tango with Tenga or as good as it gets

I had the most explosive orgasm of my lifetime
with a can
once you get over the fact that you are having sex with a plastic junk housing a silicone vagina it might turn into quite a mind blowing experience

my partner is Tenga
she is black with red stripes and her Hard Edition Deep Throat drives me to a roaring ecstasy
literally

unlike with the others, I’m not a considerate lover
after two weeks of knowing each other her tight opening has a little tear
she is always ready and lubricated and does not object to any of the intimate juxtapositions I subject her to
and with the opening of a lid, she is always open to gratifying my carnal desires

do I satisfy her?
I don’t have to care
does she satisfy me?
absolutely

size matters and I did not believe I would have been able to penetrate anything or anyone but upon reading of a recommendation on FtM forum I acquired the Japanese made ‘men tool’
please note: I’m not admitting that I have a problem ;0)

the airtight plastic container filled with ever so gliding lubricant became my fuck buddy
and after having experienced most possible female climaxes.. this one I was unprepared for
whoever that did not verify all ends of the climax spectrum and concluding that the female climax is better than the one experienced by males is talking rubbish
one would have to be able to experience personally both sides of the climax before making verified conclusions subjective to his/her own realm

my first encounter blew my mind
my brain activity transcended into another dimension, the physical was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and the curiosity killed the cat
La petite mort was devastatingly satisfying

on a side note, I used to own a phantom penis that has stopped making its presence felt as my erectile tissues grew under the androgen therapy
testosterone replacement enlarges them by several centimetres
genetics are at work the same way as with facial hair or alopecia
with regular pumping of the erectile tissues and using of dihydrotestosterone cream which I buy from a pharmacy abroad, the neophallus of a size of a micropenis makes my days and nights
the cis men can have a laugh about FtM penises of a size of a thumb but when you are starting with a size zero, every little addition makes a sizeable difference
and inability to penetrate the potential partner with my lack of endowment.. makes Tenga so much more valuable in being able to experience the erection that is maintained stable and remains steady
grasping the penis with chunky plastic and giving you a full fist of erection to hold and a climax to unleash upon you
and as I am a man with a vagina, there is no other way for me to experience the penetrative sex from the point of the giver with the original plumbing equipment as designed by mother nature
Viva la Tenga!

am I an arsehole for admitting my enjoying of the benefits of sex without having to deal with the PMS, pre-PMS and post PMS dramas and requirements and needs and wishes and wants of women I have no feelings for?
digging strawberries out of the snow in December, making her pancakes at 3 am or zooming through the town at midnight looking for whatever she wants
that will hopefully calm the aggressive estrogen enhanced beast dwelling inside of her is all within limits
if one is enamoured which I am not

my current self imposed block from falling in love again can only crumble by enchantment without prior appointments
and so i play the solitaire
not one on one
but one only

I’m just a regular guy who works to provide for the family, has his hobbies, paints a little, sketches a little, writes a little, plays some guitar and tries to sing, browses the net for the news that aren’t available mainstream, cooks, cleans and cares for the kids
and masturbates to the after hours straight porn falling asleep a few seconds after
in fact, addressing hypocritical neighbours of mine.. I am a wanker, but it might very well be you, the world at large so loving to dissect my everyday life, multiplying the gossip by three and twisting it a few times to spice things up a little, that are the ones with the problem

get a life
or.. get Tenga

voice transition

Clip 1 – 1 week on testosterone
Clip 2 – 8 months on testosterone

Clip 1 – 2 weeks on testosterone
Clip 2 – 8 months on testosterone

in search of manhood

injecting the body into my soul
I forsaken the four letter word to give myself up to the four times a day gelatin coated ceremony
the T Rex orgy of future comb overs, bulging biceps and facial hair
freshly squeezed juice of the most potent concoction served at
breakfast at T – ffany’s

