tara_desire
Virgin
- Joined
- Oct 24, 2010
- Posts
- 2
Thank You
hi Goddess Venus....Thank You so much
hi Goddess Venus....Thank You so much
My Transgender Awakening
- Thread starter Gi_Venus
- Start date
tara_desire
Virgin
- Joined
- Oct 24, 2010
- Posts
- 2
i am looking forward to having a great time here
Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
Hello tara my dear, I am delighted we are met and looking forward to getting to know "my" lovely woman.
Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
Loneliness sucks
The store was closing, I did not find the book I wanted, feeling alone I did not want to go home and sit by myself, so I headed to the local bar. I was surprised when I walked in, seeing they had remodeled and it looked nice. The bar was filled with men, I went to a available seat. The bartender was a nice young man who remembered me and my drink. I said to his inquiry of a drink, he asked so how was your Christmas and New Year? To my jumbled mind it came out so how was your canoe trip and indistinct blah blah. Perhaps it was my avoidance that cast a filter across my mind. Christmas is always a misery to me in regards to my family. So in my mind it was a canoe trip or something. I gave him a vague answer and smiled, he is an excellent bartender. To my right was a man who was trying to engage another man across the bar, smiling and simpering, the other man obviously wanted nothing to do with him. He kept this up until the other man left out of discomfort. He followed him out the door when he left. I was relieved he was gone. A woman with bright red hair came to the bar looked at me and smiled. I was too slow of course as I always am in social settings and did not respond in time. She took her drinks to the pool table where another woman was. They were a couple, I could tell from their familiarity and also the only other women in the bar other than myself.
The man came back in and haggled with his last two dollars for a drink. Another man bought him a drink. Then he turned his attention to me. I said straight away I am a lesbian Transsexual woman so his eyes fell and he lost interest. He had the disconcerting habit of frequently handling himself down there. I had enough I wanted quiet and not the likes him in my vicinity so I headed to a table closer to the two women playing pool. I felt a warmth at their affection for each other and tried not to be too intrusive with my presence. I was feeling sad from the events of the day and the emotion of the days events started my tears, fortunately I had tissues. I stared into space and cried. My near perfect makeup would be a disaster no doubt. I sorrowed over my sisters words whos logic is that I believed I was a woman because of my actions when I was young and that I was sexually molested. She said everything I did was boyish. My point to her was that I did what was expected of me and acted like a boy and I played with her toys when no one was watching. She says she will never call me Gianna because I am a boy to her and I am twisted therefore not a woman. At the same time a letter from an ex friend attempting closure with me, once again not taking responsibility for her part of our mess.
It is my little boys birthday, I cannot afford the things he desires, his mother may I hope.
The tears flowed and the man shows up at my table clutching his genitalia through his pants. I said “Go Away!” He says "No! " He says “smile!” He could see the tears on my cheeks. I gathered my purse and left. Thankfully he did not follow me out. I only wanted to be around people and not be by myself. The only normality was the women there, I did not know them but they were my lesbian sisters, just being in their proximity made me feel better. I love the act of affection and love in those around me, I love it even more when I am involved. Not likely being in this ugly preop body.
I am safe at home alone feeling ugly and like a drama queen because I cannot live without pain. I attempt to control myself for my boy’s sake. I have to make sure he has a nice day despite my own presence of mind.
The store was closing, I did not find the book I wanted, feeling alone I did not want to go home and sit by myself, so I headed to the local bar. I was surprised when I walked in, seeing they had remodeled and it looked nice. The bar was filled with men, I went to a available seat. The bartender was a nice young man who remembered me and my drink. I said to his inquiry of a drink, he asked so how was your Christmas and New Year? To my jumbled mind it came out so how was your canoe trip and indistinct blah blah. Perhaps it was my avoidance that cast a filter across my mind. Christmas is always a misery to me in regards to my family. So in my mind it was a canoe trip or something. I gave him a vague answer and smiled, he is an excellent bartender. To my right was a man who was trying to engage another man across the bar, smiling and simpering, the other man obviously wanted nothing to do with him. He kept this up until the other man left out of discomfort. He followed him out the door when he left. I was relieved he was gone. A woman with bright red hair came to the bar looked at me and smiled. I was too slow of course as I always am in social settings and did not respond in time. She took her drinks to the pool table where another woman was. They were a couple, I could tell from their familiarity and also the only other women in the bar other than myself.
