escape

Lots of people tweet a cool talk about X-inactivation and genes escaping from it. The thought makes me dysphoric; those would be genes with potentially karyotype-based dosage effects regardless of sex hormones. It’s only about 1% of human genes, but still. And many of them may still be hormone regulated etc. I wish I was a calico though. I am dysphoric about my non-mosaic status, and that is hard to fix. Meh.

If only I was Klinefelter. But there is some solace in the fact that in terms of X-inactivation escape, I am no less a woman than a Turner girl is. That does help.

stone butch purples

NSFW: sex sex sex sex sex sex

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while and not finding the time. The last month I’ve gotten more sexual again, I think stressors went down enough to let me. I feel desire for desire on some level, and am casually enjoying playfully aiming for it. I think I was even a little disappointed when a date did not end with me getting laid, where I had thought I would. I’m crushing (surprisingly strongly) and I want to be explored and touched and observed, I want to be held and handled and I want to be smiling and cheeky and full of feeling as I tease and torture. I updated my fetlife profile even.

At the same time it is really really unappealing to think of anyone seeing directly the malformed parts between my legs. I can’t even name them comfortably, not on myself. There are exceptions for some people but I remain in high vigilance mode as it happens, when I was recently licked for example, I enjoyed and wanted it, but I couldn’t stop being watchful. Through clothes is OK, I enjoyed pressing myself against someone, or having a vibrator against me.

I want to come, I want that release. But there’s still fluid when I do. Transparent, yellow-reddish, sticky. Not so much, but still there. I can hope it would get less. I’d be happy being wet like a cis girl, even squirt like some, but I cannot reparse my fluids to that, and I deeply loathe the point at which receiving turns into cleanup. I learned I can come when tucked, with a magic wand against me; it was harder than I thought (though this was mostly experimentation to check I still could, so not in super sexy mode – I scrambled for fantasies and ended up thinking of how it would be like to have my vagina penetrated, that worked finally).

I fetishize cum in itself, I would want it on me and on those I make sex happen to, but I don’t want it to be mine. I hope (and believe) if my genitals had the right shape and lack of tumescence, I wouldn’t mind this fluid. It could drip from the hands of someone who had just fingered me and it would be fine, I’d be fine with wet panties and a wet spot if I felt the right shape of my parts against it, I’d be fine being seen with the right parts. I’d love to be licked like that.

I want this so much, I realize. And despite the longing, trying for it where I am now remains a matter of careful workarounds and ersatzes. I’d feel unsafe otherwise. This state, then, makes me feel some sort of affinity to stone butches (some of whom presumably are trans men), who have sex but do not want to be genitally touched. I no longer feel I appropriate by saying so, though I do acknowledge their direction as opposite to mine.

I should get SRS, shouldn’t I? I still have troubles wrapping my head around the want. I feel like I am deciding, like I know that I have decided somehow, that the timer is already counting down. It was two years from when I first decided (?), less now. I want a healed and functional vagina before I am 40. It feels scary and weird to type it. I’m preparing for it, a lot of things I do seem to be work towards it. I need to get the money – saving up something like 18K if I want to go for Chettawut and have extensive margins; not yet sure how I will do that. I’ll schedule and undergo electrolysis with that explicitly for that purpose. These things I know. I’ll continue to sculpt away bodily masculinity traces, reshape myself more, and I’ll get my legal sex change and voice work done within this time span also. I sense I will do these things.

I can also sense me going through with it, stepping into the flow of events for surgery and recovery. That sense has a shocked numbness from fear too, of pain, of complications, of not knowing how to get all the aftercare right. It’s the fear of wounds, of having surfaces where it is possible for me to do wrong, or for things to go wrong. But I feel also some sort of headiness when imaging it. I am beginning to imagine the feel of rush of will, of agency. I can somehow feel how I would feel in the moments of acting on the decision. I think I can feel how I would react, contain and mindful away the fear, be still and scared and still acting as normal despite the fear. I am familiar with how that feels for me. I’ve practiced a long time now.

So what else can I feel? The tucking project worked, I now know what it is like not to protrude. It feels right, it feels safe, it feels contained. I want that. I feel now the shape of my crotch as it would be, mounded but otherwise flat. It’s numb though, I have no lips yet, no insides, no knowledge of that. It’s like I have only the sketch, the draft, and it still goes stiff where it should not. Could I change that? That’s the point, I guess. Can I already now work up to feeling insides? Maybe. I’d need to try inguinal canal sex, maybe other sorts of touch in between what my outer labia would be. Still incomplete, but I hope maybe some of my loved ones will end up doing me like that. I think perhaps I’ll ask them to.

