Shot two was… unremarkable. Other than the fact I got into a bit of a war with my needles, but in the end, I won out. Sadly, they won quite a few battles. Almost jabbed myself in the face… which is funny only because it didn’t actually happen.
Came down sick over the weekend, wanted to do another voice recording but I’m not entirely sure how useful that would be considering my throat is very sore, swollen, and hoarse because of those two. Not the best way to gage changes. Though a few of my friends got really excited for me, until I explained that it was almost guaranteed not the T yet.
No stat changes. No alterations in body configurations, though no reason why they should already. No mood swings either. About the only effect I’ve noticed so far is increased sex drive. And from what I’ve heard, it’s only the beginning, and it will get worse before it gets better…
There is one surprising upside to the increased sex drive. Now, for some background, I have never been able to be successful at masturbation. This has often made my (already) large sex drive rather frustrating, but no matter how frustrated, how desperate, no matter how horny, I could never masturbate. I’ve tried sex toys. Yes, even the famous hitachi cannot get me off when I’m alone. Because for me, I always needed another person there. Needed it not just to be me, but for someone to be there, someone who I was ok with being there, and not just me in my mind. Because, unsurprisingly, I’m yet another queer with some really fucked up history that was out of my control. So that made what happened incredibly surprising. I masturbated successfully. Just me, no one in the room. No, it wasnt very good, but hey, at least it was an orgasm. The first, and hopefully not last.
I feel accomplished.
Trans. Technically speaking, it is a prefix. But even left alone, attached to no “real” word, I actually prefer that over other terms. Trans sometimes means “across,” which could imply a binary, ie- transatlantic. But the prefix “trans” usually does not imply a binary opposition. It often means “beyond,” like it does in astronomy ie- translunar. Only on occasions, and linguistically they are rare, does trans ever imply a binary opposition.
I don’t see there being two genders. If there aren’t even two sexes, how the hell can there only be two genders? My first year of college a hallmate asked me, the resident queer, “How many genders are there?” I laughed. “Two, three, four… NINE?” I told him he was starting to get there.
No, I don’t actually think people are some beautiful, unique, snowflakes. People are a lot of things, and sadly beautiful is not often among the adjectives that are actually accurate to describe them. We’ve all got a lot of ugliness inside, jealousy, hubris, hatred, fear… But we’re not all fucked up in the same way. How many kinds of nice are there? Thus, how many kinds of women? To quote the Vagina Monologues (as much as I abhor Ensler…) “Old women, young women, married women, single women…” And yet each category has subcategories, and so on. There aren’t two genders. There are far too many ways to be the “socially accepted” two categories of genders, let alone all the other options.
Eventually I need to decide how public I want this blog. Eventually I need to decide if the people in my life who I’ve written about on here are allowed to see it. I need to ask them if they’re ok with the things I’ve written about them. If they are, maybe I’ll put this out there a bit more. Aw hell, who am I kidding. I’d love to put this out there more.
I’ve thrown in warnings in early entries about sexually explicit content, but figure its worth repeating. Namely, there is some.
So, I’ve decided I’m an idiot. A very intelligent idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. I can fool around with S again, and despite having done this a good deal, despite the fact we might be accidently starting to date, we never actually did much with pain. The reason this makes me an idiot is because she has told me stories of her being covered in bruises, the fun kind. And i’m the masochist who has had to ask friends to stop biting my arms because they don’t want me to jump them. Or at least… I don’t think they do.
We watch a movie with my housemates, and S doesnt behave. (Not that I really mind, so long as it doesnt make my housemates uncomfortable… ) So after the movie its really no surprise that we disappear into my room. Despite that my room is actually the hottest in the house, and despite the fact i’m fooling around with an incredibly attractive girl that i like, my shirt stays on. I kept thinking, in college with me drunk it came off so many times. Yet, it took so much before i could do it with her. It took overhearting, and the realization that she might well be the single best person i’ve hooked up with about me being trans. She quietly puts my shirt back down when it rides up, she didnt touch my chest until i essentially put her hands there, though ironically i did that by accident.
I asked, finally, if she minded. Odds are, she was laughing at me in her head. I sat up, pulled my shirt, and undershirt, off. And froze.
