The T Word

They see me...

2011-04-25T06:03:00.000-07:00

Waking up in the morning
I take a look in the mirror
Stroking these sparse yet visible
Hairs on my chin
I smile... at the progress
When I look into my own eyes
In the mirror
I see me... I see he...

Walking down the street
Head held high
Exuding confidence in my stride
Remembering my manners
Along the way
Opening doors
Letting ladies go first
They smile and say "thank you, sir"
I smile back
Elated that when they look at me
They see me... they see he

Retiring to my sleep
She lays next to me
On my chest
Which no longer has the deformities
I hated
The genetic misfortunes
I loathed
Gently running her fingers along my scars
Scars that tell my story
Of rebirth and rebuilding
She tells me they're beautiful
She sees me... she sees he.

No longer having to hide who I am
fFor the sake of others
I will forever live this life
As I see fit
Exposing the world to the new me
Introducing the world to my new life
Living the end of my days
As he.

Amir

Being A Singer

2011-03-29T04:58:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what it is at the moment but I feel like I’m being torn apart. By the transsexual nature of my bodily awareness, and the glory of being a musician. Maybe it’s worse at the moment because so many of my friends are in the early stages of taking T. I suspect it has more to do with allowing myself, finally, to grieve the path I can’t take – that of transitioning fully, and finally having the right kind of body. The body that would allow me to express my non-binary gender to the fullest – because, despite what some idiots believe, it’s totally possible to be both transsexual and genderqueer/androgynous. Because I would rock the whole facial hair/lipstick look.

Also, perhaps, the question. People who love classical music know better than to ask. But I’ve had a lot of this, recently: “surely you could take T and just have a lower voice?”

It’s not that it can’t happen. Trans guys can keep a singing voice, though, depending on age and level of vocal expertise before hormones, there seems to be an astonishing level of risk. Too many men lose their ability to vocalise altogether. I haven’t heard of a single incident of a classical singer going through this process, and I have yet to read of a trans guy keeping a vocal range and quality after T that would leave him capable of singing in the classical style as a professional.

I wish people who ask that question would think: “If it were that simple, wouldn’t they have done it already?” Because it’s not that simple. I started vocal training at 13, and serious serious serious vocal training at 24. I can’t smoke, drink too much (or at all before gigs – sometimes for weeks in advance), eat the wrong foods, sleep too little, talk too loudly. Every part of your body becomes a beautiful and lovingly cared for machine – changing the way you exercise, hold yourself, move yourself through the world. You end up knowing far more than you ever wanted to know about mucus. Hormonal fluctuation, at the smallest level, has a tremendous impact. And with a three octave range that takes up 3 hours a day in rehearsal and practice (more at peak times) - you can’t afford the tiniest change to throw you off balance. A cold is a catastrophe. To take the time out to have your voice break, knowing that it would never have the same range, beauty or security? Unthinkable. And then, if it had survived to a level where it could still be at a viable professional level? I wouldn’t have the right range to sing the right music anymore. Because this is the deal with early music: a mezzo is where you want to be to play the hero, the poet, the king, the god. Drop down to tenor and your repertoire dries up.

Imagine the best sex of your life. The best you’ve ever had – where you and your partner have reached a level of understanding so beyond language that language itself seems like a broken, misshapen, abortive mistake. Where your senses are stretched out so far, and for so long that you’re in agony, and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever felt. Where you step outside of time, and outside of your body, and everything is sure, and beautiful, and you can’t help but cry. That is what singing feels like. Consistently. All of the jouissance, none of the heartbreak. When that happens, my dysphoria disappears.

And then, when the music stops, it rushes back.

I don’t even know what I’m trying to achieve, by writing this. Except, maybe, it will serve as an example to those who think that being trans is the foremost concern in trans people’s lives. Who think we don’t make hard choices. That we don’t serve different and opposing masters. And to share with anyone else who may have made a similar trade-off.

Please don’t ask me again why I can’t take T.

CN Lester

Staking My Claim

2011-03-29T04:47:00.000-07:00

I hold my dick in my hand.

I pick it up & turn it around.

It looks strange away from my body.

It's the right size & shape & looks fairly realistic.

It's just a piece of silicone, though:

A beautifully crafted soft dildo

that I put in my underwear.

And yet

It is my dick.

My prosthesis that makes me feel whole.

It reminds me

of what I'll never have

no matter how bad I want it.

It reminds me

of what I should look like,

if it weren't for my biology.

It reminds me

of the manhood some people would deny me.

It reminds me

of the manhood I claim for myself.

This dick doesn't make me a man,

but by claiming it;

I stake my claim

in being a man.

Aran

Man

2011-03-29T04:36:00.000-07:00

Standing in the mirror every morning and ask myself
What kind of man are you?
Not knowing if I want to be dangerously out
Or shamefully stealth
Scratching my injection site
A constant reminder that to them I'll never be quite
Right
Quite the man I should be
With the "right" parts or as big as it could be
Craving a "sir" or a "he"
Even if only from those who aim to please
And never really see
Me
What kind of man are you?
Hiding behind whats suppose to be
What ought to be
What every father's son has sought out
To be
Listening to the doubt you don't see
In an emotional drought
Wishing the release of female shackles
To be phree
Just be that dude
Phree
Same person called by any other name...
D...Sin...I.D.
Originally Sincerely Unconcerned
With what others said
Digitally realeased from responsibility
"It wasn't me"
I mean
It's true it wasn't
Being a fact doesn't
Release me
See those cans full of that shit
Tied to my bumper
Dangling from thin strings of yesterday
Keep me
They stuff me in a cage
Rarely feeding
Or letting me really breathe
Trapped
In what I use to say
Cramped by past actions
And lack of regret
What kind of man are you
An honest one
Haunted by my yesteryear
Sometimes ridden with fear
That someone will know
Still picking myself up
As if I'm untouched by
Past headaches
And future mistakes
A self made...
Creating my own existance
Accepting my flaws
And still standing strong
Yet I stare at myself
And ask
What kind of man am I?

Shaun J. Phree

There were no signs

2011-03-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

I've heard it, my trans friends have heard it... Someone, somewhere in our families, will chime in with this statement in an argument or conversation that is supposed to shake your entire belief system. Like these four little words will suddenly make you realize you aren't transgender.

"There were no signs..."

Everyone has the right to their own opinion, and you could even say that I'm very open minded to those opinions. I would never purposely offend anyone, but I'm sorry people, the statement that "there were no signs" that we were transgender growing up is not only completely irrelevant when talking about someone's gender identity, it's extremely hurtful to the person you're saying it to. Do I really need to sit here and explain that you're placing wrongful gender stereotypes onto someone and thatpeople don't fit into little boxes with labels on them?

Hi my name is Jack, I'm a man trapped in a woman's body...and as a kid I played with Barbies. -cue exasperated gasps of shock from the audience-
So freakin' what people?! Okay, I admit it, I played with Barbies. But guess what? I played with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, too and I carried them in a yellow cloth handbag until the second grade. Do you know what that must prove?... That I liked toys as a kid! Not some profound gesture toward my gender.

ATTENTION SOCIETY! Colors, clothes, food, and toys DO NOT HAVE A GENDER! You, society, placed the gender stereotype onto these items and heaven forbid these children stray away from that! Then the only reasonable explanation must be that they are all little homosexuals and transsexuals.

NEWS FLASH! In the early 1920's, pink was a color for boys because it was a "stronger" color and blue was a color for girls because it was more delicate and dainty. In fact, people in Belgium still dress boys in pink and girls in blue.
If you haven't gotten the hint by now let me break it down for you... your gender identity is an emotion you feel inside of yourself. Mentally, transgendered people feel uncomfortable in their body. This is NOT defined by a hairstyle, clothes, attitude, religious views, sexual orientation, ethnicity, etc. freaking etc. These people that feel this way were in fact born this way, and even if they weren't, is it suddenly a crime to grow as an individual and discover new things about yourself that make you happy?

Happiness is the word of the day people... forget what gender you thought your son, daughter, sister, brother, whoever was as a child...because they aren't a child anymore! You doubting them is only hurting them in the end.

Let's recap, children will wear what you put them in, and they will play with what toys you buy them... it's flat out denial and ignorance to say these things played / play a part in your loved ones gender identity. end of story. Thanks for playing.

Jack

Another Human Being

2011-03-04T06:42:00.000-08:00

I run into him and his wife in a store.
He calls me by my former name on purpose.
When I correct him and show him my new driver’s license,
he looks at me with disgust,
like I am lower than low.
We chat for a few minutes
(they are family friends after all.)
He literally continues to look down on me
the whole time.
(He is at least 6 inches taller than me after all.)
I remain the gentleman that I am
and don’t make any snarky comments,
even though I desperately want to say something,
like, “Hey, did you hear that my brother and his boyfriend recently got married in a Christian church?”
But I don’t.
We soon part,
but his gaze stays with me.
I know he doesn’t approve of my transformation.
He has made that painfully clear.
He once told me that being trans
is my cross to bear,
and religion can save me
like it saved him.

He’s right in that regard.
God did save me,
but not his manifestation of a fundamentalist Christian God.
My God doesn’t allow me the privilege
To judge who I think is worthy.
My God demands that I treat everyone equally,
regardless of what I think of them.
My God would not allow me
To look at another human being with disgust and contempt
simply for being themselves.
I try so hard not to judge people other people,
but there’s the guy who used to be a big brother to me
looking at me like I’m dirt
simply because I’m transsexual.
It hurts.
I try to remind myself
that I’m a better person this way
that I’ve gained far more friends than I’ve lost
that God made me this way for a reason.
But his gaze continues to haunt me.

May I never look at another human being that way
ever again.

Aran

Dear Stranger,

2011-01-20T04:55:00.000-08:00

In my opinion, "You're female, right?" is not an acceptable ice-breaker. "Hello, how are you?" is a much better way to start a conversation, and will probably actually get a response from me.

Please forgive me if I don't answer you when you compliment my backpack. I know it's quite rude of me not to acknowledge your compliment, but please keep in mind that there are 7 of you, and 1 of me. I could see you pointing at me and giggling before you spoke, and in my experience, questions asked, or compliments given under these circumstances have generally had the sole purpose of getting me to speak so that you could decide my gender is, so forgive me if I just don't feel like humouring you. And if I did say "thank you", and you think that it is necessary to discuss my gender (without my input), I would kindly thank you to wait until I am out of earshot. It's just common courtesy.

"Are you gay?" is also not a great way to start a conversation. I fail to see how my hypothetical partner's junk is any of your business. When I refuse to answer your question, and I retain the right to not answer personal questions, please don't tell me that you can smell it on me. That is impolite. I know how I identify and you do not, unless I have informed you, which I hadn't. Also, this question is more difficult for me to answer than you may think. I cannot give you an answer that is clear without first knowing what assumptions you are making about my gender.

I don't care what you say, sexual orientation cannot be determined by hair length. My hair is short because I cut it recently, and has nothing to do with my hypothetical partner's junk, so please stop telling me that it does.

Please don't be offended when I refuse to tell you where I am staying. I have no obligation to tell you anything, and I am just trying to keep myself safe. You may be a kind person who means me no harm, but please remember that I am alone, in a country that I do not live in, in a small town where I do not know anyone, and no one knows where I am currently. Not to mention that when I leave this coffee shop, I have to walk 3 miles down a tiny, deserted road to get back to my hostel, and I don't know you, so I don't really want you to be able to follow me there, especially not after you just kept telling me that I "stink of gay".

I will have to politely decline your offer of accommodation, and while your offer of a room and breakfast for £5 is very generous, I do have a personal policy not to accept accommodation from people who accost me in public spaces. On that note, telling me that you "take it in the front, and in the back" and informing me that if I was any good, you would give me my £5 back is unsavory. I was unaware that sexual favours were part of the price of accommodation at your establishment. If that is the case, I will once again (because I have already declined your offer once) have to vehemently decline your offer, as I prefer to pay for my accommodation in cash.

Please do not touch me without my permission. I have personal boundaries, and I don't appreciate being touched without my consent.

Do not tell me that you are going to touch my breasts. I am the only person who gets to decide if anyone gets to touch my body. I don't appreciate my body being objectified as though I am not a person, and I don't like your sense of entitlement to my body. Also, if you'd bothered to look at me more closely, you may have noticed that I don't actually have breasts, but if I did, I wouldn't let you touch them.

Yes, I do have a boy's name. This may have something to do with the fact that I don't identify at all as a woman, so I would appreciate it if you didn't assume that I was one. Please keep in mind that not everyone who happens to have a gendered name identifies with the gender of their name either.
I do realise now that during our entire conversation that you held the (false) assumption that I am a woman. Please forgive me for not correcting your assumption, but I did not think that correcting you was a particularly safe course of action. Also, I would like you to note that I did not tell you I was a woman, you merely assumed that I was, and I cannot be held responsible for other people's assumptions about my identity.

If you run into me again, and wish to not offend me, please follow the simple guidelines that follow:

Please don't ask me what my former name may have been. That is none of your business. If you do ask, you will be politely be informed that I do not give out that information. Please don't press the matter further. I will not be bullied into divulging that information, and the only result of pestering me about my former name will be my irritation.

Please do not ask me what my genitals look like. For the record, when you ask me if I'm a "man or a woman" what you are actually interested in knowing is whether or not I have a penis. That is none of your business, and there is no reason for you to need to have this information. If you fancy me, but are worried about whether or not you will fancy my genitals, strike up a casual conversation with me, so that I may have a chance to decide whether I fancy you, do not just assume that I will fancy you. Also, I guarantee that if you start that casual conversation by asking about my genitals, I will not fancy you any longer (even if I had fancied you).
Groping my chest to feel for breasts that you cannot see is not an acceptable way to act in polite society. Not even if you try to (unsuccessfully) disguise it as a dance move.
If you are not sure which pronouns I use, and you think that you may need to discuss me with your friend while I am not present, you could politely inquire, "Do you have a pronoun preference?" If you had asked me that, I would have respectfully informed you of mine.

