Unstable room mate

From experience with previous relationships.. With Giant, Dane, Cord, among others.. When I start to write a lot of posts about them in a short amount of time, things typically aren't going very well. I typically don't have a need to write, if things are going well. 

So with that in mind, here's another post about Elle. The really frustrating part is: We, the two of us, are fine. At least as fine as two people learning to get to know each other can be, early on in a relationship. Cord and I ended in our first fight. Elle and I got through that part just fine, and I feel like we're communicating well enough. The problem isn't her, really. It's her room mate. 

Another trans woman, Elle has known her for over ten years. They've been sexual partners on and off for about as long, but not romantic partners. Elle is very clear (to me..) that she doesn't consider the room mate a partner on equal grounds with me and her girlfriend. And yet.. It's clear the room mate has a different idea. They've lived together for a month now, and there's been no end to the problems that room mate has caused. Every week, there's something new.

The room mate's really unpredictable, with wild mood swings and a very relative relationship with the truth. She's the kind of person who hears what she wants to hear, who remember the parts she wants to remember, and refuses to acknowledge a different perspective. She's controlling, manipulative, and mentally unstable. One moment she's screaming at me and threatening to call the police, less than 20 minutes later she's smiling, laughing and hugging me. The fact that she's also using drugs regularly doesn't help the overall impression, but I don't think she'd be any more stable if she'd been clean either.  I don't feel safe with her around.

The problem is that Elle isn't standing up to her. She's very clear, to me, that she doesn't want the room mate as an equal partner to me and her girlfriend. Yet she's willing to go along with it, to keep the peace. Even when that "peace keeping" means that both me and her girlfriend are worse off. 

I've started advocating for Elle to move out of there, get something for just herself. There isn't much on the market in her price range, but it's possible. It feels like a big step, when I haven't been with her for three months yet, to encourage her to move away from her room mate... But if she doesn't, I worry what it will do to us as a couple. I'm not sure I'm able to keep hanging out in a place that I find fundamentally unsafe.

My girl... Talking 'bout my girl

 Yes, the title is a reference to that old song by The Temptations. 

"My girl, my girl, my girl
Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl, talkin' 'bout my girl
I've got sunshine on a cloudy day with my girl"

And yes, this post is also obviously about Elle. But also about me. And about women in general.

Yesterday, I saw Elle wearing boobs for the first time. Boobs, a dress, high heels, a purse, a pearl necklace... Now, I've seen her in a dress before, and she's super cute. (To be fair, she's always cute. But cuter in a dress, in my opinion.) But the boobs made a big difference. She looked more "real" all of a sudden. Solid. Right.

She's got this smile when she's wearing a skirt or dress. Tight lipped, hesitant, but there's an inner light shining through. A light I never see when she's in her regular clothes; her hoodies, t-shirts and baggy pants. She looks afraid when she's wearing a dress, but also happy. Seeing her frightened makes me want to protect her. Stand in front of her with a shield and sword, to stop the world from getting to close. (What a terrible world we live in, when just wearing a dress is enough to make a girl afraid.) I never thought I would feel chivalrous, in that masculine "protect the women and children" - kind of way.. Yet here I am. She's my maiden in distress, about to be eaten by a monster. And I want to save her. It's a very unfamiliar feeling, one I haven't finished exploring yet. But it's not bad. 

What is bad, or at least more difficult, is my own gender dysphoria. Seeing Elle and her room mate dress her, try on accessories, discuss make-up and underwear.. It was a very stark reminder of everything I've left behind. Everything I've fled from. 

Then there's the boobs. I try to forget that I have any. Try very hard to not feel them, not think about them, push them out of my mind, ignore them. And most of the time, I'm successful. I'm a very old hand at dissociating, after all I did it with my gender for decades. To keep doing it with a body part isn't that hard. Just tiring and stressful, like all dissociation.

But dating a pre-op trans man this spring was bloody difficult, and there's an obvious reason why I don't date cis women. Even writing about it now makes me tense, my breathing shallow, my head buzzing slightly. Being reminded of my own breasts is painful.

Playing with Elle's nipples, touching her chest like you would someone with small breasts.. That's different. I think my mind knows that it's make-believe. It doesn't trigger anything. Seeing her with proper breasts though.. That triggered a whole host of dysphoria in me. 

