I had come across this a while back and it sort of hit home about a variety of different things:
"I was an average, everyday woman, I loved wearing dresses and styling my hair. I had complete confidence, even if I was not the most attractive model walking down the runway. I felt complete.
"I got married when I was 23 to a man I thought would fulfill my dreams. I sighed every moment we were apart and I moaned every moment we were together. I figured life was complete, we would have children and I would raise them, my husband would come home and make love to me after dinner and we would we...in essence one word... WHOLE.
"It wasn't to be. After a couple of years being what I thought as 'happily married', I found out we weren't. Then it got confusing.
"I first figured, like many women I am sure, I was the fault. I wasn't loving enough. I tried to please my husband and I found more and more often I was faking orgasms to get him to feel OK about himself. I found myself feeling empty doing this but I wanted to be a wife who made her husband feel complete.
"One day I couldn't fake it any longer and I started to seek avenues to feel complete. I was a woman with urges and my husband wasn't giving them to me. I tried to discuss it with him but he didn't seem to get it. I was a woman alone.
"I found a few sites to experiment and soon I found another man, a man who I figured could sate my desires while remaining a distant partner. A man who would love the interaction...the sex...we shared and let me return to my life. But the hollowness continued, compounded by the fact I had been unfaithful. Now it was a door slammed in my face when I had hoped it would open up and let me fly to freedom.
"Now, after months of having an illicit affair, I felt the cold rush of having to tell my husband. I swallowed a lot of emotional bile and one night I said I had been having sex with another man. I cried, cried, cried!! I was a wreck. My husband was angry and walked away when I wanted to cuddle him and tell him it would never, ever happen again! I was distraught!
"But these things come with a price and my husband told me that he would make an ultimatum with me. I could get my hair cut very short, in a style he picked; or I could get my nose pierced with a chain to my ear and a tattoo on my chest affirming him and I forever, or else he would seek divorce. He knew lawyers so I knew I would never get much, the thought of a piercing, while I initially thought it was exciting, started to fill me with dread. I wasn't big on the idea of the tattoo. I couldn't hide anything I picked. So I had only one option left.
"Having decided, my husband took me to a friend who of his who was a barber and told him to give me a boy's flattop. I was swallowing real bile as he ran the cutters over my long hair, shearing it away! I cried and sobbed, desperate to wake from this nightmare, but it was of my own doing. I sat alone and without a friend, a woman stripped of even her dignity. I was an object of ridicule and emotional despair.
"My husband told me I could keep it like this, having it trimmed every week, if I would not try to hide it. No hats, headscarves, or anything like that. Otherwise, it was to the tattoo parlor with me and a piercing as well. I meekly obeyed and nodded. I would keep myself this way, every week getting a trim to keep up appearances. Men looked at me oddly and women seemed aghast, seeing a mans haircut on a woman's frame. It was shocking for them, it SURE was shocking for me!
"Sooner or later the shock wore off and I was left standing on the shore of what was I to do? I wanted to keep my husband, but the weekly trims had me feeling so humiliated. So I sat, many times, crying and weeping away my unfortunate mistakes. But my husband never relented, I could grow my hair out if I got a piercing and tattoo. I had the choice. After all, I was the one screwed up.
"After almost a year of distance and little romance, my husband came home after I had a fresh haircut and said he was done with the charade. It turns out he was in love with another man and I had never satisfied him. I was shocked. I had followed his discipline to the letter and I gave up my dignity for the chance to make things right, then he returns home and tells me he can't do this... he has had another man and he likes it. I am not fulfilling his needs.
"I cried for a long time, figuring my unfaithfulness had something to do with this, my punishment was not enough. What could I do to repair this? Did I need to attend the academy of acting like a man and get a sex change? Did I need to walk and talk like one of the boys? Was I supposed to shed the outside and act like the gender my husband preferred?
"As I talked to my best friend Cherise, I came to see her side of things. Her husband had left her for another man as mine had, then she felt she needed a new man to satisfy her. She found a handsome black man who was 'well-endowed' but he started to get more distant to her too. The sex was less and less. They experimented for a little bit to try and get things going again, but it was short lived. So she cried, alone, not knowing why he spent so much time away from her and being with 'the boys'. He was growing apart from her as her husband had done. And for the same reasons, he liked other men too.
"So, Cherise and I spent more and more time talking and comforting one another, and one thing led to another. I still had that short boy's flattop, hoping my husband would change his mind, but it never happened. He was set in his ways and one day, in a fit of emotional despair, Cherise and I gave into our emotions. I felt like I had ruptured my soul and my body... but it felt SO GOOD!!
"I had tried to walk a walk I was not really prepared for, so I went against my emotions and lifted myself to a different plane. But I was lying to myself, I was now in love with another woman and she with me. My husband had also been living a lie and Cherise's husband had as well. The circle was finally closing despite the tumultuous turbulence we had lived through. I was becoming whole and so was my (now ex) husband and Cherise's too.
"We finally settled on an amicable breakup, my husband moving in with the man he had always dreamed of being with; and me, I settled my external affairs and moved in with Cherise. We got everything in order and were married a few months later. I still kept my hair extremely short to remind me, although a human failing, I had once been unfaithful to the one I thought I loved. Now I knew who I loved and I was determined to keep it strong, so my hair remained extremely short and cut like a boy's. I smile when Cherise tells me how cute I look - she does that almost every day!
"The moral, I guess if you're looking for one, is to remain faithful to yourself and stop pretending to be someone you aren't. Affirm yourself and your own goals. Be complete for who else will tell you that you can't be? Every week I settle into the barber's chair for another trim, no longer afraid, no longer forced, but dedicated none the less. I smile as my hair is cut and the smile reaches into my very soul. And every night, when I get home, Cherise and I kiss and snuggle over a little wine and dinner and I imagine my ex-husband is doing the same with his man. We finally gave up the childish need to 'act the part' and were now just normal people. We gave up being fake and started being real. We gave up the toys and started acting like adults. We stopped being robots acting the way society expects us to, and started acting like people, madly in love and acting the way nature gave us!
"In short, now I have found happiness and so has my new wife, she and I share so much love and emotion. We share a bond that will not be destroyed. My infidelity is cured and her need for a loving partner is too. I willingly sit in the chair for my haircut to this day, and she never fails to compliment me. That is the true meaning of love!!"
Truly wonderful!! Be yourself, people, and let the world evolve around you!! :)
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
"I've Always Wanted to Get My Hands on One of These!"
In, around, late 1966 a little known character actor put on women's clothing and played an old washer woman on a popular national TV show, portraying a woman in 1745 when ladies were not, perhaps, as widely admired as they are today. This change may seem commonplace today, but in 1966 it was not. The actor's name was Patrick Troughton and he had just taken over the role after a very successful 3 year run by another actor. He was trying to 'shake the tree' as it were.
Still, appearances like this were few and far between. In fact, it was not until 1973 in a series called 'The Green Death' that another character appeared, in the same series, as female. In this case it was a self-affirmed "all-action man" dressed as a cleaning lady answering to the name of Doris. One of the male thug characters spoke to her and she made a muffled response. She continued of this charade carried on until she caught the eye of a person she wanted to talk to. Then the mystery washed away and the illusion vanished. Pretty soon it was back to "all-action" and the idea that the leading man was dressed up as female vanished. By then, Monty Python had often crossed gender boundaries. In fact Graham Chapman often appeared in 'drag' as a feminine character with some male characteristics, such as playing a policeman. Jon Pertwee who played that 'cleaning lady' clearly had no issue playing a feminine role when the role required him to. It was a different time back then.
Or was it?
After 1973 the co-stars got more notice as being sexual inviting females and the idea disappeared. Perhaps it was because Tom Baker did not ever think of dressing as a woman. His successor played a boyish innocent who might have tried on a female persona when the role changed after 7 years of a curly-haired charismatic alien with an incredibly long 22 foot scarf knitted by an old woman who wasn't told to stop knitting. So Tom was wrapped by a woman's touch. But he never crossed that boundary.
In 1981 his successor had played the boyish prankster Tristan Farnon in the series All Creatures Great and Small. He had a preference for smoking Woodbine cigarettes, womanizing and pulling pints at local pubs. He was rather an abject failure as a veterinary student, but he was entertaining. You could see his playing up a female to shock and joke with his brother's colleague, James Herriot (an amazing author I might add) onto some wild goose chase. Sadly as 1981 emerged, the new character-actor never delved into the part and it remained disticntly male.
In fact until 1999 with the attempted rebirth of the series Dr Who was the boundary to be crossed again. With stars like Rowan Atkinson (Blackadder, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Mr Bean) and Hugh Grant, opposite Jonathan Pryce (best known from the James Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies as the villain) the boundary got ripped down and renewed. At the end the Doctor changes into the lovely and amazing Joanna Lumley. As she eyes her now female body she exclaims as she finds she is female: "Oh! I've Always Wanted to Get My Hands On One of These!!" She rubs her body admiringly.
Joanna apprears in the cult favorite (and I love this series) Absolutely Fabulous. She plays Patsy, a sexually active man-attractor who thinks she is 25 years younger than she is and guzzles martinis like a dehydrated person pulls down cool, fresh water. It's great. In fact the 'daughter', the amazing and VERY pretty Julia Sawalha, is planning to marry Rowan Atkinson's Doctor at the start of Curse of the Fatal Death.
What am I getting at here?
My point is the way Joanna does (for comic effect of course) exudes how her new female body is something she always wanted to 'get her hands on.' For me I often dreamed of being awakened as a woman, like a transformation of Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis. I can recall waking, bitterly disappointed not being a woman from a vivid dream where I was a woman. Later on, I experienced dreams where women would only talk over their shoulders to me and not turn to face me. It was like I was fighting two distinct existence engines, one that knew I should be a woman and the other which shunned the idea. The brain gives often contradictory information.
Of late, I started reading a tale from a friend who shared a somewhat similar experience to me in the terms of shadows you wish were lit, but they remain forever in the gloom. As she shared her experience I felt very similar even though, of course, my life was steering a different course. I was seeing a 'greatest common denominator' as I looked back at my own life.
Years ago, which seems like ages now, I imagined a "reboot" of Dr Who with a woman as the Doctor. I even thought of line changes and then the main character having new outfits. In fact. the 'reworked' 1966 episode The Seeds of Death (I think I had unimaginatively called it The Deadly Seeds) had the Doctor's (female) character flying to the Moon in a rocket. In a prom-style gown. The shadow of my woman was growing longer...
I never understood, at that time, why I was focusing on the idea of the main character as female. I had often had daydreams of being "the Doctor" and saving the Universe from some menace. But when I started to think of the Doctor being a woman did I stop this 'fantasy'? No. In fact it seemed to grow more affirming as I grew.
Imagine an awkward child who has always wanted to get my hands on one of these and slowly waking to realize you wanted to get your hands on yourself. In an esoteric way, but still...
Fast forward many years after I actually *had* danced as female to many admirers on my friend Kristy's cam, I felt that it was coming full circle. The inner girl finally hitched up her skirt and dropped her inhibitions. I had always wanted to get my hands on my inner woman, and here she was dancing and having fun with her new friends.
It's like I "regenerated" and was, though confused, feeling like things were slowly falling into place.
I never want to get my hands OFF of one of these! :-)
It's too special.
Still, appearances like this were few and far between. In fact, it was not until 1973 in a series called 'The Green Death' that another character appeared, in the same series, as female. In this case it was a self-affirmed "all-action man" dressed as a cleaning lady answering to the name of Doris. One of the male thug characters spoke to her and she made a muffled response. She continued of this charade carried on until she caught the eye of a person she wanted to talk to. Then the mystery washed away and the illusion vanished. Pretty soon it was back to "all-action" and the idea that the leading man was dressed up as female vanished. By then, Monty Python had often crossed gender boundaries. In fact Graham Chapman often appeared in 'drag' as a feminine character with some male characteristics, such as playing a policeman. Jon Pertwee who played that 'cleaning lady' clearly had no issue playing a feminine role when the role required him to. It was a different time back then.
Or was it?
After 1973 the co-stars got more notice as being sexual inviting females and the idea disappeared. Perhaps it was because Tom Baker did not ever think of dressing as a woman. His successor played a boyish innocent who might have tried on a female persona when the role changed after 7 years of a curly-haired charismatic alien with an incredibly long 22 foot scarf knitted by an old woman who wasn't told to stop knitting. So Tom was wrapped by a woman's touch. But he never crossed that boundary.
In 1981 his successor had played the boyish prankster Tristan Farnon in the series All Creatures Great and Small. He had a preference for smoking Woodbine cigarettes, womanizing and pulling pints at local pubs. He was rather an abject failure as a veterinary student, but he was entertaining. You could see his playing up a female to shock and joke with his brother's colleague, James Herriot (an amazing author I might add) onto some wild goose chase. Sadly as 1981 emerged, the new character-actor never delved into the part and it remained disticntly male.
In fact until 1999 with the attempted rebirth of the series Dr Who was the boundary to be crossed again. With stars like Rowan Atkinson (Blackadder, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Mr Bean) and Hugh Grant, opposite Jonathan Pryce (best known from the James Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies as the villain) the boundary got ripped down and renewed. At the end the Doctor changes into the lovely and amazing Joanna Lumley. As she eyes her now female body she exclaims as she finds she is female: "Oh! I've Always Wanted to Get My Hands On One of These!!" She rubs her body admiringly.
Joanna apprears in the cult favorite (and I love this series) Absolutely Fabulous. She plays Patsy, a sexually active man-attractor who thinks she is 25 years younger than she is and guzzles martinis like a dehydrated person pulls down cool, fresh water. It's great. In fact the 'daughter', the amazing and VERY pretty Julia Sawalha, is planning to marry Rowan Atkinson's Doctor at the start of Curse of the Fatal Death.
What am I getting at here?
