No sex: All about perspective

Novice and I don't really have an active sex life. It started declining this spring, and has been in a gradual downwards spiral since. We also don't play much, BDSM wise. 

I remember vividly talking with her about her reluctance to touch me back in July, for example. We have had penetrative sex two or three times since my top surgery in mid September, and have done other sexual things (like cuddling while I make myself come) around half a dozen times. She's extremely hesitant to let me touch her in any way that could be considered sexual, and doesn't touch me in a sexual way at all anymore. We very rarely even kiss.

This used to bother me a lot. I've been in sexless relationships before, T and I were sexless for many years before we broke up. And the sex life of Saint and I is also dead by now. It's possible for a relationship to survive for many years without sex, but it's very far from what I'd prefer. I'm closer to the hypersexual end of the spectrum, I prefer to have a lot of sex. Several times per week would be minimum, if it was just up to me. If I had time, and no other demands on my energy, I would probably want to have sex close to daily. 

Of course I can take care of my own need for orgasms, and I do. It's not like I would die without someone else fucking me. But I like sex; I enjoy the intimacy, the connection, the intensity, the giving and receiving of pleasure, the sensations... Sex is nice. 

When my partner doesn't want to have sex with me, I feel undesirable. They don't find me attractive, I'm not sexy enough.. But also generally: I'm not good enough. We typically HAD an active sex life the first few months we were together, and then it disappeared. So obviously, they got to know me better and their desire for me went away. I'm just THAT despicable. 

This same thought pattern has been running through my head, ever since Novice stopped wanting to have sex with me. I've tried blaming it on the anti-androgens she's on, or the stress she's under, and sure that can explain some of it. But it couldn't be the whole truth, that just didn't make sense to me. I didn't have any other explanation for it, so the problem had to be me. 

Then a couple of days ago, it all got turned on its head: We came to a realization that it's ALL dysphoria. Every single time Novice gets turned on, she gets an erection. And every single time she gets an erection, she gets dysphoric as hell. Dysphoria isn't sexy. It doesn't make you want to do more of the stuff that made you dysphoric. On the contrary, dysphoria is absolutely horrible. If the dysphoria gets bad enough, it can make people want to harm themselves, or worse. 

Now, she isn't as able to withstand or ignore that dysphoria as much when she's stressed out or tired. So those factors still apply, just more indirectly. We might for example get some tiny drips of sexual contact, if she gets enough sleep. But mostly, I think the dysphoria is to blame. And for me, that changes everything.

Maybe I'm not so despicable? Maybe I'm not completely undesirable. Maybe, on the contrary, touching me and being touched by me, turns her on. She shies away from me, not because she DOENS'T desire me... But because she DOES desire me. Because she gets turned on by me and the things I can do to her. Dysphoria gradually gets worse as you crawl out of the trans egg. You start to really acknowledge all the stuff you've repressed before, and that brings the dysphoria to the forefront. This explains why we had an active sex life at first, but it gradually went in decline. 

So it's not about me, in a negative sense. It's not that I'm not good enough. On the contrary, it's sort of a compliment: She wants me. She desires me so much, that it becomes unbearable for her. That turns everything on it's head for me. 

Of course I still want sex. This doesn't change my desires. But the lack of sex is so much easier to handle, when it doesn't come with a huge helping of self-hatred and shame. I love her. I love that she desires me, I love knowing that I turn her on. It's all about perspective.  

Birthday hang-over

I had an anxiety attack earlier today. It came on the tail-end of a misunderstanding / fight with Novice, combined with Saint trying to change the plans that have been made for the Christmas dinner. I'm already really stressed out over Christmas, and I have a job meeting on Wednesday that I'm really nervous about, and I'm generally anxious about not being good enough for Novice... And so I just collapsed. Uncontrolable sobbing and hyper-ventilating. Not pleasant, for either of us. 

Afterwards, I feel numb. Like a big hot-air balloon with too little air in it; Trying to stay up, but only managing a pitiful hobble. I'm able to pull myself together, to some degree, when something needs to be Done or Handled. But as soon as the Thing is out of the way, I fall down again. Wallowing sideways.

I've described this before as being emotionally hung-over. I've had too many big feelings, more than I was able to handle, and got drunk. Now I'm hung-over. That means mostly I'm just numb. Like a fog, made of foam-rubber, padding my brain. But there are some feelings there: I'm at the same time incredibly sad, and also have the shortest fuse ever. Both of those feelings are fueled by an intense self-hatred.

I can logically see that not everything that happened was my fault, or at least that I didn't do anything bad on purpose... But that logic might as well have been on a different planet, it feels incredibly distant from what I emotionally feel to be true.

I turned 38 years old today. Not the best birthday I've had, to put it mildly. So horray for me, I guess, and anxiety sucks. 

More visual, and more impatient

The way I get turned on has changed. It's been a very gradual change, so I haven't noticed until now, but looking back to before testosterone it's obvious: 

I'm more impatient now, and much, much more visual. Where I before enjoyed reading smut, including long novellas with erotic content, I don't have the patience for it anymore. If I want to come, I want to come NOW (or within 15 minutes max). Not in 45 minutes or more. 

The first 8-12 months on T, I was a roaring caldera of horny. Absolutely anything could turn me on, and once I was turned on I couldn't turn off again without coming first. Like a volcanic hot-spot that just keeps going until it explodes. After 12 months, it's calmed down significantly, but I'm still more horny and easier to turn on than I was before. 

However, most striking now is that the WAY I turn on is different. I'm more visual now. While erotic art could fascinate me before, very, very few still images actually did anything for me in terms of turn-on. Now they do. I can find a specific picture of a bondage position, for example, and feel turned on immediately. Porn, in video format, also does more for me now than before. Before, I used to be focused solely on the audio. And whilst audio is still important, visual is has much more of an impact than before. 

It's strange how the "typically male" stuff, may just be hormonal after all. It's not society, it's not brain composition, it's not genes... It's hormones.

Body is weird. I love it.

I'm autistic

Yesterday, I was officially given the diagnosis that I've long suspected could be mine: Autism. 

I tried getting diagnosed through the public health care system, but they just denied me. Repeatedly. And whilst self-diagnosis is valid, it doesn't (unfortunately) carry the weight of an official diagnosis. So I had to go privately, getting a full test done from a private neuro-psychologist. 

We spent half a day talking, half a day taking various tests (for IQ, working memory, executive function, concentration etc). Then another hour, at another appointment, doing some mental health screenings. In the end, she told me what I already knew: I'm autistic. 

The primary feeling is that of relief. I've known this for a few years, but getting it verified from a professional carries much more weight. I feel like I'm "allowed" to struggle now. That I have a proper reason, other than low willpower or laziness. My struggles feel... Justified. 

She also told me that she'd expect me to have 80% work capacity, given optimal circumstances and nothing else that "steals" from my capacity. But I have kids. And I'm trans, suffer from gender dysphoria. Those two factors obviously reduce my capacity. In addition, I have a job where I'm expected to attend meetings, talk to people all day, and generally be social. That's exactly the opposite of the sort of job the specialist thinks of as "optimal" for me. And I agree. 

An optimal job for me would be one where I could work mostly by myself, in my own little office. Where I could control the lights, where I could control the noise level (and kind of noise), and most importantly: Where I didn't have to talk to people much. Where the work was intellectually challenging and interesting, but familiar and predictable. Where I knew the other people, where I knew and trusted my boss, and where I could work from home some days per week. Anything other than this, would steal capacity from me. Make my real ability to work even less than 80%.

Up until now, I've worked in a people-oriented job. I've not only attended a lot of meetings and phone calls, I've also forced myself to be social with my co-workers. Coffee breaks, lunch breaks, never a moment alone to just.. Breathe. I've worked in an open office-space, with people all around. I COULD borrow an office, but we have an "empty desk"-policy and many people want to use those offices. So I can never feel safe there, it can never be truly mine.

It's only logical that having forced myself to work 100% under those conditions, I'd fail again and again and again. Struggle with mental health problems again, and again. To hear her say that I shouldn't expect myself to function in a full-time job felt like a blessing. A permission to just.. Exist. Breathe. Not perform all the time. Not try to be more than I am. 

I'm so relieved to have been given this diagnosis. I'm so happy to be able to call myself, officially, autistic.

A long and winding road

I recently read this post, and it really struck a nerve. It made me think back on my own journey, and take stock of where I am now. 

The second anniversary to my egg crack passed almost without notice. So did my "1,5 years on T" date in September. My second cracking, when I realized I was transmasc, was on December 2nd two years ago. That date is coming quickly too.

And while I do still think about these things, it feels like my identity has... settled... more. I'm not as much in a million pieces, like I was just after egg crack. I've picked myself up, put myself back together as a new sort of mosaic, and I'm staring to get comfortable with the pattern. It's not as new, not as frightening. 

That voice in my head, the gremlin that kept questioning whether I might not really be trans.. It's quieter now. Doesn't speak up as often, or as loudly. It's not gone. I don't think it'll ever be completely gone. But I've accepted it, just like I've more or less accepted the rest of me. After all; it could be right. I might have just fooled myself into thinking I was trans. I might regret this later. 

I might. I find it highly unlikely, but I might. 

And then what? 