I'll be damned if I'll let it stop me, though. Or her. She's happy, she looks RIGHT, looks like she SHOULD. I'm really, really happy for her. I want her to experience that more often, I want her to feel free to dress in a more feminine way and look however she wants, without thought to how it might make me feel. I want to celebrate with her, as she steps forward into womanhood. Want to support her, cheer her on, rejoice in her exploration of her own gender expression.

She asked me, partially as a joke I hope, how far she'd have to get in her transition for me not to be into her anymore. (This is a reference to when I asked a straight, submissive friend in the BDSM scene the same question.) I can't remember the exact words I used when answering her, but I know what I thought: That I love her. All of her. As she is, and as she will be. 

My own dysphoria will just have to fucking get used to it.

Touching incongruence

I'm not an idiot. I know that despite a few downy hairs on my belly and my deepening voice, when I'm naked people still see a woman. They see my boobs, my broad hips, my pear shaped body, my big, fat ass, the stretch marks on my belly from going through two pregnancies, my throat devoid of any Adam's apple. They see my pussy. (The clit still isn't bigger than many cis women's clits.)

The more layers I remove, the more naked I become, the worse it is. 

Elle doesn't make me feel like a woman though. Neither did Student or NN when I was with them. Even with them inside of me, I didn't feel like a woman. Or perhaps more accurately; I was able to ignore all the ways my body doesn't conform to my ideas about myself. When Elle touches me, strokes my tits, my ass, my waist, it doesn't feel like she does it in the same way as she would a woman. 

It goes the other way too. When Elle is undressed, I can't help but admire her. She's absolutely gorgeous. Long limbed, lean, strong, golden skin, a tight ass, and a dick that would make anyone envious (though perhaps especially me). I've told her repeatedly: She's gorgeous now.. With estrogen, she'll be downright dangerous. In my mind, I can see what it will do to her; Swell her breasts, give her more hips, a more defined waist. Soften her skin, make subtle changes to her face. She'll have the height of a model, with legs that go on for days, combined with a more feminine overall body shape. She'll be stunning. 

Yet she's not on estrogen yet, so she's struggling with the same problem as I do: The more layers you remove, the more aware she becomes of the incongruousness. Of the many ways her body doesn't match her vision of herself. The fact that I, and probably a lot of other people, find her incredibly attractive, probably doesn't help. Might even make things worse, in a way, because of the focus it puts on her body. 

So when I touch her, I try to touch her like I would any other woman. I play with her nipples, grab onto her chest like I would small boobs. I stroke her waist, her hips, her ass, like I would a more feminine body. Even with her inside of me, sometimes, we make-believe that I'm the one fucking her. And occasionally, I do actually fuck her, with fingers, hand, and dick. 

I fuck her "pussy", not "ass". I suck on her "clit", not "dick". I typically "use my mouth on her", I don't "give her a blow job". Words matter. They matter a lot. She doesn't "lick" me, but she can occasionally "blow" me, though. I ask her to "touch" me, not "finger" me. I try to avoid words like "jerk off" or "cum" when talking about her orgasms or solo play, though I'm not yet comfortable saying that I'm "jerking off" myself (unless I'm physically jerking a strap-on or the Joystick). 

And it's not perfect. I occasionally fuck up, and say the wrong thing. That's ok. I'm trying though, and so is she. Together, we're building this illusion of who we want to be. We're telling this story, together, of what our bodies look like and what we can do with them, despite what we know is the reality. 

We're not idiots. We know what we look like, we know what the other person sees when we're naked. We're fighting against indoctrination, and a long life before coming out, insisting we were someone we're not. We're fighting against the preconceived notion that a woman's body must look a certain way, have certain parts. And a man's body must look a certain way, and have certain parts.

Yet without hormones, without surgeries, Elle's body is still a woman's body. Because Elle is a woman. Regardless of shape, regardless of parts. And my body is still a transmasculine body, because I'm transmasculine. Regardless of shape, regardless of parts. That's the theory. The theory I find fairly easy to accept when it comes to her, and yet impossible to accept when it comes to me. It's what I'm trying to wrap my head around, try to accept when I see myself in a mirror. 

It's fucking hard though. Because when I see myself naked, in a mirror or in my mind, I see a woman. Still a woman, in every way. And I hate it.

Joy stick

I finally made the Joystick work for penetrative sex, and OH MY FUCKING GOD it was worth the wait. 