My point is the way Joanna does (for comic effect of course) exudes how her new female body is something she always wanted to 'get her hands on.' For me I often dreamed of being awakened as a woman, like a transformation of Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis. I can recall waking, bitterly disappointed not being a woman from a vivid dream where I was a woman. Later on, I experienced dreams where women would only talk over their shoulders to me and not turn to face me. It was like I was fighting two distinct existence engines, one that knew I should be a woman and the other which shunned the idea. The brain gives often contradictory information.
Of late, I started reading a tale from a friend who shared a somewhat similar experience to me in the terms of shadows you wish were lit, but they remain forever in the gloom. As she shared her experience I felt very similar even though, of course, my life was steering a different course. I was seeing a 'greatest common denominator' as I looked back at my own life.
Years ago, which seems like ages now, I imagined a "reboot" of Dr Who with a woman as the Doctor. I even thought of line changes and then the main character having new outfits. In fact. the 'reworked' 1966 episode The Seeds of Death (I think I had unimaginatively called it The Deadly Seeds) had the Doctor's (female) character flying to the Moon in a rocket. In a prom-style gown. The shadow of my woman was growing longer...
I never understood, at that time, why I was focusing on the idea of the main character as female. I had often had daydreams of being "the Doctor" and saving the Universe from some menace. But when I started to think of the Doctor being a woman did I stop this 'fantasy'? No. In fact it seemed to grow more affirming as I grew.
Imagine an awkward child who has always wanted to get my hands on one of these and slowly waking to realize you wanted to get your hands on yourself. In an esoteric way, but still...
Fast forward many years after I actually *had* danced as female to many admirers on my friend Kristy's cam, I felt that it was coming full circle. The inner girl finally hitched up her skirt and dropped her inhibitions. I had always wanted to get my hands on my inner woman, and here she was dancing and having fun with her new friends.
It's like I "regenerated" and was, though confused, feeling like things were slowly falling into place.
I never want to get my hands OFF of one of these! :-)
It's too special.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
I thought I saw a...jigsaw?
This morning I came across a blog by another author describing the search for clues as to whether men were transgender or not, like finding a field guide to natural and unnatural male behavior and thumbing through looking for the characteristics to identify a species of men by their behavior and outward signs. It's like this: If your 'man' likes to talk about hair and reads Cosmopolitan, he may be exhibiting signs of female desire. But then he marches off to Home Depot and starts building a shed in the backyard and you decry the observations noted. It's just another confusing pitch in the game of life. Likewise you can have a burly muscle-bound man who rides Harleys and can open beer bottles with his teeth and plays hockey without pads. *Leaf* *leaf* *leaf* - sure enough guide says "manly man". But when he's alone he dresses in dainty feminine clothes and puts on a pair of heels, maybe even going out with friends dressed like the woman they feel inside is true. So pull the recycle bin over and toss the guide away. Clearly you aren't getting on very well with it.
So people would try to figure out the clues and signs, especially after a partner comes out as transgender. Some partners (the best ones, IMO) are supportive. Yes they need guidance and understanding but they accept the part of the personality that brings about the changes that manifest themselves as exterior markings. Talking about or fantasizing about getting the ears pierced, growing hair long, perhaps going shopping and feeling good to be out and about as one's true self, these are signs. But there are men who are not transgender who have pierced ears and long hair. Heck they may enjoy shopping too. Likewise there are women who do not have pierced ears, short hair and hate shopping. They may (or may not) be transgender either.
So, the blog author (it was a wickedly funny post) wrote about having these feeling and burying deep down an abandoned mine shaft, covering it with cement and barbed wire and prowling tanks, topping off by posting sentries miles away in the form of "rabid baboons". You see this setup and you think "well, wouldn't it just be better to get going on these other things I need to do?" Sure seems like it, doesn't it. But after you claw through, escaping mortars, barbed wire, cement contractors and worst of all, banana target practice, the old ways re-emerge into the daylight, blinking and stumbling as they once again see the light of day. It takes a while for the legs to get accustomed to walking and the eyes are unused to the light. But at least the baboons have quieted down for the time being...
I liken it to opening that closet and jammed in between the corset collection and some naughty nighties is a box. The box has a jigsaw puzzle but no indication what it's a picture of. It's just there. As you examine pieces, some will look like they fit together and some will be at odds. It's a frustrating jumble, you just wish someone would know what to do and just do it. You know what you want the end results to be but you can't figure the jumble out. Friends can certainly drop by and help out a bit, but in this case the building of the puzzle is your own call, your own task. My friends can support me, guide me, help me and encourage me, but they can't transition for me. One friend said "I always dreamed one day I would wake up and be a girl," which I nodded silently in agreement with. "Sadly," she continued, "it never happened." But then she took steps to break that incongruity and find new shapes and dimensions to her existence and now is living happily as a woman. The psychological ramifications of being transgender are hidden from view and only going to the peace found in the corners of one's mind, in the depths of privacy, can we begin to explore those feelings and give them substance. We touch our dreams and they seem real. The sunlight from sensing the sensuous nature of our interior happy place is comforting after all the stormy rain clouds of life. We don't know, we don't care, we just long to remain and be happy. It's a place that when I go there, I feel complete and happy. and almost free.
So when the dawn breaks on the new day, the FIRST day of the REST of your life, the change is almost palpable. You can taste the air anew and you can feel the fresh breeze on your face. As Dylan sang, "the times they are a-changin'" and so they will. But until the box gets found, opened and one starts in on it, in earnest, you may never get a complete sense of the finished piece of art. Some people are fine with it and I had felt for a while *I* was fine with it. But I am starting to feel less fine with it and more like I want to start working on that puzzle and building something new that my friends and my fellow transgender human beings can see as progress forward. It's perhaps time to set aside some time to start working on getting that box out of storage and setting it up to show a new piece of art for the future to admire and enjoy.
And before I go one word of caution: Look Out for Flung Bananas!!!
So people would try to figure out the clues and signs, especially after a partner comes out as transgender. Some partners (the best ones, IMO) are supportive. Yes they need guidance and understanding but they accept the part of the personality that brings about the changes that manifest themselves as exterior markings. Talking about or fantasizing about getting the ears pierced, growing hair long, perhaps going shopping and feeling good to be out and about as one's true self, these are signs. But there are men who are not transgender who have pierced ears and long hair. Heck they may enjoy shopping too. Likewise there are women who do not have pierced ears, short hair and hate shopping. They may (or may not) be transgender either.
So, the blog author (it was a wickedly funny post) wrote about having these feeling and burying deep down an abandoned mine shaft, covering it with cement and barbed wire and prowling tanks, topping off by posting sentries miles away in the form of "rabid baboons". You see this setup and you think "well, wouldn't it just be better to get going on these other things I need to do?" Sure seems like it, doesn't it. But after you claw through, escaping mortars, barbed wire, cement contractors and worst of all, banana target practice, the old ways re-emerge into the daylight, blinking and stumbling as they once again see the light of day. It takes a while for the legs to get accustomed to walking and the eyes are unused to the light. But at least the baboons have quieted down for the time being...
I liken it to opening that closet and jammed in between the corset collection and some naughty nighties is a box. The box has a jigsaw puzzle but no indication what it's a picture of. It's just there. As you examine pieces, some will look like they fit together and some will be at odds. It's a frustrating jumble, you just wish someone would know what to do and just do it. You know what you want the end results to be but you can't figure the jumble out. Friends can certainly drop by and help out a bit, but in this case the building of the puzzle is your own call, your own task. My friends can support me, guide me, help me and encourage me, but they can't transition for me. One friend said "I always dreamed one day I would wake up and be a girl," which I nodded silently in agreement with. "Sadly," she continued, "it never happened." But then she took steps to break that incongruity and find new shapes and dimensions to her existence and now is living happily as a woman. The psychological ramifications of being transgender are hidden from view and only going to the peace found in the corners of one's mind, in the depths of privacy, can we begin to explore those feelings and give them substance. We touch our dreams and they seem real. The sunlight from sensing the sensuous nature of our interior happy place is comforting after all the stormy rain clouds of life. We don't know, we don't care, we just long to remain and be happy. It's a place that when I go there, I feel complete and happy. and almost free.
So when the dawn breaks on the new day, the FIRST day of the REST of your life, the change is almost palpable. You can taste the air anew and you can feel the fresh breeze on your face. As Dylan sang, "the times they are a-changin'" and so they will. But until the box gets found, opened and one starts in on it, in earnest, you may never get a complete sense of the finished piece of art. Some people are fine with it and I had felt for a while *I* was fine with it. But I am starting to feel less fine with it and more like I want to start working on that puzzle and building something new that my friends and my fellow transgender human beings can see as progress forward. It's perhaps time to set aside some time to start working on getting that box out of storage and setting it up to show a new piece of art for the future to admire and enjoy.
And before I go one word of caution: Look Out for Flung Bananas!!!
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
It's a Blend
So of late I had been thinking more and more about gender, sexuality and my role in both. Yes, you can let the room clear of smoke before continuing to read... I apologize if your eyes are watering.
So treading this ground of gender and feelings is a tough one but I have a few things on my side (at least I hope they are!):
-- FEELINGS: I know what I enjoy, what I dream about, what fires my desires and ambitions and they are valid because they are mine. No one can take that away from me.
-- EMOTIONS: Yes, they are like feelings but deeper down. The chord of truth is struck when you do something that makes you feel good, even if it's perhaps in conflict with your other emotional responses or those responses others would have to project upon you.
-- PHYSICAL: One cannot deny the existence of the physical self. It's there. When you shed all the worries, the baubles, the concealments and the clothes there you are. You are in plain sight of yourself and some will know it's not congruent with who they know they are. That is totally fine with me since I am often torn about it myself. I'm happy for those who can conform the one to be the shape of the true inner self.
My body shape isn't always conducive to projecting a true female persona, but she's leggy and smart and well she's got a little chunk of the world in her cup.
But like mixing your morning cup (coffee, tea, cocoa, whatever suits you) you mix the ingredients (milk, sugar, honey, etc.) together and you come up with a blend. And of late, that is what I have found is that I, like the coffee, am a blend.
I'm not the binary that many people I know are. I am bits of several different beings condensed into one form. It's not traditional male or female, but I am not traditional male/female inside either. It's tough to explain but it's like this: My body has emotional senses which are mostly female, but some deep emotional needs respond male and are enjoyable. I figure if you read that a few times you might get what I am saying without me having to spell it out.
Now what's a girl to do with these feelings?? I just wanted to know if I was alone, something I have felt before. I feared exclusion from people I knew and loved but I was sure would not understand the split. I have had dreams upon dreams torn between the two realms, the kingdom of light and the kingdom of ... pleasure, shall we say?
Now my body is no temple to be adorned and venerated, but it's mine and I generally know how to use it. I have that sense, deep down of being two entities that seems to ying and yang, mix and coalesce. It's not like oil and water. It's more like smoke and fog, from a distance you can't tell one from the other. And I can't tell you my one from my other.
I was often told it was "wrong" to think one way or the other. It was flat out wrong to feel that although I enjoy being female the other side of the tracks was off limits. I was told you are one or the other, not both or neither! It's not allowed!! Play by the rules, dammit, or go to bed without any supper!!
Crossing gender boundaries is nothing new and, even though I suspected it would never work out, I learned something new in the journey. I was not ashamed to admit that certain senses of mine I enjoy and they give me great happiness. It's one of the few ways to express the inner self that is there, waiting, just below the surface of the skin ready to well up and burst through to the surface. For the first time I was not ashamed of being one versus the other. My life was not a vat of hatred over who I was and what I looked like.
I was becoming whole.
I am not saying this journey is done, nope. It's just beginning but life has changed in a different way of late. I have felt more like who I am is not a mistake and is not wrong. I realized that my feelings are valid, whole and part of the fabric of the person within. I am not binary and I am not nothing. I guess I am the solvent in which thoughts and ideas become interspersed with each other and they form this completeness. I don't know what this journey means to me, but it's sure changed a lot since I first started experimenting with clothes all those years ago. And I am still experimenting, although on a more adult level. I am finding out who I am and who I am I am finally beginning to see joy and enjoyment. I am beginning to feel there is a unique me waiting there, ready and willing to be more and more open about who she is and what she feels.
She is me and I am her. Together we are a blend. It's as complicated and yet simple as that.
So treading this ground of gender and feelings is a tough one but I have a few things on my side (at least I hope they are!):
-- FEELINGS: I know what I enjoy, what I dream about, what fires my desires and ambitions and they are valid because they are mine. No one can take that away from me.
-- EMOTIONS: Yes, they are like feelings but deeper down. The chord of truth is struck when you do something that makes you feel good, even if it's perhaps in conflict with your other emotional responses or those responses others would have to project upon you.
-- PHYSICAL: One cannot deny the existence of the physical self. It's there. When you shed all the worries, the baubles, the concealments and the clothes there you are. You are in plain sight of yourself and some will know it's not congruent with who they know they are. That is totally fine with me since I am often torn about it myself. I'm happy for those who can conform the one to be the shape of the true inner self.
My body shape isn't always conducive to projecting a true female persona, but she's leggy and smart and well she's got a little chunk of the world in her cup.
But like mixing your morning cup (coffee, tea, cocoa, whatever suits you) you mix the ingredients (milk, sugar, honey, etc.) together and you come up with a blend. And of late, that is what I have found is that I, like the coffee, am a blend.
I'm not the binary that many people I know are. I am bits of several different beings condensed into one form. It's not traditional male or female, but I am not traditional male/female inside either. It's tough to explain but it's like this: My body has emotional senses which are mostly female, but some deep emotional needs respond male and are enjoyable. I figure if you read that a few times you might get what I am saying without me having to spell it out.
Now what's a girl to do with these feelings?? I just wanted to know if I was alone, something I have felt before. I feared exclusion from people I knew and loved but I was sure would not understand the split. I have had dreams upon dreams torn between the two realms, the kingdom of light and the kingdom of ... pleasure, shall we say?