She sat up behind me, and kissed my shoulders. If i had have ever told her my turn ons, that would be on the list. If i had ever told her of the ways to help me when i flip out, that would be on there too. Her hands grazed my skin, and she said nothing…
I’m someone who revels in words, for all that i tend to think without language. I like it when my partners talk to me, it could be dirty, but it actually doesnt have to be. S sat forward, kissed my shoulders and her fingers grazed my skin with no words, and in that moment i was content with silence.
Later i had her on her stomach, tracing where i had scratched her a bit earlier. I mention the marks, tracing each red, raised set with my fingers… when she asked me to give her more. Clawing at her back, she wimpered contentedly and a seed forms in my mind. I tell her i need to grow out my nails. I don’t remember how, but i realize she wants me to bite. I love biting. I love the feel of skin and muscle between my teeth, the ache of my jaw, the marks left behind. Mark not in the “you’re mine” sense but in the, i did that to your skin, i have the power to do that and remind you of it later as you feel the bruises. I love being bitten, but i really love biting.
So i bite her. Over and over again, though not as hard as she could handle, definately hard enough. Her shoulders, her chest, her stomach, her hips… i just kept biting.
I pause and look at her, and tell her we are both giant idiots. She doesn’t understand why, but she doesnt need to. After all, it took us this long to bite, to scratch, to actually let go enough to begin explore one another.
Lay it all out, everything you need.
- Two alcohol wipes
- One drawing needle
- One sub-q needle
- One syringe
- One bottle of testosterone
Wash hands. Wipe bottle with the first wipe. Attach drawing needle to syringe, but don’t touch the top part because it is sterilized. Draw the syringe back to get enough air, put the needle in the bottle and hold upside down. Make sure the needle stays in the liquid. Push air back into the bottle. Draw out testosterone. Take out of bottle. Remove drawing needle, put on sub-q needle. Wipe injection site, push needle into body all the way. Push down on syringe, hard. Pull out. Dispose in proper containers.
My first shot.
Which is what happened. After a full day of nerves, dealing with very expensive parking, with a surprisingly cheap and tasty sushi lunch mixed in. I swear the sushi made the day not completely horrbile as I could destress over food, because food is wonderful like that.
I’ll start uploading voice recordings later, after I have more than one, because wordpress costs money to post voice recordings. This way I won’t have to pay until I have more than one.
This entry is about gender.
A startling admission for trans person about to start testosterone is that I am not a guy. I am not a man, do not want to be a man, have never wanted to be a man, and it took me a very long time to come to terms with my trans identity because of that. Nor do I usually think of myself as a guy, in its gendered context. I am fine saying “hey guys” in a gender neutral way, or having that said to me, but I am not usually a guy. I am occasionally a boy though, and often a boi. On rare occasions I am a girl, sometimes even a grrl. All these terms have different meanings for me.
Lets just start with the basic binary: man/woman. (Or man/womyn. Or wimmin. I’m going to use women for my own personal typing ease.) When I look out at the world I do not see a world with men and women, though admittedly that is how many people identify. A group of cisgendered “men” I actually see as boys or guys (in its gendered context.) A group of cisgendered “women” I see as girls. This view has gotten me into trouble with more than one feminist, who very strongly identifies as a woman and NOT as a girl. Women, the word, means a group of strong, passionate, intelligent, amazing people usually of the women/womyn/girl/etc. identity set. Yet, I really never think of people that way. Girl is similar, but a bit more friendly. The basic binary for me is girl/boy. Woman/man is formal, kind of like the french “vous.” It can be singular, but it is usually plural, and is a formal mode of speech not meant to be used among familiars. Thus, any person I am friends with, dating, etc. is a boy, girl, boi, tranny, or person (or any other number of things,) but pretty much never a woman or a man.