Well, then I'll probably transition back. Partly, or all the way. And that's ok too. At least I did what I could to try to be happy now. If I change my mind, I'll do what I can to try to be happy then. I'd rather try, and regret it, than regret never having tried at all. 

Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance, where we remember our trans siblings that have been lost to anti-trans violence or suicide. I've never been actively suicidal, but statistically almost 40% of my trans siblings have seriously considered suicide in the past year. Mental health improves, statistically, if we are accepted by our family and friends. And I am. 

I've been immensely lucky, in this respect. I can imagine how much harder this journey towards self-acceptance would be, if I was all alone. If people didn't accept and respect me for who I really am. I can imagine, and I shy away from that thought. Because I'm already struggling. Not suicidal, no. I don't think I will become suicidal either. But my mental health isn't all that great.

So while my journey towards self acceptance feels calmer now, less bumpy, less scary, less unfamiliar.. It's still a long, and dark, and winding road. I stumble occasionally, because I'm really, really tired. I love how everything feels more settled now, but I still want more of that. More predictably, more security, more stability. Knowing both where I am, and where I was going. That would be nice.

My girlfriend

I can FINALLY talk about it: I have a girlfriend. 

Not a new person in my life. Not at all. Novice is my girlfriend. We've been together for almost a year now. She's a trans woman, and I couldn't write that here because she wasn't out to everyone yet. I've had to misgender her on this blog for the past year, using they/them pronouns for her. Now she's out, so I can finally be truthful about her here as well.

I'm so happy for her. I know how difficult it is to be deadnamed and misgendered all the time. How much of a relief it is to finally hear your own name, to dress in your own clothes, and to hear the proper pronouns. I'm also super proud of her. She's had a much longer and harder road than I had, and she's made it through. 

I'm also really happy for me, because now I don't have to keep misgendering her to everyone. It's really, really stressful for me, to keep secrets like this from everyone. I kept worrying I'd slip up, by accident. So her coming out now is a big relief to me as well. 

Most of all, I just love her.

Her body has changed a lot since starting estrogen, and I love it. I was attracted to her before too, but now... Damn! Her breasts, especially, are triggering Feelings in me I didn't know I could have. I hated my own, to the point where I needed to have them removed.. But touching hers, grabbing them, or just simply holding them.. It bypasses any logical thought or conscious feeling, and runs a lighting rod straight to my groin. 

"So, I guess I might like women..." has become a running gag with us, and for a good reason. I still struggle to truly, emotionally accept that I'm into women. It's been two years now, since my queer awakening, but still.. It feels dangerous. Forbidden. Scary. Sometimes I just sit next to her on the couch and marvel at her face, so feminine and beautiful. I can't quite believe that this gorgeous woman is my girlfriend. That I get to cuddle up with her several days per week. That she seems to want to be with me too. I'm scared, but also happy. There's a lot of feelings, all jumbled together. Mostly, though, there's love.

It's been a bumpy road, I won't deny it. We still struggle sometimes; we misunderstand each other or get stuck in a communicative rut. But it's worth it, at least to me. I love her, both her mind and her body. I'm so grateful, so happy, that she wants to be with me. My girlfriend. My love. Novice.

Lack of representation

I'm starting to notice the lack of representation. And it bothers me more than I was prepared for.

Basically, while living as a woman (remember: I thought I was cis until I was 35), I was used to society glorifying the female form. You know, the "male gaze". Sexy women are everywhere, like statues, commercials, on tv etc. My relationship to my own body was basically: "I enjoy people finding me attractive", but I didn't love myself at all. 

As I grow more masculine, I loose this representation. I don't see people who look anything like me, being seen as hot. As desirable. As beautiful. Nor do I hear it much. We don't compliment men or man-adjacent people, the same way we do women. Especially not "dad bod" types like me. 

And so I start to question my own desirability... Not because I regret transitioning (I don't!), but because I've lost that representation that I used to take for granted... I always hated my body, but at least I knew some people would find me sexy. Now I don't hate my body as much. On the contrary, I occasionally see things I think is sexy about myself.. Yet I don't feel desirable, because I've lost that representation and attention that I was used to. 

I might like myself better, but does anyone else? Can anyone look at me and find me sexy? Beautiful? Desirable? Get turned on by my appearance?

Liking myself more isn't enough. I would like others to desire me too.

Did I know what I'd look like?

I'm thinking about transition. Did I have a clear idea, before starting testosterone or getting top surgery, where I would end up? What my gender presentation would be, how I'd look? Did I have some sort of goal?

No. 

I just knew some things hurt, really HURT, and I wanted to get away from it. And some things, like wearing a man's shirt, felt good.... Because it didn't hurt. I'm not even sure if euphoria is really it's own thing, or if it's just the relief when the hurt goes away for a bit...

So I knew what I wanted to escape from.. But just like someone who's grown up with an abusive family, I had no idea what my life WITHOUT that hurt would feel like. Hurting was normal to me, anything else was almost inconceivable.

Looking at myself in the mirror now, I feel... Unbelievable. And not as a turn of phrase, but actually "like something I can't quite belive in". I'm so far away now, from anything I could possibly envision, it's hard to grasp.

I've had these periods of unrealness before as well, especially the first few months on testosterone. I know it's a result of my body changing faster than my mental image of myself. However, this time it doesn't feel jarring or unpleasant, not even a little. In stead, it feels like a really happy dream. And I'm afraid I'll wake from it. 

Acknowledgment is existance

On September 14 2023, I had masculinizing top-surgery. Meaning I had my breasts amputated. I haven't written about it here previously, because I haven't felt the need. On one hand, it feels so incredibly natural. The way my chest has always been, really. On the other hand, that observation is done with a certain distance. I don't think I've emotionally really dealt with this yet. There's been a binder, and wound care, and small infections, and scabs that look pretty nasty still... I can't really touch all of myself. And what I can't touch, doesn't really exist. 

That's actually what I wanted to write about today. Not the top-surgery, but recognition. Acknowledgment. Acceptance. You see, Novice can't handle my body at all these days. There's three different ways this is apparent, all for different reasons, but the sum is that they can't deal with my body. When I'm around them, I need to close the doors, cover up, and not be touched. And that hurts.

I know Novice doesn't want to hurt me. I don't suspect malicious intent, not at all. That doesn't take the hurt away, though. The rejection of what I physically am. 

Here's the thing: A couple of days before my top-surgery, Novice told me they would probably have issues touching me or looking at me after the surgery. They get queasy at the sight, and though, of anything penetrating or parting the skin. Blood tests are really difficult for them, for example. So they told me, two days before my surgery, that they probably wouldn't be able to look at me at first. 

I had a lot on my mind (as you do, two days before major surgery), and didn't really process the true meaning of this at the time...

Now, it's been two and a half weeks. The bruises are almost gone. The stiches and surgical staples are out. Except for two small areas, the long wounds where my breasts were removed, are all closed up. The tiny wounds that are left are very shallow, and getting better every day. My nipples are still scabbing and look pretty bad, but they're always covered up anyway, so they aren't visible or in any danger. 

I'm pretty much healed now, and Novice still hasn't seen my naked chest. Still hasn't really acknowledged what I've done. Still haven't touch any part of me between my lower rib and my neck. And I feel so incredibly hurt by this. Rejected. Unloved. Much more than I thought I would.

One part of it is that I wasn't prepared for it. Springing "by the way, I won't be able to touch you or even look at you for weeks and weeks" two days before... That's not sufficient preparation for me, even had I understood what they really meant back then (which I didn't). If I'd known before booking the surgery, I'd probably postponed it. Not indefinitely, I would still want top-surgery pretty soon.. But the well-being of my partners is always incredibly important to me. So I'd probably want to think this through again, maybe make slightly different choices.

The most important aspect is the trauma, though. Because even though I wanted this, it's still a trauma: I've had parts of my body amputated. 560g and 650g respectively. I've had the shape of my chest radically changed. My silhouette will never be the same. This had radically changed my gender presentation, when naked or in form fitting tops. And I'm afraid. 

Not for me. I know I wanted it. But I'm afraid this makes me undesirable. Unlovable. That I really am what the terfs call us: Mutilated. Disgusting. 

Novice doesn't seem to see, or think, about aesthetics the way I do. Nor do they use words like I do. They never call my appearance beautiful, or handsome, or sexy, or anything else really. So while I know what I would do if the person I loved suddenly had big scars across their body, I can't expect the same from them. I can't expect words of affirmation telling me that I'm still beautiful, still desirable. I can't expect them to tell me that they love my scars, love me with my scars, love how my new chest looks. I desperately want that, need that, but I know it's not coming. 

However, up until recently, they did convey some of that same meaning through touch. They were always touching me, reaching out to me, as their way of showing love. Their way of telling me that they accept me, that my body is acceptable to them, that they want to touch me. So while I don't get the words, at least I would get the physical touch.

But now I'm not touched. I'm not seen. I can't even lie skin-to-skin against them. It's like that part of my body, from my lower ribs to my neck, doesn't exist. What you don't touch, don't acknowledge, doesn't really exist in your eyes. It's something disgusting, shameful, something to be hidden away, ignored. It certainly isn't worthy of love. 