Now my body is no temple to be adorned and venerated, but it's mine and I generally know how to use it. I have that sense, deep down of being two entities that seems to ying and yang, mix and coalesce. It's not like oil and water. It's more like smoke and fog, from a distance you can't tell one from the other. And I can't tell you my one from my other.
I was often told it was "wrong" to think one way or the other. It was flat out wrong to feel that although I enjoy being female the other side of the tracks was off limits. I was told you are one or the other, not both or neither! It's not allowed!! Play by the rules, dammit, or go to bed without any supper!!
Crossing gender boundaries is nothing new and, even though I suspected it would never work out, I learned something new in the journey. I was not ashamed to admit that certain senses of mine I enjoy and they give me great happiness. It's one of the few ways to express the inner self that is there, waiting, just below the surface of the skin ready to well up and burst through to the surface. For the first time I was not ashamed of being one versus the other. My life was not a vat of hatred over who I was and what I looked like.
I was becoming whole.
I am not saying this journey is done, nope. It's just beginning but life has changed in a different way of late. I have felt more like who I am is not a mistake and is not wrong. I realized that my feelings are valid, whole and part of the fabric of the person within. I am not binary and I am not nothing. I guess I am the solvent in which thoughts and ideas become interspersed with each other and they form this completeness. I don't know what this journey means to me, but it's sure changed a lot since I first started experimenting with clothes all those years ago. And I am still experimenting, although on a more adult level. I am finding out who I am and who I am I am finally beginning to see joy and enjoyment. I am beginning to feel there is a unique me waiting there, ready and willing to be more and more open about who she is and what she feels.
She is me and I am her. Together we are a blend. It's as complicated and yet simple as that.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Stressful Things...
Some of you know, some don't that I spent the last week watching over 3 very active cats for a friend. I have always had a cat growing up, let me rephrase that: I have always have a cat growing up. A = 1(One).
The cats are friendly to me, they greet me and meow greetings. They rub furniture and my legs. They act so adorable. But once they eat, the dark side comes out. They gallop through the house I am surprised they don't break the sound barrier. They attack each other and chase each other. The words "settle down" have no meaning, nor any effect. It's a fruitless gesture to try. The worst parts are treated to a stint in a closed room for them to settle down and calm their nerves.
This week has given me some pause, truth be told for other things in life you might take for granted. For example, one might decide that some things are stressful and they become not so stressful when you take them into context with other things. I figured this week would be relaxing and relatively care-free. I knew the cats were used to being up early and that was no problem (I get up early anyway). But an increased commute meant I had to plan to leave earlier, have less time when I did finally get home, and then have to contend with two of the three playing a little rough.
I got there Saturday afternoon after they had left and was curious to discover the fiercest one was abjectly afraid of me. She is a very pretty cat, but she is VERY active. She's the feline equivalent of a Dyson vacuum as well. But once feeding time came around she grew fond of me. In other words the threat disappeared when she saw I was not threatening and I was giving them something they wanted. They are not overly affectionate, but to me they weren't really aggressive either. It was a neutral gray area.
So what does this have to do with anything, you might ask?
In the past week I have come across others who are stressed out, circumstances at home, with the family and so on. It's interesting thing. I knew I would be under more of a load at work, since we are short-staffed. But I thought the peace of coming home to three cats and being able to relax, chill out and have some well-deserved dinner were shattered quickly. The fact was that once I stopped at my "real" home I was able to just feel the ebb of relaxation, even knowing how I was going to have to go back and my stomach churned. What if the cats were hurt? What if there was a problem with the house? What if... the list goes on. And my friend was unreachable by any means for a long span of time. The supposed quiet peace of chilling, relaxing, sipping on a cold beverage and unwinding on a comfy sofa in front of a TV... they all vanished. Literally almost like they were the puffy seeds of a dandelion wafting downwind to their new homes. Poof, gone.
The idea that things could be "relaxing" were replaced with the dread, going home to what...? Naturally the female side of me expressed abject concerns for their behavior and I finally called my friend just before they departed. They laughed after I expressed my fears about them. "They are like that, it's fine." Still queasy, I then talked to my friend's partner and there was laughter on the other end of the phone "they are used to being by themselves all day, they will be okay," they said comfortingly. But still my stomach churned, even as I settled down on the laptop to check some email and do a little extra work. I felt the dread of coming home to the furniture in shreds and destruction equivalent to Hiroshima wreaked by the fearsome trio. It was gnawing at me all day. I kept thinking about what they were up to and how I would explain it to my friend when they got home. "See, I know you used to have this structure known as a 'house' but now it's a smoky hole in the ground..." and meanwhile the cats would be on their haunches, grinning madly and smoking cigars, pontificating how I should have been just this little bit more nice to them... perhaps then they might have left one wall standing.The reflection of my fears chewed somewhere into my imagination and I was queasy. The idea that staying with the cats was going to be relaxing was gone. Now I just worried. Since they weren't my cats it made the stress quadruple.
Pets are often a worry, even more so when they aren't yours. You have a permanent lump in the back of your throat.
So thinking back with a fresh mind and clarity of space, I began to wonder if there weren't ways to relieve these stresses. Certainly one way is to dress up and go out for a night on the town. But no matter what they do they come home. Sometimes I go online, with the same dread, someone has had a really bad time and I know they are going to need help. Sometimes the stress just makes you lie in bed, the covers pulled up. It's not an easy solution.
But in thinking back I always remain hopeful that the light at the end of a tunnel is not a train headed back at me. Sometimes it feels like it is. But my fluid nature allows me also to feel a little more at ease, a little more sensitive of the time I need to spend for myself. So I plan some different activities for this weekend to take my mind off of everything, catch up on rest and perhaps just take an evening out.
We can't escape these stressful things, but I am sure going to do my best to avoid them for the next few days! :-)
The cats are friendly to me, they greet me and meow greetings. They rub furniture and my legs. They act so adorable. But once they eat, the dark side comes out. They gallop through the house I am surprised they don't break the sound barrier. They attack each other and chase each other. The words "settle down" have no meaning, nor any effect. It's a fruitless gesture to try. The worst parts are treated to a stint in a closed room for them to settle down and calm their nerves.
This week has given me some pause, truth be told for other things in life you might take for granted. For example, one might decide that some things are stressful and they become not so stressful when you take them into context with other things. I figured this week would be relaxing and relatively care-free. I knew the cats were used to being up early and that was no problem (I get up early anyway). But an increased commute meant I had to plan to leave earlier, have less time when I did finally get home, and then have to contend with two of the three playing a little rough.
I got there Saturday afternoon after they had left and was curious to discover the fiercest one was abjectly afraid of me. She is a very pretty cat, but she is VERY active. She's the feline equivalent of a Dyson vacuum as well. But once feeding time came around she grew fond of me. In other words the threat disappeared when she saw I was not threatening and I was giving them something they wanted. They are not overly affectionate, but to me they weren't really aggressive either. It was a neutral gray area.
So what does this have to do with anything, you might ask?
In the past week I have come across others who are stressed out, circumstances at home, with the family and so on. It's interesting thing. I knew I would be under more of a load at work, since we are short-staffed. But I thought the peace of coming home to three cats and being able to relax, chill out and have some well-deserved dinner were shattered quickly. The fact was that once I stopped at my "real" home I was able to just feel the ebb of relaxation, even knowing how I was going to have to go back and my stomach churned. What if the cats were hurt? What if there was a problem with the house? What if... the list goes on. And my friend was unreachable by any means for a long span of time. The supposed quiet peace of chilling, relaxing, sipping on a cold beverage and unwinding on a comfy sofa in front of a TV... they all vanished. Literally almost like they were the puffy seeds of a dandelion wafting downwind to their new homes. Poof, gone.
The idea that things could be "relaxing" were replaced with the dread, going home to what...? Naturally the female side of me expressed abject concerns for their behavior and I finally called my friend just before they departed. They laughed after I expressed my fears about them. "They are like that, it's fine." Still queasy, I then talked to my friend's partner and there was laughter on the other end of the phone "they are used to being by themselves all day, they will be okay," they said comfortingly. But still my stomach churned, even as I settled down on the laptop to check some email and do a little extra work. I felt the dread of coming home to the furniture in shreds and destruction equivalent to Hiroshima wreaked by the fearsome trio. It was gnawing at me all day. I kept thinking about what they were up to and how I would explain it to my friend when they got home. "See, I know you used to have this structure known as a 'house' but now it's a smoky hole in the ground..." and meanwhile the cats would be on their haunches, grinning madly and smoking cigars, pontificating how I should have been just this little bit more nice to them... perhaps then they might have left one wall standing.The reflection of my fears chewed somewhere into my imagination and I was queasy. The idea that staying with the cats was going to be relaxing was gone. Now I just worried. Since they weren't my cats it made the stress quadruple.
Pets are often a worry, even more so when they aren't yours. You have a permanent lump in the back of your throat.
So thinking back with a fresh mind and clarity of space, I began to wonder if there weren't ways to relieve these stresses. Certainly one way is to dress up and go out for a night on the town. But no matter what they do they come home. Sometimes I go online, with the same dread, someone has had a really bad time and I know they are going to need help. Sometimes the stress just makes you lie in bed, the covers pulled up. It's not an easy solution.
But in thinking back I always remain hopeful that the light at the end of a tunnel is not a train headed back at me. Sometimes it feels like it is. But my fluid nature allows me also to feel a little more at ease, a little more sensitive of the time I need to spend for myself. So I plan some different activities for this weekend to take my mind off of everything, catch up on rest and perhaps just take an evening out.
We can't escape these stressful things, but I am sure going to do my best to avoid them for the next few days! :-)
Monday, March 26, 2012
Island in a Confusing Stream (Part One)
It's funny how people will tell you "nothing is in black & white" or "cut and dry doesn't exist" or whatever. Take a prism and a beam of sunlight, you'll see an explosion of all the visible colors exploding forth from what looks like a single intense beam of the purest white light. A princess bride, walking down her aisle, her hair, makeup and dress so perfect, so right, so, well, perfect. And then the prism shifts our perspective and in a flash that exterior perfection is made up of so many other details glossed over by the prettiness of her appearance is augmented, shifted, subtly changed by the facts of her background, her life and her spirit. Makeup, a pretty dress and hair done to perfection can cloud our eyes to the inner realms of what the lady is like outside of such formal attire and circumstances.
In many cultures, people are obsessed with beauty. A man needs to be handsome and debonair, ripped abs and oiled, tanned skin, preferably in a skimpy bathing suit. A woman needs to have unblemished skin, long flowing hair and a thin, curvy body that seems to crave the beach and overwhelms nearby butterflies and small children.
I've said it before, I don't believe any of us ever fit into that category of beauty. We can't have others see us through a set of rose-colored Photoshop glasses in real life. We don't fit into one position or the other. Some people have a terrific outgoing personality and are very loving and sensual, but they have an issue with their weight. Others have an "eleven on a ten scale" body, a vision of loveliness but their personality is acrid, scathing, rude and even bigoted. There are so many shades of human character and personality.
I'm not dwelling on the physical beauty and personality traits of human culture, but I wanted to draw your attention to it because I personally believe gender is the same way. We are put into a box because we "have a Y chromosome" or we have genitals that are defined as 'male' or 'female'. Our gender identity is based on a physical manifestation of something only the person inside can actually feel.
For example:
Most people will look at the photo and try to guess 'are these people male or are they female". Admit it, you found yourself thinking that. You found yourself thinking that way as well... it's human nature to classify and want to organize your thoughts to fit a certain specific set of equations that you may or may not actually believe you have the answers to. You become uncertain, rather as Darwin did when voyaging on the Beagle. Did this creatures come about by chance or were there larger forces at work to sculpt them into the shapes and forms and features that his direct scientific observation found by looking at what he saw with his own eyes. Admit it, you don't know what you are seeing, totally, as fitting into a gender-conforming idyll. You may or may not want to but you do. You classify the people in the picture as "Gee, I think that's..." or "I'm almost positive that...", etc.
I don't conform either. I admit that. I look at the photos and I see a human being, who perhaps being a lot like me, perhaps doesn't feel they fit into that mold. I have a friend who is growing their hair out and long (and it is beautiful hair as well) and they get met with ignorant phrases like "dudette". I can't express how terrible this is that a person can treat another this way. I tend to rather think if they were built like Lou Ferrigno in the days of 'The Incredible Hulk' or they were, perhaps carrying a machete or a machine gun, the reaction would be subdued and respectful. Because you can taunt someone else you feel empowered, but the truth is the taunters feel cheap and hollow inside, so they try to drive up the ante of popularity by laughing at someone else. The others in a group often feel just as uneasy and they laugh nervously at the presupposed 'witticism'.
I find myself a blend, a mixture of feelings. Although I always felt myself as being internally geared to be female, I am also geared in a male way as well. I have feelings that blur and reshape the gender boundaries. My gender expression is leaning more and more to the androgynous, I want to wear what I am comfortable in. I am lucky that I got to know a person who is very similar in how they feel and it got me thinking. Later I expressed a whole whale of different feelings and questions to another friend. They expressed, not that this should be a shocker, that they "didn't understand how I could move back and forth" and yet they still supported me and tried to equate their feelings with how I felt. I don't feel black and white, cut and dry. Unless you have been there or are going through this, you don't get it. "Oh, but you MUST be one or the other, darling," is a typical exclamation. You can't be expected to play for both teams, you must choose. "Du mußt Amboß oder Hammer sein." You cannot be both! That is strictly forbidden.
Yet somehow I sense in myself that I ebb and flow, a stream of consciousness that is not binary. The weather rarely is, why should I be? Because I have that inner feminine creature, a beauty to be sure, I can't have that exterior creature as well. Someone said it's because of the "male privilege" but I don't think it's that. It's more complex than that.- I know some of the factors in that as-yet-unsolved equation. I don't have all the answers, probably I never will.