To grab my dick in my hand, line it up with a willing, waiting hole, lean forward as it slides into my girlfriend.. Hear her moans as I adjust my angle and push further into her.. Move in and out, and feel the dick following most of my movements,.. Turn the vibration on, and keep moving.. Every time I push in, I can feel it, as if it's a part of me. Feel it, as I build closer and closer to orgasm... Then finally coming, coming with my dick buried deep inside Elle's willing hole. 

I almost cried. If I hadn't been on testosterone, I certainly would have cried. But crying is physiologically more difficult now. 

I giggled and grinned, brimming with gender euphoria. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratefulness. Grateful that she let me do this with her, let me experience this with her. This has been a dream of mine for so long, a dream I didn't think would ever happen. I'm so, so grateful that I got to experience this.

I'm fairly certain that my fucking leaves a lot to be desired. I think she'd want me to take her for longer, and probably with a different stroke, tempo etc. But this time, she let it be all about me. Just a willing hole for me to enjoy. And there certainly was a lot of joy to be found. 

About half an hour later, I also fisted her again. She was tied to the bed, arms over her head and legs up in the air. She managed to take my entire hand for a bit longer this time, though she was quickly moaning and squirming and begging me to let her come. I eventually agreed, and took her clit in my mouth while my hand was wrist deep inside of her. It was super fascinating, she remained flaccid almost until the moment of orgasm. Never seen that happen before. 

The other day, we also mounted a strap-on onto her, so I could ride it. Worked really well, once her own anatomy was pushed away between her legs. It makes me optimistic that we can still have great, penetrative sex, even if anti-androgens and estrogens make her erections go away. (Assuming she still wants sex then. I hope she does.)

Dick exposure therapy

Remember when I wore a (strap-on) dick during sex with NN for the first time? Remember how fucking terrified I was? Oh, and remember back when I first started jerking off, using a prosthetic dick? How shameful that was, how much I was freaking out? Or way back in May when I first admitted to wanting a dick in the first place? I had to loose the trust of a good friend, before admitting the truth to myself.

Well, it's happening again. And again, it's dick related. I've discovered something new that makes me euphoric, and turned on. And it terrifies me. 

Not the sexual act itself. I don't think there's a single sexual act or kink that I couldn't talk about with a straight face and resting heart rate. I've been in the kink scene for so many years by now, it takes a lot to shock me. Something as simple as water sports, which is what this is all about, does not in any way terrify me. 

It hasn't been a big kink of mine before, but I've been open to the idea. I talked with Daisy and her (then) dom about peeing on her at some future play session back in 2016, and although that session never happened, I was open to the idea. And back in 2012, I forced Tight to wet themself in a session that was all about humiliation. So wet sex / water sports / the idea of peeing on someone doesn't frighten me. It just didn't appeal to me much.. 

Doing that with a dick, though... That thought's terrifying. And exciting. Very, very exciting. The idea of standing over someone, legs lightly spread, dick in hand, and pee on them.. Watching the stream pour out of the head of my dick, being able to direct it by moving my dick around.. The stream hitting them, running down their head, face, body.. Damn! 

I haven't had the slightest interest in being able to stand to pee before. I don't mind sitting when I go to the toilet, it doesn't bother me. But this. THIS! This is something else. Now I want it. A lot. And it terrifies me. 

What is this fear? Why this rushing heart rate, elevated blood pressure, tightness in the lower belly? Why this shortness of breath, this desire to flee? If not physically, then at least mentally? Dissociate. Escape!

It feels like shame. That's what I feel when I try to confront it. Crippling shame, just waiting to be named, called out, mocked. And the worst part, the best part, the most dangerous, scary, shameful part, is when I'm seen. Seen wearing a dick, seen jerking off. When my desire, my horniness, is not only seen but acknowledged. Embraced. Celebrated. It's terrifying, and glorious. It's healing, it's a baptism through fire. Confronting my deepest, most shameful self, lifting it out into the light. 

I think what I'm most afraid of is the ridicule. Because it takes SO much vulnerability to show this side of me to anyone. To let someone in. That's why I was shaking that first time I was with NN. Not only is this deeply personal, deeply shameful to me... But he saw me, he saw me laid bare. No semblance, no armor. Just me. The me that I know, deep down, is undesirable, unlovable, despicable, disgusting, vile. The me that I've spent so, so many years trying to hide. 

