and round and shiny and glow with a sharp flame that will dry you out if you look too long. When my eyebrows are nit I look concerned and concentrated, but never angry; my brows are not as intimidating as some, thick yet not full.
My hands are always skinny and long but big and strong. My wrists are embarrassingly thin and wimpy but my forearms grow and shrink over time depending on my physical activity. My thighs are thick and my hips continue to widen but at least my shoulders are large and muscular and shadow them. My rib cage is narrow and my stomach dips between my ribs and hips. My knees look uncertain and ripple when I walk, but my calves are sculpt. Sometimes my biceps too are more firm and confident throughout the year.
I am very conscious of my body, and other people's bodies. The way mine rounds off in places is appealing to me, and I've always saved pictures of fellow females whose anatomy I also found appealing. If I see something so beautiful that a spark of euphoria comes over me I keep it for myself. I compare myself to these women, my own sexuality exploring itself against the attractiveness of their qualities, my own gender identity defining itself against the backdrop of their anatomy. I've always enjoyed the intimate pleasures of the physical form of humans, visually, sensually. I can almost imagine how they feel against my skin, how warm and round and smooth these beautiful people could be.
Sitting here with a packer firmly strapped to my hips I whip out the shaft and sit comfortably imagining it as my own. It's much more difficult to sit cross legged but that's not as important as having the pressure of this object between my thighs. It feels powerful, like I've got something that could potentially change the world, something that could inspire me to be that person. It makes me long for the real thing, for something I could call my own, something that is my own flesh and something my nerves can connect to. It feels right, like this organ is something that belongs to me, something that should have been mine all along. Why I have to make due with a fake is unknown to me.
I've never quite related to the sex assigned to me at conception. The body is fine but the genitals are a source of confusion for me. Everyone I've ever talked to has had something negative and positive to say about their genitals. While they are celebrated for their arousing tendencies and climactic abilities, no one has ever really been able to make me understand why it is exactly that these fleshy bits cause so much excitement.
Sure they have a bazillion more nerve endings than the next set of organs and sure they offer the release of endorphins (serotonin: pleasure, oxytocin: connection, dopamine: stimulation, morphine: pain relief), and yeah they are stimulated and manipulated in such ways as to increase the acceptance of sperm to egg and various other fertility boosting and reproductive abilities, but outside of that where is the actual significance of genitals? Outside of sexual reproduction and related sexual pleasure, where does the positive effects of genitals actually come from? Where does our positive mental imagery of our genital configuration come from? And why are we so excited by them, outside of sexual interest? I never got that.
My vagina kind of annoys me. I'm not particularly interested in contributing to the human population, giving eggs or giving birth, having tons of vaginal sex for science or the sex industry, or even creating art to exhibit the wonders of human anatomy for the masses. Genitals are their own moist bacteria ecosystem surrounded by a coarse forest, subject to acne and sores and gross looking drippy stains and strong odors and uncomfortable clothing entanglement. Plus you leave a few hairs on everything your rear touches. The inner workings of the female genitals include a flexible baby making environment which is attached to a nursery with a lifetime's supply of eggs, one released every month. Meanwhile the fluctuations of hormones produced thanks to these cute little unborn babies affects your entire body, including your thought processes and mood, and the body's pain threshold, but especially your breasts. Lots of other negative ailments are blamed on these monthly cycles of hormones, both legitimate and inane, and they all annoy me.
The irony here between my own body dysphoria and most trans* folks' gender dysphoria is that while most transmen may change every aspect of their body except their vagina, the only thing I actually want to change is my vagina. There are lots of traits that come from administering testosterone to a female body that please a great majority of transmen. Transitioning bodies can develop muscle mass, lower voice range, excess body hair, facial hair, thick skin, and a different smell. Particularly the vocals, facial hair, and muscle mass interest me, but as far as genital reconstruction goes, there still isn't any functioning erect, ejaculating, or perfectly urinating dicks out there. Though the idea still remains.
Certainly I've had plenty of pleasurable experiences with my god given nether regions but to be honest it has always been a rather out of body experience. I don't feel like myself under the influence of sexual arousal. Orgasm isn't me but my body reacting to some stimulation. I also have the tendency to feel completely emotionally exhausted for days, like as if I'm having a mental hangover. This is something I'm still trying to figure out. How it is that I could possibly feel so overwhelmed after a nice little hormonal buzz that I wouldn't want to interact with people for days?
Fiddling with my fake junk feels ever more satisfying to me than playing with my real junk ever has. It's a weird phenomena to recognize this. My connected fleshy bits feel foreign, yet this rubbery piece of flesh feels more like something that belongs to me. Perhaps this is the reason I've tended to connect with guys more than girls? Perhaps I just wanted to put my hands all over them and feel how they work because I was examining the male body? Maybe it was because I wanted to be one? Was I always so selfish to merely want what they had instead of feeling like the intimate, loving woman that I pretended to be for them? Even when I connected with women it felt like I was touching an unfamiliar body, someone else's parts which I had to explore all over again. (Believe me I've explored my body and know just how it works but it still doesn't make sense to me.)
Just this overwhelming urge to be this other sex, I want what they have, I like what they have, it feels right between my hands, between my legs, smooth muscles across my chest and elongated shoulders across my back. That strong neck with the bulge, the oversized hands and accommodating forearms; it is not something that I personally find attractive or appealing but it is something that I want. It is something that feels like me.
Yet try and tell that to someone who's lusting over your anatomical configuration and see how far you get until they just want to have sex with you and cuddle, gushing about your parts. Just imagine being embodied with tits and ass and vagina between your knees, go up to a heterosexual man and tell them how much you want their body, how you want to see what they've got, you want to really observe it and look at it and touch it, see how long it takes until what they think you are saying is how randy you are for them and how long it takes for them to want to you.
Observe my entire life.
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