See Gender Therapy: Day 000 to learn more about my hormone-induced journey of self discovery.
Anatomical update: I am on my fourth month of birth control and I have been swinging wildly between feeling femme and masculine. Right now my tits are HUGE and it is very uncomfortable. They are swollen to undeniably feminine proportions that are exceptionally hard to hide. In the mean time I found myself in a thrift shop the other day buying up fruity dress shirts, sweaters made for males, a pair of loafers, and trying on every single suit and contemplating purchasing a tailor job. Ironically I felt femme during all of this and delighted in feeling so.
I just finished watching Hedwig and the Angry Inch and feel a combination of repressed anger and sadness. The story of a forced sex change that has left a now-identified woman with relationship issues due to her botched genital makeup and the complex sexuality of her partner. A good watch if I do so recommend it myself. Also rock and roll. Also drag queens.
For many people gender is a sad and confusing thing, starting with misgendered intersexuals to transsexual folks of all kind who don't know what to do with their body, but are pressured to swing one way or the other. Gender is even more confusing for butch lesbians and femme gay men who feel pressured to behave and become the other gender, when really all they want is to be themselves and love the same sex. Gender is confusing for everyone, including straight people who find themselves attracted to someone whose gender is hidden, ambiguous, or in transition, or even in drag. Gender is confusing for parents, and friends, and politicians, and teachers, and firefighters and soldiers and librarians and programmers and coffee baristas, and it is confusing for me.
I have been following a blog called The Dirt from the Dirt written by an anti-trans activist who targets trans* identified individuals and discourages them from altering their bodies with hormones and surgery and instead to "change society". I have come across a blog similar to this in my initial research on the negative effects and confusing feelings around transition. The writer of which identified as a "very ugly female", and was neither proud nor ashamed of it, but accepting and was not interested in transitioning. The more media I find about these sorts of issues the more readily I find that older generations are more accepting of their "condition" and want for everyone else to bugger off while I find that younger generations tend to want to actively change their body to fit their mind. The writers of these anti-trans blogs are definitely older, while the video blogs of the same issues tend to be headed by young, feisty, and hilarious bloggers who love sharing their experiences and their advice.
Speaking of young feisty trans* folks, at the local LGBTQ center I inquired about gender therapy and group sessions only to find that they have trans* youth nights on Mondays! This is definitely a group of people I want to get in touch with and to go through this journey with. At the same center I finally attended that Qigong class; it was a small class in a small room headed by a charming transman and consisting of two transwomen, myself, and another whom I believe to be a transman as well. I went as myself because I forgot to wear my dick that day but apparently my roommate had tipped the teacher about the potential for Eddie to attend, and so when I revealed that I sometimes go out and about as Eddie, he recognized me. I felt inclined to say also that I would attend as Eddie from now on, not only for fun but to further explore my identity within a group I am comfortable practicing my alternative identity with.
Last week on Wednesday I participated in a bike training program aimed at inner city youth to give them a useful set of bike wrenching and riding skills at a middle school age. It is something I have been doing since about a year ago and the other volunteers are peppy environmentalists with a practical twist. The lady whom I recognized from the year before I kept contact with and reintroduced myself as Eddie on Wednesday. It took her a second to realize what I was saying and then she got the idea and introduced me to the kids and other (new) volunteer staff as Mr. Eddie, something which I delighted in. Some of the kids who recognized me from before couldn't quite place me. They had forgotten my name but definitely remembered my face.
That same night after the program I got to hang out with a wonderful gender fluid individual for the weekly femme queer night at the community bike shop. I learned about their story of transition and their former identity as a transwoman, relating to the details of their encounters of love and abuse, violence and mistrust and healing and identity. Gender is a confusing thing, but when you finally realize that neither gender is for you, that in fact sometimes one gender, both genders, an alternative gender, or none at all, is in fact the right thing for you, it becomes even more confusing.
Now, this individual struck me as competent and resourceful and their self identified mental eccentricities partially related to their messy emotional history, and I related to them in many ways as outcasts do, but the thing that interested me the most was their physical transition. Aside from all the mental garbage they swallowed about how important transition is, and all the societal pressures they encountered while trying not to stand out too much, they decided to not pursue surgery because they did not want to change their body. In fact they wanted to maintain their look while changing themselves on the inside, if that makes sense. They wanted to be treated a special and specific way while keeping their personality in tact, in addition to their personal appearance.
While they were on hormones for ten years and developed some unique traits of womanhood, such as a higher voice and breasts, they did not pursue surgery because of the twisted realization that they would not allow themselves to self-mutilate, because that was an internalized traumatic desire pressured by the violent demons held deeply within themselves. This is important to note because many people do dangerous things to themselves to try and reconcile some pain held deeply within themselves. Whether it is a commonly held anxiety about appearance or a traumatic incident that caused them to avoid specific kinds of people, places, things, we all have these things that push us to do things we normally wouldn't do if not for that pain, that voice, that trauma, that important person in our lives.
