READ THIS PART FIRST
ONE: I have completely stopped smoking cigarettes! Now when I start testosterone, I’ll see results much faster.
TWO: TRIGGER WARNINGS all through this blog post. Dysphoria (top, bottom, all around), trans doubt, transphobic self-talk (like, what the fuck?), and so on and so forth.
THREE: Content warning for TMI regarding my sex life, as per usual. I’m honest as fuck in these blog posts, so read at your own risk.
Welcome to Month Seven in the Thunderdome, baby trans man!
This is by far the worst advent calendar I’ve ever received as an adult.
First month (June) was, “Self-exploration! YES!!! But everyone thinks this is a phase or something and that’s annoying.” ‘Cause like, maybe it could have been, but shit. At least let me explore it and give me the benefit of the doubt here. Damn, lol.
Second month (July) was, “Wow, this makes a lot of stuff in my life suddenly make sense. But also wow, ’cause it’s still hard to get people to actually take me seriously?”
Third month (August) was, “I’m in a gay bar! My friends in my new city are using my chosen name! Eeeep! Wait, who’re you? Ohhhh, imposter syndrome. Neato~!”
And from that point on, it’s just been doubt, uncertainty, and hopelessness with only a few tiny glimmers of giddiness thrown in for flavor. September, October, November, and most of December have passed without a Gender Identity Journey update from me. This is because I descended into darkness and decided to live there for these past four months.
But now I’m back, so let’s discuss.
“You will never be a real man,” is starting to carry a punch, which I didn’t quite expect at the start. I figured I’d be able to brush that off and keep it pushin’, but no. I think it to myself, even. Like “cis” is the standard I need to reach to be a valid man. What do I think would keep me from being a “real man”? A penis. A real life, flesh and blood penis. Because otherwise, won’t I only attract people who’re interested in me because they see me as a woman?
Or as a woman who “looks like” a man.
Like, I don’t even think I’d be concerned about attracting men who were attracted to me because they were into trans men and their specific anatomy. I don’t think that would bother me. But one of the biggest turn-offs for me in bed – even before I knew I was trans – was my partner seeing and treating me as a woman. I don’t want hetero sex. (The opposite of “No homo,” I guess? Lol) I’m just not into it.
Well, with the exception of my first boyfriend for, like, a month. But that was my first go. Literally anything was going to be mind-blowing for my virgin ass, lol.
I’ve been noticing this when I watch movies and television, too. Like, hetero sex makes me cringe. I always feel uncomfortable with man/woman sex on screen (even before I figured out I was trans). I also have trouble watching lesbian sex on screen. The only on-screen sex that doesn’t make me immediately want to avert my eyes? Yep. Gay sex. Why does that feel like the only “norm” for me? I dunno if this is another clue or just a weird “me” thing, but it’s here anyway.
Next up: Surgeries. Bottom surgery remains the most terrifying of the three medical transition options I’ve researched. I don’t see myself getting bottom surgery. Even though I do most definitely enjoy the idea of having my own male anatomy. I don’t care for most of the results I’ve seen online for either meta or phallo and would rather forgo the procedure altogether. It’s painful, expensive, and wouldn’t provide me with what I personally want in the end anyway.
So I don’t think I’d opt for bottom surgery. But then there’s always a vagina. Just…there. I wouldn’t mind it so much, but it might make myself and even my sexual partners see me as a woman on occasion. That’s the concern, because I cannot enjoy hetero sex. I’ve proven this to myself over the course of years. So, always a packer and always a strap? Seems the only way to go. I don’t hate the idea, honestly.
Top surgery is also going to be expensive, but honestly I’m not as worried about that experience. It’s definitely something I want to do, as well. Like, they’ve gotta go. I’m seeing my breasts as more cumbersome the further into this journey we go. A couple of times, I’ve reconsidered and remembered times they looked really nice in a black dress while I was on a night out. I’ve found some gender non-conforming individuals on social media who were AFAB, took testosterone, and had a smattering of everything – beard, deep voice, curves, and breasts. And they were fucking hot as all hell!
I considered that idea. Would I be more comfortable basically making my own gender? Do I want to keep my breasts and have a beard? Do I just want a beard and keep my original voice and my breasts?
No. No, I don’t, actually. I want to look like a man. I want pecs and bulging biceps and a beard and a deep voice. I want people who pass me on the street to see a man, to call me “sir” or “boss man” or “buddy”. I love it every time that happens. I remember every instance it’s happened with a huge smile. It’s what I want.
I’m just afraid that once I look the part of a man, but have a vagina instead of a penis, I’ll suddenly find myself completely alone romantically. (You know, because my love life was going soooo well when I was presenting as female. So satisfying! /sarcasm) The thing about it is, I don’t think I’ve truly grasped how my sexuality ties into my gender identity here. Which is weird, considering how much thought I’ve given it since June.
See, I keep thinking, “Cis gay guys aren’t going to want to date me.” That’s not true. Gay guys who have an aversion to my genitalia aren’t going to want to date me or become physical with me. And that’s okay. That’s perfectly okay! I want penis, too, after all. I’m not turned on by vaginas, but a packer or strap would be the same to me. However, my preferences and tastes are not the same as everyone else’s. Just because I would be satisfied with a strap or packer does not mean other gay men would be okay with that. They might need a flesh and blood penis in order to enjoy the experience.
Basically, I’m saying that I’ll be able to find gay, bi, pan, or demi men who will see me as a man and be attracted to me (and my genitals). There’s nothing to indicate I’ll die a lonely old man, partially eaten by my cats forty years from now and buried under a tombstone that reads, “She was just going through a phase.”
But what if I am just going through a phase? What if I’m making all this up somehow? What if this is one of my Aquarian “Be weird! Be different! Never conform!” things?
Ridiculous, I know. A phase is that time I experimented with binder clips as hair accessories. Why the fuck would I consider taking testosterone that completely changes my entire body (and mentality) as a phase? I won’t even get a tattoo! I won’t even consider getting a tattoo, because it’s fucking permanent. But I’m like, “Yeah, let’s change genders just for funsies”? (Roll for doubt.)
Part of the reason writing these blog posts is so important is because I can’t keep a freaking therapist. That said, this is one of the best ways for me to see, in real time, the insanity of my transition doubts. I know who I want to be. I know how I want to be seen in the world. I need to stop doubting myself and start trusting myself. I’ve always struggled with that – trusting myself. It’s time to make that change, I think.
Anyway, happy New Year, y’all! And to all my trans brethren: Carry on, my wayward son. (Guess who’s re-watching Supernatural for the zillionth time?)