Gender Identity

I’ve really started to hate being a woman. Socially and psychologically, it doesn’t bother me as much: my personality has never been especially “feminine,” my presentation stopped being so long ago (except on special occasions), and we’re beyond the age when it’s a struggle to have friends of both sexes. In a desexualized social context, I can act like a man, as long as my peers accept that I’m doing so—and the peers who I’ve gotten to know in this part of my life got used to it; I assume that my peers in the next part of my life will do the same. But I run up against this brick wall in physical matters; I’m growing to hate more and more having a female body. I feel as if I’m limited in what I can do by things like the way my hormones fuck with me. I’m sure men have their own problems with hormones (for seriousness’s sake, I’m using “men” and “women” instead of “guys” and “girls”), but it’s just hell for me. I feel manipulated, like I don’t own my body and my emotions. Once a month I spend two days so depressed that it’s almost difficult for me to function normally, I get so cramped that I can’t move, and I bleed for a week. Some of that’s starting to be helped by the Pill, but of course that brings with it its own problems, fucking with my hormones even more. I’m beginning to identify how I feel about my cunt as revulsion. It grosses me out, and that’s why I don’t want to masturbate. I don’t want to touch it—though I don’t feel that way when I see pictures of other women’s pussies. I fantasize about having a dick so that I could jack off.

I’m also feeling less happy with my tits; I admittedly have something of a boob fetish, which is why I’m quite happy to show them off when I wear women’s clothes—I fantasize about people playing with mine just as much as I fantasize about playing with other people’s. But I’m less and less inclined to resign myself to wearing women’s clothes normally—prom is one thing, but if I’m going for a job interview, a skirt and blouse isn’t who I am. And when I wear men’s clothes (like every day), having tits is just ridiculous. You know how disgusting man boobs look? Ten times worse for me when I wear a sweater that’s supposed to fit snugly, or even certain t-shirts. I hate going into every department store in the city and still not owning a pair of pants that fit well, too, because of my hips. And well, yeah, it’s nice to think about someone playing with my boobs, but somehow that falls by the wayside when none of your clothes fit. Aside from a few exceptions, like when I have a crush on a guy, I want to for all intents and purposes “be” a guy in public—it’s stressful to simultaneously be a girl in private, and under the clothes.

In fantasy-land, too, I’m not sure what’s what anymore. I’ve discussed before the extent to which my D/s fantasies are highly gender-specific (dominant male/submissive female), a fact which has given me no small concern about feminism and political correctness, but for the present we’ll just take it as a given that this is what turns me on. When I first “came out,” I identified myself as submissive. I don’t recall exactly what led me to that conclusion, but I recall being very sure. And now I’m reconsidering a bit. I think the logic in my head goes something like, “I want to imagine women dominated and humiliated, and I am a woman, therefore I would like same to be done to me.” Not terrible logic, perhaps, but also perhaps not entirely accurate. There’s more switchiness to this than I’d thought, and I think it depends on what gender identity I’m feeling at that particular moment. My sexual tendency (and so non-PC it’s not funny, but) is to see the entire world in terms of M/f. When I feel like a woman, naked body and all, I want to be fucked, I want to be dominated, etc. By a man. When I am acting in a way I associate with the masculine, it usually means lusting after a woman—and then, sometimes (but not always), I want to do the same to her. This actually makes a lot of logical sense in terms of being a sexual psyche, and I bet it’s relatively common—but it’s incredibly mind-blowing to me, and kind of confusing. I feel as if I don’t know who I am.

This person I knew back in middle school is trans (though when I knew her, she didn’t know it), and I got to know him again last year, when he was still going by female pronouns and his female name, but thinking about changing. He’s just started college, and in doing so he’s started going by his male name and using male pronouns. It’s not like I’ve never heard of a trans person before—I mean, there’s Max on The L Word, after all—but being friends with him and then seeing him get a more masculine haircut, changing his name on his Facebook, etc., has really hit me over the head with how little attachment there has to be between who one is and what one’s body says one is. Textbook gender dysphoria, of course. I don’t think I’m trans—I’ve been so sure for so long that I’m not, but then I thought that about the submissiveness too. I don’t think I would want to transition now, but if I could somehow make it so that I had a Y chromosome from the beginning of my life, I think I would probably do that. Sometimes I do feel like a woman, sexually and emotionally, but yet it’s remarkable that despite all that estrogen pumping through my body (how interesting that my daily dose of estrogen seems to have only made the gender dysphoria worse), my prevailing longing is to just be “one of the guys.”

I’ve never been very confused about my sexual identity, really, not the way some queer kids are. But fuck, I am now.


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