I myself am victim to traumatic influence which has confused my personal desires with survival techniques. While it is hard enough to figure out what is triggering I also have to constantly analyze where my emotions are coming from. Am I overreacting to this because it is reminiscent of the past? Or am I genuinely having an emotional breakdown due to stress? Am I avoiding a specific sexual activity because it is a trigger or do I just not enjoy it? Do I avoid this kind of person because they remind me of ghosts or do I just not like them very much? Do I dress like a man because I am afraid of being identified as a weak, vulnerable target of a woman, or is this desire innate and simply a more comfortable way of expressing myself?
It is a constant struggle to maintain my sanity in daily life when I live with the looming threat of an emotional lapse. These demons are real, and they affect us all, in their own unique ways. The other day in my sexual pursuits my partner triggered me. It was on purpose, and within a controlled environment, so I was pleased with the activity. I had a disenchanted look in my eyes and pushed them off, them asking if they should untie me and me silently nodding and curling into a ball. They patiently stroked my hair and hugged me and waited for me to fight off whatever they understood for me to be feeling, and I raced through my emotional history at lightning speeds, reliving chunks of unpleasant scenes and feeling trapped and betrayed and used and hurt. During the activity I had mild flashbacks and uneasy feelings, and after going through the motions of having been triggered I felt safe and confident and trusting again. It took untold amounts of time for me to bounce back and be willing to continue being sexual, but it was worth it and is something I want to continue to pursue.
More recently during a sexual activity I was given the reins and went through my exploits without conflict and felt amazing at the end, finally being able to recognize the opposite extremes of my triggers, both ends being based on how in control of the situation I am. Unfortunately the next set of days caused me to feel dysphoric again about gender, confusing how I want others to see me with how I want my partner to see me, and then what parts of me that I want to use during sex with what parts of me they want to use during sex. But that's for another post.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Gender Therapy: Day 082 Gay Media
See Gender Therapy: Day 000 to learn more about my hormone-induced journey of self discovery.
Recently I have felt more comfortable wearing my packer around, with and without my binder. It's very comfortable for me to wear something on the top of my groin. I've only weirded a couple people out when I took off my jacket and my chest became more obvious.
Also lots of trans* stuff has been happening. I went to a Queer film screening at a local book shop last night, I was correctly mistaken for a "bro" at the bus stop the other night, I found myself swiping gay magazines from the LGBTQ center in town, and over the weekend I met two lovely women in the beginnings of transition! That feels like a lot to me.
The transwomen were my favorite. Real geeks, programmers, introverts, shy but passionate, we stayed up late to talk about issues of identity and mislabeling, how to come out to misunderstanding family, and how to move to a more liberal town because of it. They reminded me of a younger version of me, not yet identifying as trans* or queer, but confused and awed by the idea of an actual transition! Actually presenting as a preferred gender to the entire world, taking hormones and contemplating body modification to improve passability, and imagining the day we will feel comfortable in our own skin. It was inspiring and thrilling and I felt like I knew a lot more than I did. I at least sounded like I knew about transition, as if I were actually in the midst of it (though I am not). We became fast friends and continue to interact online, their preferred method of communication anyway, and it is a happy beginning to a beautiful transition. Hard, as transition is, but only the beginning.
On Wednesday I ventured out of the house having used up all of productive paper pushing energies, expecting to end up contorting my body in ways I have not yet done before at a qigong class led by a transman. Instead when I arrived at the LGBTQ center I got a text from my roommate (the one who told me of the event) that it had been canceled. I confirmed with the guy at the front desk and wandered around a little, picking up magazines I am interested to write for and eyeing the basket of condoms. When you are involved with LGBTQanything, there are ALWAYS buckets of condoms. Always. And lube. Lots of lube. Unfortunately there weren't any female condoms, the rare delicacies they are, but it's still fun to throw condoms around the house and blow condom balloons for guests.
I got the bright idea to ask if the center took my newly purchased health insurance and left the building delighted that they indeed do! Back story: I had contacted this particular institution months earlier under a difference insurance company which in fact did not have a relationship with the LGBTQ center, and so I am scheming up all kinds of things to do with my government subsidized insurance.
At the bus stop one night, bundled up with my oversized snow coat and man boots, an ushanka covering over 50% of my head, I saw a young man exit the bus and roll over to the shelter asking about which buses had since passed. He shouted in my general direction, "Hey bro! Do you know if the 82 came? Oh! I mean ma'am, sorry."
To which I replied, "Actually I prefer bro." He took it as an invitation to approach me and start a conversation.