I met her on the road the other day and again she looked me in the face but unlike the other times
I looked at her too
fleeting moment of no recognition
after two years of serving her breakfast in bed I mean nothing to her and she is some impalpable distant memory that has no reason to be remembered
I was reminded of the feeling of the last few months and of why could we not work it out
she is not kind

ghost of expired encounters and midnight pleasures and afternoon pain hovering over the arguments of incompatibility
every passing day created a new distance until
I became no one to her whilst she was all to me
time lost its memory
she confused me for someone she thinks she knew
I confused her for the love of my lifetime
I had to learn to accept that love is just a word
she did not have to learn to accept my masculinity

but you’re a dude, she said, and I like women
today I laugh at her blinkers covered view of the world

Testosterone Undecanoas divided us together with her vanishing sentiments
and my inability to be one of many
I’d rather be alone and count my blessings than with her and count her lovers

I love myself every day a little bit more
rebooting my life
one of a kind I own my mind

my life was not my own until I claimed it
it’s not a birthright to live one’s own life
to be who you are or want to be is a fight
a civil war
a minor revolution of body and soul
defenestration of wrongs
bottled up emotions
driven by a feeling brewing from deep within

revolving question of the friends, enemies, families, therapists, journalists and partners, neighbors and strangers
do they try to apply it to themselves?
what makes a man?
what makes a woman?
what makes a good person if not a complete set of observed and applied moral values
what makes me ‘me’ and what makes you ‘you’
what divides us and what brings us together
my trans status tells you nothing more about me than that the size of the phallus we all own
but some of us failed to develop into a fully grown organ
and nothing more than the wrongly allocated body
I could be a nice person and I could be an arsehole
same like you
I’m nothing more and nothing less than a human

search for the real man has never been harder than now, under pressure of societal expectations
to perform
do I decide I’m a dude
or does the passer by do that for me?

subconsciously, we gender identify each person passing by
without a second thought and without any follow up
man, woman, what the fuck was that?
the c) option was mine for two years and now it’s fading into public identified maleness seeping out of my inside and contaminating my body wrapper
and the confusion arises when my daughter calls me ‘mummy’
mummy?
aren’t you the father?
no, she has a biological father
oh, you are a gay man and she calls you mummy?
no, I’m straight but I was born as a woman
o.h.   the   p.a.u.s.e.
love me some more of those looks for after dinner desert and please include your inner thoughts instead of the bedtime movie

someone has stolen my life and I have never been happier than now

the muscles? mustache? penis? physical strength? hairy chest? shield and sword? lack of breasts? furry legs? arrow and the bow? trousers and ties? games he plays? books he reads and shows he watches? contents of his soul? the container that wears him? suit and the pipe?
sugar and spice and all things nice slugs and snails and puppy dogs tails
gender construction gender constriction
anally retentive with the same potential to develop the same qualities we are matched and mixed
in a  mix and match mode
pic and mix
mix and match into two groups, not one not three not seven
logical nurturing independent strong affectionate intuitive powerful compassionate assertive dependent sensitive caring leader empathetic or not
will I be a better woman if I don’t possess the society attributed qualities
will I be a better man if I don’t posses the same
will I be worse or polarized to masculine or feminine and should we deviate from masculine to feminine from feminine to masculine and merge the qualities
to be one whole human
we are brought back in line by homophobic or transphobic taunts
with the sign prompting us to follow the gender stereotypes
none or both or trans?

and as we search for maleness we make mistakes
common to our human status of pleasing the masses and prescribed schemes and recipes and formulas
and afraid of not coming through as male we push out our own boundaries to often uncomfortable levels of how one must behave to pass
pass as what?
which model must I pass as
I am  misplaced in time and body
I belong to the beginning of the last century era
I don’t want to pass as a brand new 2010 MODEL MACHO
and no
there is no answer to what makes a man
other than his set of moral values
protecting and nurturing human kind

how do I know I’m male?
that is a purely internal and very personal feeling of being aware that the vestment of my soul is not correct, irrelevantly wearing mismatched clothing
does it matter?
perhaps it does not
perhaps we are stuck on balancing the two parts of us
the internal and external.. but can the balance be reached without balancing?