Please refrain from asking about my hypothetical partner's genitals. For reasons as to why this is uncouth, please see the above section about inquiring after my genitals. The reasons are the same. You may politely ask me how I identify, but this does not guarantee you an answer, as I reserve the right not to answer any question of a personal nature without any explanation.

If I do happen to inform you of my gender or sexual orientation, please do not argue with me. This is not up for discussion. Once I have informed you of my identity, the discussion is over. That being said, I will answer any sincere question asked in the spirit of educating oneself about the world one lives in (eg. What did you mean by "queer"?), however, I reserve the right not to answer any question without giving you an explanation as to why. Also, please do not look to my friend for confirmation of my identity. I am the authority on my identity, not my friend.

Please do not inform me of my identity, with or without reasons as to how you deduced it. I am not interested in what you think my identity is, as I already know how I identify. Also, I can guarantee that I have spent more time with myself than you have, and know myself better than you do, so I believe myself to be the greater authority on my own identity.

It is my hope that you may find this letter informative, and the guidelines useful as a way to keep from offending myself and others in the future.

Respectfully,

James

Looking

2011-01-02T08:18:00.000-08:00

I used to spend what seemed like hours,
gazing in the mirror,
Looking
for my true self,
wondering if I was a “she” or a “he.”
Looking
for the boy I had found recently & knew was there,
hidden,
but just under the surface,
waiting to emerge.
Looking
for my male soul
and wondering how he would embody himself
in my female body.
Looking
for any signs I might be intersex,
so desperate I was for a biological explanation.
Looking
at each individual facial hair,
willing it to grow longer & darker,
getting frustrated with the mustache I knew was there,
but was clearly uncooperative & not growing in on schedule.
Looking
for any signs of femininity that would give me away.
(In hindsight, though, it was always my soprano voice
that always revealed my biological sex.)
Looking
for the man I was slowly becoming.

Now that I have a full beard
(thanks to the wonders of testosterone),
and I finally look like the man I was always meant to be,
I don’t spend hours pondering those things anymore.
Now when I look in the mirror,
I grin
and wonder who that handsome man with the gorgeous beard is,
and then I realize that it’s me.

Aran

Mr. Owl, what is dysphoria?

2010-12-13T03:15:00.000-08:00

What is dysphoria you ask?
Dysphoria is getting dressed in the morning
Wearing five layers of shirts
To hide the tumors on your chest
Walking towards the mirror
The judge
Jury
Prosecutor
You stand staring at your reflection
Surrounded by the maximum occupancy of persons
All yelling and arguing about whether or not
Your chest looks male enough to even walk out-fucking-side today
Dysphoria is the piece of my heart that cowers in fear
That spreads paranoia to the rest of it
Causing confusion complication a cacophony in my soul
Dysphoria is the name of another person inside me
Lying dormant from time to time
And jumping to consciousness when I need it to sleep
The most
It is a set of weeds popping up in every transguy
In every transgrrrl
It causes pain, tears, suicide, and agoraphobia,
But connects each and every one of us
No matter who we are
We have this in common.
Dysphoria is the blessing in disguise
The teacher that is hard on you
So that you will grow

Ira

Inside The Gender Vortex

2010-11-21T16:41:00.000-08:00

Carson

Guest Author - Lucas Silvera, The Cliks

2010-11-18T05:05:00.000-08:00

Foreword

This is from a set Maxwell did with Lucas from The Cliks, click here for more.

Keltik

By Maxwell Lander

Custom Built

2010-11-01T13:23:00.000-07:00

Most men are factory direct models.
They have the parts they were made with
and are happy with those parts.
I had to be different, though.
I went the extra step
To become a custom built model.
I wasn’t very happy with the parts the factory gave me,
so I had some work done.
I started off with the accessories.
Anything feminine, form fitting, or pastel were replaced
with masculine, baggy, & plaid.
I then traded in my automatic for a stick shift.
(Who knew that shifting gears could be so much fun ?)
I went to a specialist for the major retrofit.
She souped up my engine
with a new fuel additive.
I have a lot more power now,
and my engine has a lower rumble than it used to have.
Some people wonder when I’m going to have my headlights replaced,
but they still work fine so I’ll leave them for now.
I love my custom built model.
My factory direct model never really worked for me,
but now I have a vehicle
made just for me.

Aran

Wet Dreams

2010-10-24T07:19:00.000-07:00

Mmmm girl I been dreamin bout you all night
Smile on my face cause I know u do me right
Oh no you never let me down
Not gonna leave me with a frown
Spread your legs because you know what happens next
Yes baby you about to get sexed
Slide it in
feel u on my skin
the wetness on my thighs
damn it gets me so high
Mmmm you wanna give me a taste?
Wont let one drop go to waste
You aint shy baby I slide my tongue in
Got your legs round my neck ridin
Grab my head hold me by my ears
Dont hold back baby i have no fear
You start to quiver and scream my name
You real wild girl
Nothing about you is tame
When you finish it all goes down my throat
I look up at u with a smile I dont mean to gloat
Its just that you make me feel so good
Every time I dream about you
I wake up with morning wood.

Korey Conley

Guest Author - An Ode To Cock Sucking

2010-10-23T08:44:00.000-07:00

Foreword

This is a performance piece by Mommy Fiercest, she very kindly agreed to let me share it with you all here. You can read more from Mommy on The Queer Word.

Keltik

Watch out boy, turn around, I’m about to lay you down

I can see your smirk go smug
cause you know what’s up
Reach in, breath in-

the thick scent
of your nasty boy mound

Good thing, I can bite it

Through the damp cloth of your shorts
blue stripes damp and sticky
you rock your hips
cause it’s about to get gritty

I can’t gonna wait to get atcha
I don’t wait for you to raise your ass
My two hands got you by the waist band
and pull them down
you lucky they come three to a pack
cause it wouldn’t be the first time we lost track of our clothes
in this twist of sheets-sexual heat !

mmmmmmm,

I kiss your thighs
and you know I know
you don’t haveta hide
cause your my boy and I’m your grrl…
and I’m about to..
and you’re about to…

mmmmmmm, you smell so good..

I remember the first time, because

you still seemed surprised,
when i spread those muscle thighs

propped your ass up high,

I cant’ lie, i too was surprised

when you closed your eyes-
arms folded back, satisfied look upon your face

hooked your legs-rest your feet in the space below my should blades-

and boy I mean no disrespect
but I got you whining and crying and begging
like a school girl wreck
for me to relieve it
cause I been teasing and tounging and nosing and mouthing
and now i’m gonna suck it off, squeeze it out

and you’re buckin and screamin
two jerks, shoot your load upon my chin and I’m beamin

cause this femmes got her mouth full of hard cock
pink flesh still pulsing, swollen and exhausted!

I’m feeling proud but shy cause I don’t know if your through with my hot mouth holdin you

-and I don”t know if I should…
till you pull me up to rest me in the crook of your arm,

and I get my reward when you look at me and say “mmm mama you fuck me soo good”

Mommy Fiercest

21 Months

2010-10-18T14:24:00.000-07:00

Sam

Guest Author - It Gets Better, says Kate Bornstein

2010-10-03T15:31:00.001-07:00

Foreword

Some of you may have heard of the It Gets Better campaign on YouTube regarding queer youth suicide. The following video is by the wonderful Kate Bornstein. Ze has very kindly agreed to let us share the video here.

Keltik

Role Models

2010-10-01T05:05:00.000-07:00

MegaThatcher

Promotion or Education?

2010-09-07T10:40:00.000-07:00

CNN recently did a news report on bullying in schools and how some christian groups believe that the govenment’s attempts to address this issue are just a ploy by the big bad gays to promote the "gay agenda".

Insert tired sigh here.

The reporter was actually very good, he asked the questions that we all want to ask, to a panel of three people, a representative of the christian group, a representative of an LGBT group and an author of a guide for parents on helping their kids through their teenage years. He asked the difficult questions to the christian rep, and like any slimey politician, she dodged them, never actually answered the questions, just kept repeating the same thing. The other panel members highlighted in excellent clarity the pitfalls of the christian group’s alternative. It’s just a shame that the presenter didn’t push the christian group’s representative to explain just exactly how this planned action would promote the gay agenda.

I have some experience in this area. My father is a baptist minister, now the Scottish baptist is different to the American baptist, they’re not quite so extreme but alot of the beliefs are the same. I was raised in the baptist church, I am a christian although I have alot of issues with the way the church and many christians act in God’s name, that isn’t someting I want to talk about right now. Right now I want to talk about my experience of being bullied, being gay, being a christian and being a kid, all at the same time.

In 1994 we moved to a new home, it came with my dad’s work, every few years he would move to a new church. I was kinda shy as a kid, I was only around 11 or 12 at the time we moved and having moved from the west coast to the east coast of Scotland was kind of a big deal for me. I didn’t like it there, I remember clinging to my mother the first day I was shown around my new primary school, I didn’t want to be there.

The first year wasn’t great, I didn’t really make many friends, I wasn’t popular and the teachers I had for my final year in primary school were really quite unprofessional, they liked the popular kids, those of us who werent popular weren’t high on their priority list. Thinking back now, I was so naive then, all the backhanded compliments and jibes I didn’t know what they really meant.

So after about a year, a new kid moved to my street, he lived 2 doors down from me, we interacted a little socially at first, but as he settled in he became friendly with a group I wasn’t part of and then began the us and them feeling. Well, it was really just me and them. This kid tormented me endlessly, I became the outcast in school, he was in my class, I couldn’t get away from him. I had 1 year in primary school and then 5 years in high school. I actually left school at 15, my birthday was in Januray and I just didnt go back after the christmas holidays. The legal age for leaving school in the UK is 16.

I was bullied for being gay, I wasn’t actually out at school, but I was masculine enough for people to assume that about me. From there, it became anything they could pick up on, physical characteristics, anything. And this kid was the ring leader, he got me going to school, in school, coming home from school, after school, I literally couldn’t get away from him. In the winter, when it snowed, the house would be pelted with snowballs, I would be pelted with snowballs. It was humiliating.

Lunch time was the hardest. That was a whole hour. A whole hour with nowhere I specifically had to be. A whole hour to try and avoid being targeted. I remember wandering the streets around the school trying to find somewhere to be, someone I knew who was an outcast like me, who wouldn’t pick on me that I could spend the time with. I hated lunch time.

The school did very little, I remember being offered to move to another class. I declined as this would mean leave the one friend I did have. They didn’t move him out of the class. The teachers didn’t address it, no one stopped it, no one did anything. I know my father wrote some letters of complaint, the police were advised of the harassment at the house, they didn’t do anything either. So I just kept on, I did poorly in school, I didn’t get any qualifications to speak of, I wasn’t offered any extra help or tutoring, no one seemed to really care. I was just another kid being processed by the system, to be spat out afterwards and make my way through life in dead end jobs.

This all utterly destroyed my confidence, I couldn’t maintain eye contact with anyone, I couldn’t handle simple tasks, it was crippling. I remember my mother trying to take me shopping, I would be having panic attacks in the middle of shops, I would be freaking out, ready to vomit, collapse, it was horrible. She didn’t understand. Recently she told me that when, as a child, I was having what I now know were asthma attacks, when the clothes dryer was on (seriously, this thing would just steam up the whole house), she thought I was just being a brat. I suspect she also thought the same when I was having the panic attacks.

Around age 13 I figured out that I must be gay. An older child, a neighbour, told me and my brother what it meant, I remember her being surprised that we didn’t know what it was. That night after bed time, I crept down stairs and asked my mother if it was true. She used to do the ironing in the evening, I often asked her about things I’d heard at this time of night. She asked me where I’d heard it and I told her, she was annoyed and I asked her why, she said she didn’t want us to know about that kind of thing. She wanted to protect us from these things.

I remember lying in my bed and saying to myself “I’m gay…”. I was happy that I now knew why I liked girls, why I felt the way I did, why I was having these thoughts. My parents not telling us about homosexuality was a double edged sword, on one hand I was confused about how I felt, I didn’t know what it meant, why I didn’t like boys but on the other hand I didn’t have any negative connotations about homosexuality, it was brand new to me.

You have to remember, this was all in the days before the internet, I was really very isolated. We lived in a small town and my access to the outside world was limited, I was too young to visit the cities and too much an outcast to have much social interaction with my peers. That isolation may well have saved me. I was in the depths of depression, if I had any knowledge how, I probably would have ended my life then.

I was an avid swimmer before I came to this town, I loved it, absolutely loved it. I used to go to a swimming club a couple nights a week, and I was pretty good at it too. I tried to keep that up when we moved, but a combination of the bullying and puberty quickly put a stop to it. I briefly got involved with a local rugy club, they were starting classes for girls to introduce them to the sport. I loved it! I was having fun, away from the scumbags that hounded me at home, it was a welcome escape. Only problem was it was apparently full of lesbians (so in reality, they were just trying to recuit us youngsters to the gay lifestyle, not actually get us interested in rugby). My parents talked me out of going back, I wasn’t really given a reason at the time, just that I shouldn’t go any more. The same was true of the army cadets, I loved that too, but it was the same again, I was talked out of going back. The army’s pushing the gay agenda too you see.

So that was pretty much it. No social outlet, no self confidence, no friends, no chance to develop social skills, I was a 15 year old hermit.