He started with, "So you like girls, huh?" I went along with it. "Does that mean you want to get a penis?" he said in a whispered tone, delighted with this secret. "Would you cut off your, you know, your chest?"
I had never been so offended yet amused before in my life. This man was probably in his early twenties, in a wheel chair, black, and missing his left leg. He looked up at me as if he had known me for a long time, glancing over to see my expression every so often. I gave him my attention from over my shoulder, trying to hide what might be detected as breasts. He pressed on and I gave him short sentence answers. "Yes. Perhaps. I'm not sure. Yeah, hah."
He went on talking about whether I take it or give it, referencing heteronormative sexual positions. I joked that he could probably do some pretty interesting maneuvers himself, not having too many legs to get in the way. He welcomed my own curiosity about how he lost it and his own sexual interests. It was a short lived conversation, rapid fire question and answer until my bus came. It felt more respectful than it actually may have been, him recognizing my gender preference and talking to me like a regular guy, as regular guys do, about women. That is something I actually really enjoy. Talking about women. So all was fair and enjoyable, objectifying women aside.
The last few days I haven't been able to catch my preferred ten hours of sleep; a couple work shifts here and there, some networking opportunities pursued via phone, coffee shop, and movie night. Last night I saw a documentary about LGBTQ films and was drawn into the content about trans* films, the short side note they were. It was at a bookstore that could have been called indie, selling first and second hand books, accepting book donations and serving vegan snacks. The film was projected to a basement full of people of all faces crowded enough to have a cuddle party and two pots of popcorn floating around. I set my container of mixed nuts off into the crowd as well, (I LOVE sharing food!) and when the film ended I realized I'm actually really tired and need to update my blog. I also need to look at that film again for reference to all the other great gay films I've been missing out on since the early 40's.
Gay media has always interested me. As has nudity and dance. The human form is amazing in all its glory, but gay material specifically speaks to me in a way far deeper than it may for the average individual. It was stated in the film as well, that gay films tend to not only speak to the LGBTQ community, but they represent the LGBTQ community, telling their stories and setting a script by which many LGBTQ members desperately cling to for guidance and comfort. Sex scenes especially serve a special purpose for those same folks, showing that something which has historically been shunned in conservative families and institutions and showing that it is normal and healthy and fun, and that it can, should and will be done despite criticism and skepticism.
Trans*ness has also been shown on the silver screen as something that people do, but I always feel like it is received in a very different way, as if it is something that receives constant flak from all sides of the universe, including internally. Often trans* people die in films, and are ostracized, or are disturbed and confused and hurting on the inside. While this may or may not be true for some folks, I have seen the opposite in my immediate community, finding trans* and queerness to be a rather unique and celebrated theme, and the individuals who self identify to be happy for their friends and family and uniqueness. And that is difficult, to separate reality from fantasy, to celebrate unique identity in the media and to appropriate expectations in the appropriate circles.
Trans* individuals are often thought to be a minority which are unhappy and who desperately seek release, either through taking destructive paths or immediately medical ones. I have found my life to reflect neither of these, although I am not actively seeking transition. I also find myself to be misrepresented in the media as confused and awkward and troubled, at least from non-queer producers and writers and allies. This frustrates me to a point where I look upon media with a different lens, analyzing it as if I were observing other individuals' lives, taking advice and interesting points where applicable, but dismissing the message as a whole as if it were somebody else's story, someone I would like to study but could not become myself.
I would like to take advantage of this gap between reality and fantasy and point out to everyone that every person is unique. Every gay person, every straight person, every queersexual, bisexual, pansexual, intersex, boy girl, girl boy, transanything, every person is different. What you see in the media is not what is true of every person who identifies as that noun. Even I am different than all other queer folks, and this blog is not representative of anyone but me. And because of this, I feel the need to explore queer topics, not only with myself, but with other people, to give them the opportunity to see a new perspective on a common theme, and to offer myself as an example of one way to go about being queer.
"I'm fine with you being, whatever the fuck you are."
Recently I have felt more comfortable wearing my packer around, with and without my binder. It's very comfortable for me to wear something on the top of my groin. I've only weirded a couple people out when I took off my jacket and my chest became more obvious.
Also lots of trans* stuff has been happening. I went to a Queer film screening at a local book shop last night, I was correctly mistaken for a "bro" at the bus stop the other night, I found myself swiping gay magazines from the LGBTQ center in town, and over the weekend I met two lovely women in the beginnings of transition! That feels like a lot to me.
The transwomen were my favorite. Real geeks, programmers, introverts, shy but passionate, we stayed up late to talk about issues of identity and mislabeling, how to come out to misunderstanding family, and how to move to a more liberal town because of it. They reminded me of a younger version of me, not yet identifying as trans* or queer, but confused and awed by the idea of an actual transition! Actually presenting as a preferred gender to the entire world, taking hormones and contemplating body modification to improve passability, and imagining the day we will feel comfortable in our own skin. It was inspiring and thrilling and I felt like I knew a lot more than I did. I at least sounded like I knew about transition, as if I were actually in the midst of it (though I am not). We became fast friends and continue to interact online, their preferred method of communication anyway, and it is a happy beginning to a beautiful transition. Hard, as transition is, but only the beginning.