The man came back in and haggled with his last two dollars for a drink. Another man bought him a drink. Then he turned his attention to me. I said straight away I am a lesbian Transsexual woman so his eyes fell and he lost interest. He had the disconcerting habit of frequently handling himself down there. I had enough I wanted quiet and not the likes him in my vicinity so I headed to a table closer to the two women playing pool. I felt a warmth at their affection for each other and tried not to be too intrusive with my presence. I was feeling sad from the events of the day and the emotion of the days events started my tears, fortunately I had tissues. I stared into space and cried. My near perfect makeup would be a disaster no doubt. I sorrowed over my sisters words whos logic is that I believed I was a woman because of my actions when I was young and that I was sexually molested. She said everything I did was boyish. My point to her was that I did what was expected of me and acted like a boy and I played with her toys when no one was watching. She says she will never call me Gianna because I am a boy to her and I am twisted therefore not a woman. At the same time a letter from an ex friend attempting closure with me, once again not taking responsibility for her part of our mess.
It is my little boys birthday, I cannot afford the things he desires, his mother may I hope.
The tears flowed and the man shows up at my table clutching his genitalia through his pants. I said “Go Away!” He says "No! " He says “smile!” He could see the tears on my cheeks. I gathered my purse and left. Thankfully he did not follow me out. I only wanted to be around people and not be by myself. The only normality was the women there, I did not know them but they were my lesbian sisters, just being in their proximity made me feel better. I love the act of affection and love in those around me, I love it even more when I am involved. Not likely being in this ugly preop body.
I am safe at home alone feeling ugly and like a drama queen because I cannot live without pain. I attempt to control myself for my boy’s sake. I have to make sure he has a nice day despite my own presence of mind.
cricketbug
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 25, 2002
- Posts
- 1,142
Oh Gi - I'm so sorry you had a rough and unaccepting Holiday. That's tough when your family does not accept you for who you are and who (as it's sounded from your prior posts) you have been for a long time. Poo to them for not loving you unconditionally, but that's why I like the fact that you can pick your friends... they love you for who you are!
HUGE HUGS!
HUGE HUGS!
Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
Oh Gi - I'm so sorry you had a rough and unaccepting Holiday. That's tough when your family does not accept you for who you are and who (as it's sounded from your prior posts) you have been for a long time. Poo to them for not loving you unconditionally, but that's why I like the fact that you can pick your friends... they love you for who you are!
HUGE HUGS!
*hugs back* thank you cricketbug.
it goes on, working on changing myself as that is what i have the most control over. Them, I try to make small so they do not make me crazed. It is my friends that count, I have lost a few because of my suicidal issues, accepting others boundaries is something we all can learn, pushing me away is actually a healthy measure, does not mean I love them less. I understand. 
thegrandchef
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Mar 17, 2002
- Posts
- 115
How can your doctor tell that you have a female brain?
Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
to date there is no sure way for an outsider to know. But the female brain does react differently than the male brain to various stimuli. What complicates things more is that we hide it from the world because of our fear. We become actors to the world pretending to be something we are not. Everyone who has seen me that used to know me as a male says that they have never seen me look happier.
*hugs GI* i know how you feel Gi, im the only pansexual in my whole town, thank even my whole state. I am a guy but i wouldnt mind just talking with you, hack wouldnt mind doing your nails either, for some reason doing stuff thats just or girls seems right for me, so i have alittle veiw of where your coming from with this, if you werent a Lesbian thow i would invite you to join me and my well future wife (im engaged hehe) for maybe some fun. I do have a few Lesbian friends thow so i respect your life style and hope you find that one woman that just makes you happy when you know shes just there for you.
Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
the survey and the summary say it all. it is solid data, something not easy to come by when it comes to transgendered issues.
http://www.thetaskforce.org/reports_and_research/ntds
http://www.thetaskforce.org/reports_and_research/ntds
Okay, major text dump incoming... I tend to be pretty long-winded about my story. Hopefully it's entertaining enough that you'll read through until the end. 
Okay, so... I wasn't one of those classic tranny tales, where I'd known that I was a Real Boy since I was 3 years old or whatnot. Frankly, kids don't really see gender all that much; it's just a bunch of kids doing their thing, prior to their parents and society hammering gender roles into their heads. Additionally, for the most part, their bodies are pretty much the same, apart from some key bits. Waist-up, one six year old looks like the next. Therefore, no major problem.
Then, right around the first decade mark, things start...changing. And at that point, I started feeling weird and wrong. At the time, I chalked it up to the awkwardness of being a teenager and going through puberty. However, most of my peers didn't constantly feel the need to try and recreate themselves to figure out what was right for them. At least, not as often, nor to the degrees as I tried. Coincidentally, I felt most comfortable looking pretty "butch" despite not even knowing what "butch" was.
Time passed. The weird "wrong" feeling never really went away. There would be days when I'd just feel Wrong with a capital W, and have no idea what the hell my problem was. I went to therapists, and they couldn't figure it out either. I got good grades. I had good friends. My parents were great to me. I got along with my brothers. I was in a bunch of fun extracurriculars. But I still felt like something was terribly off-kilter. In retrospect, I can see a zillion signs that would have tipped me off if I'd only known that there was such a thing as being transgendered.