So… yeah. The trajectory is here. I’m working towards it. Steps on that route will also involve documentation, preparing my family, ensuring competence is in place for when I will be on leave, ensuring my house has an elevator by then. Getting in the best shape I can. In every one of these regards I act in a motivated manner to make it happen. Looks like I plan for having non-penile inversion vaginoplasty by latest 2020.

pathfind

I am more confident this year, and my language more direct often. I am confident making statements without being positively certain sometimes. I believe this is agency/self-appreciation largely. As noted, this is me channeling more of my big sister. She too can be blunt when no reason not to.

More interesting, I am reaching something which is either honesty, daring, or both. I am habitualizing not delaying things. I used to delay, to save things for some unspecified later. I trust things will just keep getting better. And if so, no need to ration exploration or evolution or progress, no need to hold back. I’ve been reaching out against social fear more, I’ve talked about things more when uncertain of how wise it was, in some name of fundamental honesty.

I want a life of fundamental honesty, and not to waste time unless when doing so feels good or productive.

On time, this also impacts some my thoughts on SRS. I want some youth at least in the right body. I have some time left, but I need to use it then.

terms

For many years before acknowledging I was trans I had word triggers. Using any male coded word for myself would feel very very painful and I avoided it, including terms for anatomy. That is still there. I was always fine using them for others. This does mean now I have challenges talking about my body because I lack words to use, I need to claim versions of the female ones. Also, notable that I had this type of linguistic dysphoria and still did not consider myself trans enough to transition. And really, the last years before, I think it was like that – I recognized as I met trans people that I could fall within that spectrum, but felt that I didn’t have to because it wasn’t bad enough. Eventually that changed. Interesting to note, in regards to whether there were signs or not.

infosecks

So I was born in 1980. My Scandinavian public school system probably had “progressive“ sex-ed, we had those classes maybe age 13-15. It covered contraceptives, pregnancy, and some stuff about consent without using that word, basically “it’s OK to wait until you want to“ but the assumption was implicitly that in a few years a lot of us would be having straight sex with each other. I felt that was shallow and stupid and determined to wait until university or marriage or whatever. Some anatomy, some menstruation, some baby development and nurturing. Not much of communication or relationship, but stuff on planning economy together. Lots of STD protection details. Token mention of there being gay people and that is OK, one visited school at some point to talk (he was an HIV positive gay man I think). I remember nothing about trans and nothing else more complicated.

Other sources was a magazine for teenagers of all sexes, which was basically similar in scope, what little I sneaked from my sisters’ girl magazines, and what books my parents had around from their psychologist schooling in the 70s. Pre-google internet on a shared computer, webrings etc. Nothing there.

So I really did not have an idea of anything trans related until… sometime? Apocryphic references here and there. Some TV mention of transvestite prostitutes having gotten breasts from unethical plastic surgeons, that was what I remembered. The idea of “traps”, probably. I got into second- and third wave feminism (because I identified with women as a group) and learned about gender roles as socially constructed and of the patriarchy. That was it until at university, in my much queerer circles, I encountered queerness and genderqueerness and like one or two actual trans people a few steps away from me. I was curious and scared, because the idea of gender identity was anathema to my life raft of all aspect of gender as socially constructed and about to be dismantled by the queer revolution.

Even then, I had no idea about hormonal transition. I thought as a trans woman, you had your genitals cut off so you’d stay with a sore and raw muscle surface and never feel arousal again, that you had breast implants and otherwise used heavy makeup and stereotyped clothing to try to pass. It seemed to be about being allowed to be a stereotype socially at a high cost physically.

I wonder how it would have been if I grew up now? What information could I have gotten as a teenager? Crucially:

– Yes, gender roles are constructed and harmful to all. But not all of gender is socially constructed, no matter what you hope. Some follows from body one way or another. I don’t think I could have accepted that. I would have struggled until overproven, and at that point, I would have sought transition. Which is essentially what now happened in my thirties instead.

– No, gender and sexual orientation are not linked. Also it really is OK to like anyone. When I told my mother boys in school said I was gay, she told me they feared their own sexuality and that I showed no sign of being gay. Having another form of acceptance more widely might have changed how I relate to that part.

– There really are people feeling much better anchored if they transition, either suffering if they do not, or gaining better happiness if they successfully do. Transition works, involves triggering another puberty track, and changes your body and mind; this prepares you for later surgeries if you want them. You won’t have more problems as a trans person than you already do for being a complete and utter outsider. The last may or may not have been true then in the small town, but true enough. I have no idea if I would have wanted to transition as a teenager. I was alienated but it was so hard to separate bullying, outsidership and other factors from each other. I don’t know if my dysphoria was that strong then.