On Wednesday I ventured out of the house having used up all of productive paper pushing energies, expecting to end up contorting my body in ways I have not yet done before at a qigong class led by a transman. Instead when I arrived at the LGBTQ center I got a text from my roommate (the one who told me of the event) that it had been canceled. I confirmed with the guy at the front desk and wandered around a little, picking up magazines I am interested to write for and eyeing the basket of condoms. When you are involved with LGBTQanything, there are ALWAYS buckets of condoms. Always. And lube. Lots of lube. Unfortunately there weren't any female condoms, the rare delicacies they are, but it's still fun to throw condoms around the house and blow condom balloons for guests.
I got the bright idea to ask if the center took my newly purchased health insurance and left the building delighted that they indeed do! Back story: I had contacted this particular institution months earlier under a difference insurance company which in fact did not have a relationship with the LGBTQ center, and so I am scheming up all kinds of things to do with my government subsidized insurance.
At the bus stop one night, bundled up with my oversized snow coat and man boots, an ushanka covering over 50% of my head, I saw a young man exit the bus and roll over to the shelter asking about which buses had since passed. He shouted in my general direction, "Hey bro! Do you know if the 82 came? Oh! I mean ma'am, sorry."
To which I replied, "Actually I prefer bro." He took it as an invitation to approach me and start a conversation.
He started with, "So you like girls, huh?" I went along with it. "Does that mean you want to get a penis?" he said in a whispered tone, delighted with this secret. "Would you cut off your, you know, your chest?"
I had never been so offended yet amused before in my life. This man was probably in his early twenties, in a wheel chair, black, and missing his left leg. He looked up at me as if he had known me for a long time, glancing over to see my expression every so often. I gave him my attention from over my shoulder, trying to hide what might be detected as breasts. He pressed on and I gave him short sentence answers. "Yes. Perhaps. I'm not sure. Yeah, hah."
He went on talking about whether I take it or give it, referencing heteronormative sexual positions. I joked that he could probably do some pretty interesting maneuvers himself, not having too many legs to get in the way. He welcomed my own curiosity about how he lost it and his own sexual interests. It was a short lived conversation, rapid fire question and answer until my bus came. It felt more respectful than it actually may have been, him recognizing my gender preference and talking to me like a regular guy, as regular guys do, about women. That is something I actually really enjoy. Talking about women. So all was fair and enjoyable, objectifying women aside.
The last few days I haven't been able to catch my preferred ten hours of sleep; a couple work shifts here and there, some networking opportunities pursued via phone, coffee shop, and movie night. Last night I saw a documentary about LGBTQ films and was drawn into the content about trans* films, the short side note they were. It was at a bookstore that could have been called indie, selling first and second hand books, accepting book donations and serving vegan snacks. The film was projected to a basement full of people of all faces crowded enough to have a cuddle party and two pots of popcorn floating around. I set my container of mixed nuts off into the crowd as well, (I LOVE sharing food!) and when the film ended I realized I'm actually really tired and need to update my blog. I also need to look at that film again for reference to all the other great gay films I've been missing out on since the early 40's.
Gay media has always interested me. As has nudity and dance. The human form is amazing in all its glory, but gay material specifically speaks to me in a way far deeper than it may for the average individual. It was stated in the film as well, that gay films tend to not only speak to the LGBTQ community, but they represent the LGBTQ community, telling their stories and setting a script by which many LGBTQ members desperately cling to for guidance and comfort. Sex scenes especially serve a special purpose for those same folks, showing that something which has historically been shunned in conservative families and institutions and showing that it is normal and healthy and fun, and that it can, should and will be done despite criticism and skepticism.
Trans*ness has also been shown on the silver screen as something that people do, but I always feel like it is received in a very different way, as if it is something that receives constant flak from all sides of the universe, including internally. Often trans* people die in films, and are ostracized, or are disturbed and confused and hurting on the inside. While this may or may not be true for some folks, I have seen the opposite in my immediate community, finding trans* and queerness to be a rather unique and celebrated theme, and the individuals who self identify to be happy for their friends and family and uniqueness. And that is difficult, to separate reality from fantasy, to celebrate unique identity in the media and to appropriate expectations in the appropriate circles.