It wasn’t untill we moved again, 6 years later that the internet started to become available to people in their homes. We got online. My goodness, what a difference that made. I remember reading about butch and femme, what it meant to be ‘stone’. I remember thinking to myself that I must be weird if I don’t want to be touched, why would anyone be like that? Yet online I found so many other people who told me it was normal. What a fucking relief, from years of being told I was a freak to being told I was normal!

I learned so much online, I read and read and read. This is also back when the internet was new, there wasn’t the same kind of information available relating to sexuality and gender then as there is now. But I took what I could find and I educated myself. I found all these labels, I was able to put a name to my feelings, I was able to identify myself, I figured what I was. I was about 21 when someone suggested to me that I might be trans…

This is what happens when you don’t educate children about the realities of the world. When you don’t explain to them that sometimes people are gay, sometimes people are gender varient, sometimes people are different. A child will be gay or gender varient regardless of what they learn in school. This is not promoting a homosexual lifestyle, this is not telling children that they should lead a homosexual lifestyle over a heterosexual one. The only difference this education will make is that that child will not grow up confused and hated for something they don’t understand.

If you really want to protect children, don’t send them out into the world uneducated.

Keltik

A Definition of Binding

2010-08-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

To me, binding hunching my shoulders so my baggy shirts flop forward and give me a flat-looking chest. Binding is hiding in a public bathroom with a sports bra and a roll of tape. Binding is the way that I feel that my chest can never be too compressed, and the longing I feel when I see other guys in their binders because I have no way to order one myself. It's the way it never hurts to push my chest down because it feels so much better than having breasts. It's the new wardrobe I've adopted that eliminates anything clingy because I look flatter in loose shirts. It's the set of my jaw and the swing of my arms and the pace of my gait when I'm away from those who know me and can be a guy. It's the way I follow guys in the school hallways and practice mimicking their stride. It may just be, by definition, a flattening of the chest, but to me binding represents in every way being able to really be a man.

Konrad

Condensation

2010-08-28T11:52:00.000-07:00

!ffy

An epiphany at 3am

2010-08-12T03:16:00.000-07:00

Me? I've always known who I am
So this has thrown me for a loop
So, I researched to understand
The technicalities and truths
Figured out I was meant to be a man
Not that it's any concern to you
Born a woman without a plan
But I'll figure things out all the way through

An epiphany at 3 AM
I felt it to my core
I wake up every morning
Feeling and wanting it more and more
With a binder and baggy clothes
A new mind set and hair that's short
I'm passable for a man
And that, to me, is what's important

Dresses were never meant for me
I've always hated pink
I've never been the way I should
Never thought how a girl should think
I've never walked or talked that way
Never tried to work out kinks
I've never wanted to be a mom
There's always been that missing link

Being trans is a biological thing
But don't pity me, I'm okay
I just want to fix the uncomfortable things
The biological mistakes
I want to have a chest that's flat
And well.. there's a little missing weight
Luckily hormones can fix these wrongs
T can fix the missing traits

I want my out to match my in
I want to look the way I feel
I want everyone to know to think
And see that this is real
Please don't call me Kayla again
Konnor is the name that's ideal
I know you're probably confused right now
But I'm not different, no matter how I appear

Don't treat me any differently
I'm not different than what you've seen
I'll be no differently as ME
I'm still blunt and pretty mean
I've known this for a while now
I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come clean
But this is who I really am.
My name is Konnor Reid Dobie.

Konnor

This Voice

2010-08-12T03:13:00.000-07:00

Will I ever get used to this voice?
This voice that can now sing bass instead of soprano.
This voice that sounds perpetually hoarse to me.
This voice that should come from my chest,
though I can’t quite seem to move it there.
This voice that can sing the tenor part
but finds it incredibly boring most of the time.
(Let’s face it; basses & sopranos get all the glory anyway.)
This voice that uses different pronouns.
This voice that answers to a different name.
This voice that tells a different point of view
than most people have heard before.
This voice that matches my new beard.
This voice that yearns to tell his own story.
This voice that speaks my words.
This voice that is my own.

Aran

The First Week

2010-08-07T14:28:00.000-07:00

It's a fog that surrounds me,
Uncertainty,
Confusion and fear
And it only fades
When I say it.

I am Transgendered.

I WANT to tell the world
But terrified doesn't even begin to cover the feeling.
Coming out again isn't the most appealing option.
But I feel like if I don't talk about it
It isn't real.
And I've done all this work for nothing.
This searching, discovering, and labeling all over again.
Like I haven't finally figured out who I am.

Konnor. Not Kayla. Not Kay.
Not a female.
But Male.
Born in the wrong body -
A beautiful body -
But wrong, none the less.

Not the one I belong in.

Konnor

Guest Author - What am I?

2010-07-15T15:00:00.000-07:00

Foreword

Ginny got in touch with me, wanting to offer her insight on being the girlfriend of a transitioning FTM and how that affects her ID. She asked if her post could be included to help others who are in a similar situation.

Keltik

What am I? We all say that labels don't matter, but sometimes I think they still do. Everyone wants to know where they fit in, who they are, who their friends are, their community, their 'group'. I like to think that I know myself pretty well. I have really gotten to know my true self over the last three to four years. Turn your life around, flip everything upside down, and you'll have no choice. Seriously. I know who my friends are, and no matter what, I know they are there for me. I know my family supports anything and everything I set out to do as well. So... Why do I even ask such a question? Why would I wonder what I am?

I am many things... I am a mother. I am a sister. I am a daughter. I am a friend. I am an enemy. I am a hard-worker. I am a student. I am a California girl. I am a Colts fan. I am a horse trainer. I am a role model. I am a Princess. I am many things... but... Am I straight? Am I a lesbian? Am I bisexual?

I have always been straight, never really thought anything of it, I was just attracted to guys. Often very cocky, show off their manliness, look at these guns, kinda guys. Sure, I had kissed girls, but most girls do that, right? It wasn't until after my divorce, when I became very close with one of my girl friends that I began to question that. We used to joke that I had a girlfriend but the closer we got, the less of a joke it became. She was my first female partner and that, I knew, was not something that most girls do. It was fun, it was new, it was exciting. But it actually became very difficult as time went on because I felt that I was falling in love with a girl. I was confused because while I have nothing against lesbians, I had just never seen myself as one. It was like I didn't even know who I was anymore. I questioned myself and I questioned our relationship.

I had just gotten a divorce. I had ended an extremely unhealthy 5 1/2 year relationship. I was free to be myself, do what I wanted, and live life like I had always dreamed. It was just me and my baby girl now... But I, as a person, was growing more than I could ever imagine. All this potential awesomeness that had been trapped inside was free to fly. I was learning and coming to terms with issues that I had bottled inside. I was overcoming 5 1/2 years of abuse. I was healing from wounds I didn't even know existed. I didn't know how broken I really was. I was finally just getting to know myself. So with all that going on, it's no wonder I began to question myself and my new relationship.

But then, my friend told me that she was really a he. At first I was a little worried that it was because I had expressed my concerns and my own confusion, but after we talked more, I began to understand. At this point I really knew nothing about FTM, Trans, or hardly anything about the LGBT community in general. Ya, I knew some people who were gay, bi, or lesbian. I knew some people cross-dressed or even had sex-change operations, but knowing of it and actually being immersed in it are two different things! So, I researched it... a lot! I started with FTM, and continued on to educate myself about many parts of the LGBT community. It was strange for him because I began to accept his transition much faster than he was, even today he laughs that I am always one step ahead of him, lol.

He hasn't started the testosterone, and only sometimes binds. I know when we go out that some people see him as a female, making me appear as a lesbian, and still others see him as a male, making me appear straight. In the beginning, before I knew about the gender identity, I kinda got a kick out of people seeing us as lesbians. I even corrected people who said he instead of she. And yet, I still didn't see myself as a lesbian, or even bi. I still didn't think I was really attracted to girls, just this one... Even today, it is harder when people see him as a girl, but I realize that what bothers me is feeling him get upset. I could care less if some stranger sees me as lesbian or straight, but I know that he needs to be seen as a male on the outside.

Physical features do matter to a point in any relationship. I love this person, but am I allowed to love their physical body too? or Is that against the rules? If I am attracted to the body, then I must be attracted to girls, right? What if I'm not attracted to the new body at the end of the transition? I want to feel like I am physically attractive, especially to my significant other, so it's only right that I find them physically attractive as well, I think... Are you beginning to see my dilemma here? See where the confusion comes about? 90% of the time it doesn't matter at all, but there are times where it's a little awkward. Where I feel a little uneasy of how I should act. There are times where I am still confused. It's these times where I get frustrated with myself because I don't think it should matter, or I get upset because I wish it was one way or the other, or I just feel bad for not knowing what to think or how to feel.

I found someone that I love. That's all that should matter. It is definitely not always easy, but it's not always easy with any relationship whether straight or not. He has had to learn that his transition is affecting me too, yet we continue to work through it. I have learned a lot about myself through this process, and for that I am extremely grateful! I also know that I still have a lot to learn. I realize that at this moment in time, I may not fit into any of the labels, but that's ok because I don't like labels anyway, lol. Of course, I want things to work out with him and I, but even if for some reason they don't, I think things might be different for me in the dating world. Love really doesn't care about gender, race, religion, nothing... It's so much deeper than that.

So... What am I? ... I'm one of a kind. That's what I am.

Princess Ginny

Rambling

2010-07-09T14:06:00.000-07:00

One day, the feeling of Deja Vu will come over me. The feeling I had when I was a kid. Running through the sprinklers in the park, shirtless. I felt free, alive and careless. No one was looking at me and gawking. People actually smiled at the little girl running around the sprinkler so happily. The cool, crisp water hitting my uncovered chest as I ran around the sprinkler in circles. I can't wait to feel that again.

As soon as I learned how to read and write, and think about all the "whys" in life, the main "why" was "why am I not a boy on the outside?". "Why do I look different than the rest of the boys?" and "Why was I in the wrong body". I would cry myself to sleep and pray that God change me into a boy by the time I wake up. I kept the faith that God would hear me one day. My faith didn't last beyond the day my chest grew and Mom told me I had to put a shirt on while playing outside. I was very confused about everything, and felt so trapped, so young.

My whole life was ahead of me, but everything about me was going wrong. My Mom wanted to do my hair in different styles, poofy and big, tons of Aquanet and barbie pins. I knew my Mom meant well, but I dreaded waking up and despised going outside. I didn't look like any other girl I knew. What the hell was I?

I grew up in a quiet house, with an Old-school father and very caring but very concientious Mother. While my parents would get me the toys I wanted, G.I. Joe's, He-Man, Ninja Turtles and Matchbox Cars, let me play in the dirt with worms, wear what I wanted, it never dawned on them that I was different and unhappy. I was happy with my toys and playtime, but I felt naked, alone, scared and trapped every day of my life. I envied boys that wanted to play with me when I was outside. I usually beat them up instead or got my Dad to get rid of them for me so I could be alone. I wanted nothing to do with them, but nothing more than to "be" one of them

Chris Trapani

What Dreams May Come

2010-07-05T14:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I do get to go to sleep. And once I finally get to dreamland, sometimes it scares me. A dream came to visit last night. Turn on the sound folks, and dim the lights. Leeroy's life is now on stage.

Curtains open on Leeroy's idyllic family; an alcoholic and emotionally irresponsible father with the likeness of Barney Rubble. Eyes pan to Leeroy's mother, a semi-bi-polar woman that seems restrained. She colours her hair black to seem young and New York. Close up on adopted Leeroy; a punk with facial and ear piercings, fresh cuttings, an attitude and a cigarette always in his mouth. So Queer children alternate his pronouns mid-sentence. He is gendered unlike any they have ever known.

Dinner's meatloaf is just being cut! How delicious! Father expresses joy at warm meal, Mother complains of the slaving it took to mash dead animals into a tin and slathering it with pulverized tomatoes. Leeroy's eyes roll as he serves himself of the unnecessary killing of living beings. Its better than listening to your Mother picking your self-esteem apart, blue lego by blue lego.
Leeroy loads his spoon, ferries its bloody contents and deposits it for processing. The cascade ensues. Why is there a sock in the living room? Why aren't you in school? Why aren't you working??

I can't even look at her. Why don't you show me you love me? I would tell you that I am transgendered, that I am a man, if you would only let me trust you. Its just that simple.

[picture fades to black]

Dinner ensues the day following meatloaf day. Father is drunk already, Mother has no clue and is blissfully unaware that she's missing out on something better. Garbage doesn't speak at the dinner table. Dinner ends. Leeroy has said nothing.

Father goes out to do a delivery. Leeroy returns to the main house, and finds Mother, sitting hunched at the computer screen. Leeroy lays his hand on her shoulder. He whispers in the most earnest voice he can muster... "I'm a boy Mother... which upsets you more: me being a man or me wanting to dominate a man?" Leeroy would slip back out the door before Mother's jaw sank to the floor.

What dreams may come is right. Don't some dreams ever become reality?

Leeroy

I Remember

2010-07-04T16:18:00.000-07:00

I remember, as a child wanting to play topless with my brother and his friend. It was a hot summer day, they were topless, so I wanted to be too. I remember my mother stopping me and making me put on a bodywarmer. When I protested this, she told me that ‘girls don’t go around without their tops on’, I must have been around 7 years old.

I remember, when my aunt was getting married, she had a daughter, my cousin, who was around the same age as me. My cousin was going to be a bridesmaid at the wedding, I was invited to be a bridesmaid too. I can remember my aunt asking me, I said no. My mother responded with something like ‘ofcourse you do’, and told my aunt that I’d do it. I had to wear a terrible pink dress, it was itchy and stupid and I didn’t like it. Looking back at the pictures, I looked very pretty in it, but I didn’t want to be pretty, I wanted to wear a bow tie like my brother. I remember agreeing to wear the dress if I could change into my jeans later. Later came and I wasn’t allowed to change.