what does it mean to be a man?
I’m just a human being
exhibiting an occasional set of the stereotypical male behavior and eclectic mix of learned femininity
I don’t owe myself anything as I liked to mindfuck myself in the past
I don’t owe anything to anyone when it comes to being myself
I don’t need an excuse to be me
I don’t need an excuse to feel male and to present as such
I don’t need an excuse to exhibit so called feminine qualities and I refuse to feel ashamed or to push them away from me in fear of losing some macho status
I owe myself nothing at all except honesty and truth and those I exercise daily
I still have to transition in age
younger to older to older still
my face will change same like yours
wrinkles will blur the route towards the balance of masculine and feminine
yin and yang
caveman versus Barbie doll

no man’s land

in the earsplitting silence of the hospital night I pondered my top surgery whilst waiting for the drug to kick in
the mid-March draft from the badly insulated wall-sized modern windows blew cold air inside of the bedroom
I wore my black pants and a black T shirt and they just about managed to keep me warm under the hospital duvet
the silence did not last long
my two roommates started snoring within minutes after they laid themselves down and the night air punched in with the emergency lights and ambulance headlights coming and leaving the hospital area resembled a combo of a faulty starters motocross race with a diesel-fed chain saw woodchucks competition
and I couldn’t comprehend how could two 70+ grandmother types make so much noise

an hour earlier the nurse brought me a white pill
*what is it?*
*sleeping pill* she seemed surprised I asked
*I have no problem with insomnia, I sleep well, I don’t need it* I tried to resist
*you must take it*
*but I don’t need it*
*it will calm you down before your morning surgery, you’ll sleep better*
*I am calm and I would like to be able to fall asleep naturally whilst I hear my own thoughts, I don’t want my thoughts drugged*
*I am sorry, you’ll have to take it* she handed me the pill
she wasn’t sorry
she wasn’t interested either
she seemed busy and she started sounding annoyed
ahh, I sighed and disliking myself for not having found enough reasons to want to fight her, I swallowed my first ever sleeping pill

what a grand name
subcutaneous bilateral mastectomy
I pondered and I wondered why on earth was I falling asleep in the strange antiseptic sterile hospital room at my own request whilst all of those staying in the rooms around and occupying the near by beds.. wished not to have to undergo their own surgeries
there was a tumor on the forehead
giant leg to be normalized to thinner
one case of gigantic breasts needing assistance and downgrading
accidentally amputated finger requiring to be reattached
and me
the only person on the plastic surgery ward who was there voluntarily
I gathered I might get another half an hour before the drug kicked in and so I sunk back into my thoughts before they were blended to nothingness

until the last moment before I fell asleep in the hands of the anesthesiologist, there was no certainty
my boobs were destined to be vanquished and the night prior to the surgery I lay in the bed with a single thought on a long string
*what am I doing?*
*why?*
*what for?*
*I am a stupid?*

political correctness aside, Pilsen hospital has no special ward for third sex and as a biological female I was allocated a bed in the room with two old ladies, both with tumors on their faces
there was no way of resting or sleeping
and so I pondered my idiocy and my top surgery decision and although I felt within inside of me that my need to affirm myself as male was unshakable I came to understand that the only way to know for certain was to wake up after the surgery

I was wrong
with my surgery over, I was too groggy to think or to dissect
wheeled to the intensive care room with the nurses watching me across the  glass window connected to their station I slowly regained the sense of being alive
and dissecting my dinner became my only concern

as a gluten incompatible vegetarian I had not many choices when it came to my hospital meals and a few hours post surgery I received my dinner
a slab of smoked cheese vacuum wrapped in plastic, white bread and a pear and on the side plate lay my plastic knife and fork
casting the bread aside as I did every time it was served to me, I fought with the cheese
my chest was bandaged and I was told not to raise my arms
knocked out as I was, not wanting to bother the nurse with helping me, I put the knife and the fork away and broke the plastic wrap with my teeth not thinking as far as to grasp that the yellow salty liquid inside of the wrapper was to leak out all over my crisp white hospital bedding
I am an animal
I chewed a piece of my cheese, bit my pear and dropped to sleep