But for someone who is always being told or thought of as one or the other, I am neither. I am lucky that most of the aspects of maleness passed me by, I believe that my inner self spared me the ravages of being "macho" and "rough and tough" and instead washed me in sensitivity and caring, nurturing my way through life instead of driving a steamroller over it. Androgynous people have always been a, and I apologize if this is "TMI", a big turn-on for me.
This person again makes you question, makes you wonder, even though you are once again classifying this person asking which gender this person is. Instead of looking at who this person is. I see a person who can blend both genders into one. I find people like this deeply attractive, not for the basic surface things like hair, makeup, clothes, etc. but that the person is perhaps feeling a little like both are an expression of their true selves. They are not "in a box". They have been described as having the best of both worlds and it is true.
We are so used to the classification systems that we grew up learning. I hear this time and again "girls play with dolls, boys play with trucks." I was often the "mother" character growing up. I was comfortable liking that role and being in that persona. I was not vilifying my supposed gender by pretending to be something I am not. I am probably more 'genderqueer' in reality that I supposed. As I aged, I was informed that this was not how things were. Boys didn't want to dress up as women for Halloween. Feeling comfortable in silky lingerie was taboo. People laughed at you because you were different. You were taunted, bullied, harassed and pushed around. Sounds like any other non-"normal" black and white group. If you weren't heterosexual you were outcast. If you were a girl who wore all black, Doc Martin's and jeans all the time, you were an outcast. If you were supposed to be "a man" and you like wearing girl's clothes, you were an outcast. I am surprised more weren't in the outcast group since it seemed like anything you did that was slightly different would be all over the place in next to no time at all.
I thought and feel so many different feelings, it is hard to keep it all in one blog... this one I need to continue. In the meantime feel free to rethink those gender "norms" and don't be afraid to love the person you are, even if you don't fit in entirely with what people would have you be.
(TO BE CONTINUED...........)
In many cultures, people are obsessed with beauty. A man needs to be handsome and debonair, ripped abs and oiled, tanned skin, preferably in a skimpy bathing suit. A woman needs to have unblemished skin, long flowing hair and a thin, curvy body that seems to crave the beach and overwhelms nearby butterflies and small children.
I've said it before, I don't believe any of us ever fit into that category of beauty. We can't have others see us through a set of rose-colored Photoshop glasses in real life. We don't fit into one position or the other. Some people have a terrific outgoing personality and are very loving and sensual, but they have an issue with their weight. Others have an "eleven on a ten scale" body, a vision of loveliness but their personality is acrid, scathing, rude and even bigoted. There are so many shades of human character and personality.
I'm not dwelling on the physical beauty and personality traits of human culture, but I wanted to draw your attention to it because I personally believe gender is the same way. We are put into a box because we "have a Y chromosome" or we have genitals that are defined as 'male' or 'female'. Our gender identity is based on a physical manifestation of something only the person inside can actually feel.
For example:
Most people will look at the photo and try to guess 'are these people male or are they female". Admit it, you found yourself thinking that. You found yourself thinking that way as well... it's human nature to classify and want to organize your thoughts to fit a certain specific set of equations that you may or may not actually believe you have the answers to. You become uncertain, rather as Darwin did when voyaging on the Beagle. Did this creatures come about by chance or were there larger forces at work to sculpt them into the shapes and forms and features that his direct scientific observation found by looking at what he saw with his own eyes. Admit it, you don't know what you are seeing, totally, as fitting into a gender-conforming idyll. You may or may not want to but you do. You classify the people in the picture as "Gee, I think that's..." or "I'm almost positive that...", etc.
I don't conform either. I admit that. I look at the photos and I see a human being, who perhaps being a lot like me, perhaps doesn't feel they fit into that mold. I have a friend who is growing their hair out and long (and it is beautiful hair as well) and they get met with ignorant phrases like "dudette". I can't express how terrible this is that a person can treat another this way. I tend to rather think if they were built like Lou Ferrigno in the days of 'The Incredible Hulk' or they were, perhaps carrying a machete or a machine gun, the reaction would be subdued and respectful. Because you can taunt someone else you feel empowered, but the truth is the taunters feel cheap and hollow inside, so they try to drive up the ante of popularity by laughing at someone else. The others in a group often feel just as uneasy and they laugh nervously at the presupposed 'witticism'.
I find myself a blend, a mixture of feelings. Although I always felt myself as being internally geared to be female, I am also geared in a male way as well. I have feelings that blur and reshape the gender boundaries. My gender expression is leaning more and more to the androgynous, I want to wear what I am comfortable in. I am lucky that I got to know a person who is very similar in how they feel and it got me thinking. Later I expressed a whole whale of different feelings and questions to another friend. They expressed, not that this should be a shocker, that they "didn't understand how I could move back and forth" and yet they still supported me and tried to equate their feelings with how I felt. I don't feel black and white, cut and dry. Unless you have been there or are going through this, you don't get it. "Oh, but you MUST be one or the other, darling," is a typical exclamation. You can't be expected to play for both teams, you must choose. "Du mußt Amboß oder Hammer sein." You cannot be both! That is strictly forbidden.
Yet somehow I sense in myself that I ebb and flow, a stream of consciousness that is not binary. The weather rarely is, why should I be? Because I have that inner feminine creature, a beauty to be sure, I can't have that exterior creature as well. Someone said it's because of the "male privilege" but I don't think it's that. It's more complex than that.- I know some of the factors in that as-yet-unsolved equation. I don't have all the answers, probably I never will.
But for someone who is always being told or thought of as one or the other, I am neither. I am lucky that most of the aspects of maleness passed me by, I believe that my inner self spared me the ravages of being "macho" and "rough and tough" and instead washed me in sensitivity and caring, nurturing my way through life instead of driving a steamroller over it. Androgynous people have always been a, and I apologize if this is "TMI", a big turn-on for me.
We are so used to the classification systems that we grew up learning. I hear this time and again "girls play with dolls, boys play with trucks." I was often the "mother" character growing up. I was comfortable liking that role and being in that persona. I was not vilifying my supposed gender by pretending to be something I am not. I am probably more 'genderqueer' in reality that I supposed. As I aged, I was informed that this was not how things were. Boys didn't want to dress up as women for Halloween. Feeling comfortable in silky lingerie was taboo. People laughed at you because you were different. You were taunted, bullied, harassed and pushed around. Sounds like any other non-"normal" black and white group. If you weren't heterosexual you were outcast. If you were a girl who wore all black, Doc Martin's and jeans all the time, you were an outcast. If you were supposed to be "a man" and you like wearing girl's clothes, you were an outcast. I am surprised more weren't in the outcast group since it seemed like anything you did that was slightly different would be all over the place in next to no time at all.
I thought and feel so many different feelings, it is hard to keep it all in one blog... this one I need to continue. In the meantime feel free to rethink those gender "norms" and don't be afraid to love the person you are, even if you don't fit in entirely with what people would have you be.
(TO BE CONTINUED...........)
Saturday, March 10, 2012
The Eye of the Beholder
I wanted to take a moment (or several lol) to make a commentary on appearance. I have a good friend in mind here but I will not use her real name. I'll just call her Lady.
Lady recently wrote to me expressing how lovely she thought I looked in an outfit I had picked out for a night out with my sisters. It was a very simple outfit, a blue velvet top with peek-a-boo shoulders, skinny jeans and a simple belt. Topped off with a nice set of boots I was ready for the evening.
We had a lot of fun that night, it was enjoyable to be out as myself and chat with friends. Too soon the evening was over and it was back to the daily grind for us. It was a wonderful feeling to be out.
Fast forward to now. Lady writes how I should be wearing a nice skirt and tights (she's got a good point) to show off my legs. She compliments my style and flatters me with lovely compliments I blush over. She wants to see me show off my legs and be out as myself. She has done a lot to uplift me (and I am sure she has more coming).
I've been told that I have some very feminine qualities which is wonderful to hear because I was never allowed to express them. I was always afraid to show my legs, even in shorts, because I never liked them. But adorned with pantyhose and a nice skirt, they aren't too bad at all. Almost attractive :-)
When I 'protested' that she wasn't showing her legs, she commented on all sorts of reasons why. I can respect a girl who is contentious of her weight and size but I need to say something: a person's size matters not. It's the size of their heart that really counts.
In the trans landscape we are often viciously critical of our own bodies and we cannot see how we look to outsiders. Sometimes I look at my photos and wonder just what do they see in me that I cannot see in myself? Tough question.
So when others say this about themselves, I can quickly find myriad reasons for hope. You have beautiful hair! Look at that wonderful dress you have! Why your eyes are simply astonishing! I don't hesitate to see or speak of it. And yet I put it away when I look inwards, at myself. I only see what poison I was fed for so many years and shrink from feeling like adjectives such as beautiful, gorgeous, amazing or, dare I say it - sexy, apply to me.
My dear Lady even went out of her way to say I should be strutting on the catwalk. I got the sense of Right Said Fred singing I'm Too Sexy and saying how he would shake his "little tush" on the catwalk. I felt it wasn't really me, I wasn't the stuff catwalks are made of. However if Lady were strutting her stuff I would be cheering her on and, if I could manage it, whistling cat calls from the audience. I'm like that.
So when she mentioned that she needed to get photos up of herself and how she felt like she was not as pretty as she would like, Again, I felt like she was saying she had no beauty, despite her deep inner wondrous beauty. I was not ready to let her fall to the forces of darkness all to prevalent in our lives. She wanted to hide away, content to be a cheerleader to others when she may not be aware that we would be equally cheering her on. I know self-image is a sore point with so many, especially women, and it doesn't need to be. We need to stop obsessing over what makes us 'sexy' and 'feminine' and instead focus on what makes us what we are: HUMAN.
So her words caused an immediate reaction, one of support and friendship, but it brings me to another point: why can't I see that in myself? Truth be told I guess it's because I hid everything away in shame, embarrassment and fear that I could never see what I was capable of. It was quite shocking in some aspects.
In the lyrics of 'Heroine' we see this:
Alone, thy will be done
confessed, but you still feel the shame
To me I was always alone, I confessed to myself that I was living the idea of deep shame. I wasn't supposed to act, or be this way! The killer is being alone.
When Lady - or indeed any of my friends feel this way - I am subconsciously reminded that I was in the same boat. Indeed I still am in many ways. I immediately leap forward to say what I need to say, to support and encourage them. I don't ever want to have someone feel they are ugly, despised or alone. I don't work that way. It's part of my inner girl. My Samantha.
So Lady, if you read this, and I sincerely hope you will, I hope that my words will mean something to you. You need to bring your light out into the world and never fear the judgement. Those that judge you based on your height, weight, or appearance are all more shallow than a small puddle that appears after a spring shower. The ones who love, care about and respect you have hearts deeper than the sea. Deeper than the depths of the Universe, because we all see the real you and the real you is so beautiful!!
I promise I shall try to see myself in a better light and uplift myself as well. Perhaps one day those glorious legs you seek shall make their appearance on the catwalk of life and the smiles and hugs shared will be worth it all. We are both special and you have no idea until you stop putting yourself in a box others make for you. I promise I shall do my darnedest to make sure I do - and you need to do the same!
Keep smiling, dear Lady, for you are one special woman and you ARE beautiful... inside and out!!
Lady recently wrote to me expressing how lovely she thought I looked in an outfit I had picked out for a night out with my sisters. It was a very simple outfit, a blue velvet top with peek-a-boo shoulders, skinny jeans and a simple belt. Topped off with a nice set of boots I was ready for the evening.
We had a lot of fun that night, it was enjoyable to be out as myself and chat with friends. Too soon the evening was over and it was back to the daily grind for us. It was a wonderful feeling to be out.
Fast forward to now. Lady writes how I should be wearing a nice skirt and tights (she's got a good point) to show off my legs. She compliments my style and flatters me with lovely compliments I blush over. She wants to see me show off my legs and be out as myself. She has done a lot to uplift me (and I am sure she has more coming).
I've been told that I have some very feminine qualities which is wonderful to hear because I was never allowed to express them. I was always afraid to show my legs, even in shorts, because I never liked them. But adorned with pantyhose and a nice skirt, they aren't too bad at all. Almost attractive :-)
When I 'protested' that she wasn't showing her legs, she commented on all sorts of reasons why. I can respect a girl who is contentious of her weight and size but I need to say something: a person's size matters not. It's the size of their heart that really counts.
In the trans landscape we are often viciously critical of our own bodies and we cannot see how we look to outsiders. Sometimes I look at my photos and wonder just what do they see in me that I cannot see in myself? Tough question.
So when others say this about themselves, I can quickly find myriad reasons for hope. You have beautiful hair! Look at that wonderful dress you have! Why your eyes are simply astonishing! I don't hesitate to see or speak of it. And yet I put it away when I look inwards, at myself. I only see what poison I was fed for so many years and shrink from feeling like adjectives such as beautiful, gorgeous, amazing or, dare I say it - sexy, apply to me.
My dear Lady even went out of her way to say I should be strutting on the catwalk. I got the sense of Right Said Fred singing I'm Too Sexy and saying how he would shake his "little tush" on the catwalk. I felt it wasn't really me, I wasn't the stuff catwalks are made of. However if Lady were strutting her stuff I would be cheering her on and, if I could manage it, whistling cat calls from the audience. I'm like that.
So when she mentioned that she needed to get photos up of herself and how she felt like she was not as pretty as she would like, Again, I felt like she was saying she had no beauty, despite her deep inner wondrous beauty. I was not ready to let her fall to the forces of darkness all to prevalent in our lives. She wanted to hide away, content to be a cheerleader to others when she may not be aware that we would be equally cheering her on. I know self-image is a sore point with so many, especially women, and it doesn't need to be. We need to stop obsessing over what makes us 'sexy' and 'feminine' and instead focus on what makes us what we are: HUMAN.