Jump forward to 2004. I was living in Utah with a boyfriend of two years or so. Life was decent, for the most part. We had fun, and we got by. He never understood my "wrong days" either, but he put up with them. Our sex life was healthy, though there were definitely days when I'd be strangely indifferent to various touches and gropes to various parts, like I'd hardly register the touch at all, and certainly not as erotic. Strange, that.
It was in 2004 that our good friend Jordan confided in us that she was trans and planned to physically transition from male to female. We were surprised, of course, because she had been very careful about her presentation. Well, surprised and not, at the same time, as she never really seemed very comfortable in her skin, to be true. I talked with Jordan at length, and she was happy to share her experience and emotions with me, someone she trusted. I was glad to be that friend.
However, those conversations set off a rapid series of mental clicks in me.
There were a lot of things that Jordan said that sounded eerily familiar, mirrored in my own life. A lot of the same feelings, the same strange wrongness. I started analysing my life, really looking at it, threading things together. A picture started forming that -- at the time -- I didn't like the looks of at all. What? Me? No... Silly girl, you're just thinking about it because of your conversations with Jordan. It's your brain processing her situation, that's all. It's not you. Duh.
So there was a period of denial, when I set it aside. But it kept picking at my brain, and would keep resurfacing. I cut my hair short again, after having it long past my shoulders. Combed down the sides to look a bit like sideburns. I wore my puffy black parka on the bus to college, which masked my chest, and looked around, wondering if the other passengers could tell if I was a boy or a girl. And...getting a secret satisfaction out of the idea that they were guessing opposite what my chromosomes dictated.
Related to my subconscious shift or not, my boyfriend broke up with me for someone much more feminine, thin, and pretty. Devastated, I moved back to Vermont in December '04. I had another boyfriend for a while. Wore makeup. Grew my hair out again. Ironically, I was at my most feminine as I had been in years when the prodding in my brain finally became to much. I called Jordan and talked with her for hours. I finally admitted to her, and to myself, that I knew exactly what that "feeling wrong" problem was. She was kind, understanding, and wonderful. She helped me get in touch with a great therapist in the area.
First, I researched the hell out of trans-related information, especially female-to-male in specific. I networked. I read firsthand accounts. I asked questions. Then, I visited with the therapist. She said to call her "K.F." K.F. was in her sixties, and prior to retiring, had apparently been with the University of Vermont psychology department for over thirty years, and had worked with a ton of people working through gender issues. K.F. didn't judge; K.F. didn't try to "talk me out of it". We honestly analysed my life, my mental state, my gender presentation. Within a few weeks' time, there was no question left in my mind; for once, I finally understood what was wrong, and knew it would continue to be wrong unless I took swift action. Every “she” and “miss” and “her” grated on me more agonisingly each day. So I set myself on the path to sorting the whole mess out.
April, 2005. Legally changed my name. Came out to my friends. They were all fantastically supportive, or delightfully indifferent. For instance: For some ungodly reason, I decided that the best time to tell my friends Becka and Lisa, was while shopping at Burlington Town Center mall. (Yeah. Don't ask.) I told them about my situation, and asked them to please use my chosen name and male pronouns. Immediately, Becka whipped out her phone and started tapping away. Taken aback, I asked her what she was doing. “Changing your name in my address book,” she replied, “Duh.”
It was also in April that I came out to most of my family. My mother, as always, was unflinchingly supportive; she has always said that as long as her children are healthy and happy, then she is there for us 100%. My stepdad, a bit of a slow man, didn't really care either way. My brother Matthew was a bit weirded out at first, but got used to the idea in a brief span of time. My youngest brother, Josh, was extremely curious and asked a lot of fantastic questions; he also took it upon himself to show me "how to be a guy", which was endlessly amusing. Key among his lessons was "how guys hug". (Handshake, lean in, kind of bump chests, one or maybe two pats on the back, separate.)
And then, there was my father.
To preface this, my dad is a great guy. He's always been there for my brother and I. He's always wanted the best for us. However, his idea of the “best for us” generally included the idealistic view of success: college degree, high-paying respectable job, a family consisting of a wife, husband, and a couple of kids. He was also terribly concerned with how other people viewed him, which included how people perceived his children. (I blame his second wife for further cultivating this sad fixation.)
I knew he would be the most difficult to tell; I knew I'd need support. Therefore, I asked him if he'd come with me to one of my counseling sessions with K.F. He agreed, though he had no idea what he had coming. May 18th. I was nervous. Okay, no. I was terrified. I knew I wouldn't be able to articulate myself properly vocally, so I wrote him a letter outlining much of what I've told you thus far. I introduced him to K.F., handed him the letter, and told him to read it, ask K.F any questions he might have, and then come get me from the lobby when he was ready.