but the day after, with a clear mind and back with my elderly roommates all felt as it should have
just right
and I could breathe a sigh of relief

my breasts were dead, long live my chest
they never felt right in the first place although I did almost have them surgically enhanced – twice – due to my developing sense of body dysphoria
I wore my tops during sex, couldn’t fathom undressing in public to reveal my tiny perfect (British size 6) body and I couldn’t not digest the discontentment evolving into gender dysphoric undertone
I did not have body image issues
my body was perfect but it did not correspond to who I was
it did not belong to me
the situation digressed to my inability to wear bathing suits
I must have been the only person on Mediterranean beaches fully dressed in jeans and T shirts whilst the rest of my family enjoyed the sun and sea combination

on two occasions, when living as a normalized biological female looking her every part and unsure of how to accept my breasts, I visited plastic surgeons
hoping to somehow turn my breasts that have been a meal too many for my four children for 12 years into accepted body parts
accepted by me alone

the first one was weird
based on Malaga’s Paseo del Parque
he covered his eyes with his hands the very moment I uncovered my breasts
my breasts were small but normal and his reaction surprised me
he looked at them through his fingers and I deemed him unsuitable to perform my breast augmentation.. I couldn’t imagine him operating and not looking
the second surgeon, Dr Kydlicek was very matter of factly and extremely comfortable with handling and squeezing and advising and informing
he didn’t treat them as my body part but as a product to be bettered
he is the one I ultimately chose for modifying them and masculinizing of my chest

the photographer dude Judita sent to shoot me for her trans article asked *don’t you think that if you were born with a mind in the wrong body, you should not tinker with it and you should keep it that way as mother nature intended?*
not sure if I answered him right but what fell out of me, satisfied him *imagine you have a child born with three arms, because mother nature intended so as her random modifications joke or a play with variations.. and yet you know that the good doc can help  normalize your child’s situation, would you decline the possibility just because your child was born with that certain condition as mother nature intended and would you decline tinkering with it?*
he had no more questions

may the bridges I burn light my way

rights to lost rites

*when will you buy yourself a bra?* I embarrassed my father in the shop 30 something years ago
the queue behind us burst out laughing
it was not my first time to embarrass my parents
I once insisted on having seen a bull frog with a giant penis, whilst traveling in the overcrowded train.. but more on that story on another occasion
good old stores of the pre-revolution era offered no possibility to pick and touch and try out random clothing
instead in this particular little place, like in many others, we had to queue to ask for an item to be shown to us
mother was purchasing some lingerie and once we were at it I thought it to be a good idea to dress up father’s wobbly bits
he was in his thirties then and being the lover of ‘the strong men’s food’ he managed to graduate to a weight of 100 kilos
that meant dude boobs

his slabs of chest fat fascinated me and I always wondered why is my mother locking up her breasts in the lacy bras if they are not larger than those belonging to my father
they were fairly amused at my incapability to understand that only women wear bras
and dresses and skirts in that matter
I asked ‘why’ but the answers were never satisfactory enough
and so I searched to no avail for clues of what was it that was pertaining only to men as women seemed to have many domains they held onto

women seemed to have menstruation, babies, hairy legs and breasts
men seemed to have hairy everything, balding patches, pungent sweat  and penises
looking at that stereotypical binary list above, I am unsure whether it is more masochistic having tried to be a woman or affirming to be a man

I don’t recall acutely missing the teenage boy rites of passage during the actual puberty
I was too busy trying to assimilate to the picture painted by the society
I was a long haired girl who was busy dreaming
reality never meant much
my illusive world was by far richer and more satisfactory

aged 12, my mother opened the door to my bedroom and customary to all mothers of my friends.. she threw a book about growing up on my bed
*read this*
that was as close to one on one talk with my mother as we could get
not surprisingly I has no idea about the original female plumbing other than the clinical info from the booklet
a new study presented at the annual convention of the American Psychological Association reveals that men who had positive relationships with their fathers are better equipped to deal with the stress of everyday life than men who did not remember their dads fondly
as an affirmed male I wonder what cross analysis could be made between that study and the transgender men and their relationships with their fathers