So her words caused an immediate reaction, one of support and friendship, but it brings me to another point: why can't I see that in myself? Truth be told I guess it's because I hid everything away in shame, embarrassment and fear that I could never see what I was capable of. It was quite shocking in some aspects.
In the lyrics of 'Heroine' we see this:
Alone, thy will be done
confessed, but you still feel the shame
To me I was always alone, I confessed to myself that I was living the idea of deep shame. I wasn't supposed to act, or be this way! The killer is being alone.
When Lady - or indeed any of my friends feel this way - I am subconsciously reminded that I was in the same boat. Indeed I still am in many ways. I immediately leap forward to say what I need to say, to support and encourage them. I don't ever want to have someone feel they are ugly, despised or alone. I don't work that way. It's part of my inner girl. My Samantha.
So Lady, if you read this, and I sincerely hope you will, I hope that my words will mean something to you. You need to bring your light out into the world and never fear the judgement. Those that judge you based on your height, weight, or appearance are all more shallow than a small puddle that appears after a spring shower. The ones who love, care about and respect you have hearts deeper than the sea. Deeper than the depths of the Universe, because we all see the real you and the real you is so beautiful!!
I promise I shall try to see myself in a better light and uplift myself as well. Perhaps one day those glorious legs you seek shall make their appearance on the catwalk of life and the smiles and hugs shared will be worth it all. We are both special and you have no idea until you stop putting yourself in a box others make for you. I promise I shall do my darnedest to make sure I do - and you need to do the same!
Keep smiling, dear Lady, for you are one special woman and you ARE beautiful... inside and out!!
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Oh Brother, where are thou?
We get lost...we become totally afraid and hide the truth from ourselves. Being lost is the worst feeling ever.
Today my young brother was very distraught, in anguish and in pain. Of course his sister was distraught as well and wanted to help him see where he was and what a special young chap he is.
When I was a kid, I hated who I was and I never had anyone who could explain why I was feeling like hanging out with other girls was OK. Why was I the 'mommy' when playing house with my best friend (who was a girl). Why was I OK accepting being a weak boy who never wanted to do much more than cry and bawl when their feelings were hurt. Why was it that I couldn't see, and hate, who I was back then and use it to become a strong, beefy man? Why, oh why?
Because it wasn't who I am.
My dear brother expressed a lot of anguish in a few heartfelt posts about who they felt they were not. And I knew immediately the feelings behind those words. I hate being the awkward girl, the not very girly woman who doesn't often fit in. She's not the most beautiful gal at the prom.
But when I thought this way my sister Kathy wrote 'you have a wonderful heart and a great personality". And my young brother is the same way. He's got this incredible light inside him that he can't see, yet. But I can!
Today as we got pelted with rain and slushy snow dissolved all over the place, the gray blanket stretched overhead like a tarp, I went to the kitchen to get something. I looked down for a moment and there, stretched across the floor, was a beam of sunlight. It was if nature was trying to say that the comforts I told my young brother were the right thing to do. It was if the clouds parted at that moment to remind me how wonderful it can be to be a strong and wonderful presence to another transgender human being.
Tears were exchanged through this heartfelt dialog but I never want to give up. I want to be his strength when he needs it, as his has built me up when I needed it. It was like I was seeing myself years ago and instead of hiding and trembling, I was ready to step forward and reach out my hand to someone who is going through what I went through.
Once upon a time I hated me. Once upon a time I thought I was a freak, an abomination and afraid of being seen in the fact that I liked to dress like a girl. I was alone, in the dark, afraid. I was hating myself. I contemplated suicide many times.
My brother now makes me see why I never could go through with it... it was our destiny to come together, over time, and make that connection. It was like the sun broke through the clouds of depression and shined a light on me that I couldn't fathom and he hasn't yet seen to it's full glory. That day will come.
So as I write this, I see the parallels. I tried hard to be a 'man' and buck up, but it never made me fit in. I wasn't the 'manly man' and now I know why. I wasn't born that way. But my brother sees in himself people he would rather not. I do to. When I look a certain way I cringe, I see my mom in me and she is not accepting. My family isn't. It's a tough place to be.
So when my brother says what I saw in me, I get that gut-punch reaction. I was in that place, afraid and cringing. Asking the powers that be WHY? WHY DO I WANT TO BE A WOMAN? WHY CAN'T I JUST BE 'NORMAL'??? Then his words hit me like a ton of bricks.
He didn't want to feel this way, he didn't want to show the world how wonderful HE was because HE couldn't see how special he was. When I felt the strongest anti-female feelings, I was alone. Afraid. I didn't have friends that would understand. I was ready to call it quits.
He's got so many friends looking over him, caring and concerned. It's like we are his guardian angels. I'm so happy that we connected no matter what. It's like the light of being who I really am is bursting forth like those sunbeams breaking through. A special young man needs some love, a lot of support and friends who care and love him.
And his sister loves him!
Today my young brother was very distraught, in anguish and in pain. Of course his sister was distraught as well and wanted to help him see where he was and what a special young chap he is.
When I was a kid, I hated who I was and I never had anyone who could explain why I was feeling like hanging out with other girls was OK. Why was I the 'mommy' when playing house with my best friend (who was a girl). Why was I OK accepting being a weak boy who never wanted to do much more than cry and bawl when their feelings were hurt. Why was it that I couldn't see, and hate, who I was back then and use it to become a strong, beefy man? Why, oh why?
Because it wasn't who I am.
My dear brother expressed a lot of anguish in a few heartfelt posts about who they felt they were not. And I knew immediately the feelings behind those words. I hate being the awkward girl, the not very girly woman who doesn't often fit in. She's not the most beautiful gal at the prom.
But when I thought this way my sister Kathy wrote 'you have a wonderful heart and a great personality". And my young brother is the same way. He's got this incredible light inside him that he can't see, yet. But I can!
Today as we got pelted with rain and slushy snow dissolved all over the place, the gray blanket stretched overhead like a tarp, I went to the kitchen to get something. I looked down for a moment and there, stretched across the floor, was a beam of sunlight. It was if nature was trying to say that the comforts I told my young brother were the right thing to do. It was if the clouds parted at that moment to remind me how wonderful it can be to be a strong and wonderful presence to another transgender human being.
Tears were exchanged through this heartfelt dialog but I never want to give up. I want to be his strength when he needs it, as his has built me up when I needed it. It was like I was seeing myself years ago and instead of hiding and trembling, I was ready to step forward and reach out my hand to someone who is going through what I went through.
Once upon a time I hated me. Once upon a time I thought I was a freak, an abomination and afraid of being seen in the fact that I liked to dress like a girl. I was alone, in the dark, afraid. I was hating myself. I contemplated suicide many times.
My brother now makes me see why I never could go through with it... it was our destiny to come together, over time, and make that connection. It was like the sun broke through the clouds of depression and shined a light on me that I couldn't fathom and he hasn't yet seen to it's full glory. That day will come.
So as I write this, I see the parallels. I tried hard to be a 'man' and buck up, but it never made me fit in. I wasn't the 'manly man' and now I know why. I wasn't born that way. But my brother sees in himself people he would rather not. I do to. When I look a certain way I cringe, I see my mom in me and she is not accepting. My family isn't. It's a tough place to be.
So when my brother says what I saw in me, I get that gut-punch reaction. I was in that place, afraid and cringing. Asking the powers that be WHY? WHY DO I WANT TO BE A WOMAN? WHY CAN'T I JUST BE 'NORMAL'??? Then his words hit me like a ton of bricks.
He didn't want to feel this way, he didn't want to show the world how wonderful HE was because HE couldn't see how special he was. When I felt the strongest anti-female feelings, I was alone. Afraid. I didn't have friends that would understand. I was ready to call it quits.
He's got so many friends looking over him, caring and concerned. It's like we are his guardian angels. I'm so happy that we connected no matter what. It's like the light of being who I really am is bursting forth like those sunbeams breaking through. A special young man needs some love, a lot of support and friends who care and love him.
And his sister loves him!
Thursday, March 1, 2012
A Fine Young Man
Once in a great while you come across someone who just makes your heart leap a little, their kindness, friendship and support make your pulse speed up a little thinking the ultimate question: What if...?
Here I mean the type of camaraderie that comes from a new and wonderful friendship, a person whom you can show some of your experience to help guide them forward in their own life. And they in turn, younger and with more energy than these old bones can often muster, excitedly talks about their path ahead.
"I just want to be the best man I can be..." he says, a hopeful tinge to the words - as if uncertain it's possible.
It IS possible, it DOES happen and it WILL happen!!
This much is truth: we often take aim at ourselves as others do to us. The people who should back us up take a reeling stance backwards and we recoil from that almost physical blow). It's happen to a lot of us. Acceptance isn't something you can pick up in a hardware store or a grocery aisle.
So thinking about my own life and direction, this young, sweet gentleman comes along talking about his goals and wishes. He's fully supportive of me, and I of him. He's feeling down and sad because his parents aren't yet seeing what this young man sees. It's the same as the female I see in me. This young man reminds me of a younger me. Caring, sweet and a lover of nature. But whereas I was painfully shy and avoided talking to people, he's talked about going out, cutting their hair and finding that path to their personal journey. It's the same all around us, the whole transgender population. Each of us figuring out things on our own, but there's our friends supporting us and helping us.
This fine young man has a world opening up like a chrysanthemum showing it's beauty. The future is bright and full of hope, this gentleman is excited and eager to start new steps toward his ultimate goals.
He hopes he has the strength to make it. Men are usually known for strength, vitality and confidence. It's why I didn't make a very good one. But this young man, despite the challenges he knows are there, he holds his head up, dreams of HRT and becoming the man he is, way down inside.
I don't know a lot of FTM's but I have gotten to know two really amazing ones. One just told us "I've got facial hair now!!" and we were all so happy (I'd gladly donate mine lol). This young man, truly sweet, is starting on that journey, a journey that will have ups and downs, but in order to be who we NEED to be, we sometimes have to "fly in the face of convention". His words made me consider my own situation. I was reminded of myself in younger days by reading the words he says, hopeful and excited, charged full of energy. He is like looking at me in younger days, in some aspects. If I could, I would give him that chance, but I can give my support, my friendship, my hugs from afar or close by.
So when he tells me "I just want to be the best man I can be..." all I can say is this:
You already are, sweet young gentleman, you already are!
Hugs!!
Here I mean the type of camaraderie that comes from a new and wonderful friendship, a person whom you can show some of your experience to help guide them forward in their own life. And they in turn, younger and with more energy than these old bones can often muster, excitedly talks about their path ahead.
"I just want to be the best man I can be..." he says, a hopeful tinge to the words - as if uncertain it's possible.
It IS possible, it DOES happen and it WILL happen!!
This much is truth: we often take aim at ourselves as others do to us. The people who should back us up take a reeling stance backwards and we recoil from that almost physical blow). It's happen to a lot of us. Acceptance isn't something you can pick up in a hardware store or a grocery aisle.
So thinking about my own life and direction, this young, sweet gentleman comes along talking about his goals and wishes. He's fully supportive of me, and I of him. He's feeling down and sad because his parents aren't yet seeing what this young man sees. It's the same as the female I see in me. This young man reminds me of a younger me. Caring, sweet and a lover of nature. But whereas I was painfully shy and avoided talking to people, he's talked about going out, cutting their hair and finding that path to their personal journey. It's the same all around us, the whole transgender population. Each of us figuring out things on our own, but there's our friends supporting us and helping us.
This fine young man has a world opening up like a chrysanthemum showing it's beauty. The future is bright and full of hope, this gentleman is excited and eager to start new steps toward his ultimate goals.
He hopes he has the strength to make it. Men are usually known for strength, vitality and confidence. It's why I didn't make a very good one. But this young man, despite the challenges he knows are there, he holds his head up, dreams of HRT and becoming the man he is, way down inside.
I don't know a lot of FTM's but I have gotten to know two really amazing ones. One just told us "I've got facial hair now!!" and we were all so happy (I'd gladly donate mine lol). This young man, truly sweet, is starting on that journey, a journey that will have ups and downs, but in order to be who we NEED to be, we sometimes have to "fly in the face of convention". His words made me consider my own situation. I was reminded of myself in younger days by reading the words he says, hopeful and excited, charged full of energy. He is like looking at me in younger days, in some aspects. If I could, I would give him that chance, but I can give my support, my friendship, my hugs from afar or close by.
So when he tells me "I just want to be the best man I can be..." all I can say is this:
You already are, sweet young gentleman, you already are!
Hugs!!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Leap Day...
Once in a while there comes an event that is rare, or at least uncommon. In this case the event is called February 29th. Normally it only happens once every 4 years, but sometimes it's once every 8... (don't ask, I didn't invent it).
Because the Earth takes 365 and 1/4 days to travel once around the sun means we accrue an extra day every 4 years, so the leap year day was added (it would be nice if if was June 31st say, but I digress...). But when it's evenly divisible by 400 (as was the year 2000) there isn't. Again... I didn't invent it! However, part of me wonders where the missing leap days got to (so far it's minor, only 2 days since the Gregorian calendar was implemented, 1600 and 2000, but small adds up over time)?
Anyway, I am not making this a lesson on 2/29 or the insane jealousy I fee for people born on 2/29 that age 1 year every 4 (it makes waiting to drink and vote and drive a car really hard but after that it tends to help out a lot). :-)
Speaking of leaps, I had a bizarre dream the night before last and I am hard pressed to really explain it. I'll skip most of the details, but it was like an out-of-body experience for me at first (like I was a camera filming a documentary). There was something like 'American Idol' where several runners-up (male and female paired, like you'd see in a wedding party). Then the winners (rather like a bride and groom, the girl was in a nice white dress and the man was in a tux) were announced. They stood in between the row of runners-up, the girls to the winners left, the guys to the winners right. They stood in the middle like a bride and groom. Then (hence the title) I was in the woman's body as her name was announced. I was her. I stepped forward and gave a curtsey and waved, thanking the applauding crowd. I then stepped back (hoping I would not tip over in my heels) and the man was announced. As he stepped forward to acknowledge the crowd, I leaped again, back to that roving 'eye of the camera' perspective as chairs were set up and people kept talking about arranging them.