Good lord, that was the longest half hour of my entire life.
K.F called me in eventually. I walked in, and could hardly bring myself to look at dad. But if I had the strength to do what I was doing, I was man enough to look my father in the eye. So I did. And it broke my damn heart. He looked destroyed, like I'd murdered someone. There was a lot of crying during that session, on both our parts. He grasped at anything he could think of to blame, anything he could say that “did this to me”: my Utahn ex, the internet, even karaoke at 135 Pearl. He couldn't accept that it was just...me. He swore he'd never call me by my chosen name. He swore he'd never use male pronouns.
It was a very quiet, awkward ride home.
The latter half of May, K.F and I agreed that the best way to treat my (now officially-diagnosed) Gender Identity Disorder would be physical transition. She wrote the recommendation letter to my primary care physician to start my prescription for hormone replacement therapy. Testosterone. T. This was it; this meant permanent manifestations of my gender. I was excited and more than ready.
June 2nd. My first injection. Testosterone Cypionate, 50mg. And damn, didn't it feel good. I found myself noticing the tiniest, most minuscule changes. My voice was changing in ways only I could perceive at the time. I loved it. LOVED IT.
Dad still wasn't talking to me. Mom said to give him time. In addition, she wrote him a rather scathing e-mail, deriding him for forgetting that no matter my name, no matter my appearance or gender, that I was still his child, still deserving of the love and respect he'd always given me. I think it helped put things in perspective for him, somewhat. And yes, in time...he accepted it. Eventually. He still slips on my name a bit to this day, but not on purpose. He saw my comfort and confidence. These days, we have what feels like a father-son relationship; I stop by, maybe we watch a Sox game, talk about movies and music. He offers me a beer, perhaps. But it's comfortable, whatever it is.
Anyway, months passed from that first injection, and changes continued. My voice changed and cracked and squeaked before finally settling down; even now, four and a half years later, it's still maturing. I got fuzzier. Much fuzzier. And then, the glorious things I'd been waiting for since starting on T: sideburns. Oh what sideburns I had. I cultivated them carefully, meticulously grooming them to maximum burnage.
In December of '05, I set things in motion to get rid of the useless fleshbags hanging from my chest. Or, more accurately, the useless fleshbags I bound to suffocating flatness against my torso on most days, using two compression shirts to get properly flat. And then, on January 11th, 2006, they came off, thanks to Dr. Melissa Johnson and her wonderful staff at Baystate Medical Center in Springfield, Massachusetts.
Oh, glorious shirtlessness!
Too bad it cost me $8000, out of pocket. But loans are temporary; being deboobed is forever!
So here I am, about 6 years since my first shot of T, and quite comfortable in my dudeness. While I don't hide my status as a “non-traditional” male, I don't tell people unless the situation dictates the need for it, or they outright ask me. Therefore, most people assume that I'm just your average fella.
Which, when it comes down to it, I pretty much am.
Okay, so... I wasn't one of those classic tranny tales, where I'd known that I was a Real Boy since I was 3 years old or whatnot. Frankly, kids don't really see gender all that much; it's just a bunch of kids doing their thing, prior to their parents and society hammering gender roles into their heads. Additionally, for the most part, their bodies are pretty much the same, apart from some key bits. Waist-up, one six year old looks like the next. Therefore, no major problem.
Then, right around the first decade mark, things start...changing. And at that point, I started feeling weird and wrong. At the time, I chalked it up to the awkwardness of being a teenager and going through puberty. However, most of my peers didn't constantly feel the need to try and recreate themselves to figure out what was right for them. At least, not as often, nor to the degrees as I tried. Coincidentally, I felt most comfortable looking pretty "butch" despite not even knowing what "butch" was.
Time passed. The weird "wrong" feeling never really went away. There would be days when I'd just feel Wrong with a capital W, and have no idea what the hell my problem was. I went to therapists, and they couldn't figure it out either. I got good grades. I had good friends. My parents were great to me. I got along with my brothers. I was in a bunch of fun extracurriculars. But I still felt like something was terribly off-kilter. In retrospect, I can see a zillion signs that would have tipped me off if I'd only known that there was such a thing as being transgendered.
Jump forward to 2004. I was living in Utah with a boyfriend of two years or so. Life was decent, for the most part. We had fun, and we got by. He never understood my "wrong days" either, but he put up with them. Our sex life was healthy, though there were definitely days when I'd be strangely indifferent to various touches and gropes to various parts, like I'd hardly register the touch at all, and certainly not as erotic. Strange, that.