I remember, hogmany at my gran’s house, she always had a party, the family would all be there. I was made to wear this awful grey and black dress, I hated it, really really hated it. I remember asking my mother over and over again if I could get changed out of it, to tie my hair back. She kept saying no, I remember being so upset, I wanted to enjoy the party but I felt so uncomfortable in that dress.

I remember, as a child, asking my mother to cut my hair short like her’s. She had a new hairstyle, a very short cut, still feminine, but very short none the less. I remember asking for a similar haircut and her cutting my hair into some terrible bob, nothing like the style I had asked for. This trend would continue for the next 20+ years.

I remember all these little things, all these little things which you’ve forgotten. All these little cuts, they’re still bleeding.

Keltik

Love

2010-07-01T14:15:00.000-07:00

When you came into my life it opened my heart
I didn't know I was looking for you from the start
With a smile from your eyes and a kiss from your lips
You knew just how to make my heart do flips
You didnt make it hard to fall in love
To tell you the truth my love for you fit like a glove
It makes me so happy to see you near me
Your love never faltered even on the day I said baby please call me HE
I know one day we will take our vows and say I do
I'll stand up there and tell everyone how you are the best girl ever knew
It will make me so happy to call you my wife
I know you will be with me my whole life

Korey Conley

Mommy

2010-06-30T06:10:00.000-07:00

She makes me happy
She calls me Korey
She says you are my son with an expression of glory
I can see she is really trying
and Im so happy I don't have to keep up the lying
She tells me "I will always be here for you"
One sad thing is I know she is one of the few
She is not only my mommy
She is also a true friend
She is always here to help me when I am on the mend
She never sees herself in the right light
When I look at her I see a woman with alot of might
I hope one day she will feel love like I do
And open her heart to see that someone can love her too

Korey Conley

Guest Author - Love has no gender

2010-06-29T08:09:00.000-07:00

Foreword

I received this email from Shaiy, talking about meeting her FTM partner. I thought it was a nice insight into how it can be for someone who has very little understanding of the trans community to fall in love with an FTM. So, with Shaiy's permission, I'm going to share it with you all, enjoy!

Keltik

Hi Keltik,

I'm a Bisexual. Well I used to be. To me, it was either a guy, or a girl. I've never met anyone like Rayyan. It was one year ago that we met. We were seating across each other with our bunch of Les friends at Starbucks. Well everyone thought he was a freak just because he was a different kind of a lesbian. So I tried to stay away from him. After a second meet up, I ignored the rest, and tried talking to him. He cracked me up till dawn and we instantly felt the connection. Though, I couldn't understand what was going on. He's going to the doctor every month for a jab and I was ignorant about what's going on. Until he showed me his Youtube and the process of becoming a man. I instantly freaked out. I thought why would someone want to change what they are? Why can't they accept for whatever God has created them to be? He was just starting his T's then.

We went estranged from each other. I thought, I needed time to think, to absorb what the hell was going on. I was clueless about transgendered male. I thought it only happen from a male to female.Like I said, I was ignorant. So we didn't contact each other for a couple of months. When he wasn't around, I decided to do some research and found out a lot of things about transgendered male and the worldwide phenomenon of Thomas Beatie. I also saw a 20/20 of transgendered children. I thought wow, that's really something.

It took me a lot of months before accepting that he’s an FTM and I needed to accept him as a him now. Constantly at the back of my mind, it was always, why do I need to date a guy when I’m already comfortable dating girls. My darling was patient enough to get me accept for who he is and what things might be. I didn’t understand. I was confused at the same time when we were dating, I was dating someone else. My career when into kickstart and I kept on going back to him whenever my mind went into pressure even when I was attached to a girl. He dated someone and something inside me said no, he belongs to me. I think I was selfish, but I was just following my heart.
Now, after more than a year and officially together, we are finally happy and accepting each other for whatever we are. I love him to the core, wish to marry, have kids, and live happily. Though that's another rough stage we need to go through here in Asia.

Shaiy

As Is

2010-06-24T17:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Ethan,

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Because of you,

I have finally learned to love my body.

As is.

Not as it could be

or should be

or might happen later.

As is.

With saggy breasts,

manhole,

and dicklet.

As is.

Because of you,

I’ve decided not to have top surgery.

I know you didn’t do this on purpose.

You were horny.

I was horny.

We had sex.

I’m sure that’s all it was to you.

In some respects,

that’s all it was to me, too.

I thoroughly enjoyed it.

No one had touched me like that in years.

But

Seeing your beautiful body

in all its glory

Deeply affected me.

How could your body be beautiful

if it was so much like mine?

I hated my body

But

Now I see that we’re both beautiful

Just as we are.

As is.

No surgery required.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Aran

Shapeshifting For Beginners

2010-06-21T12:56:00.000-07:00

Three weeks ago today I had 1000mg 1M of Nebido, a slow-release formulation of testosterone, injected into the top of my right gluteous maximus muscle in my bum. My girlfriend held my hand, and as I felt the sharp prick of the needle and relaxed into a wave of satisfaction, she wept ine the power of the moment.

I have begun my shapeshifting journey by way of masculinising therapy and I am feeling my transformation from the inside out. So much is happening to me it feels, I have to say, sometimes overwhelming and I have an urge to bolt somewhere to safety while my body, mind and spirit transmutes. My organismic self has never felt so alive, boosted in turbocharge by a hormone it hasn’t ever felt in such abundance before.

The most profound change I have noticed so far is how I feel about myself. My self-belief has soared and my understanding of who and where and how I am in the world is becoming clearer to me. I am also more profoundly aware of my personal limits than ever before too and have been wrapped up with a constant ethical dialogue going on in my mind about how I am relating to my young clients. I still have not experienced any negative issues with the young people as they discover my new gender identity. As I expected I can get some very direct and personal questions, e.g. “will you have a willy?” to which I answer that I am not prepared to talk about my private parts in the same way as I would not ask them questions about their’s!!! Questions like “will you be able to get your girlfriend pregnant?” I answer with factual accuracy (erm… NO!) and I respect that the questions are asked to satisfy a natural curiosity about an area of difference that most have never come across personally before.

I get a sense that my openness is encouraging healthy mind-stretching about what it means ‘to be a man’ and questions of self-identity. It’s probably not surprising that many teenagers are intensely interested in seemingly existential challenges to this thing we call ‘self’ and what it means. These years are all about finding one’s own self-identity, separating out from parents and learning to be independent. I remember acutely those moments in my puberty first time round when it all went so horribly wrong and I was left with a fragmented and shattered sense of self. This time round I get the most amazing opportunity to do it in a way that is congruent with my gender-identity and I feel my sense of self has a much stronger integrity now. My boundaries feel clearer at a time when they appear so fuzzy. Wow, at three weeks this can only grow now and my shapeshifting mind-body-spirit continuum can morph and vibrate with a freedom I have only dreamt of before.

Sam Feeney

Guest Author - Lesbians Attracted To Transmen

2010-06-19T07:11:00.000-07:00

Foreword

I asked Drea if she would make a video explaining why as someone who identifys as a lesbian would be attracted to transmen. I think this is an important issue that should be addressed as it seems to be one misunderstood by many transguys and as such can cause offense. So here is her input on the matter.

Keltik

FemmeDrea

My Beautiful Trans Body

2010-06-06T14:53:00.000-07:00

I love my Trans body.

I love it.

I love my hairy face

hairy chest

and hairy butt.

I don’t love my breasts,

but I accept them.

They are mine.

I am theirs.

I love the manly muscles that continue to astound me.

I am solid.

I am strong.

I can lift heavy objects with ease.

I love my bass voice.

Sure I can sing tenor,

but why not make myself heard?

I love my dicklet.

Yes, I wish it were bigger,

but I’m not the only guy who wishes he had a bigger dick.

I love my manhole, too.

I bring it to orgasm whenever I can.

I love my body.

Yes, it is trans.

It will always be trans.

I will never have the penis and testicles I desire.

And that’s okay.

If God wanted me to be a cisman,

God would have made me one,

but God didn’t.

God made me trans instead.

God wanted me to make this journey

From woman to man.

Who am I to argue with that?

Sure, my body is different from lots of other bodies.

So what?

God likes diversity.

God didn’t just make one size or one shape,

Nor did God just make 2 genders or 2 sexes.

God made transpeople.

I am one of them.

I love my Trans body.

I love my body.

‘nough said.

Aran

Get over yourself

2010-05-31T17:13:00.000-07:00

Why are you so obsessed with your dick

or my lack of one?

Why can’t you see that being a man

is more than having a biological dick?

I’m never going to have a dick like yours,

so get over it.

I can’t afford the surgery,

and the surgery doesn’t work all that well anyway,

so why bother?

This is who I am.

So get over yourself already.

Aran

Wake Up

2010-04-17T09:58:00.000-07:00

A time to be arrested amongst your peers
They hold the troubles and the horrific fears
At which we strive to release
Into the unknown so they will decease
But what happens after letting them go
Only time will surely know
Our true nature will reveal
Our secret thoughts we so like to conceal
The words we all like to hide
That fill us up with deafening pride
We'll take our advice into our own hands
Raise our banners into the crowded stands
With rawrs all around the sorrow ears
How could this go on for so many years
Not saved by a being from the unknown
Our desires and feelings are now shown
For the world to see, we're on the edge
Saluting to something, repeating our pledge
But what does it really mean
If our scars are ripped at the seams
Will it satisfy ourselves, and make us proud
Will anyone stand up and scream out loud
That this is not what we are meant to do
Excuses, excuses, that we make up to you
By the power in me, I pronounce us lost
And theres nothing we can do to spare the cost
With us doing this, what really happens
In the end, that our love sends
A message amongst the others who do not believe
The lost who only wish to acheive
With hopes and wishes and lies at our hearts
Nothing else can matter when that movie starts
Can we reach the end already
I think it's time, I'm holding steady
Please give me the piece I am missing
Does the friend turn against him, in a slow hissing
Do they capture the man who stole her will
To live on this earth, until he claims the kill
Will the ambulance arive just in time
To save me from the distant chime
Of the angry crowd screaming my name
Nothing will ever be the same
I will wake from this terrible dream
And my whole life will seem
Real

Brandon

Late Night Ramblings

2010-04-17T09:51:00.000-07:00

The names Brandon
I came across this blog by typing "Trans blogs" into Google. Magical huh?
I needed it though, I needed this.
As I was reading through all of your posts, I was nodding the whole time.
Finally the people who understand.

I'm a youngin'
Only 18 years old.
I discovered 3 months ago that I'm a Transgendered male
Have I come out? Yes, as gay, not as trans
I haven't started transitioning
But do I have storys? Pleanty

When I had dreams, I was always a male
You'd think it would've clicked then
But it never did
Being the nerd I am, I played an online game
and still play it to this day
You get to choose a character, male or female
I was 15 when I started playing
I chose a male character

These 3 years of playing that game
have been the best of my life
I got to be who I was inside
I was incredibly comfortable
More comfortable then I have ever been
Only recently have I told people who I really was
It went over well with some
But I have lost a few friends

My only thoughts right now are
What do I do next?
I don't know any other trans men personally
Hell, I dont even have a lot of Lesbian or Gay friends

I have to tell my family
I know I do
If I don't, I know I shall self destruct soon

I know I'm not alone, but why does it feel that way?
I walk out the door and people stare
I dont look them in the eyes
I'm afraid of what they might see

They dont talk to me though, they dont say anything
About my short hair, and guy cloths
I suppose I look like someone they dont want to mess with
Or so I've been told by others

People are afraid of what they dont understand
Hateing is easier
Than trying to see it from my point of view
But I guess no one will ever truly understand me
Unless he's another trans man

My family doesn't see me when I wince at the word "she"
They've said nothing about me cutting my hair off
I've always been a "tom boy" so the cloths weren't new
My mom doesn't notice that I've stopped shaving my legs
She just doesn't look, really look

I need someone to talk to
I think that will stop these horrible thoughts
That fill my mind at night
Only at night

It's late, and its about time I try to sleep
I will most likely fail though

You will hear from me again
Rambling on about my feelings
I just hope I'm still alive by then
I just hope I survive this

Thank you for reading

Brandon

Living Undercover

2010-04-10T16:03:00.000-07:00

I’ve just watched a documentary called ‘Deliver Us From Evil’, about pedophilia in the catholic church. The film mostly concentrated on the victims of one particular preist, the preist himself spoke about the abuse quite openly, but the church refused to contribute.

But it was really giving a platform to the victims, allowing them to talk about how something that had happened at an early age had affected their whole life. One woman talked about how her father couldn’t walk her down the aisle (he had denounced the church), she wasn’t married and that she had not become a mother, at almost 40 years old. That this dark cloud had been hanging over her since the abuse started around age 5.

Watching her struggle to keep her composure as she told her story, I felt nothing but sympathy for her. She hadn’t chosen to be a victim of this man. She had done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve this ‘life sentence’. I sympathised with her and her struggle.

Then I came to realise, it was empathy, not sympathy I was feeling. Being transgendered or a transsexual, there is this big dark cloud hanging over head. It affects every part of day to day life. We didn’t choose this, we didn’t do anything wrong, we didn’t deserve this ‘life sentence’. But do we get the same reaction from society as a whole? Do we get the same sympathetic feeling as these victims of abuse? Or do trans people often end up as victims of abuse because of our situation?