People milled about and were all talking about how everything had to be 'just right'. I remember not knowing what was happening until a woman said (women always have smarts like that) "everything needs to be perfect for when Galvin McLeod and the 'Love Boat' crew arrive."
Seriously.
I have NO idea where that came from. Sure, I had watched it as a kid before the behind the sofa peeping of Ricardo Montalban's liquid oozing and overly creepy appearance on 'Fantasy Island'. It's not like I was stuffing my stockings with DVD copies of'Love Boat' or whistling the tune aimlessly while in the toilet stalls of public bathrooms. I don't serenade people with the lyrics from ancient history when shows were recorded on 1" videotape and often 'spliced' together (quite literally).
The leap was the interesting thing, I was aware that I wasn't in 'a body' of any sort again, but I had seamlessly leaped into the woman's body and was fluid and graceful. It was a nice experience, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Albeit maybe a curtsey wasn't the proper thing to do nowadays, it was in olden times. But since the 'Love Boat' crew was coming (no, I never saw any of them, just the preparations to host/honor them) I supposed that maybe were on a casting call for a remake? Who knows, really (unless I have a sequel dream to it lol)?
Later on, I perceived I had "leaped" again, this time as a male. I was bustling about, trying to find some tissues to blow my nose and I was almost gasping, I couldn't breathe well (I woke up breathing fine). I was drinking some kind of lime juice thing (I think it may have had alcohol in it, but I am not certain) and trying to breathe normally.
Now, if you know anything about dreams (I profess I do not) maybe you can explain a few things to me:
1) The fact that I was having an 'out-of-body' experience - does that mean something?
2) When it came time for the woman to step forward, I was her (and conscious of it because I had seen her stand and step to the line and then I was her and stepping forward to acknowledge the applause) striding forward, curtseying and waving and thanking the audience.
3) The fact that I was so smooth, graceful and able to control myself as a woman, even negotiating in heels with relative ease.
4) The fact that right after, again I was 'out-of-body' and wherever she was I didn't see her.
5) The fact that when I "leaped" into a male body, I was having a difficult time breathing and seeking some salve to make me be able to breathe.
My gut instinct tells me that the female was graceful and accepted because my mind feels that is who I should be. As a male, I struggled to breathe, feeling constricted and fearing I would stop breathing. Does that make sense?
Getting acknowledgement of applause and whatever award I have might have been my minds way of indicating to me that I deserve some sort of acknowledgment of myself in feminine form that is lacking in male form. Could that be true?
The fact that in-between these two events I was again 'out of body' which perhaps might lead me to believe that I deserved some acknowledgment for my female side, being graceful and not hiding but being applauded, the male was behind the scenes, gasping and hidden in a back room forced to seek solace in whatever way they could - and perhaps my mind (or subconscious) had a lot to do with telling me that as a woman I could be more accepted and awarded than as a male.
On the other hand, is it me trying to convince myself now, awake and lucid, that that was what I wanted to see? Hmmmm....
Questions....questions....questions...
I know that in the land of dreams, as vivid and lifelike as they may seem, the mind is wresting itself from the day-to-day onslaught, trying to push questions out of the murk of the what if to the 'reality' of life. Dreaming of being a woman is nothing new. Dreaming very vividly of being a woman and waking in a sad state of disappointment has happened as well. Often I will wake up and wonder is this the day? The day I awake and realize that I am a complete woman? Those having undergone SRS will attest that they felt that way, awakening and realizing that the physical manifestations were correct and having to spend the rest of the time complimenting that with the quintessential inside, because if you only look at the skin, you are ignoring the true value of a person. Beauty is WAY more than skin deep!
So on this Leap Day, I have this compunction to wonder how the journey progresses and what the next big leap shall be. One thing is for sure, it will be interesting, and it won't star the cast of 'Love Boat' :-)
Hugs until next time!
Because the Earth takes 365 and 1/4 days to travel once around the sun means we accrue an extra day every 4 years, so the leap year day was added (it would be nice if if was June 31st say, but I digress...). But when it's evenly divisible by 400 (as was the year 2000) there isn't. Again... I didn't invent it! However, part of me wonders where the missing leap days got to (so far it's minor, only 2 days since the Gregorian calendar was implemented, 1600 and 2000, but small adds up over time)?
Anyway, I am not making this a lesson on 2/29 or the insane jealousy I fee for people born on 2/29 that age 1 year every 4 (it makes waiting to drink and vote and drive a car really hard but after that it tends to help out a lot). :-)
Speaking of leaps, I had a bizarre dream the night before last and I am hard pressed to really explain it. I'll skip most of the details, but it was like an out-of-body experience for me at first (like I was a camera filming a documentary). There was something like 'American Idol' where several runners-up (male and female paired, like you'd see in a wedding party). Then the winners (rather like a bride and groom, the girl was in a nice white dress and the man was in a tux) were announced. They stood in between the row of runners-up, the girls to the winners left, the guys to the winners right. They stood in the middle like a bride and groom. Then (hence the title) I was in the woman's body as her name was announced. I was her. I stepped forward and gave a curtsey and waved, thanking the applauding crowd. I then stepped back (hoping I would not tip over in my heels) and the man was announced. As he stepped forward to acknowledge the crowd, I leaped again, back to that roving 'eye of the camera' perspective as chairs were set up and people kept talking about arranging them.
People milled about and were all talking about how everything had to be 'just right'. I remember not knowing what was happening until a woman said (women always have smarts like that) "everything needs to be perfect for when Galvin McLeod and the 'Love Boat' crew arrive."
Seriously.
I have NO idea where that came from. Sure, I had watched it as a kid before the behind the sofa peeping of Ricardo Montalban's liquid oozing and overly creepy appearance on 'Fantasy Island'. It's not like I was stuffing my stockings with DVD copies of'Love Boat' or whistling the tune aimlessly while in the toilet stalls of public bathrooms. I don't serenade people with the lyrics from ancient history when shows were recorded on 1" videotape and often 'spliced' together (quite literally).
The leap was the interesting thing, I was aware that I wasn't in 'a body' of any sort again, but I had seamlessly leaped into the woman's body and was fluid and graceful. It was a nice experience, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Albeit maybe a curtsey wasn't the proper thing to do nowadays, it was in olden times. But since the 'Love Boat' crew was coming (no, I never saw any of them, just the preparations to host/honor them) I supposed that maybe were on a casting call for a remake? Who knows, really (unless I have a sequel dream to it lol)?
Later on, I perceived I had "leaped" again, this time as a male. I was bustling about, trying to find some tissues to blow my nose and I was almost gasping, I couldn't breathe well (I woke up breathing fine). I was drinking some kind of lime juice thing (I think it may have had alcohol in it, but I am not certain) and trying to breathe normally.
Now, if you know anything about dreams (I profess I do not) maybe you can explain a few things to me:
1) The fact that I was having an 'out-of-body' experience - does that mean something?
2) When it came time for the woman to step forward, I was her (and conscious of it because I had seen her stand and step to the line and then I was her and stepping forward to acknowledge the applause) striding forward, curtseying and waving and thanking the audience.
3) The fact that I was so smooth, graceful and able to control myself as a woman, even negotiating in heels with relative ease.
4) The fact that right after, again I was 'out-of-body' and wherever she was I didn't see her.
5) The fact that when I "leaped" into a male body, I was having a difficult time breathing and seeking some salve to make me be able to breathe.
My gut instinct tells me that the female was graceful and accepted because my mind feels that is who I should be. As a male, I struggled to breathe, feeling constricted and fearing I would stop breathing. Does that make sense?
Getting acknowledgement of applause and whatever award I have might have been my minds way of indicating to me that I deserve some sort of acknowledgment of myself in feminine form that is lacking in male form. Could that be true?
The fact that in-between these two events I was again 'out of body' which perhaps might lead me to believe that I deserved some acknowledgment for my female side, being graceful and not hiding but being applauded, the male was behind the scenes, gasping and hidden in a back room forced to seek solace in whatever way they could - and perhaps my mind (or subconscious) had a lot to do with telling me that as a woman I could be more accepted and awarded than as a male.
On the other hand, is it me trying to convince myself now, awake and lucid, that that was what I wanted to see? Hmmmm....
Questions....questions....questions...
I know that in the land of dreams, as vivid and lifelike as they may seem, the mind is wresting itself from the day-to-day onslaught, trying to push questions out of the murk of the what if to the 'reality' of life. Dreaming of being a woman is nothing new. Dreaming very vividly of being a woman and waking in a sad state of disappointment has happened as well. Often I will wake up and wonder is this the day? The day I awake and realize that I am a complete woman? Those having undergone SRS will attest that they felt that way, awakening and realizing that the physical manifestations were correct and having to spend the rest of the time complimenting that with the quintessential inside, because if you only look at the skin, you are ignoring the true value of a person. Beauty is WAY more than skin deep!
So on this Leap Day, I have this compunction to wonder how the journey progresses and what the next big leap shall be. One thing is for sure, it will be interesting, and it won't star the cast of 'Love Boat' :-)
Hugs until next time!
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Freedom to Marry! When comes Freedom to Dress?
In a crisp winter morning, twilight just ghosting the sky with a faint gray like an overreaching fog, a small SUV pulls into a parking lot. Two doors open. From one emerges a man ready to head to his office and start the day. The other is a woman, obviously his wife after they share a kiss. She is a lovely lady, wearing a nice business skirt suit.
A pair of eyes look at her, not in the lecherous way that some people do when 'checking out' someone else, but studying, examining, rather like you would clues in a mystery. The eyes watched her walk, wearing nice, comfortable flat shoes, a fabulous looking skirt falling to just above the knees, black nylons and long brown hair streaming down her back. The eyes sense a tiny bit of rush leading to the goodbye kiss, it is cold and she wants to retreat into the car to stay warm in the obviously increasingly ventilated outfit she is wearing. Of course the man is not acutely aware of this and takes his time getting his things. The watching eyes understand her desire to keep warm and smile slightly. She is a pretty sight to behold. She makes the watcher keenly aware that they would, with some practice, be able to transcend that position and be the focus of understanding eyes and not stares.
Yesterday the eyes watched another beautiful lady, dressed similarly to the cold morning woman, her legs reminded the watcher of the legs they had and thought heck, I could look as good that. Well, at least close. Matching legs and she was almost the same height as me (she was wearing heels as any professional woman might choose to do) and despite that I would be a little taller in heels it was almost like looking at what I could be. It was interesting to consider.
Yesterday heralded the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals ruling on Proposition 8 in California. In ruling it unconstitutional the way is paved for gays and lesbians to marry in the state. It's a step forward for progress.
But let me ask you this... when does it become okay (or legal) for transgender people to use the bathroom they identify with? When does it become acceptable to have laws or acceptance that transgender people have the same rights? To be able to go out, be accepted and not people to be ridiculed, embarrassed or made fun of?
To me, it seems a bit of a double-edged sword. Equal rights ARE important, equal protection under the eyes of the law is as well. But when equality only covers a few people and not all, it's not really equal, is it?
I say it's a wonderful thing, marriage equality, and it has been a long time coming. Detractors say it ruins the traditional family. Well, by making marriage equal for all, will people who are a straight, heterosexual couple be barred from getting married and having children? Not at all. It just gives marriage rights to gays and lesbians, and to an extent bisexual couples. But what of the transgender people?
If it wasn't against the law, we might still have separate water fountains for African-American people. Women night still have to be told you cannot vote. The majority cannot vote on the rights of the minority.
So, that being said, the trans population can't be pigeon-holed into the same class and, dare I say it, caste, as these classes of people that have been afforded equal protection. Interracial marriage is legal. A woman's right to vote is protected. Heck, even alcohol was outlawed and then overturned. It's time that trans rights also came under that umbrella.
See, most trans people live in fear of what will, or could, happen to them as members of society. I believe that gender can't be put up as a black or white issue, a simple matter of you answered True to one question and False to another. Things have developed far past those rigid guidelines.
In my last blog, I wrote how I hoped that openness and acceptance would come from the free dispersion of information. People no longer had to be alone and afraid, as I was growing up, but be able to learn, accept and grow from the times we spent getting to know real people who were going through exactly what we were going through. It was time to take a stand and open up to openness and understanding, not surrender to hate and violence.
This decision, it seems to me, opens the doors to future acceptance and understanding. People need to know that the LGBT population is out there, ready to be heard. The "T" needs to be part of that, no matter what others say we should be. In the closet, living alone and afraid, it doesn't matter. Every step we take to making ourselves more open leads to greater chances that equality will find us too.
I'm not saying this struggle is going to be easy, or smooth, but it's a struggle and isn't anything worth fighting for a struggle? We can't sit by, waiting for a golden rainbow to shine down on us and illuminate what we feel. So we must always remain vigilant and strong, support each other no matter where we are in life or our feelings and accept the truth that gender isn't black and white, but a broad spectrum of colors that highlight wonderful feelings inside.
And like that trans woman who watched the cold wife this morning go about her retinue, so the watcher would want the same freedom, the same excitement, and the same thrill to go out as herself and let no wind or laughter make her cringe and be afraid. She might look pretty good in a skirt suit. She might look nice in a classy pair of heels and a nice female business outfit. She might just look good to eyes watching her as the watcher's eyes looked at another girl.
The winds of change are still blowing...