There does exist a possible scenario wherein during my teens I would have wanted to transition based on euphoria. That is, I would have linked transition to agency and to coming out of my social shell. The close friends I made were largely girls and there was a homosocial component (though also with nerd boys, granted). If I had believed – through support from the world – that I could become a girl then, then I would have experienced potential social gender euphoria, and if I thought I could be accepted by at least the parts of society I care about – my parents, my outsider friends, counterculture, academia – then I probably would have wanted to transition. Most likely first via nonbinarity, and then girlhood as I felt I could. So again, honestly mirroring what I did in my thirties.

Writing this was an experiment to check, would I have wanted to transition if I grew up with the information available? I still cannot be sure, but from typing down the thought experiment, then it seems like I would have done surprisingly much the same thing as I ended up doing now. Where I was then the reluctantly male soft person nerd poet hacker progressive, I would be the same but embracing my girlhood with much sturm und drang. I probably would be about the same degree of weird that I ended up being, but my body would have been cis-passing. Oh, well…

magos

My decadent lifestyle takes a toll, cold symptoms and lack of sleep in parallel with stress. Will work it out, and worth it. But noticing I get super worried about everything in some moments, especially in chats. Absent explicit responses or emojis, whenever I write something, part of my brain often is convinced the other does not respond because I wrote or did something horrible that finally convinced them of how boring and useless and unkind I am, how it is not worth it to communicate with me, and that they will leave me. Part of me does fear that. But I know on some level this is irrational, it will be false 999999 times in a million. I keep worrying the present is the exception. This is one of my social anxiety tendencies, and I have had it for a long time, and it makes chat communication with me, especially within relationships, and especially in the evenings, difficult. It probably stems from having had such a low self-image for so long, the fears from which have stuck (and does this mean I have abandonment issues?).

It is why I generally prefer voice where I have so much more information to go on, but it can also be avoided if the other basically confirms we are still OK on an emotional level after I write something, easier with microsymbol languages like smileys. My overuse of these probably comes from me assuming other people will react like I do, which of course they actually don’t, they don’t need these confirmations but I always act as if they do.

But it also does not make sense others should have to help me manage my issues like that. I cannot dump it on my loved ones. I need to get a new therapist and ask specifically for help with this. And it is the central thing where I know both from meta-communication and from inner work that the Crone is needed. She can cut the threads of OCD spirals, she can decide that no, this is not something to worry about, what will be will be, they probably won’t stop loving you, you probably didn’t break anything that cannot be mended, it probably will be OK, and even if this is the one case in a million, you must stay sane and do what you are supposed to, not raise drama because you are afraid you hurt someone just because they did not respond.

The Crone for me is often about remembering that. I still can’t do it as well as I want, the fear is still there, and it’s still there because something within me still really really fears and worries I will be proven unworthy of my relationships and left alone, but my remembering her as symbol, perhaps I can learn to better cope and not dump that fear onto my loved ones to contain, which presumably hurts the relationships much more.

That said, when this came up tonight, biology perhaps played a part too. Changed my estrogen patches and feel a little calmer from that, it was past the end of the 3-day period so might have started to slump. Should get back to work.

process process

CW harassment.

Things were good yesterday, having dinner with a few friends then going out clubbing, despite some of us facing various sadnesses from other directions and along the path. Maybe this blog will eventually become some sort of mini reverse pervocracy, starting out talking transition stuff, then when that’s mostly in hand, just describing my day to day kink and decadence? Long story short, got to know a friend better than before during evening, realizing I am attracted and would like to be closer. Going out that evening, I therefore had hopes of something happening between us. Usually when I fancy someone I have difficulties because anything I can read as disinterest will make me pessimistic and withdraw emotionally, so I take no risks and ask for nothing; more importantly, the emotional withdrawal makes me less present in the situation, having less fun, being less available. It is mostly here that alcohol helps.

This night I somehow realized I could try to consciously ignore that mechanism, and I realized on the dancefloor that this is what the Maiden is about. She is naïve and happy enough that she does not interpret everything as rejections, so she remains happy and daring and sometimes she is lucky. I made myself present in my body as Maiden, and whenever I felt the alienation feeling of “I don’t grasp the codes” // “she is not interested” // “I am being embarrassing and stupid by doing/not doing this”, I felt her making a horizontal cut between the thought layers, like a lobotomy, not letting logic flow from the worry into inaction. Removing the cause but not the symptom; Frank too certainly was a Maiden. I just kept dancing, and when I felt there was chemistry, I gently expressed my interest, and learned some of the communication as it happened. I don’t think I’ve been this brave before like this.