I had more heart to heart talks with my father anyway
not being into scuffle games, playing chess with him was pretty apt for me I might not have had that father to son growing pains talk..
but thinking back, father has always been open with me and I guess he made no difference in bringing me up whatever gender I was or should have could have been
I was simply his child from the moment I was born for he never made me feel like a girl nor a boy
I was an introverted child
bookworm and a library moth

separation, transition and re-incorporation
three phases of a rite of passage
transition as in upgrade in life in a regular rite of passage meaning maturing…
appears to resemble the FtM journey

you withdraw in the first phase from your current status and prepare to move from one place or status to another
whilst experiencing detachment effect or ‘cutting away’ from the former self signified in symbolic actions and rituals
similarly like the army boys’ rite of passage.. hair cutting is often involved in FtMs
my female to male transition was marked by shaving off my waist length hair and giving away the entire contents of my female wardrobe

the second phase being the transition itself is the period between states, during which one has left one place or state
but hasn’t yet joined the next and the person adjusts to the new status
for female to male transsexuals this is the trial and error state of living as a male, working around the way to transition..
whether it is a natural transitioning by way of combining herbal supplements and bodybuilding or testosterone based hormonal replacement therapy

the third phase, having completed the rite and assumed the ‘new’ identity, one re-enters society with one’s new status
in the world of FtM this means having assumed his new name, possibly having received the new legal identity

the main difference arrives at this third phase

for some the journey is longer than for others
like water, gender is fluid and transition never ends
it flows sideways, left to right
then right to left again
it bounces up and drops down only to skip higher to fall to drip away
and I have no subscription for the contemporary normality of cis-gender paradise

my rites of passage were delayed
and I devour my time more than I would have
perhaps I am pathetic in the childish eagerness enjoying my moment that has arrived at last

but I don’t intend to compromise to belong
I will always be me

and talking about that paradise.. I am putting a deposit on a cottage in the one where dudes wear bras to satisfy my unanswered childhood question

the moustache maketh the man

einstein
handlebar
hitler
dali
chaplin
hulk hogan
johnny depp
horseshoe
goatee
pencil
fu manchu
walrus
imperial
english
chevron
lampshade
toothbrush
pyramidal
painter’s brush
the works
the wonder
the panache
the style
the elegance
the distinction

I measure my freshly arising physical maleness by the patchiness of my facial hair
the moustache maketh the man
my outwardly masculine qualities count on a few fingers and every thickening hair follicle makes my day

Maupassant knew when he wrote
Oh, my dear Lucy, never let yourself be kissed by a man without a mustache; their kisses have no flavor, none whatever! They no longer have the charm, the mellowness and the snap- yes, the snap–of a real kiss. The mustache is the spice.
Imagine placing to your lips a piece of dry–or moist–parchment. That is the kiss of the man without a mustache. It is not worth while.
Whence comes this charm of the mustache, will you tell me? Do I know myself? It tickles your face, you feel it approaching your mouth and it sends a little shiver through you down to the tips of your toes.
And on your neck! Have you ever felt a mustache on your neck? It intoxicates you, makes you feel creepy, goes to the tips of your fingers. You wriggle, shake your shoulders, toss back your head. You wish to get away and at the same time to remain there; it is delightful, but irritating. But how good it is!
A lip without a mustache is like a body without clothing; and one must wear clothes, very few, if you like, but still some clothing.

one adopts personality according to the stache sprouting on the strip in between the nose and the mouth
the focus point for recognition of the boyishness or the machismo identification of its owner
wild
sweet
romantic
merge them
extend them
full beard
mutton chops
goatee
chin curtain
balbo
stubble
soul patch
chinstrap
van dyck
verdi
garibaldi
donigal
shave them off to regrow them
you can be a thousand and one man having one single face
kind
cuddly
strong
and more can be read single-handedly from the moustache type