It was in 2004 that our good friend Jordan confided in us that she was trans and planned to physically transition from male to female. We were surprised, of course, because she had been very careful about her presentation. Well, surprised and not, at the same time, as she never really seemed very comfortable in her skin, to be true. I talked with Jordan at length, and she was happy to share her experience and emotions with me, someone she trusted. I was glad to be that friend.
However, those conversations set off a rapid series of mental clicks in me.
There were a lot of things that Jordan said that sounded eerily familiar, mirrored in my own life. A lot of the same feelings, the same strange wrongness. I started analysing my life, really looking at it, threading things together. A picture started forming that -- at the time -- I didn't like the looks of at all. What? Me? No... Silly girl, you're just thinking about it because of your conversations with Jordan. It's your brain processing her situation, that's all. It's not you. Duh.
So there was a period of denial, when I set it aside. But it kept picking at my brain, and would keep resurfacing. I cut my hair short again, after having it long past my shoulders. Combed down the sides to look a bit like sideburns. I wore my puffy black parka on the bus to college, which masked my chest, and looked around, wondering if the other passengers could tell if I was a boy or a girl. And...getting a secret satisfaction out of the idea that they were guessing opposite what my chromosomes dictated.
Related to my subconscious shift or not, my boyfriend broke up with me for someone much more feminine, thin, and pretty. Devastated, I moved back to Vermont in December '04. I had another boyfriend for a while. Wore makeup. Grew my hair out again. Ironically, I was at my most feminine as I had been in years when the prodding in my brain finally became to much. I called Jordan and talked with her for hours. I finally admitted to her, and to myself, that I knew exactly what that "feeling wrong" problem was. She was kind, understanding, and wonderful. She helped me get in touch with a great therapist in the area.
First, I researched the hell out of trans-related information, especially female-to-male in specific. I networked. I read firsthand accounts. I asked questions. Then, I visited with the therapist. She said to call her "K.F." K.F. was in her sixties, and prior to retiring, had apparently been with the University of Vermont psychology department for over thirty years, and had worked with a ton of people working through gender issues. K.F. didn't judge; K.F. didn't try to "talk me out of it". We honestly analysed my life, my mental state, my gender presentation. Within a few weeks' time, there was no question left in my mind; for once, I finally understood what was wrong, and knew it would continue to be wrong unless I took swift action. Every “she” and “miss” and “her” grated on me more agonisingly each day. So I set myself on the path to sorting the whole mess out.
April, 2005. Legally changed my name. Came out to my friends. They were all fantastically supportive, or delightfully indifferent. For instance: For some ungodly reason, I decided that the best time to tell my friends Becka and Lisa, was while shopping at Burlington Town Center mall. (Yeah. Don't ask.) I told them about my situation, and asked them to please use my chosen name and male pronouns. Immediately, Becka whipped out her phone and started tapping away. Taken aback, I asked her what she was doing. “Changing your name in my address book,” she replied, “Duh.”
It was also in April that I came out to most of my family. My mother, as always, was unflinchingly supportive; she has always said that as long as her children are healthy and happy, then she is there for us 100%. My stepdad, a bit of a slow man, didn't really care either way. My brother Matthew was a bit weirded out at first, but got used to the idea in a brief span of time. My youngest brother, Josh, was extremely curious and asked a lot of fantastic questions; he also took it upon himself to show me "how to be a guy", which was endlessly amusing. Key among his lessons was "how guys hug". (Handshake, lean in, kind of bump chests, one or maybe two pats on the back, separate.)
And then, there was my father.
To preface this, my dad is a great guy. He's always been there for my brother and I. He's always wanted the best for us. However, his idea of the “best for us” generally included the idealistic view of success: college degree, high-paying respectable job, a family consisting of a wife, husband, and a couple of kids. He was also terribly concerned with how other people viewed him, which included how people perceived his children. (I blame his second wife for further cultivating this sad fixation.)
I knew he would be the most difficult to tell; I knew I'd need support. Therefore, I asked him if he'd come with me to one of my counseling sessions with K.F. He agreed, though he had no idea what he had coming. May 18th. I was nervous. Okay, no. I was terrified. I knew I wouldn't be able to articulate myself properly vocally, so I wrote him a letter outlining much of what I've told you thus far. I introduced him to K.F., handed him the letter, and told him to read it, ask K.F any questions he might have, and then come get me from the lobby when he was ready.
Good lord, that was the longest half hour of my entire life.
K.F called me in eventually. I walked in, and could hardly bring myself to look at dad. But if I had the strength to do what I was doing, I was man enough to look my father in the eye. So I did. And it broke my damn heart. He looked destroyed, like I'd murdered someone. There was a lot of crying during that session, on both our parts. He grasped at anything he could think of to blame, anything he could say that “did this to me”: my Utahn ex, the internet, even karaoke at 135 Pearl. He couldn't accept that it was just...me. He swore he'd never call me by my chosen name. He swore he'd never use male pronouns.