I can't remember ever making a conscious choice, I can't remember ever knowing that I was trans until last year... But that's obviously what must have happened. And whether there was an actual traumatic event, sometime when my desires to not be a girl really was mocked, I have no idea. It's possible my mind just extrapolated, but it was certainly based on good data; I was already being mocked and bullied for being who they thought I was... For being as similar to them as I was able. And not even that was good enough to be left alone. I couldn't possibly take off that mask and show them even weirder sides of me, could I?

As always, when writing about difficult subjects, I stray from the topic at hand. My mind shies away from it, like a burn that is painful to touch. So, back on track:

Yesterday, I wore the Joystick with Elle again. Just wore it, as we were cuddling and petting. She would pet it too, stroke it, like you would a real dick. She told me she got turned on by it, by me wearing it. I'd press against her, hump her, as she moaned in my ear. In the end, I jerked off (the base of the Joystick vibrates) and came while lying next to her. 

I've done similar things previously, with her and others, but its different now. My guards are down, or at least much more down than they were before. I dare to be vulnerable with her, to stay present, to set boundaries. To tell her I need a break, when my mind gets too overwhelmed. I dare to show myself as I truly am, and she hasn't ridiculed me yet. Not mocked me. Neither did NN, that first time. Nor Student, when I did similar things with him. Each time, the walls come further down. Each time, I prove to my terrified, traumatized, angst filled brain that it's ok; Ok to want this. Ok to want a dick. Ok to be turned on by it. Ok. To. Be. Trans.

Really, really trans. Undeniably. And it's ok. 

It's exposure therapy, really. A way of working through the mind blocks that I unconsciously created over the last 35 years, to stop me from realizing that I was trans. Each time I pass a hurdle, a new one soon shows up. A bit bigger and more terrifying than the last. So far, I've surmounted them all, though not without struggle. 

A couple of days ago, I got my doctor's signature and ordered the Peecock for free through the state health system: An stp (stand-to-pee device) that can also be used for play, if rods are inserted into it. When it arrives, I'll start practicing peeing with it. 

I'm still afraid, still stressed out, still really turned on by it all... Though I'm also deeply amused that peeing on my girlfriend can be viewed as a form of therapy. 

Feeling sexy

I played around with the Joystick yesterday, and took a couple of "dick pics" to send to Elle. Upon reviewing the pics I'd taken, I realized that looking at my own "dick pics" turns me on. It freaked me out a bit, because it felt incredibly narcissistic. 

We've all heard how autogynephilia is a bullshit, transphobic term, and the whole theory has since been debunked. Yes, sometimes trans women can get turned on by dressing in women's clothes and looking feminine.. But there's nothing wrong with that. It (apparently) happens to cis women too, it's normal to enjoy looking sexy. Also, early on in a transition, it's common to get turned on simply because of the thrill, the taboo, the rush of gender euphoria. It's normal. 

I knew that, yet hadn't heard "autoandrophilia" discussed at all. Didn't consider that this might apply to me as well. But apparently men can feel sexy too. That's apparently a big part of the reason for why they take dick pics to begin with. 

After talking with other transmascs about it, I realised that I've never really felt sexy. I've enjoyed OTHER PEOPLE looking at me and finding me sexy, enjoyed the attention, the compliments, enjoyed feeling desired. I've also been able to dress and behave in ways I knew would be likely to get such a reaction. However, I've never FELT sexy. Never seen myself as sexy or desirable. 

To be honest, I still don't. But looking at that prosthetic dick.. My dick.. It turned me on. Mostly because it looks so incredibly gender affirming, but also because I remember the feeling of it in my hand. And that is ALSO gender affirming, gender euphoric. So it compounds the feeling of euphoria and horniness. 

Is this how cis people naturally feel when looking at their own body? I this what "feeling sexy" feels like? I have no idea. But now that I'm not as freaked out by it, I think I like it. 

One year since egg crack

Today is October 14 2022. Exactly one year ago, I sat on the couch and wrote my heart out. Panicking because I was having the beginning of a gender crisis. The next day, I went to a store and tried on a man's shirt for the first time. Eleven days later, I realised I had a lot more dysphoria than I'd first thought. It would take another six weeks before I settled on the transmasculine part of my identity, but it was a really important beginning. 

I spent those first couple of months thinking, googling, reading, and crying. Crying a lot. Saying goodbye to who I thought I was, seeing my entire life up until that point through a new lense. By January 2022 I'd decided I wanted testosterone (though I'd been curious about it since November), in February I changed my name and in late March I started hrt. 