Watching women's bodies

A couple of days ago, I wrote on a Discord server:

"I SEE women now. The way I think many men do. The way society talks about men doing, at least. And it's both affirming and terrifying:

I don't really see women (strangers) as PEOPLE anymore. 😬 Not until we start actually interacting. When watching strangers at a shopping mall or on a street, I don't see the women as people... I see them as bodyparts. 😬 A nice pair of legs there, a slim waist there, a really impressive cleavage over there.

I used to think (back before egg crack) that I wasn't even sexually attracted to women. Now... Now it's DIFFERENT.

And like I said: Both affirming and terrifying. Terrifying because seeing people as anything other than people, is wrong. Really, really wrong. 😬 That's not something I want."

The other trans people there quickly pointed out that this didn't quite make sense

" merely the ability to notice body features is [not] inherently dehumanizing. But it's a nice way to stigmatize it, or in this case make you feel bad for seeing it even though your beliefs don't confirm at all that you wouldn't see women as people."

And damn, that hit a nerve. I've never felt bad for being attracted to men... But men are.. Simple. Safe. Easy. I've started to wonder if a lot of that "attraction" was really gender envy, but frankly I'm unable to untangle those two. 

Women to me are not... Safe. Not simple. Not easy. 

There's so mamy feelings tangled up in this. Back before egg crack, women were my pattern, my blueprint for how I should be... And I always fell short. So I looked up to them, and also felt infinity inferior to them. There was also a lot of bullying when I was a kid, the worst coming from girls. So there's trauma there as well.. 

Then there's the fear of men. Of mysogynists. Rapists. Especially after #metoo, but I was well aware before that too. Because #yesallmen can be a threat to women, and women have no way of knowing which are the good guys. I don't want to add to that. I don't want to objectify, be leering or creepy, or make someone uncomfortable or afraid. I don't want to do something that could be unwanted. 

Because there's also a fear of rejection... If women are so much better than I am (because they were able to be acceptable women and I failed), then why would they want to have anything to do with me? I'm so much less than they are.. And yes, this is absolutely internalized transphobia (and misgendering), but knowing what it is doesn't make it go away. 

There's also been a shift in these past few months.. When I see women now, sometimes they aren't put in the same "mental box" as me. Instead of thinking “there’s someone like me/ who I’m supposed to be like/ who shares the woman category with me” I just think “ah, a woman”. This isn't consistently true, as I still misgender myself a lot in my head.. But it's started to happen more and more. 

And I think that's when it happens.. (Towards strangers specifically.. Perhaps BECAUSE they aren't in that same "box" as me anymore.) I notice attractive body parts. I don't even get as far as "I want to have sex with this person", just "damn, those legs look nice" . 

And that thought somehow makes me.. What? Afraid? Shameful? Obviously judging myself something fierce. So what is this? Is it something Ive internalize from an early age? That being sexually attracted to women is somehow Wrong? 

Because I AM, undeniably, sexually attracted to women. I admitted this, firmly, when my egg cracked. At what point do I stop getting surprised by it? I've accepted it intellectually, but I think I'm still quite far from accepting it emotionally.. 

Every little realization feels like a huge epiphany, but if i keep repeating it maybe I'll be able to accept it: I like women. I'm attracted to women. I want to kiss women, fuck women, touch them, eat them out, make them squirm and moan.

They terrify me (cis- and cis-passing women especially) .. They make me shameful and dysphoric.. But I still feel attracted to them. I can't change that. 

Trying (and failing) to fit in

I cracked when I had the mental and emotional capacity to do so.

From my diary, I see signs back when I was 11-12. I was fascinated by lgbt- issues, and deviations from expected gender roles especially. However, I didn't have the vocabulary then. Trans only meant trans women.. Playing with gender was something only other people could do. Not someone like me.

I got to know a trans man when I was around 16, but I... Cared too much. Too much a stickler for the rules. Cared too much what others thought or what they saw as Right. I wanted to fit in. And knew I didn't. 

I MIGHT have cracked at... 20-25 ish. I was super fascinated by crossdressers and trans people. Knew several of them through the kink scene. But I was too caught up in performative femininity then. Again, I just wanted to fit in. To be accepted. 

So I tried harder and harder. Knowing I was "flawed" because others saw me as weird. Flawed because I could tell I wasn't fitting in. Because I really, really wasn't comfortable with femininity at all, but felt I had to be. Failing at all of it, but seeing this as a personal failure. Not as a sign of anything else.

By 35 I had a fairly stable life, a job, kids starting to sleep through the night etc. I had time to think again. To feel. And by 35 I'd started to give fewer fucks about it all. Didn't try to follow the Rules quite as much. Realized that it was POSSIBLE to choose something other than what society expected of you. 

That's when I cracked. 

It's really sad, in many ways. I wonder what my life would have been like, if I'd cracked earlier. 

Excavating anxiety

I've been working with a special stort of physiotherapist these last few months, doing psychomotor physio therapy. Her focus is the connection between the body and the mind, working on body-awareness among other things. The more I work with her, the more I dig down into my own past, my own feelings, the more I find. Like an excavator digging in what looks like a nice, grassy field, but finding an overgrown garbage dump underneath the grass. 

It's extremely uncomfortable, but I think it's important. I can't keep going as I have, repressing everything. 

After the last session, about two weeks ago, I had my first (two) panic attacks. Racing heartbeat, queezy, elevated blood pressure, hands and feet tingling. I recognized it for what it was, so I wasn't scared, but it was still very uncomfortable. Afterwards the increased adrenaline levels were very noticeable for at least another hour or two. I was extremely aware of my own body and physical sensations while it was happening. That's a sort of progress, I think, even though it doesn't feel like it. 

Tomorrow is my next appointment. Today, I've had increased levels of anxiety for many hours. Not a full blown attack, just generalized anxiety. Increased heart rate, tension in the body, problems focusing on a single activity, feeling very "on guard", eyes always moving, hands lightly shaking. Typical adrenal response, "fight or flight". I think I've felt like this hundreds, maybe thousands, of times before. I just wasn't aware enough of my own body to consciously notice it.

This feels like an automatic reaction. I think it's comparable to other automatic reactions... There's tonns of them... Muscular ones like your posture, mental ones like internalized transphobia, and emotional ones like trauma responses. You can't change your automatic responses, if you aren't aware of them. Though once you become aware of them, it's impossible to unsee them. Like systemic racism, once you know it's there, you see it everywhere. 

Anxiety seems like that for me. It's everywhere, all encompassing. I just didn't let myself know about it. (Like being trans.) How much of my life, how much of my reactions and decisions, have unknowingly been shaped by that anxiety?

I don't know. I have no idea how deep this garbage dump is, but I guess I'll find out. If I want to build proper foundations, make something stable and durable, I'll just have to keep digging. It stinks, but I think it'll be worth it in the long run. 

Scared to lose them

Sex is easy, in many ways. Sex is just physical, or at least mostly physical. Even intensely scary, gender affirming sex, like I've had with NN and Student, is still just sex. I can enjoy it, can enjoy them, but the walls remain. I don't bare my soul. Don't let myself become vulnerable. 

Romance is different, to me. Falling in love wouldn't be possible for me, without also lowering my walls. Showing my true self, and seeing them for who they really are as well. When I love, I don't restrain myself, I don't hold back. I can't. Romantic love, to me, is all or nothing. I can't go into a romantic relationship halfheartedly.

So when romantic relationships don't last, it hurts. Not just because the relationship didn't work out, but because I showed who I really was and had those parts of me rejected. Found lacking. My relationship with Arthur was particularly difficult, because I loved him wholeheartedly, and he didn't reciprocate those feelings. Nothing I did could change that. Even when I'm the one breaking things off, like with Cord, or when it's fairly mutual like with Elle... It still hurts. Even when we're fundamentally incompatible, it still feels like a personal failure. I'm not good enough, or I'm too much, or I don't communicate well enough. 

Saint was the first person I had an openly romantic relationship with, after meeting T. After Saint and I got together, the ban on having multiple romantic partners was lifted and I tried dating others as well. I fell in love with Giant, who dumped me to be monogamous with a girl he'd fallen with. I fell for Dane, but we had so many communication issues, it ended after just a couple of months. Then there was Cord, where communications broke down as well. After him I met Elle. Elle and I lasted one day short of 6 months, before we (for all practical purposes) ended it. A mutual decision, and a good one I think. Still, it hurt. All of them hurt.

Besides, learning who I really am... How I really am... Who'd want to be with me anyway? They fall for a first impression, but I can't possibly keep up that mask over time. And once that mask falls, they leave. Or we end in other ways. Only my very first boyfriend when I was 15, my angry ex X, T and Saint have ever been romantically interested in me for more than 6 months. X ended it after 11 traumatic months. I was 18/19-years old then, and 15/16 with that first one. Since 2005, only T and Saint have held out with me for more than half a year. All the others have left sooner. 

All the others, that is, until Novice.  

Novice and I have been together for 6 months today. I love them so much, and I feel absolutely terrified about loosing them. Which isn't so strange, really, looking back at my the trainwrecks of my previous romantic relationships. I feel convinced that I'm not good enough for them, that I don't deserve love, don't deserve happiness or good things. I feel so terribly afraid of being vulnerable and having that vulnerable core rejected. Again. 

That isn't Novice's fault. None of this is Novice' fault. 

They struggle with their own demons; Believing they don't have any value, don't deserve anything good, they feel convinced that I'll leave eventually. I just need to realize who they really are, they say, and I'll certainly leave. 