A pair of eyes look at her, not in the lecherous way that some people do when 'checking out' someone else, but studying, examining, rather like you would clues in a mystery. The eyes watched her walk, wearing nice, comfortable flat shoes, a fabulous looking skirt falling to just above the knees, black nylons and long brown hair streaming down her back. The eyes sense a tiny bit of rush leading to the goodbye kiss, it is cold and she wants to retreat into the car to stay warm in the obviously increasingly ventilated outfit she is wearing. Of course the man is not acutely aware of this and takes his time getting his things. The watching eyes understand her desire to keep warm and smile slightly. She is a pretty sight to behold. She makes the watcher keenly aware that they would, with some practice, be able to transcend that position and be the focus of understanding eyes and not stares.
Yesterday the eyes watched another beautiful lady, dressed similarly to the cold morning woman, her legs reminded the watcher of the legs they had and thought heck, I could look as good that. Well, at least close. Matching legs and she was almost the same height as me (she was wearing heels as any professional woman might choose to do) and despite that I would be a little taller in heels it was almost like looking at what I could be. It was interesting to consider.
Yesterday heralded the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals ruling on Proposition 8 in California. In ruling it unconstitutional the way is paved for gays and lesbians to marry in the state. It's a step forward for progress.
But let me ask you this... when does it become okay (or legal) for transgender people to use the bathroom they identify with? When does it become acceptable to have laws or acceptance that transgender people have the same rights? To be able to go out, be accepted and not people to be ridiculed, embarrassed or made fun of?
To me, it seems a bit of a double-edged sword. Equal rights ARE important, equal protection under the eyes of the law is as well. But when equality only covers a few people and not all, it's not really equal, is it?
I say it's a wonderful thing, marriage equality, and it has been a long time coming. Detractors say it ruins the traditional family. Well, by making marriage equal for all, will people who are a straight, heterosexual couple be barred from getting married and having children? Not at all. It just gives marriage rights to gays and lesbians, and to an extent bisexual couples. But what of the transgender people?
If it wasn't against the law, we might still have separate water fountains for African-American people. Women night still have to be told you cannot vote. The majority cannot vote on the rights of the minority.
So, that being said, the trans population can't be pigeon-holed into the same class and, dare I say it, caste, as these classes of people that have been afforded equal protection. Interracial marriage is legal. A woman's right to vote is protected. Heck, even alcohol was outlawed and then overturned. It's time that trans rights also came under that umbrella.
See, most trans people live in fear of what will, or could, happen to them as members of society. I believe that gender can't be put up as a black or white issue, a simple matter of you answered True to one question and False to another. Things have developed far past those rigid guidelines.
In my last blog, I wrote how I hoped that openness and acceptance would come from the free dispersion of information. People no longer had to be alone and afraid, as I was growing up, but be able to learn, accept and grow from the times we spent getting to know real people who were going through exactly what we were going through. It was time to take a stand and open up to openness and understanding, not surrender to hate and violence.
This decision, it seems to me, opens the doors to future acceptance and understanding. People need to know that the LGBT population is out there, ready to be heard. The "T" needs to be part of that, no matter what others say we should be. In the closet, living alone and afraid, it doesn't matter. Every step we take to making ourselves more open leads to greater chances that equality will find us too.
I'm not saying this struggle is going to be easy, or smooth, but it's a struggle and isn't anything worth fighting for a struggle? We can't sit by, waiting for a golden rainbow to shine down on us and illuminate what we feel. So we must always remain vigilant and strong, support each other no matter where we are in life or our feelings and accept the truth that gender isn't black and white, but a broad spectrum of colors that highlight wonderful feelings inside.
And like that trans woman who watched the cold wife this morning go about her retinue, so the watcher would want the same freedom, the same excitement, and the same thrill to go out as herself and let no wind or laughter make her cringe and be afraid. She might look pretty good in a skirt suit. She might look nice in a classy pair of heels and a nice female business outfit. She might just look good to eyes watching her as the watcher's eyes looked at another girl.
The winds of change are still blowing...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Blend or Break?
A lot of people talk about 'blending in', becoming the background, like a moving art mural that is designed to make you think people, animals, buses, small cathedrals and clouds are all streaming by. Blend in and be one with harmony you feel by being just the same as the rest, no more outstanding than anyone else. Basically sit down, stay still and let the world go by like clouds overhead. Don't mess with the natural order of things.
As a transgender person --or well showing signs that I am -- I am not one who easily blends in when I am dressed. I don't feel that it's an unnatural or shameful thing, I just know in a way I don't have that complete grasp of things... womanly things, from having been raised on a different concept than I felt (and do still feel) - how do I fit in has often been a question I have not had an easy time getting answers to.
First there was the pure state of being a sensitive kid who was awkward and liked girls more than boys. Girls didn't play sports (much) and this freaky kid didn't either. This kid was shy, introverted and in many ways verbally and emotionally abused. This nightmare child was never very 'manly', didn't play sports, watched science fiction on TV and liked being with the girls because they didn't want to play all rough. Playing 'house' this kid was always the 'mom' and that was fine. This weirdo would put pillows under their shirt to simulate breasts (even in prepubescence it was understood that this was the most striking aspect of females). Once the kid put on his mom's skirt and tried it on. It felt important to the child. This kid's best friend was a girl. The girl would be the bossy type when playing sometimes and the freaky kid who wasn't at all like a boy should be, was okay with that. She told him to do things and he did them. She wasn't mean, just authoritative. The kid thought women should be in charge.
As things went along this oddball kid was a recluse from boys AND girls when puberty set in. Complicatedly shy, the teenager couldn't be with their girl friends because suddenly they were something akin to the Black Death. No longer was it cooties, it was big time stuff. True enough some girls remained okay with everything and friendships continued, but more often than not, they were aware of their own developing sexuality and the obvious changes in their bodies. They were supposed to kiss boys and such, not play games with them. So the teen got the idea they didn't fit in anywhere, in between bouts of growth and wanting to maybe feel like 'a man' or something. But the urge to dress never disappeared and sometimes panties or underwear would be acquired and tried on in secret. It was a mental and sexual thing, right? There were no adults to ask about such desires, there was no 'Internet' (yes kids, there was life before Google) to search or find out things. Going to the library was a sure way to get caught by a classmate looking at such things and wanting to study them, and then getting taunted about it constantly. The teen was awkward, insecure and with a body that was growing faster than they were ready for, making them awkward and uncoordinated. The teen sought solace in other things, like music and trying their hand at writing. They had some measure of happiness with music. Girls seemed to enjoy music and performance than men did. The teen went through spells of wondering if they might be gay, mentally retarded or just further down the evolutionary path than others who were exhibiting signs of 'normalcy'. The teen wanted to fit, they were desperate to fit, but they never quite did. The most they could hope for is to keep quiet (for shyness is a defense mechanism) and sincerely hope and pray that no one discovered the teen was wearing pantyhose under their work pants and reveling in how they felt. The only thing the teen could see through to completion was music and wearing women's underwear. Somehow the teen could not understand why they wanted...no, needed to dress up in underwear that belonged in girls' bedrooms. Silky, satiny, lacy panties were what the teen craved. Even wearing conventional briefs brought alluring mental images of wearing something feminine and feeling pretty. The teen wished they had more underwear that was smooth and soft, comforting and soothing. The comfort was about the only thing they could enjoy and draw happiness from.
Except that there was no explanation of it to be had. It was quietly shuffled to the back of drawers with the sincere hope that the parents would not find it. The uncertain treatment by the adults would make the teen feel worse about themselves, even contemplating suicide. The time was about right and no one would really care or mind.
The girls, though, the girls seemed to always find a way to care, to support, to nurture. To come to the assistance of a teen that was more prone to crying and moodiness than 'men'. Men were expected to take care of issues behind the gym after school. This teen just kept quiet and did their own things alone because they didn't want to feel trapped into having to battle with someone. They were so shy they didn't know how to ask a girl out and what's more, was frequently laughed at when trying to do certain activities, like sports. This teen was pretty miserable. Death seemed like a good fit. They'd go out in a blaze of glory. No one would care and maybe if it was done right there wouldn't even be a body to bury. A neat and tidy solution to the problem of what to do with that weird teen who was a wimp and liked wearing girls' underwear.
But like the prior things, the teen was an abject failure in killing themselves. Sure they had black periods and things just didn't get better with advancing years. But kids slowly figured out that the wimpy, bookish, awkward kid who was in the band and seemed to get along better with girls than guys (despite maybe being gay? No one knew...) also had one other thing working for them.
They were pretty smart.
Perhaps it was from the years of seclusion, the reclusive behavior of hiding the desire to wear girl's underwear and pantyhose, of hiding the ideas behind wearing a long t-shirt and imaging it as a dress, the idea of putting rolled up socks over their nipples and pretending they were breasts, the uncomfortable place they had to go when it came time for mom to insist on a haircut. The sensitive teen was in tumult, except for one area. They seemed to have no issue with wanting to be one of the girls, even in secret hidden worlds.
It's not a very comfortable place, I can tell you, being told one thing by people who ought to know and feeling the opposite. The teen wanted to dress in soft, comfortable clothes, perhaps a skirt and wanted to find a way to magically transform into a girl. So the brain began to work. Music? No, not really. Math? Not really. Science? Yes, but as a loner and outsider what person would want to find a magic powder that would make them into a woman? It was an attractive idea, but not a realistic one. Writing? Hmmmm....now there the possibilities were endless.
So the teen secretly started writing stories, mostly of an erotic nature but often when it was written from a first person perspective the scene was sometimes of a woman. I didn't know what women felt, sexually, and it was awkward to write it, but the urge was there. I could let loose my mind and have it lead me into a happy place, where I was the girl and she was having sex. In painful reality, I was neither the girl nor having sex. I could only imagine and masturbate.
There was no recourse, it seemed but to secretly order a few female things, as discretely as possible and slide them on when I was alone. I would imagine myself as a female and she was me. I wasn't a weak-kneed wimpy want-to-be 'man', I was a woman and proud of it.
But I was still alone.
The writing slowly gave birth to the idea of a consistent person, someone whom I could have as my alter ego, the civilized Jekyll to my failed masculine Hyde. And so the first glimmers of Samantha emerged from the shadows and slowly took shape.
At first she was a lesbian, she had a girlfriend. She loved wearing skirts and stockings and garters, plus shiny, smooth satin lingerie.She even had a fairly decent job allowing her to update her wardrobe with regularity. and be as sexy as she wanted to be. The stories came about from various stages involving her and her girlfriend having sex in a place where they could be caught, or even just a romantic night at home, followed by passionate sex. Her character found her way to working as a manager at Victoria's Secret, a Mecca I stared longingly at but never dared enter. Samantha could freely enter and work there with no issues. I was imagining living life vicariously through Samantha. What a girl she was... and she was all mine.
True that Samantha never had a use for or affinity for men. Her character tolerated them, even employed them. But even so, she was certain of one thing: when the lights went out and the sheets were parted, the companionship would have firm breasts and the light scents of another woman, for whom a wild ride was sure to follow, ending in sweat-laden female bodies falling asleep, exhausted from their efforts and wrapped tightly in each others arms.
The most enduring thing about Samantha, after her gender of course, for me was that she was popular. Girls loved her and she had no problems in finding a new partner or sexual ride when she needed it. The head she lived in craved the idea of being popular and liked, instead of the painfully shy and awkward exterior that more-not-than-often couldn't be described as a "man".
Samantha had traits that I found appealing in other women outside of the literary realm. She had shaved her head at least once, she had fondness for were sensitive and yet a little free-spirited as well. She liked travel and adventure and wanted to travel the world to experience new avenues of the unique sexual preferences she felt. I could imagine her (or me as her) walking down the avenues of Paris, sipping coffee and stopping into dazzling boutiques where scented roses graced the air and soon she was having a relaxing massage, naked and desirable. Then passions would ignite and one thing would lead to another.
In essence, Samantha was my exact opposite. I'd never been on a plane, never had sex, never was in any situations where I suddenly was desirable and wanted. Nothing like her adventures, her success at being herself and her hot desirability was to be found anywhere in my life, except the pages where I sucked my mind back into Samantha's universe and I disrobed from something I didn't care for and started to imagine more of my life as hers. Blending her into me. Blending, after all, leads to all things getting wrapped up neatly.
That was what I started out saying, right?
Except that in real life, Samantha was incredibly hard to reach. She was the polar opposite of me, in every way, shape and form. She was the antithesis of 'that guy' and an incredibly hard person to reach outside of stories. So Samantha began to slumber and before long, she was quiet again, her life dropped at the moment she was trying to break out, not to just blend in. She never really left my side, she just went quiet. I stopped thinking about her and she nodded off, like a train conductor might having collected all the tickets. She was just along for the ride for a while.
Life got hectic on the outside, leisure time became non-existent and I certainly was thinking less of how to dress than how to make ends meet. Conflicts came with money, resources, health and well-being, stress and poor additional habits. After all, could you blame me for letting her slip away? Life threw so many curveballs at me for so long I often thought it might be better off if I just didn't wake up again. I was so far from thinking about Samantha now that she all but completely disappeared. I was still alone, there was no avenue to seek support and paying for it was completely out of the question. I just barely had time to sleep and then I was off to work again. Struggling to make ends meet is not conducive to "living" life through an upscale, popular woman who has enough to travel the world and dress in whatever sexy attire she wants to model.
Things slowly came around, life started to settle down and I started to find some free time with which to enjoy considering new activities I had long since let languish. Like a rush of blood to the head after standing on one's head, the need for the woman became the needs of me. I started buying clothes, not just lingerie but blouses, skirts and the such. I had fixed numerous issues with my credit and was making just enough to afford small luxuries. But still I didn't go very far. I just hoped to blend, no?
But after a spell, I found myself (now thanks to the popularity and ease of access to the Internet) finding resources. Almost swooning, I realized that there were other people out there just like me! It was an enlightenment, but I was a lurker. I didn't join because I didn't know how to join as who I saw inside. Then one day I came across the notes I had made on Samantha and she woke up. More mature, more sedate and less traveled, she had grown from the sex-starved lesbian who managed a Victoria's Secret to a more graceful woman of early middle age, her thoughts no longer of shaving her head or traveling to Paris for a wild passionate massage. Samantha had mellowed a lot, but she was certainly no prude either. She still longed for sex but now she was curious. She retained her dreams of being with a wonderful female partner, but she wondered if perhaps her perfect partner was someone such as herself, the outside appearance not matching the inside complexity.