Y’know, I read the book ‘Donnie Brasco’, about the undercover cop who infiltrated the mob. He talked about how difficult it was to be effectively ‘living a lie’, how he needed a break, to come home and be himself again, to see his family. The stress of being constantly ‘on’, of having to be constantly aware of not slipping up, of not allowing a natural reaction to slip through that might give him away. The police have intensive counselling for these guys when their part in the investigation is over, it’s a hard thing to do, to live a lie, to face serious repercussions should you be caught out. To be someone you’re not 24/7.

Do I need to point out the startlingly obvious parallels here?

Keltik

Coming Out

2010-03-25T15:27:00.000-07:00

Hosted on Tumblr.

Ira

Safe Sex For Trans Guys

2010-03-24T16:05:00.000-07:00

MegaThatcher

Hollow

2010-03-24T15:15:00.000-07:00

There’s so much air inside of these four walls,
still air, it’s pressing in on me,
I can feel the silence,
There simply aren’t enough bodies here for my liking,
Just one more would do, just one more other than me,
to hold me and tell me everything will be fine.

It’s them, because of them,
because of those boys that think they are men,
They hurt me, and yet again,
I am here in this place that I never wanted to be in, ever again.

Inside this hollow room I myself feel hollow,
alone and afraid of making my life the best it can be,
A friend, a hug, a smile, a joke,
these things could fill me up again And my hollow would be no more.

They seem to dislike me,
But why?
they have no clue Is it possible they just think I’m a strange guy?
coz that could be fine,
I can win that battle If thats the case I can do anything.

A fear, of the unknown, others fear it as I do.
A fear of what others could know or not know.
It’s enough to bring a man to tears and tremors,
for one’s mind to curl up and cry of its own accord.

If one of them guessed??
If I knew one of them long ago and he remembered?
what could that mean?
I fear their fists, their eyes, even their insolent aggressive little minds.
If they know, I have more to fear than I ever have before…. sitting here hollow…afraid

TommyKaos

Girls or Boys?

2010-03-23T15:35:00.000-07:00

Some people ask me which I really like better: girls or boys?
Surely, I must like one better than the other, right?
Why the hell do they want to know?
So they can put me in one of their little boxes?
Why can't I love both?
And what's wrong with bisexuality anyway?
Are straight couples afraid I might seduce both of them?
Are gay couples afraid I might lure one of them away?
Or do people look at me and see something in themselves
that they dare not admit?
Sure, a guy might only have relationships with women but appreciate the sight of a naked man with a raging hardon.
Or a lesbian might have to admit that she likes a dick now and then, but that wouldn't be politically correct, now would it?
Or what about a gay man who really likes to look at women's breasts?
Or the straight woman who does, too?
Or the "straight" men who go down low?
All meet the criteria for classical bisexual behavior,
but how many of them will admit it?
I admit it.
I am a bisexual man who loves both tits & pussy and cocks & assholes.
I love watching lesbians or gay men
or straight couples
or threesomes
or any other number of configurations.
I've only had sex with the opposite sex,
but I've fantasized about everything else
and hope to try different things in the future.
I am a bisexual man.
I won't deny it.
So when people ask me their stupid little question,
I'll ask them, "Why? Do you want a date?"

Aran

Exoskeletons

2010-03-20T23:02:00.000-07:00

I feel myself

being broken

open

again.

My chest heaves

as my brestbone

splits in two

so my new self

can emerge

into the Light.

He is beautiful,

standing there

in the Light;

Standing there

in the discarded exoskeleton of my old self.

I thought I had already found my true self.

Isn't that what my transformation is all about?

Discarding the old self

and letting the new self emerge?

I thought I had already done that,

but

maybe

I was wrong.

Now I look down

and see many exoskeletons of former selves.

Each time I took a big step in my transformation,

I shed a little piece of myself.

Each time I had an epiphany or a growth spurt,

I molted again.

Like a crab which has just shed is old shell,

I am vulnerable for a little while

until my new exoskeleton hardens,

but oh the growth that happens until it does.

So I try on this new self for size

and realize that I like it better than the old one.

I wonder how long

this self will last

until it joins the others

on the floor.

Aran

It's medical, not immoral

2010-03-19T23:27:00.000-07:00

Being a transsexual is a medical condition. It’s the same as any other medical condition. There is a physical defect with your body. It is not a fetish. It is not a kink. It is not a choice.

It is worrying to me that so many people have this misconception of what transsexualism means. While talking to an MTF friend, she told me that her parents said to her when she came out that they wouldn’t talk to her again until she “became the man Christ wanted [her] to be”. Clearly, they’re a very religious people. But I would pose these questions to them and anyone else who would have the same views;

What would your stance be if your child was diagnosed with a different medical condition? Would you tell your child that God had intended for them to have that physical defect and that they should live with it? Even if it was life threatening? What if your child was born with an obvious physical defect, such as a misformation of the spine, would you tell that child, that is how God intended them to be and to have corrective surgery would be immoral?

If you want to take this logic and run with it you could argue that no illness should be treated, that medical science should be abolished! God intended for you to have cancer! It would be immoral to have corrective surgery or medical treatment! But that’s just a bit silly, isn’t it? I don’t honestly think God would be that mean.

The problem with transgenderism is that there is no test that can be done early on to determine a child’s gender. There’s no obvious physical characteristics, there’s no blood test that can be performed. The diagnosis and treatment for transsexualism is really still in it’s infancy.

But then I think, what about 100 or 200 years ago? Medical science was in it’s infancy then, what would they have made of cojoined twins for example? Medical science has progressed to the point that people now understand that it’s not the ‘work of the devil’, but rather just a birth defect.

I wonder how long will it be before people come to understand that transsexualism isn’t the ‘work of the devil’, it’s just a birth defect.

Keltik

Guest Author - To Commit Pronoun "Fellany"

2010-03-19T19:25:00.000-07:00

Foreword

On occasion I will invite a guest author to contribute to the blog, as I believe it's important to get some feedback from non-FTMs on how our community is viewed.

I received an email response to a post I had made on here, LGB-T? from Krisiswriting. She told me that she identified as a lesbian and wanted to respond to the points I had raised in my post regards the lesbian community. I was quite taken with her response and asked if I could post it here to let you all see. Her response is below, enjoy!

Keltik

To Commit Pronoun "Fellany"

While reading the blog at http://thetwordblog.blogspot.com, I felt an unfamiliar urge to get involved with the conversation and reply. I understand that this blog is only for Trans Men, but since the subject of “L” came up and I was reading the blog not as trans, but as a lesbian who is interested in the subject, why not have a little give and take. First of all, I want to say that I am one of those guilty as charged (see the post “LGB-T?”). I’m not an Alex Parks drone; I’m one of those that commit the pronoun sins, mostly towards MTFs as you pointed out. It is not in hatred, it is in ignorance and confusion.

I’d like to think that lesbians are the more thoughtful type, more prone to PC, but this is a tricky category for them/us/me. As perhaps a more independent female sometimes than a straight “breeder”, more attracted to scientific method, more interested in knowing the right answer as so many of us were the only girls raising hands in class, we have this inherent need to “call a spade a spade” when we have further information about a shovel. We are “know it alls”, we may have even been the bottom feeders, the low girls on the totem pole, and no one was below us because even the nerdy boys had their maleness to triumph over us. Many of us were made fun of or felt like lepers when we were younger perhaps. Do you know what happens to an angry nerd girl who was frustrated until her sexual awakening, who’s had an ego boost because now she fits in somewhere? She commits verbal felonies.

In my experience, it’s hard not to tell an MTF. And for some reason I am more likely to call a drag queen “she” than a transgendered man. (And here’s the kick, i don’t even know if that is the right phrase, i just committed another oops moment. If it’s an MTF, is it a Trans man or a woman? I guess it is a woman because this blog is about Trans men.) There is something about “men” that stumps lesbians. When you know it’s there, you point it out. It’s a politically incorrect Where’s Waldo puzzle. When you see butches grabbing their crotches, you notice. When everyone has faux hawks, is wearing baseball hats, or wearing ties, you tally it up. Especially if you are less likely to do those things. You wonder why it seems like suddenly everyone has turned into teenage boys. It perplexes you. Because you are a woman, and you thought that was different than boy, even if a tomboy? And you are gay and into other woman. You didn’t date teenage boys when you were a teenager, yet they seem to be the pickings at the moment in this particular club you are in. And that’s neither here nor there of whom you may end up with; it is just that these are the ”faces” of lesbian right now. The cover models if you will.

We all know “The L Word” is a farce. There seemed to be very few things real about what they portrayed as couples. But what the “real” cover story of lesbian is, is the Trans movement and they did display that as part of the show. I for one feel as though we have been taken over, there was a mutiny somewhere, and this is coming from a reluctant lesbian and only a sometimes feminist. I for one hate our label/title. I’d rather just be gay and considered in the middle, not femme or butch.

It is not about what lesbians don’t have, it’s about what everyone else gets. There is resentment. It is difficult being a lesbian. Does anyone really talk about that? We’ve heard so much from the gay men’s “chorus” because they have cover models that go back to Rock Hudson. We have more men encroaching on our “turf” wanting to be women, and they seem to aim to be better at it than we are, meaning they follow a very traditional feminine role. I can’t apply makeup like some drag queens, gay men and MTFs! Then we haven’t even begun to talk about straight men who we tried to break out of the mold from. Additionally, you have a lot of butch/femme roles being played out in our community that seem stifling. Once you get to FTMs, it is just more of the same male dominance, and some of us have taken issue because we don’t understand what is happening to our community, our inner sanctum, the L in the whole GLBT. We hold womanliness and the feminine in high esteem. Not only that, but as Ls, we’ve had to fight for a different kind of woman, the kind that is not under a man’s thumb.

It’s the reaction of a flinching dog that has been yelled at too many times. There is so much masculinity in this world, and overtly sexualized femininity. We want to bite the hand of the Trans because it sometimes feels like the last straw. We’ve taken all we can of man. We want to keep some of the beauty, brains and power that FTMs hold within them, inside of our circle. We want your kink, your geek, your ego, your courage, your parts, your lips, your love to stay with us. It feels like a whole fleet of women are sailing away to discover a new world where men rule and they can be one of the ruling class. They leave us all waving on a separate shore, and we are not sure how to proceed. To come back to our land and announce “you will now call me sir”, well it’s just a little much to swallow and we are not used to swallowing.

To wrap this up, just like you, we are a work in progress. I personally have been finding myself intrigued by some FTMs. Some are extremely sexy to me, but usually not so much when they bulk up, but when they look like effeminate boys. I stayed up watching youtube until 6am listening to an angelic FTM talk about his surgery and taking T. I was mesmerized. I felt like I could still see his girl beauty, but he was an exquisite example of androgenous to me. When he spoke about his clit growing and having boners, I popped my own girl boner. But when he spoke about needing a bigger phallus and packing, my girl boner shrunk. This particular FTM had gone off of T. He looked like a skinny calvin klein model. I felt a combination of lust and calmness because he still seemed so soft. I watched subsequent videos after he went back on T and I lost my lust. He was scruffier, and looked more like a man growing into himself. Someone loves him. She could be a lesbian, or a straight girl, or a bi boy or another boi or a gay boy. He has the whole world to choose from and a majority of it to be a part of. We are just a little miffed that he turned his gorgeous back on us.

Krisiswriting

Response to Texas

2010-03-13T15:13:00.000-08:00

In response to the anti-trans stance taken by Texas in their schools.

Hosted on Tumblr.

Keltik

Blurring the Lines

2010-03-07T08:50:00.000-08:00

It's because I'm ambiguous, isn't it?
It's because I blur
those beautifully drawn
black and white lines
that separate men from women
gay from straight
"normal" from--
well, whatever the preferred term is today.

I blur the line between men and women
by claiming my manhood by altering my female body.
I'm a boy,
but I'm keeping my vagina.
I still use it for orgasms;
why on earth would I want to get rid of it?

I blur the lines between gay and straight
by claiming my bisexuality.
My attraction to someone isn't solely based upon
what's between their legs.

I blur the line between "normal" and whatever the term du jour is
by claiming my ambiguity and functioning in society
at the same time.
I'm bi and trans,
but I hold a job.
I attend church.
I have friends.
I don't look any different from any other
short middle aged white guy.
I don't look blurry,
but sometimes I wished I did
so people could actually see the ambiguities
and compare them
to their own.

What lines
do you blur?

Aran

LGB - T?

2010-03-02T08:37:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking recently about the term 'LGBT'. Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered. Some people talk about how the T just gets lumped on at the end there, how it's easier to just include us with the gays, like we're not really a part of them, but we're a bit weird and different too, so it's ok. But then, I see how people in the LGB part of the community act towards the T part of the community. They voice similar predjudices towards us that the heteronormative community so often does. I even saw one lesbian refer to a transwomen as "this transexual guy" "He's wearing a fetching pink dress todayy!". Just a complete disregard for this woman's right to be refered to as female, she clearly knows that the person is an MTF, yet chooses to use the wrong pronouns.

It makes me wonder why the LGB part of the community chooses to act like this towards us, you would think that being part of a minority, a communtiy already maligned by the greater heteronormative communtiy, they would be more sympathetic towards our community. Yet they're not.

So why would this be? When I think back to my time in the lesbian communtiy, there was this feeling of hatred and disdain for anyone encroaching on their community who wasn't an 'Alex Parks carbon copy dyke', this included me. I was too butch for them, plus I was into music like Slipknot, not the dance/pop music that was popular then. So even back then I didn't fit in, I was an outsider, I never got to understand the mentality behind this disdain. But it was there, it was real. I see others, who are members of the Butch/Femme community who, to this day, still experience this rejection from the greater lesbian community.

It makes me think, if the lesbian community (I'm sorry I can't speak for the gay community, I've never really had much experience with the boys) is still willing to reject other lesbians for something as trivial as being 'too butch' or 'too femme' what hope does the trans community have?