Trans* individuals are often thought to be a minority which are unhappy and who desperately seek release, either through taking destructive paths or immediately medical ones. I have found my life to reflect neither of these, although I am not actively seeking transition. I also find myself to be misrepresented in the media as confused and awkward and troubled, at least from non-queer producers and writers and allies. This frustrates me to a point where I look upon media with a different lens, analyzing it as if I were observing other individuals' lives, taking advice and interesting points where applicable, but dismissing the message as a whole as if it were somebody else's story, someone I would like to study but could not become myself.
I would like to take advantage of this gap between reality and fantasy and point out to everyone that every person is unique. Every gay person, every straight person, every queersexual, bisexual, pansexual, intersex, boy girl, girl boy, transanything, every person is different. What you see in the media is not what is true of every person who identifies as that noun. Even I am different than all other queer folks, and this blog is not representative of anyone but me. And because of this, I feel the need to explore queer topics, not only with myself, but with other people, to give them the opportunity to see a new perspective on a common theme, and to offer myself as an example of one way to go about being queer.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Gender Therapy: Day 071 Identifying Bodies
See Gender Therapy: Day 000 to learn more about my hormone-induced journey of self discovery.
Today is New Year's Day. Another day, another year, another life. I've recently graduated and have been holding onto my silly consumer electronics job to keep rooted. In this last year I've had a ton of fun making new friends, keeping touch with old professionals, renegotiating relationships and reinviting self responsibility into my life. Now that I am an official adult, degree in hand and several years worth of portfolio material and experience (cough debt cough), I have to put it all together (put myself together) into something cohesive and persuasive in order to get employers to take interest in me. (I swear this isn't a self defeating tumblr-esque blog.)
Meanwhile I've also rekindled my sex drive. Initiating the encounter as an approach to sexual healing, I've gained a partner interested in helping me sort out some stuff. This introduces a host of new material to work through in regards to gender. I've awoken a beast long left asleep for years now, a body I've since lost touch with. I had gotten so used to singledom that for a while there attractive people and sexual urges hardly registered on my radar. (While many of you are shocked and awed, if not horrified at celibacy, I invite you to try being abstinent for an extended period of time. It's actually really refreshing, like fasting or detoxing.) However now that I'm back in the game these new encounters challenge my sexuality and my own identity as a living, breathing sexual being.
For the longest time I had been labeled as somewhat of an asexual due to my impressive self control. Sure I visit the AVEN (Asexual Visibility & Education Network) board regularly to learn new stuff, but I can assure everybody that I am not asexual. I've always had sexual urges (admittedly since an inappropriately young age) but until recently I just hadn't felt like poking the beast. It was a conscious decision based on a mix of romantic frustration and pursuing new interests, moving across the country and perhaps even being bored with sex. I let my libido sleep so that I could concentrate on other areas of my life without having to deal with a vulnerable part of me that is subject to distraction. I've also found that that everybody I've been interested in has been capable of dealing with me either, so to speak.
I know myself well enough now, the uniquely complicated female bodied person that I am, that it would have been a dangerous thing to have played with back then anyway. For every person whose ever wanted to be loved or accepted, but was too weird to feel comfortable about it, they tend to overcompensate in ways that aren't always healthy or productive.
Also when you can predict the sex it isn't really that great anyway. So I think I made the right decision to just play it safe and keep cool.
I've entered this new sexual theme in my life with the confidence that I can finally take care of some of the issues, such as PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). Fortunately I have the time and energy to pursue this healing process at such a young age. However going into this I quickly recognized that it isn't just about PTSD anymore, but also gender.
The first day I felt completely outside of myself, not being able to recognize the emotional origins of the sensations, feeling out of place like a cold oyster at a hot buffet and feeling inadequate under the skin that I had just used to generate such feelings. I didn't feel like myself, but like someone else. It was kind of like watching a porno, and trying to place yourself in the video but still recognizing it is someone else.
The second and third day these feelings were revisited and analyzed. They were revealed to be a weird sort of "autopilot" response that apparently isn't unique to just me, but probably all sexual creatures with a conscience. Whodathunk.
Well that's relieving. At least I'm not a freak. (No offense to the self-identified freaks out there.) It's nice too that over time these experiences have been more personal thanks to good communication and frequent feedback. I've begun to recognize something about myself that I haven't for a long time, a person that I haven't listened to in a long time.
This person, obviously female, obviously feminine, it the echo of a voice I remember throughout teenagehood. She speaks for me during these sessions, confident in her nudity and skillful in her direction. She often perches herself and playfully teases, sometimes mercilessly so. She jokes in childish tones too, reminding me of a former self I used to know.
We haven't spoken in a long time, and it took me a while to get the courage to speak to her, to recognize that she still exists and still has thoughts and feelings and contributes to my overall existence. I remember at one time telling people I shunned my own femininity when I was young, feeling uncomfortable about it and wanting to get rid of all the things that held me back as an ambitious kid. However I never felt uncomfortable about my body, just inadequate in the gender expectations that I wore, that other people placed on me.