I was incredibly lucky to be able to start hrt that quickly. 5 months and 9 days from that first egg crack until I started testosterone. (If I hadn't had to check with the lichen sclerosus specialists at the hospital, I could probably have started a couple of months earlier.) It's almost unheard of in Norway, as far as I know. Was it too quickly? No, I don't think so. It was exactly what I needed at the time. If I'd had to go through the public system (and claiming to be binary trans), I'd be lucky to start hrt after two years. Most likely it would take even longer. That wait would make me absolutely miserable. Severely depressed. I'm glad I didn't have to. 

A lot of the time since March has been spent focusing on my medical transition. Gradually increasing my dose of testosterone, to the point where my period finally stopped. My last one was at the start of August, and it was super light. I'm thrilled to be rid of it. In the months since March, my voice has deepened, my jaw looks wider, my brows heavier, I've gotten slightly more body hair and my clit has grown. I also feel like I have more energy, and my sex drive is stronger. 

And yeah sure, the changes testosterone has wrought, physically as well as mentally, have been the most dramatic. However, a lot more has happened that isn't due to hrt. I'm calmer than I was a year ago. More settled. Filling out my own skin more. I feel a lot less high strung, less on edge. And although my mental health is worse now, with more social anxiety and dysphoria in particular, it feels more honest. Genuine.

October 14 2021 I was reborn. A new life began. Today I'm one year old. Saint suggested we buy a cake to celebrate, so I have. It's a birthday of sorts, after all. Happy birthday to me. I'm looking forward to the years to come. 

Traditional gender roles

Elle and I have been together now since August 10th. That's soon two months. And it's strange how relationship dynamics develop. I think we're both in this feeling inferior to the other, as though the other person is out of our league. That we're lucky the other person wants to be with us. 

She's gorgeously fit, strong, long limbed, elegant, clear features, and always looks sun tanned. In short: She's beautiful. Young and beautiful and so, so desirable. (Once she actually gets estrogen and grows tits and more feminine hips, she'll be lethal!)

I'm none of those things. I'm older, fat, pale, weaker, unfit. And yet, she seems to look up to me too. She tells me she's always learning things when she's with me. The fact that I'm older means I know more than she does, about a lot of things. She says she's striving to keep up with me intellectually, and that she really enjoys that challenge. "I think and I know things", to paraphrase a certain dwarf.

I don't feel that those things are worth looking up to, though. I've just studied and learned because that's what I enjoy doing. I'm proud of my intellectual capacities, yes, but I know a lot of people who are a lot smarter than I am. I don't feel like I've done anything to earn her admiration. But the thing is.. I suspect she might say the same things, right back to me; That doing gymnastics, diving, and working out was just things she enjoyed doing. She's proud of what she's been able to do with her body, but there's plenty of people out there more fit than her. I don't think she believes her body or appearance makes her superior to me in any way.

So we both look up to the other. We both feel like we're somewhat out of the other one's league. I think this is a good thing, mostly. It keeps us humble, keeps us grateful, keeps us appreciating the other person. It just can't be taken too far. It can become self-erasing, talking oneself down in favor of the other.. I know I have a tendency to do that. 

And it can turn into an over-focus: If all she is, is a body.. If all I am, is a mind.. We become one-dimensional. On some level, she must enjoy my body and I must enjoy her mind. Because we're complex creatures, and love is all-encompassing. I don't think this is a problem at all, though. Because I absolutely do enjoy talking with her, listening to her, I find her mind a fascinating place. And for some unfathomable reason she claims she finds me handsome. So I think we're good.   

I'm struck by how incredibly traditional this pattern is: The woman is younger and more beautiful. The "man" is older, and gains prestige from his intellect and power, not his appearance. I'm even higher educated and in a (slightly) more prestigious and (slightly) better paying job. We didn't intend for this to happen, I haven't even thought about it in those terms before. I'm not used to thinking of myself as any sort of masculine creature, so seeing myself as a "man" when analyzing a situation is very unfamiliar. 

Yet it's also nice. Comforting. I can slip into those gender roles, at least partially, and revel in them. I get to be the protector, the big spoon, the doer, the one in control, without this going against society's norms. I was all of those things before, too, but with a femdom dynamic you're going counter culture. Running with the wind feel so much easier than running against it.