That isn't my fault. None of that is my fault. However, I feel it's a sort of consolidation; I'm not the only damaged person, I'm not the only one struggling with feelings of low self-esteem and trauma. They're struggling too. For their sake, I wish they didn't. I don't want anyone to suffer if it can be avoided.. But since I can't change that, I'm glad it's the two of us who've ended up together. 

Being together doesn't mean we won't struggle. On the contrary, it means confronting our own brokenness, talking out loud of some of our most painful thoughts and feelings. However, I believe we will become stronger for it. Being together is better than being alone. Like two trees, almost broken by the weather, we can wind ourselves together and keep growing. It just takes time. Trees don't heal fast, but they do eventually heal.

I have dreams for our future. We both do. Plans for what we'll do in a few months, next year, five years from now. I can't know for sure if we'll be together then. We're still in the grip of NRE, in the light psychosis of being in love with each other. I can't make any promises, and neither can they. The only thing I can say for certain is how I feel right now: I love them. 

I love them with all my heart, with all my soul. Love being with them, cuddling with them, talking with them, breathing with them. Playing together or doing things individually, I love them. Seeing them smile, seeing them focused, seeing them as a dissociating robot, seeing them annoyed or upset, seeing them tired or sleepy, seeing them content, or curious or engaged; I love them. Not despite of any of it, not as a struggle. Loving them feels easy. Like breathing. Even when we misunderstand each other, argue, hurt each other, I love them. Like veins of gold, love flows through me whenever I think of them. 

I'm terrified of losing them. And it's worth it. Love makes it worth it. They make it worth it.

I'm raising my glass and toasting for 6 months together. Let's hope for 100 times that. I believe in us.

Relationship styles and conflict resolution

When a conflict is unresolved, when there's tension between me and someone I love, my instinct is to seek connection. To seek understanding. To touch, to talk, to hold and be held. To show love, and be loved in return. I feel there's no issue too large for us, if we can only face it together. 

Other people don't process hurt or conflict in the same way. They need distance. Their instinct is to go away, to hide, to lick their wounds in peace. To only come back together once the tension, for them, is mostly gone. Saint is like this. So is Novice. (I sure know how to pick them, apparently.)

The problem, for me, is when these two instincts collide. We've spoken about this before, and usually, we strive towards a compromise; I can't get as much touch, connection and togetherness as I really need, but I can get enough to ground me. Enough to make me feel safe, loved. And THEN they can get the space they need. I still find this difficult, all compromises are, but it's bearable. Hopefully, it's bearable for all parties involved.

Compromises only work, however, when both parties are willing. If the other person withdraws from me, doesn't communicate, doesn't answer my messages, doesn't talk when we're together... Then I don't get any of my needs met, and yet they get all of theirs. And I sure as hell hope it's worth it for them, because it feels like torture for me. 

To be clear: I don't think they intend to torture me (although now that I think about it, if someone's mad enough at me, I guess punishing me in this way would be really, really effective). I don't believe in any nefarious motives here. I think they're short on sleep, depressed, stressed out, and struggling with all kinds of negative emotions. They're taking care of themself the only way they know how. Which of course they should. 

However, regardless of intent, the outcome isn't pleasant: I started today feeling dysregulated and worried, but 30-60 minutes conversation and lots of hugs could have... If not fixed it, then at least made me a whole lot more stable. It would have given me hope, made me feel more... Whole. (This started out as a tiny thing, it shouldn't be permitted to fuck up two whole days.)

I didn't get that hour I needed, though. In stead, I'm left adrift. Alone. The longer I'm left adrift, the more worried and dysregulated I become. I can feel myself spiraling down, getting more anxious. More guilt, more fear, more sorrow, more... Broken. Feeling like I can't trust anyone, right now. Not myself, and not anyone else. Crying, heart beating like I'm running on a treadmill.

If I could step out of this shit, I would. Take a deep breath and push it away, leave this spiral. It's not like this is a pleasant sensation, it's not like I'm choosing this. If I could stop it, react differently, have different needs, I absolutely would. I can't, though. 

And so I write. This is post number three today. It doesn't help, not really, but it sort of... Slows the spiral a bit. Makes me process, observe what's happening, in stead of just being aimlessly pulled down. It doesn't get better, though. This spiral only goes one way. 

And when we do get back together again.. When we do get a chance to talk... You bet I'll apologize. 

It doesn't matter if fighting is a team effort, it doesn't matter if we as a couple could benefit on us both working on our communication skills, it doesn't matter if some blame could be placed on circumstances or elsewhere. None of those things matter. By the time we get together again, I'll have been spiraling in a void for at least a day, maybe close to two. I'll be hurting so bad, I'll do ANYTHING, say ANYTHING to make this stop hurting. Not dishonestly, I still don't lie... But I obviously won't be able to hold my own very well, when I've been in an angstfilled void for two days.

So I hope this distance is worth it. I hope they find stability, and hope, and joy, and good sleep, and peace. I want them to be ok, I want them to be happy.

I hope they're doing proportionally as good, as I am doing bad. There's no way this math checks out otherwise.

Tell me what's wrong, or I'll start guessing

 I recently read this article about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) and how it's fairly common in autistic people. I've always thought about RSD as relating to criticism and actual rejections. And while I know I don't deal with that super well, I know others (like Saint, and Novice) who struggles more with it than I do. However, apparently it's not just related to stuff others purposfully do or say... 

This quote, in particular, struck a cord with me: 
"...their experience of RSD as an autistic person causes them to be “very observant of patterns, and so when someone’s behavioral pattern is different, I notice it and often feel a sense of guilt about it, like I must have done something for them to feel upset and that’s why their behavior has changed.” This increased hypervigilance, over time, can be traumatic for the autistic person."

And THAT is definitely something I do.

I also find it extremely frustrating and scary to ask what's wrong, and be told that "it's nothing". When they brush me off, I feel gaslit. Like I can't trust my own perception, like I can't trust reality. There's clearly SOMETHING. I can't tell if the problem is that they hate me, or if they have a pain in their neck, or feel tired, or are thinking of a work assignment they need to do... 

I can tell that something is up. But if the problem was completely inconsequential, they wouldn't have had a need to deny it. To hide it from me. Therefore, I conclude, it must be something serious. Something bad. Something relating to me. Something I've done, or not done, or said, or not said. And the more they deny that there's anything wrong, the more desperately afraid I become. Because I can tell that there's SOMETHING. It's emotionally painful and mentally draining.

If they could just tell me what's up, I wouldn't have to become so stressed out and afraid. Tell me you're tired and your mind is wandering. Tell me you feel conflicted, or afraid, or worried. Tell me your arm is asleep, or that you're thinking about that meeting with your boss last week. Just TELL ME, so I don't have to grow so afraid. 

It feels to me like such a simple fix.  Their non-verbal signals are virtually shouting at me that something's up. I don't understand why people struggle with this, why they won't tell me what's wrong. I'm confused. At this too. 

At everything, more or less.

Being read as angry

Both Novice and Saint seem to read me as much more angry / aggressive than I intend. It feels like any mild irritation I express, as well as annoyance, exasperation, even sometimes fear, sorrow or passionate engagement, is often read as anger. 

This is completely baffling to me. I can often feel annoyed, or scared, or worried, or tired, but very, very rarely do I feel angry. Slightly more often after starting testosterone, but still it's extremely rare. My reactions typically lean towards fear, self-hatred or sorrow in 99% of possible situations, and less than 1% towards anger or aggression. To be accused of having a feeling I really don't recognize at all... It feels really confusing, and scary. I'm basically being told that my reality isn't real, that what I think I communicate isn't the message they receive. 

When it was just Saint, I thought it was a consequence of his traumatic childhood, coupled with ADHD and depression. He often perceives things as much more negative than they really are, sees things in black&white. Not just with regards to me, but in general. So if I say I don't like something he's done, he'll very quickly jump to the conclusion that I don't like him. This makes communications really difficult. 

We've tried having me name my emotions more often, so that he isn't left guessing. Since his guesses often lean more serious/angry/dramatic than what I really feel. So I'll tell him: "I'm feeling mildly annoyed at this", or "I'm fed up by this, it bothers me" or "I'm not feeling angry, I'm feeling sad and scared". I think that's helped a bit, but I'm not sure. Hard to go against a life of conditioning...

Anyway, Novice told me last night that they ALSO perceive me as angry/aggressive. That's two people close to me, independently telling me the same thing. I can't brush that off, or blame it on their mental health issues. There's got to be something there, I'm just not seeing it. 

And even if there wasn't... Even if they're both objectively wrong... Does it matter? The effect is still there: They perceive me as angry, aggressive. The two adults I love the most in this world, are telling me that the way I behave is hurtful, damaging, scary. Objective truth doesn't matter, because subjectively to them this feels true. I'm causing them harm. 

I can't have that. I have to fix it. Fix me.

I have no idea how, as I don't even recognize this expressed anger in myself. Saint and I talk fairly loudly with each other, regardless of mood or feelings involved. But if I unwittingly raise my voice around Novice, they're quick to correct me. So I don't think it's a volume issue. 