It was a very quiet, awkward ride home.
The latter half of May, K.F and I agreed that the best way to treat my (now officially-diagnosed) Gender Identity Disorder would be physical transition. She wrote the recommendation letter to my primary care physician to start my prescription for hormone replacement therapy. Testosterone. T. This was it; this meant permanent manifestations of my gender. I was excited and more than ready.
June 2nd. My first injection. Testosterone Cypionate, 50mg. And damn, didn't it feel good. I found myself noticing the tiniest, most minuscule changes. My voice was changing in ways only I could perceive at the time. I loved it. LOVED IT.
Dad still wasn't talking to me. Mom said to give him time. In addition, she wrote him a rather scathing e-mail, deriding him for forgetting that no matter my name, no matter my appearance or gender, that I was still his child, still deserving of the love and respect he'd always given me. I think it helped put things in perspective for him, somewhat. And yes, in time...he accepted it. Eventually. He still slips on my name a bit to this day, but not on purpose. He saw my comfort and confidence. These days, we have what feels like a father-son relationship; I stop by, maybe we watch a Sox game, talk about movies and music. He offers me a beer, perhaps. But it's comfortable, whatever it is.
Anyway, months passed from that first injection, and changes continued. My voice changed and cracked and squeaked before finally settling down; even now, four and a half years later, it's still maturing. I got fuzzier. Much fuzzier. And then, the glorious things I'd been waiting for since starting on T: sideburns. Oh what sideburns I had. I cultivated them carefully, meticulously grooming them to maximum burnage.
In December of '05, I set things in motion to get rid of the useless fleshbags hanging from my chest. Or, more accurately, the useless fleshbags I bound to suffocating flatness against my torso on most days, using two compression shirts to get properly flat. And then, on January 11th, 2006, they came off, thanks to Dr. Melissa Johnson and her wonderful staff at Baystate Medical Center in Springfield, Massachusetts.
Oh, glorious shirtlessness!
Too bad it cost me $8000, out of pocket. But loans are temporary; being deboobed is forever!
So here I am, about 6 years since my first shot of T, and quite comfortable in my dudeness. While I don't hide my status as a “non-traditional” male, I don't tell people unless the situation dictates the need for it, or they outright ask me. Therefore, most people assume that I'm just your average fella.
Which, when it comes down to it, I pretty much am.
Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
Okay, major text dump incoming... I tend to be pretty long-winded about my story. Hopefully it's entertaining enough that you'll read through until the end.
Okay, so... I wasn't one of those classic tranny tales, where I'd known that I was a Real Boy since I was 3 years old or whatnot. Frankly, kids don't really see gender all that much; it's just a bunch of kids doing their thing, prior to their parents and society hammering gender roles into their heads. Additionally, for the most part, their bodies are pretty much the same, apart from some key bits. Waist-up, one six year old looks like the next. Therefore, no major problem.
Then, right around the first decade mark, things start...changing. And at that point, I started feeling weird and wrong. At the time, I chalked it up to the awkwardness of being a teenager and going through puberty. However, most of my peers didn't constantly feel the need to try and recreate themselves to figure out what was right for them. At least, not as often, nor to the degrees as I tried. Coincidentally, I felt most comfortable looking pretty "butch" despite not even knowing what "butch" was.
Time passed. The weird "wrong" feeling never really went away. There would be days when I'd just feel Wrong with a capital W, and have no idea what the hell my problem was. I went to therapists, and they couldn't figure it out either. I got good grades. I had good friends. My parents were great to me. I got along with my brothers. I was in a bunch of fun extracurriculars. But I still felt like something was terribly off-kilter. In retrospect, I can see a zillion signs that would have tipped me off if I'd only known that there was such a thing as being transgendered.
Jump forward to 2004. I was living in Utah with a boyfriend of two years or so. Life was decent, for the most part. We had fun, and we got by. He never understood my "wrong days" either, but he put up with them. Our sex life was healthy, though there were definitely days when I'd be strangely indifferent to various touches and gropes to various parts, like I'd hardly register the touch at all, and certainly not as erotic. Strange, that.
It was in 2004 that our good friend Jordan confided in us that she was trans and planned to physically transition from male to female. We were surprised, of course, because she had been very careful about her presentation. Well, surprised and not, at the same time, as she never really seemed very comfortable in her skin, to be true. I talked with Jordan at length, and she was happy to share her experience and emotions with me, someone she trusted. I was glad to be that friend.
However, those conversations set off a rapid series of mental clicks in me.