I did get to know my friend better, and to sleep (though not very deeply) next to her, and to marvel at how she responds to touch, I’ve seen that sort of reactivity before and am jealous of it, hoping perhaps that I might gain it if I add progesterone to my regime. Will there end up a context where I’ve known most of my friendship circle(s) intimately at one point or another? Who knows. But looking back, that always was how I envisioned my life would be like, it’s part of my view on what is wholesome. Heh.

*

On the way back from the club, my friend and I walked arm in arm and a guy followed us muttering lewd suggestions about “pussy” and “fucking”. He walked very close and it was the first time someone groped my ass, I realized after a while. All in all quite scary, and I was so happy to be there with a girl whispering to me she could take him out with her keys if she had to. He followed all the way to the subway, and I used the minimizing/ignoring/defuse by asking nonsense questions, noncommittal comments, soft distancing, just as I am sure women do every day with this. Still, I was especially afraid since I could not tell how he read us. Did he parse us as cis lesbians or just cis friends? Or did he clock us and saw as us some sort of down-low gay entertainment? The fear of homo-/transphobic violence was there and I could not say whether it was already upon us or not. Basically I feared he might stab us, or that we would have to fight. My companion said it would have been much worse had be not read us as cis, she interpreted us as passing to him throughout. And she fundamentally does pass as cis, so maybe so – this would be a silver lining, beyond just another experience shared with sisters everywhere.

*

Confessed one crush, will see how that goes. Realizing another old friendship (and maybe two more or so) with smart boys may have been sort of crushes too. In one of those cases, not so sure I will never follow up on it. Hmmm.

oxytocodein

CW lots, NSFW and if you don’t want the dirt on my life, better not read; this one likely will be censored if ever this blog gets connected to my real name

Lots of things happening, mostly good. Work stress from windows of opportunity that opened still looms large but for good or ill I am trying to not let it edge out all social life. So went to check out new club friends are setting up, then on Sunday joined up with said people to go dance during day 2 of a big gay rave. Continued to program on the train to there. This is my life now? I seem to be becoming exactly who I’d dreamed to be, with all the upsides and downsides thereof.

Second party day was interesting. Clocked by drag queens who complimented me, felt OK but not connected. Gave out my business card to a woman in the darkroom, and to the woman manning the door. Dancing was great, thought I saw Asbjørn by the DJ booth, had some guy dancing very physically with me. I realized after a while I wasn’t so comfortable with that, and had an interesting exercise pushing him away subtly, though it was only when I gave clear hand signals he desisted. Felt like another rite of passage.

My companions offered various drugs, weed and ecstasy and speed. Partook of some of each, but small amounts as I couldn’t know how they would affect me; tried only the former before. Neither of the latter really felt much, or gave much beyond the venue itself. May be more on higher doses, which seems inadvisable. Not same coziness as from MDMA, which I definitely should be careful with. I think there was a slightly higher longing-to-be-hugged within one hour, and a tendency to talk a lot and be social within three, and then a tendency to shiver after six or nine. The only E I would want to use habitually would be estradiol, though. Picked up my new patch scripts for that today.

Drugs aside, the party was nice. I mostly spent time with a friend who is also trans. We watched the men in the darkroom basically just go full on sex without much context or communication (though clearly always with consent and hopefully condoms) and were uncertain on what the codes for that actually are. Later that evening we ended up making out, which I had not expected or planned for at all, but found delightful; there may be a scent dimension I had missed beyond “smelling sexy” // “not smelling sexy” which is “tasting good” // “tasting distracting”. Slowly observing increased granularity of this. My friend tasted good, and we ended up at her place spending the rest of the night touching and kissing.

This is the first time I am intimate with another trans woman after starting transition myself, and it was a very powerful and liberating experience I hope we will repeat (having a bundle of unspecific emotions that will be happily sorted out later). Recognizing how I cannot parse the sense of her as anything but female, and receiving the same in return, helps me stay hopeful that my efforts are working, and I found that circumstances of mutual dysphoria made it a little easier to be seen in my pre-op state. Also recognizing I’m not really functioning like I want to. Curious on what adding progesteron might do, and if I need to relearn how to climax at this point; experiments with high-end vibrators upcoming when there’ll be time.

Noticing also, in link with the darkroom exchanges, the dance floor exchanges and so forth: sudden intimacy with a stranger might not scare me but it feels dissociated and dispassionate. I recognize this largely is a stereotyped social construct, but I think that with reduced libido I may not be able to get in the mood without some form of relational buildup and activation. Essentially feeling what may be typical of lesbian vs gay male club hookups. More data needed. All in all, happily recognizing that my casual encounters might have to build on serious friendships and that I can’t go from 0 to full libidinality without buildup. I hadn’t recognized what the latter feels like. Essentially, sexual dimensions seem empty and boring until they have been contextualized enough?