I don't scream, shout, throw things, slam doors or hit stuff. I'm not like X, who shouted at me, tore down a shelf at my feet, and made a hole in the wall with his fist right next to where I was sitting. I was damaged by those months with him, traumatized. I don't do any of these things, but that doesn't mean I'm not causing them harm. 

I'm left really, really puzzled. 

Could it be a masking issue? I know autistic people often are perceived as angry/upset when they aren't masking. Perhaps I don't mask as well when I'm stressed / sad / tired / annoyed? That could affect my intonation, make my sentences flatter or more clipped, I'm probably smiling less etc. Could that be why I'm perceived as angry? 

If that's the case: Should I be expected to always remain high-masking in front of my loved ones? Am I really causing harm by not masking? This can't possibly be the whole explanation, there's got to be other things there as well. Verbal- or non-verbal things they're perceiving as anger, that I'm not aware of. 

How the FUCK (frustration at myself, not anger at anyone else) do I work on something, when I have no idea what the problem is?!? No tools to recognize it, no way to do damage control?! This feels like another part of social interactions that I wasn't aware even existed. I can't analyze and master something, if I don't know it exists. 

Well, now I know this exists. And I know it's causing harm. I'm causing harm. So I'll just have to figure it out. I don't want to hurt them. Where do I even begin??

Update: Tried googling, but coming up short. All the anger management stuff is focused on explosive rage. I don't do that, and I don't feel that. On the contrary, I don't feel I loose control at all. I even tried a Norwegian page, but encounter the same problem. How can I work on something I can't perceive?
I'm sure there's something out there, but I apparently don't even know what to search for. I feel lost.

Changed from gel to injections

Today I made the swap from testosterone gel (applied daily on the skin), to intramuscular testosterone injections (one injection every 3 months). There were many reasons for it, but first and foremost I didn't want to continue exposing Novice to traces of testosterone when we cuddle.. And I want unrestricted skin-to-skin contact with them. So moving away from gel seemed like a good idea.

I also hope for a faster, more extensive masculizing effect, but that's never guaranteed. 

I got the shot at 11am today, and didn't feel much effect until tonight. Now I mainly feel really, really hungry.. But interestingly, my orgasms also feel more intense. I don't know if that's a fluke, but they feel stronger and more pleasurable now. Almost like they did before I started testosterone.

I wouldn't say I'm much hornier yet, but orgasms like that sure makes me... Motivated. 

Ethical hedonism and the purpose of life

 "If I knew I'd die soon, would I be content with the way I'm living my life?"

That's a translation of the first phrase of the song "Riv i hjertet" by Sondre Justad. The title translates more or less to "Tearing the heart". 

Saint lost his brother today, completely unexpectedly. They're talking of heart failure, but both Saint and I are suspecting other causes. He was younger than me, only 35 years old. A single dad to a kid a couple of years older than my eldest.

Saint is shell-shocked obviously, but I can feel this affecting me too. Not because I was particularly close with my brother-in-law. We'd met a few times, but he wasn't someone I talked to regularly. It's affecting me, not because of who he was but because of the sudden death of a kinsman has an effect in itself. He was younger than me. He had a kid, a job, a life. Friends, family. Regardless of whether he did it on purpose or not, death suddenly feels a lot closer. 

It makes me review my own life. If I knew I'd die soon, would I be content with the way I'm living my life? If I knew I'd die soon, would I be content with my epitaph? To quote Havamal, verse 77-78: 

"Cattle die, and kinsmen die,
And so one dies one's self;
But a noble name will never die,
If good renown one gets.

Cattle die, and kinsmen die,
And so one dies one's self;
One thing now that never dies,
The fame of a dead man's deeds."

Once you're dead, you're dead. I don't believe there's anything afterwards. Even if I had hope for anything else, life here on this earth would end with death. That means there's only the now, here, this is my only chance. Chance for what, exactly? What is the purpose of life? What is the purpose of death? 

To me, those are two very different questions. The purpose of death doesn't matter for me personally. I'll be gone, it's completely irrelevant for me. The only thing I can leave behind, is my legacy, just like Havamal says. That means the people I've affected, the memories I've helped create... So the purpose of death, to me, is to leave behind the best possible legacy... But that's not all. 

Because life has purpose too. I don't believe in any sort of heavenly reward, that puritan idea that suffering and sacrifice in this life would earn me a perfect existence after death. Sacrificing myself for others might help my legacy, after death, but it doesn't do much for my life here and now. It doesn't directly make my life better. 

I'm not a philosopher, and trying to go down a philosophical rabbit hole just left my head spinning. Suffice to say these thoughts aren't well-digested and can't really be logically defended, however my gut feeling is that the purpose of life is pleasure. That means ethical hedonism; Maximizing pleasure, while minimizing pain, for ourselves and others.

I can minimize others' pain by helping raise my kids to be good, well-balanced people. I can minimize my own pain by taking care of myself the best way I can, being true to myself, working on myself to gradually lead a better, healthier life. By not being a burden, sure, but also by allowing myself to be loved. Because love is pleasurable, and feeling love for another (even for one as undeserving as I often feel), means feeling pleasure. By allowing myself to be loved, and to love in return, pleasure is maximized. 

By maximizing pleasure, and minimizing pain, here and now as well as in the long run, I also leave behind a decent legacy. People who love more, enjoy more, are happier and more content than they would have been without me. So the meaning of life might be pleasure, but being true to that meaning will also give purpose, meaning to death. Pleasure as a guiding principle will therefore hit two birds with one stone (poor birds). And that's all one can ask for, I think. 

Hormonal haywire

I've been in a bit of a funk lately. More depressed and anxious than usual, less horny. Then I got the results of a recent blood test, showing a significant reduction in testosterone levels. So that might be at least part of the explanation for why I'm feeling so down. 

I'm using a topical testosterone gel, applied daily, and have for over a year. I have no good explanation for why my levels have suddenly dropped, but anecdotally it could be related to reduced absorption rates in the skin, caused by increased hair growth and thicker, less flexible skin (both a result of testosterone in the first place). Apparently, it isn't uncommon. And I'm sick of my body reacting weirdly to drugs, trying to gauge what my blood levels will be and getting it wrong at least half the time!

For example, I had no significant change in T levels after doubling my dose (when I first started T), but then a wild increase (too high) after another 25% increase. Going back down to the regular dose, I was fine for months, until now all of a sudden I'm super low. Going by the blood-work alone, I might even be getting my period back, and I'm telling you: NO! That's so NOT happening!

Another important factor is that someone I'm regularly having sex with is a trans woman. She shouldn't be exposed to topical testosterone, if she wants to keep her own T levels low, and I risk transferring some to her if I keep using gel. I don't want to worry about how and when I touch her. 

So I've decided to try switching from gel to intramuscular injections. They'll only need to be administered every three months, but I'll need a nurse or doctor to do it. I'm scared of the pain, but I know tons of people who're using this version of testosterone regularly and they all assure me it's bearable. If they can take it, I probably will be able to as well. At least I hope so.

Anecdotally as well, switching from gel to injections might also give an increase in the masculinizing effect. Apparently that's a thing for some people, who've had slow effect of gel even though their blood work showed good T levels. That means more body hair, a more masculine scent and perhaps even more bottom growth, all of which I'll be very happy about if it does happen. Just hope my partners will like it too. 

I want to do good

Novice and I have been together for a bit over 5 months now. It's this phase where my relationships often go to hell, and I'm worried. I'm worried that my worry in itself will make me more on edge, more stressed, and thus it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

I worry because we keep having... I want to say fights, but we aren't fighting. Not at all. We're hurting. Hurting ourselves and each other, through misunderstandings, misconceptions, wrong assumptions and general miscommunication. And we're both too mentally fragile, most of the time, to be able to prevent it. So it keeps happening. 

It's just happened again, in fact. That's why I needed to write. 

They're angry at me, and hurt, and upset, and I can't fix it. I want to, but I can't. It's too late. I messed up, I said stuff I shouldn't have, I had the wrong tone of voice, or the wrong timing, a wrong turn of phrase, or probably all of those at once (and probably other stuff too), and I broke something. Again. Something unfixable. 

That feels... devastating. That there's no way to sort this situation out, no matter how much I want to try. And since I don't really understand what's happening until it's too late, I can't prevent it either. So I keep breaking stuff. Keep hurting them. 

Each time, I feel like I'm learning something. Growing, despite the pain and hurt. I feel WE are growing, too. Growing as a couple. We're not repeating the same stuff again and again, mostly. We solve most misunderstandings (eventually), and then (typically) don't walk into the same trap again. So there's progress. But I worry that I'm not growing quickly enough. because I keep hurting them! 

I can't keep hurting them like this, breaking them like this! I love them so much, the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt them! I want to do good. I want to BE good. But it doesn't feel like I am. It feels like I'm doing more harm than good right now. 

I want to be better. 

I just don't know how.  

Ejaculation / squirting

Before I started T, I'd read up on female ejaculation. I'd tried to do it, both alone and with partners, and never experienced anything even close. I've had plenty of orgasms while receiving g-spot stimulation (though I always need something on the clit too), so I knew I was in the right spot.. It just didn't happen for me. I assumed I couldn't. 

I was wrong. Turns out, all I needed was bottom growth. 

I don't know why this changed, but I'm guessing bottom growth affects the entire clitoral complex and not just the tiny external part. After all. the penis of young boys grows during their testosterone-driven puberty.. Makes sense if the same happens to the clit too, once testosterone is added.