There were a lot of things that Jordan said that sounded eerily familiar, mirrored in my own life. A lot of the same feelings, the same strange wrongness. I started analysing my life, really looking at it, threading things together. A picture started forming that -- at the time -- I didn't like the looks of at all. What? Me? No... Silly girl, you're just thinking about it because of your conversations with Jordan. It's your brain processing her situation, that's all. It's not you. Duh.
So there was a period of denial, when I set it aside. But it kept picking at my brain, and would keep resurfacing. I cut my hair short again, after having it long past my shoulders. Combed down the sides to look a bit like sideburns. I wore my puffy black parka on the bus to college, which masked my chest, and looked around, wondering if the other passengers could tell if I was a boy or a girl. And...getting a secret satisfaction out of the idea that they were guessing opposite what my chromosomes dictated.
Related to my subconscious shift or not, my boyfriend broke up with me for someone much more feminine, thin, and pretty. Devastated, I moved back to Vermont in December '04. I had another boyfriend for a while. Wore makeup. Grew my hair out again. Ironically, I was at my most feminine as I had been in years when the prodding in my brain finally became to much. I called Jordan and talked with her for hours. I finally admitted to her, and to myself, that I knew exactly what that "feeling wrong" problem was. She was kind, understanding, and wonderful. She helped me get in touch with a great therapist in the area.
First, I researched the hell out of trans-related information, especially female-to-male in specific. I networked. I read firsthand accounts. I asked questions. Then, I visited with the therapist. She said to call her "K.F." K.F. was in her sixties, and prior to retiring, had apparently been with the University of Vermont psychology department for over thirty years, and had worked with a ton of people working through gender issues. K.F. didn't judge; K.F. didn't try to "talk me out of it". We honestly analysed my life, my mental state, my gender presentation. Within a few weeks' time, there was no question left in my mind; for once, I finally understood what was wrong, and knew it would continue to be wrong unless I took swift action. Every “she” and “miss” and “her” grated on me more agonisingly each day. So I set myself on the path to sorting the whole mess out.
April, 2005. Legally changed my name. Came out to my friends. They were all fantastically supportive, or delightfully indifferent. For instance: For some ungodly reason, I decided that the best time to tell my friends Becka and Lisa, was while shopping at Burlington Town Center mall. (Yeah. Don't ask.) I told them about my situation, and asked them to please use my chosen name and male pronouns. Immediately, Becka whipped out her phone and started tapping away. Taken aback, I asked her what she was doing. “Changing your name in my address book,” she replied, “Duh.”
It was also in April that I came out to most of my family. My mother, as always, was unflinchingly supportive; she has always said that as long as her children are healthy and happy, then she is there for us 100%. My stepdad, a bit of a slow man, didn't really care either way. My brother Matthew was a bit weirded out at first, but got used to the idea in a brief span of time. My youngest brother, Josh, was extremely curious and asked a lot of fantastic questions; he also took it upon himself to show me "how to be a guy", which was endlessly amusing. Key among his lessons was "how guys hug". (Handshake, lean in, kind of bump chests, one or maybe two pats on the back, separate.)
And then, there was my father.
To preface this, my dad is a great guy. He's always been there for my brother and I. He's always wanted the best for us. However, his idea of the “best for us” generally included the idealistic view of success: college degree, high-paying respectable job, a family consisting of a wife, husband, and a couple of kids. He was also terribly concerned with how other people viewed him, which included how people perceived his children. (I blame his second wife for further cultivating this sad fixation.)
I knew he would be the most difficult to tell; I knew I'd need support. Therefore, I asked him if he'd come with me to one of my counseling sessions with K.F. He agreed, though he had no idea what he had coming. May 18th. I was nervous. Okay, no. I was terrified. I knew I wouldn't be able to articulate myself properly vocally, so I wrote him a letter outlining much of what I've told you thus far. I introduced him to K.F., handed him the letter, and told him to read it, ask K.F any questions he might have, and then come get me from the lobby when he was ready.
Good lord, that was the longest half hour of my entire life.
K.F called me in eventually. I walked in, and could hardly bring myself to look at dad. But if I had the strength to do what I was doing, I was man enough to look my father in the eye. So I did. And it broke my damn heart. He looked destroyed, like I'd murdered someone. There was a lot of crying during that session, on both our parts. He grasped at anything he could think of to blame, anything he could say that “did this to me”: my Utahn ex, the internet, even karaoke at 135 Pearl. He couldn't accept that it was just...me. He swore he'd never call me by my chosen name. He swore he'd never use male pronouns.
It was a very quiet, awkward ride home.
The latter half of May, K.F and I agreed that the best way to treat my (now officially-diagnosed) Gender Identity Disorder would be physical transition. She wrote the recommendation letter to my primary care physician to start my prescription for hormone replacement therapy. Testosterone. T. This was it; this meant permanent manifestations of my gender. I was excited and more than ready.