Now I sit here with her negotiating the amount of influence she ought to have over me from here on out, inside the bedroom, outside of the bedroom, in my life. Am I to be feminine because I want to, or because other people like it? Am I to be masculine because it feels right, or because I am just uncomfortable with femininity? Is there some compromise I can do without changing the entirety of my life, or my body? How can I still feel like myself without hiding the parts of me that I feel less about? How can I feel less about these parts and still not evoke the wrath of heteronormative society and their preferences of my gender?
Developing under this "therapy" is an interesting side approach to this whole gender therapy business. It is both distracting and complicated, but it takes care of some larger issues that I've been meaning to work out anyway, and it's healthy and mutual and fun. After each "therapy" sessions I come out a little more happy each time. The chemical buzz is definitely working. But I also come out a bit foggy, as if each time I'm unearthing a little more baggage. Fortunately this can be revisited next time. The whole idea is to just work through these issues, in a playful way. At first it was just PTSD stuff, but gender stuff is important too.
Initially I was concerned that I may not be seen for the gender I wish to be, which is to be expected when your body looks the exact opposite of what you want it to be. However I was reassured that I am not approached for my body, but for my personality, and that my body is merely the channel through which stimulation happens. Funny that girl bodies and boy bodies only work in certain distinct ways, yet each and every person is stimulated in completely unique ways, irregardless of sexuality, gender identity, and cultural norms. It takes courage, and patience and practice, for someone to recognize their sexual preferences as different than how societies deem their bodies should work. Same goes for romance I suppose.
Sudden topic change, for the New Year I have a yucky sickness. Mostly just a mild headache and a nasty sore throat, but it's kind of enjoyable to hear the noises I make with my modified voice box. I honestly think I sound like a transman, or at least someone going through puberty for the second time. It's funny and cute and I really enjoy it. In addition there are lots of things I enjoy about male bodies that I wish I could enjoy in myself, but I openly admit that there are lots of things I also enjoy about female bodies that I delight in being able to enjoy for myself.
For example, I love boobies. They're bouncy and soft and wonderful little pillows of joy. In comparison man boobies are less wonderful, although pecs are mighty and I like feeling mighty. Owning tits: soft but annoying when exercising. Owning pecs: winning.
Secondly boy butts are cute in a way that no one quite knows how to describe. They've got just enough plump to make for an adequate seat, or a cushion, yet most have these dimples that just make you want to pinch them. However girl butts are super soft and bouncy and serve as a second set of pillows. Like awesome! But they take a lot of work to keep from sagging. Owning girl butt: meh. Owning boy butt: equally meh. Touching butts: winning. Having butt touched: bestest ever.
Next comes the more subtle things that only trans* people seem to know about. (Kidding!)
Soft skin vs not-so-soft skin. I have a preference for touching soft skin, but I prefer to touch other people so I would definitely opt for the less soft skin and pair off with a nice soft girly skin person.
Sweet smells vs musky smells. This one is hard because our bodies are tuned into pheromones for reproductive reasons, often without our permission. While I really like sweet smells, musky smells make my body react without me. I'm sure with a different body and associated neural connections I might react to smells differently. I still prefer to be the musky-smelling one however.
Facial hair vs peach fuzz. I actually think I prefer owning peach fuzz. Less maintenance, less scratchy scratch. I think it would be fun to experiment with facial hair however. More on this in a later post.
High fat ratio vs high muscle ratio. Hands down I'd rather be the strong athletic one than the soft, squishie, wonderful feeling one. That's just the preferences of my dominant sort of personality though. Spoiler: every dom is unique.
Male vs female genitals. The genital thing is annoying because I'm very certain that I would enjoy either set, and especially both sets. At the same time. Especially.
So here I am thinking about dicks again, and how all I really want is a functional phallus and all the beautiful male privileged that comes with it. I'm still bummed about the fact that even in today's market you still can't get an organic appendage added to your body, yet we've got cyborg arms and eyes and fucking cloned hearts and livers and what not. It bothers me on many levels. However while I speak about achieving the unachievable, I'm even more bummed about the fact that I would have to strip my body of perfectly working parts in order to attach not so perfectly working parts to achieve the look and gender identity of my preference. Now that I have awakened my already perfectly working body it distances and complicates my desires for a not so perfect body. And damn it's such a good body!
~~~~
Anatomical update: Since I've begun taking birth control my tits have been perfectly ripe and swollen. It is really hard to run and jump up and down and have a good time when you've got bruise sacks on your chest. Last month I also spotted really bad during ovulation which made a week's worth of menstruation turn into a month's worth of the same seepage. Yuck. Also the pressure I felt on my chest the other month ago has since stopped. I surmise that I have lactose intolerance and that I should stay away from cafeteria food, especially questionable ice cream. Further I have developed a nasty itch which stretches the entirety of my legs. I've ripped open old bug bites (and I got a lot of them over the summer) and similar type scars in addition to bruising myself regularly trying to satiate said itch. The frigid winter has caused my skin to dry and my tendency to being lazy about showering between boring work hours has caused enough issue for me to mandate daily showers and lotion application.