Anyway, I felt something start changing after.. I guess about 6 months on T. Not squirting in itself, but the potential for it. Then I started getting small amounts of liquid, not squirting but trickling out of me. I realized I could put pressure on my g-spot and basically empty myself of that liquid, once I was worked up enough. It was a very different thing than orgasm. 

Then Novice started working on me, and things changed. A lot. They use a very intense, pinpoint vibrator, called Zumio E, directly on my clit. And as I squeal and giggle and try not to squirm, I loose myself in the sensation. So overwhelmed, I no longer have conscious control over my body. That's when it happens; I ejaculate. I ejaculate from external clit stimulus only. 

Each time they've done this, it's been easier for us to get there, and I've produced more liquid. The last time, they did something new: They kept pushing me. They kept pushing, and I kept ejaculating. First five times in short succession, three trickling and two proper squirts with some pressure behind them. After a couple of minutes break, they continued, making me ejaculate another four times. Two of those fairly big squirts too. There might have been some small ones in between here, but we both sort of lost count.  

I was stunned, I had no idea this was even possible. I thought that stuff only happened in porn movies... That a vulva could keep squirting, with pressure and all, and keep squirting, and keep squirting. Apparently, it's not just in porn. To me, it's also intensely gender. I fluids get involuntarily squirted out of my genitals, if I get stimulated the right way. A lot of fluid. That in itself, is slightly gender euphoric, and to me it's also really hot.

Squirting, or ejaculating, is also really different from orgasm for me. Whilst ejaculation is extremely intense, and that loss of control is both scary, sexy and thrilling, is isn't really pleasurable in itself. It's in some ways a release of pressure, but it doesn't give those waves of pleasure that I typically get from an orgasm. There's no ecstatic peak. 

Novice is the first person to make me squirt. They're also the first person to ever give me an orgasm, without any direct involvement from me since I was a teenager (back then, I was sometimes able to orgasm from fingering + oral). Quite a few people have been able to finger me to orgasm, while I use a vibrator on my clit myself. Novice has done it with the Zumio E alone, I wasn't touching myself. In many ways, that feels more intimate than the squirting. There's a trust there, that I've never had with anyone else. I'm ABLE to trust now, unlike ever before. 

I'm excited for the future with Novice. Who knows what other sexual discoveries we'll make or developments we'll have, as time goes by. 

Painting the colors of the wind

-"Why do you love me?", I ask in a particularly vulnerable moment. "What is it about me that makes you love me?"
-"You're asking me to paint the colors of the wind", you say, referencing a Disney movie we've both seen. "I know what love is, and I know I love you, but I can't explain it or describe it." I wasn't satisfied with that answer, but I let the matter rest. You wouldn't have been able to give me a better one. But I keep thinking about it, and about that allegory. 

Because it's true, you can't paint the wind. Not in a realistic way. That doesn't mean it can't be painted, though. First of all, it's possible to do it in a more abstract way. Just like an abstract painting can express emotions or moods, I'm certain it's possible to paint the wind as well. It's also possible to use lines or colors to suggest wind, much like Disney does in that specific movie during that specific song. More relevant to my original query, though, is painting the wind by painting what the wind DOES. You may not be able to see the wind, but you can see the trees bending, leaves being pulled from the branches. You can't see the air, but you can see dust swirling or someone's hair getting blown into their face. You can't realistically, truthfully, paint the wind, but you can paint the effects it has on it's surroundings. 

I think that leads me to the answer I would have wanted.  Just like I can't see the wind in a painting, I can still be convinced that it's there from the way someone's dress is blown to the side. Of course you can't describe an emotion. It's impossible. I don't expect you to. But you can tell me what effect that emotion has on our surroundings... And that might convince me that it's really there. 

Do I need that from you? Most of the time, no. But in my most vulnerable moments, yes. I need to believe that you love me. I need those words of affirmation. Even if, perhaps especially if, they're difficult for you to express. 

And since I'm asking for it from you, it's only fair that I try to paint the wind myself: 

I love you. It's the sort of love that makes my thoughts turn towards you, like a plant towards the sun, even when we're far apart; I think about something we've done or might someday do, I want to share something with you that I think you'd enjoy, I ponder something you said or some experience we had. You're in my mind many, many times every waking hour, regardless of where I am or what I'm doing. 

Thinking of you makes me feel optimistic. I always look forward to seeing you again. I smile when I think about you, and feel a flutter in my stomach, a tingling, happy sensation. Touching you makes that feeling stronger, and cuddling with you is one of the best sensations in the world. I love touching your body, your face, love having your lips against mine. Feeling you skin against mine, your breathing, your warmth, I can breathe too. I'm home. 

I love looking at you. Observing you when you talk about something you're passionate about, or seeing that quirky little smile of yours when you know you're being cheeky. I love the vulnerability you show me, when you dare to let down your guard. I love looking into your eyes and feeling connected with you. I love those emotional sparks that fly when we really bond over something. Some concept or piece of knowledge that makes us both smile. I love watching you when you really think about something, or when some epiphany you have remind me how bright you really are. 

I love exploring your mind, and through that process also exploring my own. I love how your trust in me, makes me trust myself more. We push each other into new experiences. I grow and develop with you, in ways that would have been near impossible on my own. You make me want to do better, be better, than what I am now. 

Your kindness, gentleness, beauty.. Your empathy, your humor, your mind.. Your strength and vulnerability... All wrapped up in one... all you. Not loving you was never an option. It was never a choice. I couldn't help but fall in love with you, and I'm so glad I did. You make my life better, in every way conceivable. I'm so glad I met you, and I'm so grateful you seem to love me too.

That feeling of love for you, which cannot be described in itself, influences every part of my life, every waking hour, every decision I make. Sure the love, the wind, cannot be painted. Whether it can or not is frankly irrelevant... Because my life is so full of love for you these days, it's impossible to describe any part of it without all of that love shining through. I can't paint the colors of the wind, but when there's a storm, the landscape sure looks different. You can't see the wind, but the effects are undeniable. Love, undeniable. 

Theoretically bisexual

Ok, so I'm starting to admit that I like women. (Yes, that first link is from a post 1,5 years ago.. Yes, I'm slow, I know. Show mercy, will you.)  

Not just trans women, either. All women. Sexually and romantically. I've claimed cis women trigger my dysphoria because our bodies are so similar (and I hate my own), and that's true. Yes. But not the complete truth. 

The reason I get dysphoric over my attraction to women, is because I'm not into women "in a gay way". I'm into women in "a straight way". A "man way". Being seen as a gay woman, a lesbian or a bisexual woman, is SO WRONG on so many (gendered) levels. THAT'S what's been triggering most of the dysphoria. Whether it's other people, or the woman herself, is irrelevant; Having my attraction toward her be read as a "lesbian thing" is the problem. Having the woman interested in me, LIKE SHE WOULD BE in a woman... Responding to my flirting as though I'm ALSO a woman.. That is the major hurdle. 

A lot of capital letters there, but it felt like such an epiphany to me. I knew I was into men "in a gay way", knew I had a "thing" for homosexual guys.. Realizing I'm into women "in a straight way" is a very small and very logical step, but it still feels like such a revelation. 

That's why I can't admit to being attracted to women. Why I'm "theoretically bisexual", but have never fallen in love with a cis woman. It's because I'm not a woman.

Duh.

The Gremlin is still wrong

After realizing I was trans, after realizing I could get MY OWN dick sucked, I lost my fetish for giving blow jobs. That's apparently part of a pattern that keeps happening. After I realized I want MY OWN beard, I lost my single-minded fascination for bearded men. I still think they're hot, just like I still enjoy giving blowjobs, but it's much less of a need, an urge, a kink. 

So how do I know what's really a preference, what's gender envy, and what's dysphoria? That's a really frustrating conundrum. I touched upon this when I wrote about Cord, another afab trans person. His body made me feel more dysphoric about my own. I've since concluded this might be part of the reason why I've never been THAT attracted by women.. Or let myself get that attracted to women. Because they trigger my dysphoria, by being what I tried and failed to be. 

(Don't get me wrong: I've had sex with women before. That can be fun. But it's felt very different from men, and I've never been in love with a cis woman before. I didn't think I could be. Now I'm not so certain.)

I've encountered this same phenomenon with trans women. They trigger my dysphoria sometimes, because they desire, for themselves, all the things I hate about me. I'm still attracted to them, though, which should say something about my capacity to become attracted to cis women. I don't know why trans women feel "safe" when cis women do not.. Might simply be about body parts, or might be something about the shared trans experience. (I expect trans people to understand me, in a way a cis person never truly can.) I don't know.

Anyway, the real conundrum these days is my porn habits: I want pussy; Women with vulvas. Not trans men, not trans women, not people with strap-ons, and CERTAINLY not cis men. No dicks in my porn please. I want cunts. Why? What's up with that? Why doesn't THAT trigger my dysphoria? It makes no sense to me, no sense at all. 

Sure, I've always had a strong preference for watching cis women orgasm. Listening to them. It's really hot. But I've seen gay male porn, and previously found that really hot too. I don't, now. Not anymore. And I can't figure out what this is about.. Am I more single-mindedly attracted to women than I've previously thought? Was it all suppressed, because of my own dysphoria?