June 2nd. My first injection. Testosterone Cypionate, 50mg. And damn, didn't it feel good. I found myself noticing the tiniest, most minuscule changes. My voice was changing in ways only I could perceive at the time. I loved it. LOVED IT.
Dad still wasn't talking to me. Mom said to give him time. In addition, she wrote him a rather scathing e-mail, deriding him for forgetting that no matter my name, no matter my appearance or gender, that I was still his child, still deserving of the love and respect he'd always given me. I think it helped put things in perspective for him, somewhat. And yes, in time...he accepted it. Eventually. He still slips on my name a bit to this day, but not on purpose. He saw my comfort and confidence. These days, we have what feels like a father-son relationship; I stop by, maybe we watch a Sox game, talk about movies and music. He offers me a beer, perhaps. But it's comfortable, whatever it is.
Anyway, months passed from that first injection, and changes continued. My voice changed and cracked and squeaked before finally settling down; even now, four and a half years later, it's still maturing. I got fuzzier. Much fuzzier. And then, the glorious things I'd been waiting for since starting on T: sideburns. Oh what sideburns I had. I cultivated them carefully, meticulously grooming them to maximum burnage.
In December of '05, I set things in motion to get rid of the useless fleshbags hanging from my chest. Or, more accurately, the useless fleshbags I bound to suffocating flatness against my torso on most days, using two compression shirts to get properly flat. And then, on January 11th, 2006, they came off, thanks to Dr. Melissa Johnson and her wonderful staff at Baystate Medical Center in Springfield, Massachusetts.
Oh, glorious shirtlessness!
Too bad it cost me $8000, out of pocket. But loans are temporary; being deboobed is forever!
So here I am, about 6 years since my first shot of T, and quite comfortable in my dudeness. While I don't hide my status as a “non-traditional” male, I don't tell people unless the situation dictates the need for it, or they outright ask me. Therefore, most people assume that I'm just your average fella.
Which, when it comes down to it, I pretty much am.
Nice story Gaddy, congratulations
it was well written and we do not get to here the trans man stories too much. Thank you for contibuting.
Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255
The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743
Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438
Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673
Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272
Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000
Exhale (After-Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice): 1-866-439-4253
Please share with everyone, you never know who might need it.
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255
The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743
Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438
Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673
Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272
Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000
Exhale (After-Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice): 1-866-439-4253
Please share with everyone, you never know who might need it.
EMPRESSLAINIE
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2012
- Posts
- 158
For Gaddy
Your story is similar to mine except of course that I am male to female.
I honestly never had a clue for 72 years, until that wonderful day that my liberator Michelle invited me to a meeting with her that I did not know was a TG group. I had been trying to date her for several months, thought she might be trans but didn't care.
That night I reviewed my whole life and had my epiphany. I HAD BEEN A FEMALE PERSON ALL OF MY LIFE. How could I have been so dense as not to suspect. Well it was the times, not much was publicized except our role model Christine J. I never in the world suspected I could be a transperson.
I never lived another day as a so-called "man." I changed my name doing all the work myself a few months later. But I told everyone on that fateful day I was living as a woman the rest of my life.
Its been five years now and also five years for my SO and five years for us being together in September.
I have never been happier in my life. Sometimes I cry for not being born a female and growing up as a little girl, but the rest is pure roses.
And like you, I just live as an ordinary woman. Only close friends and my siblings know my past, not even my employers including a stint with the Census. Only on a few selected sites will I discuss this, and they must be private or I post under an alias.
Your story is similar to mine except of course that I am male to female.
I honestly never had a clue for 72 years, until that wonderful day that my liberator Michelle invited me to a meeting with her that I did not know was a TG group. I had been trying to date her for several months, thought she might be trans but didn't care.
That night I reviewed my whole life and had my epiphany. I HAD BEEN A FEMALE PERSON ALL OF MY LIFE. How could I have been so dense as not to suspect. Well it was the times, not much was publicized except our role model Christine J. I never in the world suspected I could be a transperson.
I never lived another day as a so-called "man." I changed my name doing all the work myself a few months later. But I told everyone on that fateful day I was living as a woman the rest of my life.
Its been five years now and also five years for my SO and five years for us being together in September.
I have never been happier in my life. Sometimes I cry for not being born a female and growing up as a little girl, but the rest is pure roses.
And like you, I just live as an ordinary woman. Only close friends and my siblings know my past, not even my employers including a stint with the Census. Only on a few selected sites will I discuss this, and they must be private or I post under an alias.
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Gi_Venus
Loving Heart
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 11,550
Nice to meet you, whoever you are lol Living stealth are you? Some people prefer that, Maybe one day I will once i do my name change and change my id.
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