Samantha went out, in public, and things changed. People saw her and new she was "real". Kind souls told me how feminine she looked and how nice she dressed, She was terrible at makeup and wearing hair that was far too short for what I later desired, but she was out and she was a little about. Still conscientious and fastidious about how she wanted to be perceived. Her traits were anything but blending, a woman out with friends can seem intimidating to outsiders. Some wish they could mingle and bite their lips in mysterious silence, others seem uncomfortable and ill-at-ease, perhaps from a feeling of attraction to the transgender girl but feeling uneasy about why and what it means. If it's any consolation, though I don't wish you to feel uneasy understand my own thoughts are jumbled about my own sexuality. The Samantha of old and the new do share a delight in perhaps a short skirt, some heels and delightful, comfortable underwear. We both love the feeling of comfort. And we both love to shop and see what new delights can be found.
Never as a child would I have imagined that such a day would come where I would step out of the private, secluded existence and actually find friends who not only share this puzzling gift, but also those who are loving, caring and want to show that while you may doubt it yourself, you have the ability to be whomever you want to be. This world needs more understanding people, generous and loving, caring and concerned. Kids like me these days have new avenues to look for and communicate. May my generation be the last having to grow up afraid and alone, fearful of what fate would do to me if I revealed that deep, dark secret. It's time to let all our inner people out to grow and be nurtured by life.
Samantha may have changed, and certainly has changed me. She doesn't mind being in a position one day to blend in with her female human beings, and she is also willing to break the stereotypical view of transgender ladies (and men) as being something to be scorned and derided. I had enough scorn and derision as a kid, now I'd just like to find some peace and happiness.
Something which I know the Samantha "of old" would be totally cool with.
As a transgender person --or well showing signs that I am -- I am not one who easily blends in when I am dressed. I don't feel that it's an unnatural or shameful thing, I just know in a way I don't have that complete grasp of things... womanly things, from having been raised on a different concept than I felt (and do still feel) - how do I fit in has often been a question I have not had an easy time getting answers to.
First there was the pure state of being a sensitive kid who was awkward and liked girls more than boys. Girls didn't play sports (much) and this freaky kid didn't either. This kid was shy, introverted and in many ways verbally and emotionally abused. This nightmare child was never very 'manly', didn't play sports, watched science fiction on TV and liked being with the girls because they didn't want to play all rough. Playing 'house' this kid was always the 'mom' and that was fine. This weirdo would put pillows under their shirt to simulate breasts (even in prepubescence it was understood that this was the most striking aspect of females). Once the kid put on his mom's skirt and tried it on. It felt important to the child. This kid's best friend was a girl. The girl would be the bossy type when playing sometimes and the freaky kid who wasn't at all like a boy should be, was okay with that. She told him to do things and he did them. She wasn't mean, just authoritative. The kid thought women should be in charge.
As things went along this oddball kid was a recluse from boys AND girls when puberty set in. Complicatedly shy, the teenager couldn't be with their girl friends because suddenly they were something akin to the Black Death. No longer was it cooties, it was big time stuff. True enough some girls remained okay with everything and friendships continued, but more often than not, they were aware of their own developing sexuality and the obvious changes in their bodies. They were supposed to kiss boys and such, not play games with them. So the teen got the idea they didn't fit in anywhere, in between bouts of growth and wanting to maybe feel like 'a man' or something. But the urge to dress never disappeared and sometimes panties or underwear would be acquired and tried on in secret. It was a mental and sexual thing, right? There were no adults to ask about such desires, there was no 'Internet' (yes kids, there was life before Google) to search or find out things. Going to the library was a sure way to get caught by a classmate looking at such things and wanting to study them, and then getting taunted about it constantly. The teen was awkward, insecure and with a body that was growing faster than they were ready for, making them awkward and uncoordinated. The teen sought solace in other things, like music and trying their hand at writing. They had some measure of happiness with music. Girls seemed to enjoy music and performance than men did. The teen went through spells of wondering if they might be gay, mentally retarded or just further down the evolutionary path than others who were exhibiting signs of 'normalcy'. The teen wanted to fit, they were desperate to fit, but they never quite did. The most they could hope for is to keep quiet (for shyness is a defense mechanism) and sincerely hope and pray that no one discovered the teen was wearing pantyhose under their work pants and reveling in how they felt. The only thing the teen could see through to completion was music and wearing women's underwear. Somehow the teen could not understand why they wanted...no, needed to dress up in underwear that belonged in girls' bedrooms. Silky, satiny, lacy panties were what the teen craved. Even wearing conventional briefs brought alluring mental images of wearing something feminine and feeling pretty. The teen wished they had more underwear that was smooth and soft, comforting and soothing. The comfort was about the only thing they could enjoy and draw happiness from.
Except that there was no explanation of it to be had. It was quietly shuffled to the back of drawers with the sincere hope that the parents would not find it. The uncertain treatment by the adults would make the teen feel worse about themselves, even contemplating suicide. The time was about right and no one would really care or mind.
The girls, though, the girls seemed to always find a way to care, to support, to nurture. To come to the assistance of a teen that was more prone to crying and moodiness than 'men'. Men were expected to take care of issues behind the gym after school. This teen just kept quiet and did their own things alone because they didn't want to feel trapped into having to battle with someone. They were so shy they didn't know how to ask a girl out and what's more, was frequently laughed at when trying to do certain activities, like sports. This teen was pretty miserable. Death seemed like a good fit. They'd go out in a blaze of glory. No one would care and maybe if it was done right there wouldn't even be a body to bury. A neat and tidy solution to the problem of what to do with that weird teen who was a wimp and liked wearing girls' underwear.
But like the prior things, the teen was an abject failure in killing themselves. Sure they had black periods and things just didn't get better with advancing years. But kids slowly figured out that the wimpy, bookish, awkward kid who was in the band and seemed to get along better with girls than guys (despite maybe being gay? No one knew...) also had one other thing working for them.
They were pretty smart.
Perhaps it was from the years of seclusion, the reclusive behavior of hiding the desire to wear girl's underwear and pantyhose, of hiding the ideas behind wearing a long t-shirt and imaging it as a dress, the idea of putting rolled up socks over their nipples and pretending they were breasts, the uncomfortable place they had to go when it came time for mom to insist on a haircut. The sensitive teen was in tumult, except for one area. They seemed to have no issue with wanting to be one of the girls, even in secret hidden worlds.
It's not a very comfortable place, I can tell you, being told one thing by people who ought to know and feeling the opposite. The teen wanted to dress in soft, comfortable clothes, perhaps a skirt and wanted to find a way to magically transform into a girl. So the brain began to work. Music? No, not really. Math? Not really. Science? Yes, but as a loner and outsider what person would want to find a magic powder that would make them into a woman? It was an attractive idea, but not a realistic one. Writing? Hmmmm....now there the possibilities were endless.
So the teen secretly started writing stories, mostly of an erotic nature but often when it was written from a first person perspective the scene was sometimes of a woman. I didn't know what women felt, sexually, and it was awkward to write it, but the urge was there. I could let loose my mind and have it lead me into a happy place, where I was the girl and she was having sex. In painful reality, I was neither the girl nor having sex. I could only imagine and masturbate.
There was no recourse, it seemed but to secretly order a few female things, as discretely as possible and slide them on when I was alone. I would imagine myself as a female and she was me. I wasn't a weak-kneed wimpy want-to-be 'man', I was a woman and proud of it.
But I was still alone.
The writing slowly gave birth to the idea of a consistent person, someone whom I could have as my alter ego, the civilized Jekyll to my failed masculine Hyde. And so the first glimmers of Samantha emerged from the shadows and slowly took shape.
At first she was a lesbian, she had a girlfriend. She loved wearing skirts and stockings and garters, plus shiny, smooth satin lingerie.She even had a fairly decent job allowing her to update her wardrobe with regularity. and be as sexy as she wanted to be. The stories came about from various stages involving her and her girlfriend having sex in a place where they could be caught, or even just a romantic night at home, followed by passionate sex. Her character found her way to working as a manager at Victoria's Secret, a Mecca I stared longingly at but never dared enter. Samantha could freely enter and work there with no issues. I was imagining living life vicariously through Samantha. What a girl she was... and she was all mine.
True that Samantha never had a use for or affinity for men. Her character tolerated them, even employed them. But even so, she was certain of one thing: when the lights went out and the sheets were parted, the companionship would have firm breasts and the light scents of another woman, for whom a wild ride was sure to follow, ending in sweat-laden female bodies falling asleep, exhausted from their efforts and wrapped tightly in each others arms.
The most enduring thing about Samantha, after her gender of course, for me was that she was popular. Girls loved her and she had no problems in finding a new partner or sexual ride when she needed it. The head she lived in craved the idea of being popular and liked, instead of the painfully shy and awkward exterior that more-not-than-often couldn't be described as a "man".
Samantha had traits that I found appealing in other women outside of the literary realm. She had shaved her head at least once, she had fondness for were sensitive and yet a little free-spirited as well. She liked travel and adventure and wanted to travel the world to experience new avenues of the unique sexual preferences she felt. I could imagine her (or me as her) walking down the avenues of Paris, sipping coffee and stopping into dazzling boutiques where scented roses graced the air and soon she was having a relaxing massage, naked and desirable. Then passions would ignite and one thing would lead to another.
In essence, Samantha was my exact opposite. I'd never been on a plane, never had sex, never was in any situations where I suddenly was desirable and wanted. Nothing like her adventures, her success at being herself and her hot desirability was to be found anywhere in my life, except the pages where I sucked my mind back into Samantha's universe and I disrobed from something I didn't care for and started to imagine more of my life as hers. Blending her into me. Blending, after all, leads to all things getting wrapped up neatly.
That was what I started out saying, right?
Except that in real life, Samantha was incredibly hard to reach. She was the polar opposite of me, in every way, shape and form. She was the antithesis of 'that guy' and an incredibly hard person to reach outside of stories. So Samantha began to slumber and before long, she was quiet again, her life dropped at the moment she was trying to break out, not to just blend in. She never really left my side, she just went quiet. I stopped thinking about her and she nodded off, like a train conductor might having collected all the tickets. She was just along for the ride for a while.
Life got hectic on the outside, leisure time became non-existent and I certainly was thinking less of how to dress than how to make ends meet. Conflicts came with money, resources, health and well-being, stress and poor additional habits. After all, could you blame me for letting her slip away? Life threw so many curveballs at me for so long I often thought it might be better off if I just didn't wake up again. I was so far from thinking about Samantha now that she all but completely disappeared. I was still alone, there was no avenue to seek support and paying for it was completely out of the question. I just barely had time to sleep and then I was off to work again. Struggling to make ends meet is not conducive to "living" life through an upscale, popular woman who has enough to travel the world and dress in whatever sexy attire she wants to model.
Things slowly came around, life started to settle down and I started to find some free time with which to enjoy considering new activities I had long since let languish. Like a rush of blood to the head after standing on one's head, the need for the woman became the needs of me. I started buying clothes, not just lingerie but blouses, skirts and the such. I had fixed numerous issues with my credit and was making just enough to afford small luxuries. But still I didn't go very far. I just hoped to blend, no?
But after a spell, I found myself (now thanks to the popularity and ease of access to the Internet) finding resources. Almost swooning, I realized that there were other people out there just like me! It was an enlightenment, but I was a lurker. I didn't join because I didn't know how to join as who I saw inside. Then one day I came across the notes I had made on Samantha and she woke up. More mature, more sedate and less traveled, she had grown from the sex-starved lesbian who managed a Victoria's Secret to a more graceful woman of early middle age, her thoughts no longer of shaving her head or traveling to Paris for a wild passionate massage. Samantha had mellowed a lot, but she was certainly no prude either. She still longed for sex but now she was curious. She retained her dreams of being with a wonderful female partner, but she wondered if perhaps her perfect partner was someone such as herself, the outside appearance not matching the inside complexity.
Samantha went out, in public, and things changed. People saw her and new she was "real". Kind souls told me how feminine she looked and how nice she dressed, She was terrible at makeup and wearing hair that was far too short for what I later desired, but she was out and she was a little about. Still conscientious and fastidious about how she wanted to be perceived. Her traits were anything but blending, a woman out with friends can seem intimidating to outsiders. Some wish they could mingle and bite their lips in mysterious silence, others seem uncomfortable and ill-at-ease, perhaps from a feeling of attraction to the transgender girl but feeling uneasy about why and what it means. If it's any consolation, though I don't wish you to feel uneasy understand my own thoughts are jumbled about my own sexuality. The Samantha of old and the new do share a delight in perhaps a short skirt, some heels and delightful, comfortable underwear. We both love the feeling of comfort. And we both love to shop and see what new delights can be found.
Never as a child would I have imagined that such a day would come where I would step out of the private, secluded existence and actually find friends who not only share this puzzling gift, but also those who are loving, caring and want to show that while you may doubt it yourself, you have the ability to be whomever you want to be. This world needs more understanding people, generous and loving, caring and concerned. Kids like me these days have new avenues to look for and communicate. May my generation be the last having to grow up afraid and alone, fearful of what fate would do to me if I revealed that deep, dark secret. It's time to let all our inner people out to grow and be nurtured by life.
Samantha may have changed, and certainly has changed me. She doesn't mind being in a position one day to blend in with her female human beings, and she is also willing to break the stereotypical view of transgender ladies (and men) as being something to be scorned and derided. I had enough scorn and derision as a kid, now I'd just like to find some peace and happiness.
Something which I know the Samantha "of old" would be totally cool with.
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