So I kept thinking. And then I watched a video by Charles (freshlycharles), talking about his expericenes as a female in a 'rape culture'. And it got me thinking some more. I remember hearing so many coming out stories, where women had said that at first they had sexual experieces with guys before realising they were gay. And it made me think, is there something, perhaps on some subconsious level that makes the lesbian community so guarded because they don't want the effects of this 'rape culture' to permeate? They don't have any sexual interest in men and so why would they want this male influence in their world? Do they view transwomen as really just men in women's clothes? Do they view transmen as dykes who 'sold out'? Deaddogx makes some good points in his video about this too.

When I look at the term 'LGBT', the first thing that comes to mind is that the LGB part refers to sexuality, the T refers to gender. Now, as I've mentioned before, these are two different things. Gender doesn't denote a specific sexuality and sexuality doesn't denote a specific gender. They're two seperate entities, so why are they pushed together like this?

Maybe that's a contributing factor to this 'us and them' feeling? Being a lesbian or a gay man doesn't involve having dysphoria, hormone treatment or surgery. There isn't the same kind of big changes involved with being gay as opposed to being trans. Lesbians are biologically female and female identified, as with the guys, they're biologically male and male identified. They are cisgendered people, who happen to be sexually attracted to people of the same sex and gender.

But then what about all the lesbian, gay and bisexual transpeople? They have every right to be a part of these communities, yet they still experience predjudice. But then I guess this takes us back to my earlier point.

I don't like this feeling of 'us and them', be it between the gay community, the trans community, the LGBT community or the heteronormative community. To my mind, conflict doesn't solve anything. We're all in this together, we're all human after all.

Keltik

Ritual

2010-02-27T11:38:00.000-08:00

The line between male and female
Is as thin and sharp as the needle
That kisses my skin dimpled and chilled
By a pack of frozen corn

I close my eyes
breathe
place the
Puncture in at 2 o’clock
on my upper thigh Wince
hope the 2 inches of steel don’t
Break the tenacity of the human will
The spirit of the boy who knocked on the
Window of my psyche since birth
Ceaselessly willing himself into existence

Every day he promises to let me live in clarity
look in the mirror and recognize the reflection

I am terrified of needles
At age 12 the doctor plundered
6 vials of blood testing for anemia
after I bled everyday for a month
without ceasing
my girl body’s first act
of betrayal

Conceived in contradictions
Born at the mouth of the grand canyon,
Mother Earth’s vagina, only to be
swaddled in a blue Blanket and the
mother that held me whispered in my ear
“Baby, you can grow up to be anything
Anything you can dream”
I choked at that gaping hole of possibility
Stunted by confusion coughed on the shards
Of the broken edifice of a broken family

It is a understandable human response
To want to save a wounded animal
If you knew that a caterpillar goes through physical
Pain while in the chrysalis you might want to pluck
It out, rescue it from its misery
But it is those very chemicals released in this torment
That cleave the young larva away from
The lovely apathetic life of eating grass into
Its metamorphosis; metaphor of holy resurrection
The divine rite of every creature to transcend
Itself into the fragile line between
What is and what is possible

I press the needle down
It goes in like butter
exhale and wait
for this fragile
line to snap

Alden

Chapter One

2010-02-27T11:33:00.000-08:00

I thought my face was an open book
My eyes transparent windows
Amber pools of stories you could
Trace the fingers of your
inquisitive spirit with
Now

You wonder why I can’t look you directly in the eye
Or when I do I search your face for cues
Of how to read me

Ten years ago
He told me that I was so cool he was sure
I could pee standing up
I could hold my own in a bar fight
Ride a motorcycle
In me he wanted a lover but instead discovered
A brother

And it’s taken ten years to believe in what he
Was seeing

Sometimes I wonder if my face is a pack of lies
Or a litmus test
The lilt of my voice
The weight of my walk
The size of my hips
drop hints
as to what you choose to call me
either apologetically correcting the pronoun
or blatantly calling me girl from across
the room

I shrug each pronoun mishap
Each bathroom anxiety attack
as if I don’t mind
it’s just a part of the transgendered
adventure but every day
I am trying so hard to match my outside
With my inside so I am completely
telling you the truth with each look

Alden

The Wanderer Part 2

2010-02-24T22:48:00.000-08:00

He flipped through the book while the wind blew past whenever a bus drove by, crinkling the pages. The apartment building next to him, with its cheap bricks and depressing title missing at least 4 letters, offered some protection from the wind of vehicles. He was a speck on the world, cars flying past without knowing he was even there. Never knowing what kind of person they'd just so carelessly sped by.

“Man. Is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” whispered Oscar in his ear. He flipped forward with care, the edges were giving way to age and use. Yellowing at the corners, ripping at the slightest ill-planned pull.

Contemplating Oscar's words, he put away the heavy book, it's original vibrant green giving way to cardboard brown. The grass beneath him was suffering a similar fate.

Looking around, he realized the same could be said of this neglected city.

The trees and sky giving way to buildings that aged as soon as they were planted, trash blew by in a toxic wind.

Kicking away an empty grocery bag, he brushed himself down; refusing to give way to the process himself.

He gathered his things, heading towards the bridge that separated this side of town from the Gay Village. Maybe he would go by the Centre, or maybe he would try to illegally sell some of his paintings (he couldn't sell things on the street without a 'Hocker's licence', which was $300), or maybe he would just stand in the middle of the bridge and ponder.

The walk to the bridge took a good hour, time he was happy to kill. He continued to think of Oscar, and the masks the world wore. Which was the mask, the binding or the makeup? What truth did each bring?

Sun began to shine in his eyes as it rose higher into the day, cars raced by him, giving him no more thought than the gasoline they were burning or the intricate pattern of broken glass he was now walking through.

He tried to feel compassion for each and every one of them. He knew, in their minds, their lives were just as hard, if not harder, than his. Empathy was a game he liked to play.

Finally he approached the bridge, the sides of the street turned to gravel and then to trees, the river running fast past them. He sat his things in the middle of the walk and looked out over the water. It was called the Red River, apparently because of some ancient clay base. But now it was shit brown, and that was on good days.

It looked partially calm from so high above, but he knew underneath there were small whirlpools waiting to grab and drown those who dared swim.

When he was a bit younger, he had 3 best friends. They all lived in houses on the river, and – despite their parent's warnings – he and his friends would go down to the dock or the park next to his home. On the dock they'd push each other, daring one another to fall in. They would exchange stories of pride and goals, dreaming of the day they would own their own homes next to the water bank.

Each Spring the waters would rise, as the snow melted away, and he and his friends would watch for unusual things to float by. One year, the water rose and melted early on in the year, quickly freezing again. That year a purple couch sat in the middle of the river, tattered and worn, begging to be freed from it's icy prison. He still, even now, wondered how it got there. That was the same year they kids had found a small fort in the woods, made of mattresses. He remembered the brisk air hitting him as he sneaked out at night to walk the path to the woods. He would stare at the pile of mattresses, at the trees, the dirt on his hands and the couch in the ice. Pieces of lives stuck together, a collage of accidents and years gone by.

He knew he'd never dip his feet into the water with those friends again. Not now that he himself was the pastiche.

The summer had come that year, as always, and washed the puzzle. He wondered if he too was heavy to be picked up and carried upstream. He wondered what it would be like, to fall from the bridge, and just let the undercurrent take him away.

He took out his sketch book, after rooting through his things a bit. As the sun beat down, he drew the river's body as a woman's, arms outstretched, trees reaching in at her sides. Perhaps he would paint it the next time he could find some canvas. He'd learned to gather little bits of things for his art, discovering a little stealth or kindness could lead to some treasures. His favourite thing to find was canvas... in his old life, canvas was just fancy paper or fabric stretched over some wood. Now, he could see it in the back of signs, old tables and chairs, once he even found a huge glass door that he could take the glass out from and paint.

Finally it was time again to depart, towards the village. The streets were becoming crowded now, and as his queer home drew nearer, as did the people. It was rank with foot-steps and cell phones, of graffiti and weed. He smiled.

Each door had a new shop, with jazzy earrings or a beckoning hand. Music was always playing from somewhere and people of all sorts hurried around in circles.

A couple of butches with tank-tops and underarm hair stomped past, laughing, their eye brows and lips adorned with matching rainbow piercings.

There were two men, one in an argyle vest and another in a leather jacket. One with a crew-cut, the other with a Mohawk. Their matching rainbow bracelets intertwined as they pressed against the wall of a Chinese restaurant.

An old woman with a million necklaces shuffled by in a daze. He swore he knew her from somewhere... It was his great-grandmother! He hadn't seen her in at least a year.

She walked right by him, without an acknowledgement. He didn't know whether he should be proud or shameful that she thought he was just another young man on the street. He kept moving.

A rich woman clad in all white carried her day's purchases passed a man on the ground with his hat out. The homeless man was there each day, crying out for attention and change.

A few weeks back, when he'd been secretly selling art, that very homeless man had made a complaint to the police... “That girl is selling things, she's blocking the street and she has no Hocker's licence!”

The policeman had been very kind, but explained he could not stay there without that licence. The officer tried to compensate by saying, “Don't worry, I won't call your parents. Just head on home, like a good girl.”

He'd asked, he wasn't even allowed to give away the art for free.

He walked past the homeless man, who did not recognize him either.

He walked up and down a few more times before he grew tired, deciding to go to the Cyber Cafe. Luckily, a kind grrl with an asymmetrical haircut stood behind the counter. She gave him some water and told him he could sit on the couches to read.

The smell of coffee and electronics got the best of him, the hum wooing him into a sleep. He awoke with a criss-cross impression on his face and a free bagel on his lap. He smiled at the treat, scarfing it down happily. He never had appreciated before the fulfilling feeling of real food being crushed beneath his teeth.

Oscar sat with him on the burgundy couch, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“Vile deeds, like poison weeds, bloom well in prison air. It is only what is good in man that wastes and withers there.” Oscar reminded him.

His back ached from binding, and his head from memories. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small lunch box. Inside he had 3 cigarettes.

He left his imprint, along with his bags, on the couch, abandoning it briefly for the cement stairs outside. As he puffed he found a free Wi-Fi network and went onto messenger. As if a miracle had struck, he was invited over to a not-friend's house. He knew it would just be a night of the not-friend listing each and every Pokemon and eating the two of them enjoying a feast of 3-day-old chips; but it was a meal and it was a place to rest. He accepted eagerly, as people next door began to drink mid-day at the pub. Their laughter carried to him, he couldn't tell if he hated or loved it.

After smoking, he felt the tar on his teeth. As he walked back into the store, he could practically see the thick cologne the smoke had left on him surrounding his person. He saw the grrl behind the counter had been replaced by a balding older man. One look and he knew it was time to leave again.

He couldn't help but wonder if a prison could be without walls, or guards, or name. If instead of being a place you must be, could it just be living a life in which there was no place for you?

If so, had he really escaped at all?

A loonie shone on the ground outside a coffee shop. He leaned over to recover it, but as he did so there was a sharp pain in his back. A safety pin holding his bandage in place had come undone. The pin sunk into his back and he briefly wondered, if it hit his spine, would it kill him?

He shuffled into Starbucks, only to stare at the two bathrooms in fear. Identical figures on each door stared back at him, one with a skirt and one without. He looked down, he saw no skirt in sight; he shook himself and went into the oh-so-sacred Men's room. He said a silent prayer that no one would disturb him.

The floor was sticky as his boots stomped across it, the air was thick with a funk that coated all the surfaces. Finally, inside the stall, he ripped off his gender and stood there. Topless.

His two... accessories... were red and sore, and a bit smelly. He rubbed them briefly to quell the pain. His body took this opportunity to tell him he needed to pee, but before he could drop his pants there was the faint but deadly sound of the door opening.

Feet crossed the floor, the urinal was next to the stall. A zipper was pulled, a groan was released, along with a fair amount of liquid. After a few breaths from the companion in the room, the stranger re-zipped and walked out without the sounds of running water accompanying the exit.

During all this time, the two of them sharing so little air and space between them, all he could think was please don't tap your foot.

Finally, sweet release.

Before leaving his safety zone, making sure once again the lock on the stall was secure, he re-bound and went through his things for another outfit. The summer's heat was making his regular 3-layer routine near unbearable.

He decided to put on the only thing he was truly scared to wear, a pair of trunks.

In his life before, he had sat out in the yard with his mother. She had just had her third child and was sunbathing, thinner than ever. She looked over at him, in his tank top and shorts, and told him he needed to cut down on the Oroes.

In his life before, he had changed for gym one day, opting to wear his new shorts rather than his old sweat pants. The girl next to him looked down at his baggy shirt and plaid leg-wear. She told him he needed to shave his legs, for goodness sake he was 14 already!

In his life before, shorts were a daemon-pant. They were exposing, and embarrassing. They were butchdyke and useless.

Clenching his teeth, he slipped the fabric over his legs. After this, he even took off one of his layers of shirts, and strode out the stall's door as best he could.

It was then he realized there was a new occupant in the room, standing against the urinal.

A few seconds later he was outside and panting.

He pointed himself towards the nearest Safeway, and before he even took his first step a boy with arm tattoos and pink hair strolled past. His eyes followed the attractive young man, awestruck. The boy caught his eye, awkwardly smiled, and hurried on.

He looked down.

He knew what he had seen, an attractive man walking by a less attractive man, a polite hello and his temporary fantasy was quickly put back in its place.

He knew what the world had just seen. A cute, gay punk man walking by a dumpy homeless, shaven headed lesbo.

He turned back to the Starbucks to change again into his uncomfortable clothes, choose a chance at passing over a more 'freeing' outfit.

The sun pulled itself closer to its resting place.