‘you have to be kidding me’ a metrosexual friend stares and shakes his head with disapproval, ‘I do everything possible to rid myself of all of my body hair and you voluntarily ingest testosterone to grow it’
‘you’ll regret, you’ll have to shave daily, you’ll hate it’

‘nah’ I smile under the dark shadow that’s slowly occupying the land above my upper lip, ‘I’m loving it, I shave daily anyway, it’s more than a hobby, it’s what I missed doing for 25 years, since puberty hit me left instead of right’

I design the curves
imagine the shapes
I envisage it
I massage it
I exfoliate
I read how to speed up the growth and strengthen the hair follicles
I study how to shave
I see it
I taste the prickly sensation above my upper lip
I test it with my tongue
I shave
and shave again
I wait for it to emerge like the germinating greens
the presence of my bristles is the newly visible trace of my diasporic masculinity
I am a man in the making

the instant happiness is my sprouting moustache

confessions of the naked mind

realizing that I have voluntarily stepped inside of the marginalized sub species whose chances are rather limited when it comes to meeting of a compatible soul-mate willing to accept my limitations
I have subconsciously borrowed a society constructed hang up about my future possibilities as a transman in relationships

it was easy to be a heterosexual female
as far as the Earth will turn, men will want women (at least some of them)
it was easy to be a bisexual female too – as even though bisexuality is seen as a stigma by some dykes, it ‘immediately doubles your chances for a date on Saturday night’.. as Woody Allen said)
it was easy to be a lesbian female as well
after all
lesbians want a female
and to continue along the same track..
gay men want a male
heterosexual women want a male and
heterosexual men want a female
intersex and trans partners can opt out as fast as males or females as they also identify as hetero, bi or homosexuals
becoming something of a satyr with having my top half masculinized and my bottom half remaining female.. where did I fit?
should I look in between the bisexual women?
pansexuals?
transfags?
mythological world of fauns and wild beasts?
creatures of the wild?
nymphs?
pump and vibrator section in the local sex shop?

I could well be the groupie of Dionysus
wine and entertainment sounds good as a job description
but on the second thoughts, I’d make a pretty lousy Satyr as
- I don’t qualify as intermediate nor advanced in the art of seduction
- the only penis I sport is the phantom one, in addition to the several factory designed ones
- and as there was no actual female of the mythical Satyr species.. my female bits are somewhat surplus
I might be shipped to the reservation of some 800 000 transfolk as the integral part of the 20th century bred group of the genetico-surgically modified and testosterone enhanced mythological part men part beasts

it’s women that rock my boat
but with my specific situation of not being able to fall for just anyone ordinary.. and with the great majority of women wanting a human that is identifiable as A or B in the box ticking contests of bureaucratic flair
I was suddenly hit by the realization that my romantic life is over

sure
I have some good points that might attract someone close enough to my compatibility scale
but the arrow tends to spin the other way as soon as the lady realizes that she is getting a
buy one get four free – deal
and that is a scary prospect
plus when it comes to the hetero girls and their eventual biological clock to tick.. my procreation is limited to being the life giver rather than the sperm donor
pretty good, when one thinks about it
even though not every transmasculine person is thrilled with the delicate opportunity of a challenge to become a mother and not every woman dating a man is prepared for a fact that he has given birth to his four children and he won’t be able to provide the genetic material for any future joint baby project

one of my few exes was unable to accept my transitioning
as she found me ‘repulsive’ and pushed me towards the make-up counters prompting me to wear a lipstick for her
I did
what wouldn’t a dude do for a woman he loves?
the lipstick did not save our relationship
she met and fell for a girly presenting celestial being with long hair and a lipstick and they are happy until death do them part
another of my exes pushed me harder towards transitioning and it surprised me how uncomfortable it was to go speeding along the fast lane towards Male in a vehicle driven by another driver with the steering wheel not being in my own hands – when it comes to taking charge of my own transition speed, I guess I am a control freak ;0)
and my last one found out soon enough that she was not really attracted to masculine identified women.. and there I stepped out of the house of doom that are relationships

on a side note to my dysphoric self -
I am yet to meet a woman I’d be willing to undress for

on a side note to stick to my fridge -
as I court (I don’t date) I much prefer not to be in a bad relationship for a wrong reason and not to have random sex in an immature need to prove myself virile