My next visitation to the doctor's office to check in for the initial research study will be in late January. I need to update them on these recent sexual developments in addition to asking their advice about sexuality under the influence of birth control.
Today is New Year's Day. Another day, another year, another life. I've recently graduated and have been holding onto my silly consumer electronics job to keep rooted. In this last year I've had a ton of fun making new friends, keeping touch with old professionals, renegotiating relationships and reinviting self responsibility into my life. Now that I am an official adult, degree in hand and several years worth of portfolio material and experience (cough debt cough), I have to put it all together (put myself together) into something cohesive and persuasive in order to get employers to take interest in me. (I swear this isn't a self defeating tumblr-esque blog.)
Meanwhile I've also rekindled my sex drive. Initiating the encounter as an approach to sexual healing, I've gained a partner interested in helping me sort out some stuff. This introduces a host of new material to work through in regards to gender. I've awoken a beast long left asleep for years now, a body I've since lost touch with. I had gotten so used to singledom that for a while there attractive people and sexual urges hardly registered on my radar. (While many of you are shocked and awed, if not horrified at celibacy, I invite you to try being abstinent for an extended period of time. It's actually really refreshing, like fasting or detoxing.) However now that I'm back in the game these new encounters challenge my sexuality and my own identity as a living, breathing sexual being.
For the longest time I had been labeled as somewhat of an asexual due to my impressive self control. Sure I visit the AVEN (Asexual Visibility & Education Network) board regularly to learn new stuff, but I can assure everybody that I am not asexual. I've always had sexual urges (admittedly since an inappropriately young age) but until recently I just hadn't felt like poking the beast. It was a conscious decision based on a mix of romantic frustration and pursuing new interests, moving across the country and perhaps even being bored with sex. I let my libido sleep so that I could concentrate on other areas of my life without having to deal with a vulnerable part of me that is subject to distraction. I've also found that that everybody I've been interested in has been capable of dealing with me either, so to speak.
I know myself well enough now, the uniquely complicated female bodied person that I am, that it would have been a dangerous thing to have played with back then anyway. For every person whose ever wanted to be loved or accepted, but was too weird to feel comfortable about it, they tend to overcompensate in ways that aren't always healthy or productive.
Also when you can predict the sex it isn't really that great anyway. So I think I made the right decision to just play it safe and keep cool.
I've entered this new sexual theme in my life with the confidence that I can finally take care of some of the issues, such as PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). Fortunately I have the time and energy to pursue this healing process at such a young age. However going into this I quickly recognized that it isn't just about PTSD anymore, but also gender.
The first day I felt completely outside of myself, not being able to recognize the emotional origins of the sensations, feeling out of place like a cold oyster at a hot buffet and feeling inadequate under the skin that I had just used to generate such feelings. I didn't feel like myself, but like someone else. It was kind of like watching a porno, and trying to place yourself in the video but still recognizing it is someone else.
The second and third day these feelings were revisited and analyzed. They were revealed to be a weird sort of "autopilot" response that apparently isn't unique to just me, but probably all sexual creatures with a conscience. Whodathunk.
Well that's relieving. At least I'm not a freak. (No offense to the self-identified freaks out there.) It's nice too that over time these experiences have been more personal thanks to good communication and frequent feedback. I've begun to recognize something about myself that I haven't for a long time, a person that I haven't listened to in a long time.
This person, obviously female, obviously feminine, it the echo of a voice I remember throughout teenagehood. She speaks for me during these sessions, confident in her nudity and skillful in her direction. She often perches herself and playfully teases, sometimes mercilessly so. She jokes in childish tones too, reminding me of a former self I used to know.
We haven't spoken in a long time, and it took me a while to get the courage to speak to her, to recognize that she still exists and still has thoughts and feelings and contributes to my overall existence. I remember at one time telling people I shunned my own femininity when I was young, feeling uncomfortable about it and wanting to get rid of all the things that held me back as an ambitious kid. However I never felt uncomfortable about my body, just inadequate in the gender expectations that I wore, that other people placed on me.
Now I sit here with her negotiating the amount of influence she ought to have over me from here on out, inside the bedroom, outside of the bedroom, in my life. Am I to be feminine because I want to, or because other people like it? Am I to be masculine because it feels right, or because I am just uncomfortable with femininity? Is there some compromise I can do without changing the entirety of my life, or my body? How can I still feel like myself without hiding the parts of me that I feel less about? How can I feel less about these parts and still not evoke the wrath of heteronormative society and their preferences of my gender?
