I've continued to explore my feelings with regards to realistic looking strap-ons. The flesh-colored dildos I'd ordered arrived. I strapped one to me (the smaller one), lubed up, and jerked off with one hand while playing with my clit with the other. I've done that a couple of times now, and it works like a charm. It feels perfectly natural to jerk off a dick, my dick, while I'm coming.
At the same time, this act, and even just this fantasy, gives me profound feelings of shame. As though I'm doing, desiring something dirty, shameful, something that should be hidden, not talked about. Why is that? I can't think of anything else sexual that has ever given me such strong negative emotions. Sex and sexuality isn't shameful, I believe this to my core. So what's up?
Again, talking this through with other transmasc people gave me the clues I needed to start picking this appart. I don't think it's about the sexual act itself. Rather, it's what that sexual act represents: It isn't something a ciswoman would typically do, or even want to do. It's so profoundly trans, it's completely undeniable.
On an intellectual level, I know I'm trans. The proof just keeps stacking up. I've changed my name and started testosterone, for gods' sake! I'm seriously considering pursuing top surgery, making that coveted bmi of 30 (which is what the state funded program demands) another weight loss goal. I keep experiencing gender euphoria, even from silly little things like wearing a man's watch or a tie. Even trying to deny that I'm trans at this point is laughable.
It doesn't FEEL laughable, though. My brain, my emotional self, keeps scrambling for other explanations. I keep trying to gaslight myself. And whenever I slip up, like think of myself as my old name or enter a mental "girl mode" when I'm flirting with someone, my emotions try to use that as "proof" that I'm not really trans. Or at least proof that I'm more nonbinary than transmasculine, as that somehow seems like a more "tolerable" gender identity. Less of an extreme change.
But jerking myself off, using a realistic looking dick that is strapped to my body.. There's no escaping that. It's irrefutable. And that sends my emotional mind into a panic, resulting in these deep feelings of shame. Not for the act itself, but for me. What I am, what I've "let myself" become. Because deep down, I wish I wasn't trans. I wish I could continue to believe myself to be a girl, a woman. Life seemed simpler then. Maybe less complete, less authentic... But simpler.
I saw myself as a shadow in a mirror, an enigma, my knowledge of myself was only in part. Now my knowledge of myself is more complete, and there is no turning back. The scales have fallen from my eyes, and I can see.
Ok, enough Bible (mis-)quotes for one day, but the point still remains: Pandora's box has been opened, and I can't shove the knowledge of who I really am back in. I can't "un-know" this. However much I might want to. I can't just stop.
So how do I get my emotional mind on board with what my intellectual mind already knows? How do I truly accept that I'm trans? I don't really know, but I suspect that talking about it, thinking about it, and writing about it, might help. At least I hope it'll help, because I don't know what else to do.. I can't stop, I can't turn back, so the only way is forward.
I have to learn to let go of her: The ciswoman I thought I was. I can't ever be her again. She's dead, she just doesn't know it yet. What I'm feeling are her death throes. What I'm feeling is her grief over who she thought she was, and the life she thought she'd be able to lead.
I've always been fascinated by the phoenix. This idea of power and change and rebirth was always appealing to me. I didn't really consider that for a phoenix to be reborn, it first has to die. It has to burn. And burning hurt, no matter if you think you might make it out the other side.
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