The scariest bit is that it makes me doubt myself, again. Is this fascinating with vulvas, based on the fact that I enjoy my own? (I do. Despite occasional dysphoria, and intense euphoria when I use a strap-on, I enjoy masturbating and having sex with my vulva.). 

And if I do enjoy my own vulva so much, can I really be trans? 

It's that brain-gremlin that sits in the back of my head saying "you can't really be trans, you didn't know until you were 35. You're just tricking yourself, thinking this is the Solution to anything, that this explains anything. You've always been a bit miserable, but aren't everyone really? You think you're special, but you're not. You're just a gullible fool, ruining your life in a new and more creative way than before."

And I know it's just a gremlin. I am trans. We've been over this. No, not everyone feels that way. I'm trans. There's plenty of older evidence too, if I look for them. I'm trans. 

The gremlin is wrong.

I also apparently like pussy, a lot more than I've previously realized. 

That doesn't mean the gremlin is any less wrong.

I'm still trans.
Confused as hell.. But still trans.

Sublime loss of control

Novice and I have started experimenting with switching; Me as the bottom, and eventually also more of a sub. It's exciting, exhilarating, and absolutely terrifying. The loss of control is what I crave, what I desire, and it scares me witless at the same time. Yesterday, my hands were shackled to the bed, and they sat between my legs, forcing them apart. I couldn't move, could escape, was wide open and available to them. Exhibitionism dreams. Only my upper body was covered, safe, warm, so top dysphoria wouldn't be triggered.

Then they used my new toy, Zumio E, on me. It's shaped like a pen, with an intensely vibrating tip. They stimulated me way beyond what I would do to myself. No escape, no way to make it stop. Completely out of my hands. All I could do was just lie there and take it. 

Eventually, rolled up on my upper back and spread open even more, I lost control completely. My mind blanked, I couldn't think, didn't know who I was or what was going on. Just for a few seconds each time, but that was enough. That's when my body ejaculated. Ejaculated from clitoral stimuli alone. That's never happened to me before. I could feel it happening, four times in a fairly short time, but it was completely outside of my control.

It was glorious. Sublime. Impossible to really describe with words. I didn't orgasm, but what happened was in many ways better. Because it was so unexpected. So far beyond anything I've experienced before. 

Afterwards, I was a shivering mess of adrenaline. Couldn't stop shaking. I asked for sex, as part of aftercare, because I wanted something ordinary. Something known, something where I'm more in control. So I rode Novice until I came, grinding against one of my new Darque Path grinding toys. 

I felt more myself after that, but 12 hours later I still feel.. Strange. Assume it's some sort of drop, but I don't feel sad or annoyed or anything.. Just a bit out of my mind. Distanced. 

It was SO worth it, though. I want more. Want to do it again! It feels like I've been given a small taste, and that's really triggered a hunger. I've always known I was a switch, but haven't played much on the bottom side since X. Now I've truly gotten to flip the script, and it's... marvelous.

A nameday

February 28th 2023 was a transition anniversary of sorts. Exactly one year earlier, I officially got my name changed to a more masculine first name. 

It's still strange, that new name. It feels foreign, not really me. On the other hand, I can't imagine being named anything else. My old, feminine name feels wrong. Gut-wrenchingly, horrifyingly, jarringly wrong. 

So even though my new name feels new, and strange.. I don't regret changing it. Not even for a second. I'll take "strange" over "horrifying" any day. 

A transition loss

In January just over a year ago, I wrote about transitioning and thereby losing access to female spaces. But it was frankly more of a theoretical exercise, not something I'd really felt. I'm starting to get an inkling of how it really can be, now. Yesterday, on the bus, this beautiful woman got on. She had a big, while coat, her hair was covered in a pale woolen scarf, and all of her was covered by freshly fallen snow. She looked like a snow princess. 

I wanted to tell her. Wanted to compliment her. Wanted to brighten her day. 

I didn't.

If she'd seen me as a man, which she MIGHT have, odds are she'd have considered me creepy. Not kind.

I was on the bus with Novice, and we talked about this. How toxic masculinity and "rape culture" has made compliments from strange men not only unwelcome, but outright threatening. Not because YOU might be dangerous specifically, but because whether or not you ARE dangerous is a lottery.. A lottery with only loosing tickets. A woman only has to be wrong once, to get stalked, raped, or killed. She can't possibly know whether you're a safe person or not, and our entire culture (and probably a ton of personal experience) has taught her not to take that chance. 

So that's something I'm loosing, though my transition. Despite being short (by male standards), and fat, and fairly feminine, I still MIGHT be seen as threatening if I approach a woman I don't know in public. I can no longer, without very careful thought and timing, pay random women compliments. The spontaneity is gone. 

That definitely feels like a loss. A minor one, sure, compared to all I'm gaining, but a loss non the less. One I didn't anticipate, and didn't want. I'll take it, because I want all the rest of the transition stuff, but I'm not happy about it. 

Damn, gender roles suck sometimes. 

The coming crucible

A lot is happening with me and Novice, but it's just.. Good. Not always easy, but natural. Uncomplicated. We've passed three months as a couple now, and I love being with her. We basically live together half the week now, all the time I'm not at home with the kids. We've started talking about this coming summer, casually assuming we're still together then. 

Rationally, I know I'm deep in the throws of NRE. I'm not in my right mind, I can't see them or us clearly yet. I'm in love. I don't FEEL irrational, but based of previous experience (with Elle, Cord and Dane, to name the last three), I know my feelings of longevity and stability aren't to be trusted. 

4-6 months... That's the time most of my relationships break. And 4-8 is a sort of crucible. If we get through those, we're much more likely to last. We're at 3 months now. The tough parts haven't started yet. I know all this, rationally... But it doesn't feel ephemeral or fragile. My relationship with Novice feels firm, stable, trustworthy, equal, loving. Like two pieces of a puzzle, slotting together, as if they were built for each other. We fit. 

I so want to trust that feeling. 

And I'm so afraid I'll loose them, just like I've lost the previous ones. 

I'm burnt.. 

Adulting is hard

Elle and I agreed to "de-escalate" our relationship in early January. We were supposed to meet up a few times per month still, supposed to keep playing and having sex and caring for one another... That's what we agreed. But we haven't. 

We've met once since then, where I told her I needed more time apart. I wasn't ready to start seeing her again, I was still grieving over us, over what we never would be. Then weeks past. Several weeks.

All my free time lately has been spent with Novice. They're all I think about. I wondered if that NRE was getting in the way of my interest for Elle, or if I genuinely didn't want to be with her anymore. I still have feelings for her, love her even, but we weren't good for each other. Not as full time partners, at least. I didn't want that again, but couldn't figure out what it was I wanted in stead.

In the end, I realized that keeping her at arms length, but not letting her go, wasn't fair. It wasn't adult, responsible behavior. If I'd wanted to be with her, I would have known. So tonight I did the adult, responsible thing: I let her go. Ended it. We're done.

We consider ourselves "friends with benefits" now, but I won't be able to hook up with her in quite some time. I need my feelings for her to die down first. 

I think she's gorgeous and amazing, and letting her go really sucks. Even when, perhaps especially when, I know it was the right thing to do. It was right, but it sucks. 

Adulting is hard. 

Tied and teased

Wrists trapped to the bed by leather cuffs, a soft blindfold over my eyes. A loose shirt (your shirt) covering my arms and shoulders, partially buttoned to protect me from top dysphoria. 

My bottom half is completely bare, naken. My eyes covered by the blindfold, I can't see you. But I can feel you. You're sitting on the bed between my legs. On of my legs is locked by yours, so I can turn my body away, can't close my legs, can't escape. 

I know you're watching me, as I lie there naken and spread open. Vulnerable. Available. I squirm a bit, but can't get anywhere. I have nowhere to go, nothing to do, but lie there. Lie there, as you give me whatever you want to give. 

Teasing, excruciatingly light touches. You make me beg for your touch. You enjoy hearing me beg, enjoy reminding me of how helpless I am. My only job, you remind me, is to receive. To enjoy.

And I do. 

I do. 

And I'm so, so grateful. 

Thank you, my love. Thank you for your patience, for your attention, for your time, for your understanding. Thank you for your trust. For your love. And for your fingers and tongue. 

Thank you. 

Blow me

Novice went down on me, gave me oral sex, for the first time last night. They're just as amazingly skilled with their tongue as with their fingers, so sensation-wise it was a wonderful experience. Angst-wise, I was really stressed out before starting, and a broken, angstfilled, exhausted mess afterwards. 

It's weird. Lots of people have gone down on me. It usually doesn't bother me, and typically feels pleasant. Nice. I think the fact that Novice' mouth felt so incredible, actually made it more difficult for me to handle. I struggle receiving pleasure to begin with, I feel selfish. Bad. I also worry they're just doing it for my sake, worry they don't enjoy themselves etc. On top of all that comes bottom dysphoria I usually try to ignore... But it becomes almost impossible to ignore when their face is RIGHT THERE. Don't think I've ever been THAT present during oral before, and that wasn't really a pleasant experience. 

I want more, though. Their mouth felt really, really good, and it's something I want to learn how to enjoy more of. There's also lots of potential for fun switching there... Doing 69, playing a distraction game.. Or tying my wrists down, forcing me to just lie there and take it... Or tying them down and using their face as a grinding toy.. Lots of fun potential, and I want it all.