Developing under this "therapy" is an interesting side approach to this whole gender therapy business. It is both distracting and complicated, but it takes care of some larger issues that I've been meaning to work out anyway, and it's healthy and mutual and fun. After each "therapy" sessions I come out a little more happy each time. The chemical buzz is definitely working. But I also come out a bit foggy, as if each time I'm unearthing a little more baggage. Fortunately this can be revisited next time. The whole idea is to just work through these issues, in a playful way. At first it was just PTSD stuff, but gender stuff is important too.
Initially I was concerned that I may not be seen for the gender I wish to be, which is to be expected when your body looks the exact opposite of what you want it to be. However I was reassured that I am not approached for my body, but for my personality, and that my body is merely the channel through which stimulation happens. Funny that girl bodies and boy bodies only work in certain distinct ways, yet each and every person is stimulated in completely unique ways, irregardless of sexuality, gender identity, and cultural norms. It takes courage, and patience and practice, for someone to recognize their sexual preferences as different than how societies deem their bodies should work. Same goes for romance I suppose.
Sudden topic change, for the New Year I have a yucky sickness. Mostly just a mild headache and a nasty sore throat, but it's kind of enjoyable to hear the noises I make with my modified voice box. I honestly think I sound like a transman, or at least someone going through puberty for the second time. It's funny and cute and I really enjoy it. In addition there are lots of things I enjoy about male bodies that I wish I could enjoy in myself, but I openly admit that there are lots of things I also enjoy about female bodies that I delight in being able to enjoy for myself.
For example, I love boobies. They're bouncy and soft and wonderful little pillows of joy. In comparison man boobies are less wonderful, although pecs are mighty and I like feeling mighty. Owning tits: soft but annoying when exercising. Owning pecs: winning.
Secondly boy butts are cute in a way that no one quite knows how to describe. They've got just enough plump to make for an adequate seat, or a cushion, yet most have these dimples that just make you want to pinch them. However girl butts are super soft and bouncy and serve as a second set of pillows. Like awesome! But they take a lot of work to keep from sagging. Owning girl butt: meh. Owning boy butt: equally meh. Touching butts: winning. Having butt touched: bestest ever.
Next comes the more subtle things that only trans* people seem to know about. (Kidding!)
Soft skin vs not-so-soft skin. I have a preference for touching soft skin, but I prefer to touch other people so I would definitely opt for the less soft skin and pair off with a nice soft girly skin person.
Sweet smells vs musky smells. This one is hard because our bodies are tuned into pheromones for reproductive reasons, often without our permission. While I really like sweet smells, musky smells make my body react without me. I'm sure with a different body and associated neural connections I might react to smells differently. I still prefer to be the musky-smelling one however.
Facial hair vs peach fuzz. I actually think I prefer owning peach fuzz. Less maintenance, less scratchy scratch. I think it would be fun to experiment with facial hair however. More on this in a later post.
High fat ratio vs high muscle ratio. Hands down I'd rather be the strong athletic one than the soft, squishie, wonderful feeling one. That's just the preferences of my dominant sort of personality though. Spoiler: every dom is unique.
Male vs female genitals. The genital thing is annoying because I'm very certain that I would enjoy either set, and especially both sets. At the same time. Especially.
So here I am thinking about dicks again, and how all I really want is a functional phallus and all the beautiful male privileged that comes with it. I'm still bummed about the fact that even in today's market you still can't get an organic appendage added to your body, yet we've got cyborg arms and eyes and fucking cloned hearts and livers and what not. It bothers me on many levels. However while I speak about achieving the unachievable, I'm even more bummed about the fact that I would have to strip my body of perfectly working parts in order to attach not so perfectly working parts to achieve the look and gender identity of my preference. Now that I have awakened my already perfectly working body it distances and complicates my desires for a not so perfect body. And damn it's such a good body!
~~~~
Anatomical update: Since I've begun taking birth control my tits have been perfectly ripe and swollen. It is really hard to run and jump up and down and have a good time when you've got bruise sacks on your chest. Last month I also spotted really bad during ovulation which made a week's worth of menstruation turn into a month's worth of the same seepage. Yuck. Also the pressure I felt on my chest the other month ago has since stopped. I surmise that I have lactose intolerance and that I should stay away from cafeteria food, especially questionable ice cream. Further I have developed a nasty itch which stretches the entirety of my legs. I've ripped open old bug bites (and I got a lot of them over the summer) and similar type scars in addition to bruising myself regularly trying to satiate said itch. The frigid winter has caused my skin to dry and my tendency to being lazy about showering between boring work hours has caused enough issue for me to mandate daily showers and lotion application.
My next visitation to the doctor's office to check in for the initial research study will be in late January. I need to update them on these recent sexual developments in addition to asking their advice about sexuality under the influence of birth control.
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