“Lets talk about sex baby…” As Salt n Peppa once sang, not sure they and I have much in common when it comes to sex… certainly not if their lyrics were anything to go by…
So as you have probably heard by now Sex is not the same as Gender… and if you’re like my dear old dad that’s modern hogwash. But I don’t really care about his somewhat (very) outdated attitudes to real people.
In my case I am probably best described as a voluntarily celibate bi-sexual person. I might go as far as to say pan-sexual. Bi-sexual and Pan-sexual are basically I’d be happy with some members of either sex, but Pan-sexual goes a little further in that I’d not be shacking up with a man because he’s a man but because I like him… or her, or any of the other pronouns.
Basically for me I see people who I’d like to hang out with and were I not completely disgusted by sex would do so in a trice. As it is though they though of actually doing the whole sex thing physically revolts me. All that fluid. I hate my own fluids – all of them – and while I can just about cope with pee and sweat when it’s coming from my own body… no chance when they’re coming from other people. Plus the whole “touching” thing is a big issue with me as well. So lets be friends?
Gender in my case is slightly more muddy… okay it more like wading through a pitch black pool of pitch (or treacle) and trying to find a single clue as to what the hell is going on with me. So without further ado:
Who Am I: (Sorry if this is a little disjointed I’m re-writing some previously written content.)
This is more of a philosophical question than a straight discourse on who I actually am. That bit’s easy. Born 46+ years ago, assigned male at birth (I know my eNBy1 speak see), never really fit in with the other boys, or girls. Knew from a very early age that I wasn’t what I was supposed to be, certainly not what I was on the outside. (I realised that boys and girls were different and that I wanted to be a girl long before puberty, when my sister and I were young enough to still bathe together (7-9 maybe).
I stole my sisters clothes until I was labelled a pervert or sick. I didn’t even know that transgender was a thing. Nobody sat down and asked me what was going on in my head. Like many of my generation I learned about transexuals from the front of The Sun or other similar inflammatory tabloids. It gave me a real thrill to realise that there were other people out there like me.
But by then I’d discovered masturbation, yes wearing clothing intended for the other gender (female) was exciting, the thrill of wearing a forbidden thing, was sexual. And I expressed myself all over the place, for a while I’d express myself so much or wore blisters into the damn thing. Kept hoping that it’d fall off, or break. I gave up on God didn’t matter which version of Him you looked at he’d either punished me by making me this way, or he’d punish me for being this way. My parents (bless their cotton, soft topped socks) were of little help. I disgusted them, my actions were disgusting (to them).
Then I got hooked on internet porn… not the usual naked ladies… oh no. I had the cerebral addiction of GoStory.com, ASSTR.org, FictionMania.tv, BigCloset.us and a number of others. And yeah I gravitated to the TG fiction for the most part (I’d already dabbled in the frankly twisted (maybe sick) John Norman Gor novels owned by one or the other of my parents) so reading erotica was to me 2nd nature. I still much prefer erotic literature (and stories) to the more mainstream Pron on the internet.
By this time I was in my late teens, early twenties and aside from talking to a psychologist periodically and an occasional chance to dress badly “en femme” (French you know), I didn’t really do anything else until a few years ago where I finally got to the head of the list for the GID clinic in Leeds. Needless to say things did not go as I had planned and they kicked me out of the system. I vowed to show them their errors and instituted a world wide leafletting campaign… wait… oops… actually I just cried a lot and got so bogged down into depression that I failed to function for two years.
But that’s all physical… well that last bit is mental anguish… but yeah that’s the physical side of things… the stuff that I can bear to talk about with some level of humour even if I still think I was treated badly at Leeds… still I’m sure some other deserving person got more help than they would otherwise have received had a remained within the GID for a full treatment.
I’m non-binary and wanted an orchiectomy (castration) and no other treatment, was kicked off the program for being not committed enough and too fat. Seriously when I said I’m big boned… I’m not saying I’m not fat I’m saying I have big bones, a woman with size 13 feet and ankles to match doesn’t look terribly feminine or graceful… added to which by this point 20+ years of masculine skeleton growth I wasn’t ever going to pass up close in person. I didn’t want to put myself through the hell of a full transition to end up in a worse position (I thought) than I had been going in. But Leeds GID only had a binary outcome, successful males come in and leave as females… etc
Lets meet the cast:
Inner Me – Age: Older than she looks, virgo, likes scandalously tight sports/dance wear and flirty skater skirts.
Outer Me – Age: As old as he looks, sometimes looks older than he is, virgo, lives in jeans and t-shirts, likes tight underwear and occasionally wears leggings.
Fantasy Me – Age 46+. Dresses for comfort but wears things that they (notice the pronoun) like even if it’s not obvious gender appropriate. No star sign, doesn’t believe in that mumbo jumbo shit.
Future Me – Age 47+. See Future Me, but older… 😉
Ideal World Me – Born female ofc.
So from a mental viewpoint I don’t feel I fit into the Male/Female binary option. I physically look male (to my disgust), I live a mostly male life (though I tend toward a more neutral/feminine outlook), I tend to be forced into a male role by circumstances if not outright cowardice. My parents are supportive of my quest to beat my depression but cannot bear to examine the elephant in the room that untreated gender dysphoria has caused 90% of the depression (and yes if you’re reading this mum/dad that is a real issue for me, I love you enough that I’ll put my own life on hold not to upset you). But it really hurts all the fucking time, even on the days when everything is okay, there is still this huge thing inside of me that doesn’t fit anywhere.
Every time I get up. EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. I have to fight the part of me that loves leggings, leotards and flirty little skirts who when asked what to wear answers with an impossibility… I look okay in leggings, hell my legs are about the only part of me that is still somewhat good looking. (In my eyes anyway. Mum you saying “You’re so handsome…” doesn’t count, you have a bias and I don’t think you’re objective at all.) But a leotard? Be serious Inner Me, they are great and look nice but really 46 year old men (unfit and overweight men) don’t look good. As for the flirty little skirt… one day… maybe… a utility kilt maybe… (ladies ofc as they are shorter)… 😉
But that dichotomy is always with me, every time I think of Future Me doing anything, Inner Me pops in with completely silly things for Future Me to do. Don’t get me wrong, Ideal World Me would totally be there doing those things. I want to do those things so badly, but I’m well trained to reject Fantasy Me.
Which is where I am today and the fact that I want to let Fantasy Me become a little more real. Some of that will be losing weight and getting fatty unfit me into slim fit me. Maybe there will be a leotard or two down the road in that case.
I will never be a believable woman. I know that, but if I can get Inner Me a better canvas to paint on Outer Me will have an easier time coping with the needs Inner Me has to be beautiful and maybe, just maybe Future Me will be happier.
1: NB – Non-Binary, someone who isn’t, or doesn’t consider themselves to be Cis gendered eg Male or Female. NBies are often also sexual deviants2 and may ascribe to such dangers as gay, lesbian or bi-sexuality.
2: I don’t really believe this to be the case, we’re just normal people with normal likes and dislikes, how we interact with other people is how we should be judged, not on who we like or want to be.