Mark

The Wanderer Part 1

2010-02-23T20:55:00.000-08:00

The air was crisp and chill, he walked briskly, unsure of where he was to go. The downtown cement clicking at his heels, he gaped into the empty shops, the caretakers and owners would be there soon... ringing bells, opening doorways, pulling curtains.

Next to a shop for incredibly thin women who liked incredibly hideous dresses was a poster in a shop of a fat woman saying 'love your body'. He smirked at the irony, though he felt like crying.

He'd been up all night, now the morning light felt like a beacon, he could walk home now...

But where was home?

It wasn't with his family, this was for certain. But, it wasn't with the his estranged 'friends', and it wasn't with the Stranger either. His back ached, carrying his heavy back pack, his arms sore from pulling second bag and the suitcase behind him.

Inside were all the worldly possessions he owned, much had been left behind in of his many moves. He would lose more in the months to come. The collection of items was all he had, and it was slowly being chipped away... Like he was being hit by an ebbing tide.

He remembered when he was a child, his family had moved homes when he was 3, out to Victoria Island. He had a small blue bear, one he'd gotten the day he was born, named Corduroy. Corduroy was nothing special, a blue bear with spots on his ears and hands. He had a small bell inside that rang when he was shook, and soft, soft fur. The day of the move, he'd looked everywhere for his bear, he swore he was behind the couch, under the chair, next to his bed. He couldn't find it, and the truck was there. He screamed as his parents carried him to the car, he didn't have his bear! He didn't have Corduroy!

For the next 3 months, he pouted and cried, all he wanted to do was go back to Winnipeg and get that bear. His parent's tried to explain, they couldn't go back, Mommy needed to get her law degree in Vancouver. Finally, his father ordered a Corduroy replica, it was given to him on his 4th birthday that year.

His father explained it was not the same bear, but the new bear had the same soul.

He pulled his possessions down the sidewalk and into the street, tar cracking beneath his feet, breathing heavy, his binding was sweaty and sticky underneath, he hadn't changed bandages in days. He hadn't taken Corduroy with him, when he'd left home he'd left the bear with his baby sister. He'd left so much behind, but he had it's reincarnation.

He was a reincarnation.

More than ever he wished he owned a cell phone, or at least was old enough to have his own plan... or a credit card. Or maybe a job, so he would have money for a pay phone. Maybe he could call another friend tonight, walk over to their neighbourhood, crash for a night or two on some unfamiliar couch in some shag carpeted basement. After a while, they all seem the same.

He got to a Safeway and sat on the stairs outside, he was lucky it was summertime, lucky it was warm, lucky he was done school for this year. Only one more year until he graduated, and he could move into dorms, maybe, or at least find an apartment on his own... for now he knew that was impossible; no one would rent to a 17-year-old.

He pulled out the only sign of his birth-class, an iPod touch. It was only an 8 gig, but it was better than what most kids had in his situation. He didn't get to charge it much, he would like to at the library but he owed them too much money to dare go there. He remembered this and his shoulders ached a little more, knowing he'd never returned "The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde". He had forgotten to the day he dropped off 12 of 14 of his overdue books. He'd sold the other one, in exchange for bus fare, and he was still working his way through Oscar's. He swore to himself he'd return it one day.

Turning on his iPod he searched for the free signal that was at every Safeway, logging on to his Facebook and then to MSN online. No one was online, so he turned off the device to save a little power. He pulled his life over to the nearest patch of grass, over by the bus stop, and lay down to read. He even treated himself to a little bit of music from his iPod, energy conservation be damned.

He was pretty sure where he would end up that night. Either sleeping behind the Queer Youth Drop in Centre, or behind the bookshelf of the Stranger. The Stranger had been good to him, they'd been friends briefly a year before, he'd played babysitter for the Stranger's child, but now he just felt guilty going back there. He couldn't pay rent, and he never did the dishes or cleaned, and the baby now lived with the Stranger's mother. He just lay there, taking up space.

Sometimes the Stranger would let him sleep in the same bed, but it was only a twin size and he never liked the little room and awkward moments. Not that he ever said no if the bed was offered.

The Stranger's basement apartment smelt like mold and hair, like a shower that had been over-used, like a towel in the laundry. It was small, but clean enough, the carpet was a dingy white, and he had a small cot behind the tiny bookshelf in the living room. The Stranger got the bedroom.

He would wake up in the mornings, in boxers and a t-shirt, an crouch behind that bookcase to bind his chest down for the day; as pulled on his withering blue jeans. On days where he'd gone a week or two without washing the jeans, he'd put on his second pair... and on a rare occasion when both were so dirty they were impossible to wear, he'd put on his old girl-jeans from his life before.

The grass was making his arms itch as he rested them on the ground, holding the fraying pages of the book. He smelled the paper, it had the pungent scent of home and of adventure all at once. It smelt like a million fingerprints, and tears, and breath, and laughter.

It smelt like memories.

Mark

Stars

2010-02-23T20:21:00.001-08:00

I exist in the space between the genders we thought Were.
Then our worlds were blown apart like exploding stars, giving birth to new worlds in the Darkness.

I stand here, alone but whole, for nobody can stand here with Me.
My voice echoes off the stones, My music comes back to Me, the poetry of My Self keeping its own company.

I twirl here, beautiful and free, while life flows around Me, over and through Me, people reflecting each other's worlds like children in funhouse mirrors, passing by like golden leaves on an autumn river.

Some catch in an eddy and dance with Me, others glide on, leaving us with little more of each other than one

fleeting

glimpse.

I am man, I am woman.

I am son, I am daughter.

I am mother and father.

I am sister and brother.

I am some of everything and all of nothing, I am contradiction embodied,
living in one unique form in one unique place at one unique moment in time.

I am perfect in My imperfection.

I am Myself.

And that is all I need to be.

Keith

Tranny Chasers

2010-02-22T21:18:00.000-08:00

To me, the term 'tranny chaser' counjours up images of a dirty old man in adult book shop. It's not a nice term, it's not a nice thing. My understanding of the term is that it someone who has a sexual fetish for transsexual people, I.E. they fetishise the transsexual aspects of those people. To me a tranny chaser isn't someone who has an attraction to the person, just the physical charactaristics that usually define transsexualism.

I know the term can be banded about far too easily and people in the trans community can be quick to label someone a tranny chaser when it's not the case at all. A friend brought up a genuine point, she was branded a tranny chaser by a group of transpeople because she expressed an attraction to transmen and women. She made the point, by their logic, if a transperson is attracted to another transperson, does that not then make them a tranny chaser? I know myself as a transman who has been attracted to other transpeople, that I'm not a tranny chaser, there's no fetish involved for me and the same is true for my friend.

So what does it make me? Well not a tranny chaser for one. When defining my sexuality, I tend to use the terms queer or pansexual. My primary attraction is to cisgendered females, but I'm not going to rule anything out, so I don't define it too specifically. There is a clear difference between someone who has a genuine attraction to a person who is a transsexual and someone who has a fetish for the transsexual aspects of a person's body.

What my greater concern is, why are we so quick to brand someone a tranny chaser? Why are we so quick to push these people away from our community? To slap this quite frankly derogatory term on them and react so violently towards them? I see the trans community talk about feeling excluded from the 'LGBTQPI' community as a whole, yet when someone from another letter in the acronym shows an interest, we reject it.

I used to see something similar when I was still identifying as a lesbian (a good many years ago!), in pubs and clubs on 'the scene' in Glasgow, the girls I was with branding others as "hettys" and being so disdainful and hateful towards them. I think they felt that it was an attack on their space, there are so many 'straight' clubs in Glasgow yet at that time there was maybe 3 or 4 gay pubs and basically 1 club. Is it the same mentality that is prevailing? A feeling of "us and them"?

Something I'm finding as the trans community comes into it's own, is that with the spectrum of gender identities out there, there's alot of 'gender fucking' going on. The porn that the queer community is producing reflects this, different body types, different genders getting it on and getting off. Where's the harm in that?

Personally, I don't want to be fetishised for those parts of my body. To me, they are abhorrant, and for someone's primary interest in me to be just those parts, it would be an insult to me. On the other hand, if someone was attracted to me for who I was, and who I am because I am trans, well that's just fine by me.

Keltik

Trangst: Comparing Yourself to Others, Measuring Up & Being Happy with Yourself

2010-02-08T15:04:00.000-08:00

Sometimes as transmen (and transwomen, too) we have a hard time feeling like "real men," (or "real women" in a transwoman's case) or in some essence that our masculinity is not on the same level as other guys', both trans and not. We tend to get caught up comparing ourselves to non trans males and get hung up about it; we do the same when we see other transguys further in transition or who might possess a masculine physical trait that we particularly desire, like facial hair, penis growth, or a deep voice, etc, and feel like we will never be where he is at, look as masculine as he does, or that we will never even really feel like a "real man" (whatever that is).

I certainly felt that a lot in the beginning of my transition. I would look at other transguys that were much farther than me into transition and be so envious of them; the non transmale hate came when I started passing more regularly and thus was seen to be on their level/"as one of them" and thus was able/had to "compete" with them.

The first photo is me (right) in the fall of 2005, just months before starting testosterone. I was 21, but felt 12, sometimes 15 if I was lucky. I felt like a little high school boy compared to the people my age, especially women. I was uncomfortable around non transmales because not having medically transitioned at the time, I was neither man nor women to them because I was female-bodied but certainly not feminine and anybody they would be interested in, but at the same time, they did not accept me as a male, one of the bros, etc, even though they knew of my transgender identity and that I identified as male, not female. This was entirely frustrating, but at the time I can see that they were not acting only out of ignorance, but the energy they were receiving from me was completely and utterly confusing to them, whether they could physically recognize this or not.

It makes sense; I was uncomfortable with myself. Extremely. How could I expect others to feel comfortable around me? The energy I was giving off was of extreme confusion and coming from two opposite poles to them- both the male and female. On one hand they did not see me as a "normal" girl, but at the same time, I was not a "normal" guy to them either.

The second picture was taken in the summer of 2003 or 2004 when I was not yet trans-identified; I hadn't yet discovered the term "transgender." Clearly I did not dress in a feminine manner and looked quite androgynous. This photo perfectly illustrates the level of discomfort I was at with myself with a body and identity that didn't fit me. The energy and vibes people were getting from me very chaotic, confused, and intense. Perhaps if I had made this realization when I was first transitioning, lack of immediate acceptance would have been more understood on my part and caused much less grief, anxiety, and stress on my part. You live and learn, right?

One of the things that has helped me move from a very depressive, low emotional state was to realize that it is okay to be different. As simple and cliche as it sounds, it is so true. Nobody, whether they're trans or not will be happy if they constantly compare themselves to others. There will always be those that have more, those that have less, and those that actually are jealous of YOU and what you have (believe it or not).

Diversity is one of the many things that makes the human race so unique; no one wants to be a carbon copy of everyone else, except when they're in middle school. You will be happy once you can get comfortable with not having to keep up with others, not comparing what you have to what they have, not always playing Transguy vs. Non Transguy Face-Off in your head; basically, once you can learn to like and value yourself for who you are and not always stressing yourself over who you are compared to others will you ever be happy.

You can still do the things that you like to do and that make you happy without worrying if your actions are "masculine" enough, or "if guys would really do that." You event what it means to be your own man, your own person. Don't let someone else define it for you. Or as Judy Garland more eloquently put it:

"Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else."

I leave you with a video from 7 year old Jazz, who is wise far beyond her years and sums up simply yet eloquently in a 37 second video what it takes most people their whole lives to come to terms with and accept.

Charles

The 'Male' view of Transsexualism and Transgender?

2010-01-31T16:43:00.000-08:00

I've recently started reading a book about masculinity, aptly titled 'Masculinity: Bodies, Movies, Culture' i'm interested in finding out what other people's thoughts on masculinity are as everyone has their own individual stance on what masculinity and femininity are; for example,

a) one person may say masculinity is 'having a cock'

b) others, such as myself may say masculinity is being the man that you feel you are, regardless of how you dress, what genitals you have or how you think,

c)others may think you have to be a-masculine to be masculine i.e. muscular, hairy, disrespectful towards women, violent, into sports etc.

d) others will argue that the idea of gender and gender representation is a sociological aspect of life that is controlled by societies beliefs.

I've found that it seems to either be transmen, gay men and trans/cisgendered women that relate to b and d whereas straight, cisgendered males seem to be completely hung up on the idea that if you don't have a penis then you're not a man and if you do have a penis then you're not a woman.

Now obviously that doesnt go for all of the above and there are the exceptions however I've noticed that in the book I'm reading, which is a compilation of various journal entries and essays from various different people, the chapters by straight males seem to concentrate on the penis and the importance of a penis in regards to masculinity; for example one of the authors referred to various plays and films in which one of the main characters was a pre-op trans woman, the author refers to the characters in female pronouns until the discovery of the woman's penis where his pronouns quickly change to male and when he does refer to the women in their preferred pronouns he presents the pronouns as "she" and "woman" as though mocking her because she doesn't have a vagina and is therefore a man pretending to be a woman.

I was also doing some research for an assignment in which i was searhcing for the story of Brandon Teena. For those of you who don't know, Brandon Teena was a young transman in Nebraska who was brutally raped and murdered by two straight males whom he considered his friends for the simple reason that they found out that he had a vagina. Brandon's girlfriend however and the other females around him either tried to protect Brandon or at least never acted violently towards him after they found out. The men also began to call him Teena whereas the women kept with the name Brandon. Anyway, I was researching Brandon and found a website that had a list of '10 men who were really women'.

Now that's an offensive title anyway although a few of the men were actually women posing as men for the army and returned to their female status after the war, these people also never gave a hint that they identified as trans as their reasoning was generally to be re-united with their husbands in the troops.