I have finally understood that biological penis is not a prerequisite to this transman’s  relationship with the world
and whilst on the satyricon subject of my current lack of sex being in question.. no one has mastered me as well as I

trans-Hamletian dilemma

To be or not to be– that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep
No more – and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to – ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep
To sleep, perchance to dream.

trans-Hamletian dilemma.. my left or Mr. Right?

testocap metamorphosis and size matters

124 days on testosterone, 163 days post top surgery
that’s my summary for today

the smallest testosterone driven changes kick-started my transition with almost an immediate urgency
the first thing I have realized was the constant sexual arousal
24/7 as even my dreams were sybaritic and epicurean
eloquence apart.. to be honest, I was as horny as an old goat for the first two months
my nether region vibrating as if on a never-ending supply of batteries
I was constantly aware of the blood pumping into my little dude
hell yes
I instantly commiserated with the bio guys and their natural testosterone supply
I suddenly understood them a little better
it didn’t mean wanting to have sex with every woman within my reach.. but it almost turned me into a teenager masturbating 67 and a half times a day
my favorite pastime gained a fresh quality

either the instant hormonal flare wore out or my body got used to it
as within the first months the effects blended into a new normality
and I stopped over-attending my nether region even though its increment is somewhat unexpected but much welcome

my attention, instead, was called by the facial hair growth
forget the body hair
my mother fondly recalls me having been born looking like a monkey
furry, covered in dark brown fuzz
that she was busy plucking – even out of my ears

I grew up to be equally hairy
as I stopped shaving my legs, the comments I received were.. that they were worthy of a construction worker
I am still wondering if I should accept it as a compliment ;0)

testosterone will either turn me into a furry animal should it stimulate my body hair growth any further
or it won’t change at all
although one minor change 4 months into testosterone hormonal replacement therapy is the silent sprouting of the fuzzy lawn over my chest

facial hair deserves a chapter of its own
*I have patients who examine their face daily a count their facial hair* my sexuologist said
I have not reached that hair counting point of obsessive behavior, but I do admit to staring at my face nightly under the strong light feeling all macho about the prickly shadows above my upper lip

my voice has always been deep and husky
I don’t expect the changes in that department manifesting much
yet I did fear losing the singing ability
but as I do trust my voice box.. I gathered that whilst I might lose the high notes.. I might gain the lower ones
suits me just fine
so far, when I rewatch my youtube singing challenges, I am proving myself right and as I slowly slide into the lower range and find my voice deepening, I feel at home

nothing else has changed
I feel better and healthier now than in a long time although should I listen to the cooky statistics, one must believe by default that if boob watching lengthens your life and makes you healthier
girl watching equals to the rebirth
yes it’s almost therapeutic
shapes, colors, scents, variety
the works, the wonder
the Earth revolves around women

one step further is men watching as in checking out the dudes
not necessarily a sport this transman indulges in for his hedonistic pleasures, they interest me purely from the sociological screening point

I check out their
-man chests
-hair and hairstyles or the balding heads
-thickness of the visible body hair or the lack off
-shapes of their mustaches and lengths of their beards
I stare at their
-stomachs and the way they wear their jeans
I check out their
-butts to see how their pants sit
I glare at their
-biceps, triceps and
-thighs and calves and the shoes they wear
I eyeball their
-wrists knowing that my own will always appear to be on a thin side regardless how big my biceps will inflate
I compare their
-heights and instantly identify with the shorter men and although I walk tall and feel like the biggest dude who walked the Earth
I inevitably shrink when bypassed by a tall muscular chassis knowing
that I will always remains a Napoleonic figure
a bonsai of a guy
who at 5.6 / 168 cm doesn’t exactly tower over the crowd
but just like Chihuahuas, I have a momentary defect of forgetting my deficit in size
and as we know.. size matters

johnny depp, genderfuck and passing

it happened again

a few months ago a new Vietnamese corner store opened up next to the kiddy play park on the riverside
my little one, in the hope of getting a candy or a drink, tends to pull me in every time as we pass by