I can't just decide not to get angsty.. But I can practice, I can basically do exposure therapy, until the bad recides and the pleasure dominates the experience. I want that. I want their mouth. 

I want to make them blow me. 

Fingers and fantasy

Not even sure what I'm writing about yet, just felt like writing something. Usually, something comes out when I do, and there's obviously something on my mind, so here we go. Free association time: 

-Having rushed sex, leaving immediately after because of time. Trust, love. Comfortable. Should be dropping, but I'm not. Pleasantly surprised. Feeling guilty anyway.  

-So much time together. Worry they'll grow tired of me. Worry I'm too much. Care too much. Love too much. Want too much. Too rough, too horny, too intense.. And yet, there's that touch. There's no distance, neither emotional nor physical. Would I know, if they were just humoring me? I think so.. I hope so. 

-Feel like I've known them for years, yet we've only been together 7,5 weeks. Feel like I don't know them at all, at the same time. There's so much about their life, history, family, preferences, that are unknown yet. Stuff I would have known, if I'd really known them for years. I want that familiarity. I want them, skin and bones and dreams and trauma, all of them as they are. Is THIS too much? Am I being creepy now? Would they leave me, if they knew?

-Reminded of that Eurovision song from years ago: "A monster like me". Not my choice though. I can't choose FOR someone else. They say they want me. At some point, you just have to choose to trust. To fall. And I've fallen for them. It was impossible to do anything else. 

-Their fingers are magical. I've never been touched like that by anyone. The things they can do to my clit, I didn't think were possible. I love it, every second of it, and yet it's SO hard. (Ah, there we are. This is the topic my mind was struggling with. Here we go: ) 

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Actively receiving pleasure from someone else is almost impossible for me, because my mind keeps trying to dissociate. It's so hard to stay present, anchored in my own body, in the sensations, in the pleasure. My mind wants to escape, to hide. Yet when I do, the pleasure is a lot less intense. 

I'm getting better though, managing to stay present for longer. Letting it build more, enduring more intense touch over time. Having my clit played like that is the best possible motivation. This is good, old-fashioned conditioning; Stay present and receive pleasure. Dissociate, and the pleasure is greatly diminished. They don't even have to do anything in particular to enforce this, it happens spontaneously. 

I greatly desire to keep doing this, pushing at this fear, this block in my mind. Not just because the pleasure itself is wonderful (although it is), but because receiving pleasure for me is bottoming. Closely related to submission. I don't want to do that everyday "yes ma'am, no ma'am, may I put my collar on please ma'am" sort of submission. Not at all, not as a sub. It feels utterly pointless for me at this time (might change in the future, who knows). 

But I want the sexual submission. Because it's so difficult for me to receive pleasure, I want to be MADE to receive pleasure. Forced (consensually, obviously!). My choices removed (or at least, the illusion of choices removed), I hope will give me more freedom to just.. Be. To enjoy. 

I've been having fantasies about forced orgasms, orgasm torture, post-orgasm torture (over-stimulation), fucking machines, wands etc. for... How many years? Close to 20, I think. With bondage as an obvious part of it all.

It's not easy for others to make me cum... However, I dream about someone taking the time and energy to learn how to. To basically go "you might not cum from this, but damn if I'm not going to do everything in my power to give you pleasure.. and you won't be able to stop me.". I want someone to not stop, when I beg them to. To cuff my wrists, force my legs apart, and keep giving me pleasure... Varying in intensity and placement a bit, obviously.. Or I'll just grow numb. But keep doing it, regardless of how "too much" or "too intense" it might be for me. 

This is all a fantasy, though, which at this point isn't really possible in real life. Because it doesn't matter if my body is physically unable to escape, if my mind just dissociates and escapes that way. So what I need is practice. Practice receiving pleasure, without my mind drifting away. Practice staying present, staying in my body, feeling all the feelings. 

I have no idea if Novice will ever be able to do the things to me that I dream about. I hope there's a pleasure dom(me) in there somewhere, but I don't know for certain. What I'm pretty certain of, though, is that they don't seem to mind letting me practice.. And hot damn, those fingers!

A reaching out

Novice and I met up in their apartment for the first time on Monday the 31st of October. We're not sure when we went from "just playing" to "together", but have (a bit arbitrarily) sat the date to December 3, 2022. (I seem to recall that being the first time we had penetrative sex, but don't quote me on that.) 

Some time in December, can't remember when, I told Novice I loved them. They didn't say it back. I'm used to that inequality, Arthur was the same for years... But it still isn't pleasant. It gives ample grounds for uncertainty and anxiety to thrive.

I couldn't NOT say it, though. The love I feel inside me, is like a tidal wave. It fills me up, threatens to sweap my legs out from under me, makes me gasp for breath. I'm in love. That's how it works.

I know these first 4-6 months is the "crush phase". The time when everything is sweet and wonderful. I have no idea where we'll be in half a year, or what I'll feel for them then. Right now, it feels like I'll love them forever, but it always feels like that at first. So I don't dare trust those feelings of longevity. 

It doesn't matter, though. My feelings now are still real, still love. Strong, heady, wonderful love. I couldn't NOT express it. 

Just like with Giant, I suspected that Novice had stronger feelings for me than they were extressing with words. They practically admitted as much, in one of the last days of 2022. So I pushed a bit. Not too much, I think, but I wanted them to explore their feelings. Feel them. Name them. Not just hide from them, because of fear or trauma.

Novice is always reaching for me, touching me, holding me. Always seeking some sort of physical closeness. I love that! I especially love that I don't have to be the one nagging about it. They want as much, perhaps even more, physical touch as me. It makes me feel seen. Appreciated. Cared for. Loved. This single thing, in itself, made me suspect that they loved me as much as I loved them. 

Very late last night, Novice initiated sex. Fully, on their own, no prompting or hints from me, verbal or non-verbal. They took the initiative. It stunned me, in a very positive way. That situation just never happens to me. I think it's a sign of greater intimacy between us. More trust. More closeness. And perhaps that's what we needed, for them to trust themself. For them to trust my feelings for them. 

This morning, Novice told me that they love me too. Finally.

I'd intellectually accepted that they haven't said it before, but it's been emotionally really hard. A weight, a nagging uncertainty in the back of my mind. A self-hating voice whispering in my ear "you're nothing to them. You're too much, you feel too much, you're just going to get hurt again". 

With the word "love", they lifted that weight off me. I feel like I can breathe. Like I can relax. Like I'm safe, emotionally really safe, with them. The last of the walls I know I've held up, came crumbling down. There's no more conscious reservations on my end. I can just feel. Just be. Just love. Just be loved. 

Beloved. 

Like a hand in a well-worn glove

With Elle no longer being given almost half my week, my schedule has opened up a lot. That's benefited Novice. I practically live with them now, all the time I'm not at home. In fact, we jokingly started calling their apartment my "home" too, and while I know this is the NRE / crush / raging love hormones talking, I still enjoy it. It feels right. Surprisingly right. 

Where my relationship with Elle was a tumultuous, raging hot, explosive bonfire, my relationship with Novice is like a fireplace; The bonfire might be more exciting at first glance, and it will certainly catch your attention, but I know which one I prefer to have inside my living room...!

From the very first time I visited Novice in their apartment, we've felt... Similar. Connected. There's a strong sense of us simply fitting together, like a hand in a well worn glove. It surprised us both. This relationship feels to easy!

Novice is a geeky, bookish academic in their 30ies, only 5 years my junior. They're primarily a sub and masochist, which is something I sure enjoy, but they also seem curious about switching (at least to some degree). They feel like very familiar territory, both in terms of interests and kinks, while still bringing a lot of new things to the table. I learn something from them, or with them, every day. I love that.

This relationship feels stable. It's felt stable and predictable almost from the very beginning, in the best possible way. I sleep better now. I feel less tired, less like I'm always playing catch-up. I do better at work. I feel more motivated, less depressed. (Still pretty angsty, sure, but that too feels more managable now that my sleep schedule has improved.) 

I'm not saying there aren't issues. We're two pretty fucked up people, after all. There's a history there that can't be ignored; Trauma, and unhealthy coping-mechanisms, and bad relationships, and dysphoria, and low self-esteem, and fear. Fear of who we are, fear of the future, fear of being seen, fear of changing, fear of being vulnerable, fear of being lost, abandoned, ignored, unloved. Yet through that fear, there are veins of gold. Through that fear, there is love.

"Each time we live, we get to love again. That was the answer. It all swept over him, lives lived, mistakes made, love changing everything."  

-"The Gathering Storm", by Jordan&Sanderson, the chapter called "Veins of Gold". 

I miss

Seeing you again today was fine. More than fine. It was wonderful. Bittersweet, sure, but wonderful nonetheless...

Until your girlfriend showed up. 

I'm no longer her equal. Can no longer demand or expect your attention or be a priority when she's in the room. If this was a race (which it wasn't), she's won. I've lost. 

I've lost you. 

It was necessary. 

We agreed. 

We still agree, in fact. 

But seeing you with her made it even more real. You two have a life together now, a life I'm not a significant part of. A life I don't have. It was necessary, but fucking hell it hurts.

I miss you. I miss what I wanted us to be. 

I miss.