As I previously said, I am sometimes a girl. Mostly this happens during sex. I am always hyper aware of my body when I start even making out with a person, as it shifts into fooling around and sex, my body becomes even more of a conscious problem. When I’m with someone I really trust, this sometimes fades away. But I have an undoubtably feminine form. Which a Boy has commented on before, after having me happily pinned ot the floor. I want these damn hips gone, but all I can get is weight shift. I want my damn breasts gone, but that has to wait until I have the money. In the meanwhile, despite my surprisingly curvy form (surprisingly, because my chest is a 34d, I am not a big person, but my hips and chest are very much there) I do not always feel like a girl during sex. Usually I just feel like xMech, myself. occasionally, as in often but definitely less than half the time, I feel like a boy. Sometimes a dom Boy, sometimes a sub boy, but undoubtably I am a boy.
What might be strange to those of you who know other trans folk, is that sometimes I most definitely feel like a girl. Usually a dyke, and it took me a while, but I revel in that feeling. I really love playing with gender. Dyke-ing out is so much fun, sexually or just dressing up and going out. Gender is not an either/or; for me, it is additive. Dyking out can be boi me, cross-dressing, androgynous me adding gender to the mix, or even me in a moment of pretty clear cut girl-ness. Maybe its not the traditional reactions of someone who is transitioning, going through testosterone therapy, but it is what it is.
“If I show up in a pink frilly dress,
Those kids won’t love me any more or less.
Hey are you a boy or a… Aw, nevermind.
Can I have a push on the swing?
And someday, when we grow up,
It’s all gonna be that simple.” -Andrea Gibson
Once I figure out how, I am going to load a voice recording on here, to start that part of the record.
I’m not computer illiterate, but I have yet to figure out how to do a voice recording, but I will before my first shot. Need something to commemorate this pre-change… Or at least get me to be able to see the differences.
I am starting to get nervous about going on T. I’m looking forward to most of it, minus the higher risk for cardiovascular disease and potential male-patterned balding… but part of me fears that it will change the way people, especially C, feel about me. She claims it won’t, which never actually made me feel any better. She says she’ll have to adjust but that her feelings won’t change, and I still worry. Despite all the history there, and now total support, part of me still remembers when she would completely shut down on me at the mere mention of a binder. Yet, when S says “this is going to be fun once your voice starts changing” suddenly I am confident that not only can I go on T, not only should I go on T, but that someone besides me could be excited about it.
Excited, and interested beyond just as a friend…
Now though, I keep thinking about the differences this could mean in my power relations with others. What does it mean when I refuse to change who I am to become more of a “man” once I’m actually passing? As in, what does it mean that I am not going to force myself to drink whiskey or beer, act like an ass, or take space from others around me? What does it mean that I’m going on T, but enjoy clawing someone’s back past bleeding… and that someone is a girl?
So things to think, places to go.
Until next time, I can bench 50lbs, I am about 5’8, and somewhere around 145, 150 lbs. My arms are fuzzy, but its blond. Got a few dark freckles scatter across my arms, probably cuz I’m so pale from working inside these days. My wrists are small, as is my neck. I’m still fitting into small-sized shirts. I’m all arms and legs though. So maybe soon I can start looking at shirts with a neck size larger than 14 1/2.
Time to sleep though, long day tomorrow.
In two weeks, I will begin HRT, or hormone replacement therapy. I will inject testosterone into my thigh, which I have to be careful about mentioning to my friends with fears of needles. Oddly enough, they don’t seem particularly happy with me when I mention ‘shooting up’ T. Oh yeah, maybe some introductions are in order…
In fairness, I’m not big on introductions. But I am determined to have a transition blog, so here it is. Guess that means I should talk a bit about me before transition.
I am a giant radical queer kinky tranny, whose real passions are things like friends and theater. I went to a small liberal arts college in New England, and am currently employed at a job that is not exactly what I want to be doing with my life. On the other hand, I do have a part-time job in theater, and that is much more to my liking. My political interests are varied, and neither left nor right winged, but not even within the realms of standard public discourse. Yeah, can you tell I’m no good at this part?
Yet, this blog is anonymous. I do this to protect the other people in my life, as I am generally quite open about anything that will appear in here, I do want there to be record. But, this will end up going beyond a record of my transition… and into issues that can be incredibly personal about the other people in my life who are dealing with my transition. It isn’t just something that affects me, but everyone in my life. I plan on covering that to the best of my ability.
In two weeks, I am starting T. Hopefully in the next few years I will also manage to get better at this blogging thing.