I walked in one afternoon with all of the children and the petite female shop owner attempted a chit chat over the check out counter in her limited English

*many children, they your children?*
*yes*
*where is they mother?*

I lifted one eyebrow.. this is the first question of its kind
I didn’t expect it
I enjoy the unexpected

*I am their mother* I smiled
*you no mother, you father* she said and continued *where is they mother?*
*I am their mother* I repeated
*you mother? not father?* she tried to understand
*me mother* I smiled at her, paid and left

gotta love her
she can be my new best friend
I was confused for the older brother of my 6 year old.. but not for her father yet..
there is first time for everything

I was still ‘pre testosterone’ at the time and so it inflated my ego a little
passing pre T and pre op is a minor miracle after all

a few weeks later, post top surgery and just starting on a low dose of testosterone undecanoas,
I stopped to buy ice creams in the heat of the summer afternoon, wearing a wife-beater vest

*you have no ehh-ehhs, where your ehh-ehhs?* the shopkeeper lady asked pointing at her own breasts by creating a conical shape with her fingers
*I don’t have them any longer, I am transitioning from female to male* I gave her the facts as I do to anyone curious
*ohh, ohh* she was a little lost for words and so I paid and walked out

I shop there often and I love the fact that she dared to ask such a direct question ignoring the decrepit laws of political correctness
and I am waiting for her next installment..

..

*I hope I won’t offend you, but you remind me of Johnny Depp, you have the same smile and facial structure* the photographer who came to shoot me for Judita’s trans article said upon our mutual introduction
*perhaps in my wildest dreams* I grinned to this sacrilege
ain’t greater compliment than that

but regardless.. I was wrong about the Vietnamese shopkeeper
this dude just won his BEST FRIENDS BRACELET
and since I am not nerdy enough to actually own any of those.. he will have to do with an invitation for a coffee

..

*would you like me to give you some tips on where to eat out?* I asked my newly arrived Italian guests three days ago
they came from Torino and planned to spend three nights in the town, having reserved their accommodation at my place
*no thank you, we will find our way* one of the guys replied
*no, let him tell us where to eat* the wife cut him short

yay, when perceived as *him* by perfect strangers, my life could not be sweeter and I am afraid I will gloat about it for a few more weeks

..

having been cross examined three weeks ago and almost denied the washroom entrance for not appearing ‘ladylike’
I am being careful when walking into Ladies bathrooms
yet, being a regular at Pizzeria Nonna Gina, two days ago I headed to the Ladies without second thoughts to wash my hands after handing the puppy to my older daughter
the woman who was tending to her daughter in the bathroom forgot to lock the door and I barged in as she was soaping her child’s hands

*excuse me* I apologized and backed out
she shot after me and tapped the ceramic sign with her blood red fingernails
*it says Donne, that means Ladies, Gents are upstairs*

oh boy
Andrea, the head waitress laughed, *it should make you happy*

instead it surprises me every time it happens
sure
it tickles me pink and washes me over with a 1970s bubble gum tasting feeling
but it always feels unexpected as my transition route has just begun and I still have a long way to go

it takes two to pass
the transman and his audience
the public is the primary participant as being the observers, they have an instant urge to gender attribute every person as either female or male

whilst at the moment, although knowing that I am male from within, I feel stuck in between two worlds
not holding the residence permit to either of them
not a woman nor a man
not a lobster nor a fish
swimming in the deep end and living in my own little world of an abandoned solitary shell

but on the side note – passing as male has its definite charms