However, there were men who defines as men, dressed as men, acted as men, behaved like men and were identified men, Brandon being one of these as well as Albert Cashier, James Barry and Billy Tipton. The men listed defined as men but in the article, written by a cisgendered man named Jamie annoyingly, insultingly and disresepctfully refers to the men as women almost entirely throughout the article.

So what is it with transgenderism and transexualism that terrifies cisgendered men so much? Am I taking away his penis or his masculinity simply by being a man with a vagina? Does my having breasts make me less of a man than him?

What about men who naturally grow breasts because of a hormone imbalance? Or men who lose their penises in accidents? Are they less of a man because of that? In order to be a man in a cis male's eyes am i not a man until i've undergone hormone treatment, breast surgery and some form of penile construction surgery?

I'm happy to say that I am completely male... I just happen to be female bodied. I never plan on having bottom surgery as a penis does not make me a man. My feeling male makes me a man.

I do everything a man is 'supposed' to do. I play video games, I love movies, i'm not that interested in fashion, I enjoy looking at beautiful women (and alot of beautiful men too), I pee standing up, I even shave although I'm not yet on Testosterone. So surely I'm a man? My friends know me as a man, the actually don't know any different. My parents are beginning to accept me as their son and my girlfriend, although a lesbian, accepts me as male. But would my status within my friends change if they were to find out that I don't have a penis and testicles like they do?

I'm not entirely sure why men seem so hung up about their penises and I guess it's something I'll never know but I do know that the only thing that makes me any different from any cisgendered man is what's between my legs.

And honestly, I couldn't give a damn.

Noah

My daily routine as a Trans Man

2010-01-29T17:53:00.000-08:00

Step One - Wake Up
Step Two - Find packer, put it in a pair of girl's briefs so it doesnt fall out. Put a pair of boxers on over it.
Step Three - Find binder, hold it above my head and attempt to pull on like a tshirt. Bearing in mind that the binder has to push down breasticles, this is NOT as easy as it sounds.
- Hold binder above head
- Slide arms up the binder
- With arms still vertically upright, attempt to push head up towards the head hole bit.
(At this point my arms begin to get further in to the arm holes.)
- Grab the bottom of the binder and PULLLLL!!!
- If all has gone to plan the binder should now be pulled down to my groin
- Do some adjusting, get it 'comfortable' (Note. This is impossible in this shitty horrible wanky yet necessary garment)
Tada. Binder on.
9/10 times this works fine. Then theres that little bastard of a time where the binder rolls in to a sausage shape and I then have about 12 layers of compression on my top ribs. This is usually followed by the sound of me screaming "SARAHHHHHHHHHH COME HELP MEEEEEEEEEEE!" or if Sarah has gone to work by this time it is followed by the sound of me shouting various vulagrities which i shan't post here and 15 minutes of trying to get out of this entrapment.
Step Four - Put my jeans on and adjust the packer so I don't look like im walking round with a huge erect wang.
Step Five - Find a suitably baggy t-shirt to hide the binder marks
Step Six - Put a jacket on anyway because looking in the mirror always makes me stare at my chest and think of how much i truly hate my upper body.
Step Seven - Spend quite a while thinking about how I cant wait to get Testosterone and then get my horrible breasty tumour things lopped off.
Step Eight - Spend the whole day trying not to slip up and give away that i havnt always been Noah
Step Nine - Spend the whole day getting called madame 80% of the time and then going into a great big wave of dysphoria and depression.
Step Ten - Come home and take binder off as it's been restricting my breathing and causing chest pains. Thanks Binder.
- Flip binder halfway up
- Fold one arm in to the fold from the flip and use upper arm strength to pull the resistant binding material up towards my head.
- Fold other arm in to the fold and flip whole binder up like a tshirt
- Pull off with not nearly enough ease.
Once again 9/10 times this works. Then one time it will decide it doesnt want to do what i want it to and it rolls into its restrictive, rib breaking shape.

Noah

Changes In Perception?

2010-01-29T17:50:00.000-08:00

So in April 2009 i came out as Trans to close friends and my girlfriend, a few hiccups with reactions but all was well and they got over it.

In June I unofficially changed my name to Noah and in July began seeing a psychologist as is usually required in order to get any hormone treatment and surgery (how shitty).

Anyway, since going from having long hair and wearing makeup and portraying myself as a girl to chopping off the locks, binning the makeup, binding my boobs, packing my trousers and presenting myself as a boy i've had some interesting sociological changes.

Por example:

When I portrayed myself as a girl people opened doors for me, helped me out if i had lots of things in my hand and generally portrayed me as a more gentle human being.
Now whenever I pass as male it's a different story, im expected to fend for myself, to things without help, be the 'strong man' so to speak, I also dont get approached by charities and suchlike as much as possible, it's as though i'm seen as one of those 'youth of today' teenager boys.

In my eyes this is a load of bollocks to put it nicely.

Why is it that simply because I present myself as one gender am I not seen to be as kind or generous as I was before?

Thank you very much society for putting me into your box of "ooh thats a boy under 30. He must be out to kill everyone in the entire world."

Noah

Reflection

2009-12-17T04:20:00.000-08:00

I feel like a Ken doll. I feel like I LOOK like a Ken doll.

I wonder if that was the true demise of him and Barbie. I mean, we all have needs – even Barbie.

But I wonder how HE deals with it. It must be what the flashy convertible and gigantic mansion is all about – over-compensation.

Do I over-compensate for my anatomy? I’ve thought a lot about this. I mean, I have no true high-end merchandise to speak of (but this is ONLY because of the limitations of my wallet), but I do “carry a big stick” and have an even bigger ego.

In the not-so-distant past, I was dancing with this really hot guy at a club. The closer our bodies got, the more self-aware I became about my… lack thereof. A flood of thoughts came to my mind (ruining my buzz) about what he’d think, how’d he react and if I was just over-thinking the whole thing.

He told me I could, “…put my hands wherever I wanted to” and I saw in his eyes that he wanted me to reciprocate that sentiment. I could not.

Again, in the not-so-distant past, I was expressing my interest in a woman to a friend of mine (yes, I’m bisexual). Her first question was if this woman was bisexual herself and if she knew I was transgender.

I’m not stealth, but I don’t wear my trans identity on my sleeve either. If this person had done any investigation of me via Facebook or Myspace, she would have learned of my female history.

And I plan to disclose to her, but feel like to do so prior to a date, or a kiss or whatever, would send the message that I think my gender, no my anatomy, could a reason why we couldn’t go any further and that isn’t what I want to put out there.

Because it shouldn’t matter! I live my life as male and when you date me, you’re dating a dude. I look, act and interact with the world as a man. I am man. Hear me fart.

The whole situation begs the question on how important is sex to a relationship. The answer is VERY important. Or else, I wouldn’t be grueling over the issue on a constant basis. When is the right moment to disclose? How do you do it? How do you deal with the rejection if it doesn’t work out?

I should be asking Ken…

Oz

The Yellow Brick Road

2009-12-10T07:26:00.000-08:00

So, I'm trans. Transgendered. Female to male. My soul was placed in the wrong body. However you choose to refer to it. It has been both the greatest blessing I could get and the most awful curse I could receive. Perhaps it was done to test my fortitude as a human being, perhaps the cosmos misaligned on the day of my birth, perhaps God has a twisted albeit amusing sense of humor, or perhaps some hormones got lost at that crazy intersection on 4th and Grand whilst I was in vitro. We all have our own answers to placate our ever raging minds. But, the bottom line is, I'm trans.

I came out December 6, 2008. It wasn't a special day. Nothing spectacularly emotional occurred prior to my coming to peace with the inner turmoil. I was watching LOGO, such a great channel, and there was a reality show about a trans woman, Calpernia Adams, seeking love. Kinda like Bachelor, but with a trans woman and several men vying for her affections. One of these men happened to be a trans man. James. When I found out that he was an FTM I was dumbfounded. He looked just like a man. My mind was boggled. At that point, I had heard of transgendered people, mostly MTF's, even met a few, MTF's that is, but never had I really laid eyes on in motion on the TV screen a true post transition FTM. It was like seeing a miracle. I had never really stopped and thought to myself, I could present as a man to the world at large. I had wanted for so long to dive head first into research about FTM's but I subconsciously knew if I did that then it would be the end of Gabrielle and I suppose up until December 6th 2008 I wasn't quite ready for that.

So, the day of reckoning had come. It all hit me, hard but in a nice peaceful way. Everything just sort of fell into place emotionally an intellectually and I told myself, Okay, this it, this is what you are and what you will be the rest of your life. This is what you have been struggling with for your entire existence. This is why when you look in the mirror you feel as though you're staring at an alien. See, when I was the tender age of 6, I told my mother and grandmother in a very matter of fact tone that when I grew up, I was going to get my boobies cut off and get my hair cut like Mr. T so that I would be a boy like him. So as with all of us, my gender identity had been a life long enigma to me. So, with my new found solution and courage in hand I came out as trans for the first time to my wonderful amazing partner Sarah. She of course told me she had an inkling and took it all in stride. She supports me one hundred percent and is my rock when I need her.

So, here it is, a little over a year later and yes, I'm still trans. *chuckles* Contrary to what many of our parents believe, it isn't just a phase. Once you come to terms with being trans you tend to be very tenacious about it. Am I right fellas? And I will always feel that its something to take pride in. We fight long and hard, and wade through so much bullshit to be the men that we've always known we are. So I say wear the fact that you're trans like a badge of courage. Because that's the largest component to successfully navigating this life as a Trans man. Courage. We are the lions that lurk just beneath the surface of your gender perceptions. We are the tigers that lay in wait for our chance to attack life and make it into everything we ever dreamed. We are the bears that will tear you down if you fuck with us or those we love because we know a pain deeper than any canyon and will stop at nothing to protect ourselves and our loved ones. Lions, tigers and bears.

Oh my. Look out world. Here we come.

Gavyn

Bird's Eye View - Pissing Perspective

2009-12-07T12:15:00.000-08:00

I walked out of my literature class with my bottle of water - strutted. Not walked. I was trying to finish it as fast as I could without looking like I hadn't had anything to drink in 5 years and without puking.

From the third story window I looked out to see if it was still raining - it was... drizzling. There were these two girls sitting on a bench engaged in idle conversation but noticeably noticing me. Maybe they were glaring at my package, my amazing fashion sense... who knows.

So, I finished the water and felt the sudden urge to piss.

I put my backpack straps over both shoulders, placed the buds back in my ears and played Gravity by Sara Barielles.

There was no one in the men's room. Just me, two toilets and a urinal. No, urinal. Maybe next time. You still intimidate me a bit.

I went in the first stall and closed the door. There wasn't really a need to do this, but I felt like I wanted the privacy in case someone did walk in. This is my first time.

I fumbled with my buckle and finally wiped out my dick. After a moment to adjust it to the right place I let myself pee.

Nothing came out.

I wiggled a little bit. Thought of waterfalls and rivers. I thought of what water sounds like. I thought of how ridiculous I probably look. I thought of nothing.

Then something came out.

Piss, obviously. And I smiled coyly to myself as I watched it flow out of my penis and into the toilet.

Instinctively, I went to put the seat down. This, made me laugh out loud to myself.

I walked out.

....didn't wash my hands.

Oz

I am butch, hear me blog!

2009-11-23T04:50:00.000-08:00

I have been spending time on twitter, and through there I have found a number of butch lesbian resources. I remember when I identified as a lesbian, there was so few websites online that really catered to us. The particular site I found was called Butch Voices, the front page has the following;

We are Butch Voices

We are woman-identified Butches. We are trans-masculine Studs. We are faggot-identified Aggressives. We are noun Butches, adjective Studs and pronoun-shunning Aggressives. We are she, he, hy, ze, zie and hir. We are you, and we are me. The point is, we don’t decide who is Butch, Stud or Aggressive. You get to decide for yourself.

This got me thinking. When I moved from identifiying as a lesbian to identifying as an FTM, I left behind the butch tag too. It didn't occur to me at the time that I could be FTM and butch at the same time. On clicking the link to this site, I assumed it was aimed at butch lesbians and that it would not directly appeal to me. That the butch lebsians are one camp and the FTMs another, and they don't mix well. But on reading that statement, it made me realise, my masculinity is not defined by the fact that I'm FTM.

I am both FTM and Butch.

In my friend's video, he talks about not wanting to be defined as either male or female, about the fact that he liked wearing make up, that he doesn't want to wear boy jeans, that he wants to be androgynous. I also watched an interview with an FTM, who talks about being a rather camp and effeminate gay man (I will try and find out their name!), and how they were also confused by this.

In the cisgendered community, there is varying levels of masculinity in bio males. Why should we be any different? Why should an FTM be considered any less male than any other FTM? We are all individuals, the level of our masculinity should not mean that we are excluded from the queer community. The beauty of our community is the uniqueness of the members and the fact that we accept each other for that individuality. No one should ever feel they are not 'butch enough'.

Transgendered Blah
Transgendered Blah Part 2

Keltik

Introduction

2009-11-21T08:54:00.000-08:00

Welcome to The T Word, this is a collaborative blog that is open to submissions from all transmen, regardless of where they are in their transition. This blog is intended to be a platform for the FTM community to have a voice. The posts here can be about any subject matter, as long as it is FTM related.

If you would like to contribute to this blog, please email Keltik at thetword@yahoo.com. Please send your contribution in the body of the email, along with the desired subject header and tags for the post.

All submissions will be posted to the blog by Keltik. You can chose to remain anonymous or add your name to your contibution. Please also state how you want your name to appear as author and if you have a blog or email address you would like to have linked to in the post. If you have any questions, please use the email address above.