Miss Mako has reappeared slowly and recently asked an interesting question.
"Are you struggling with Gender Dysphoria? Do you have a Fetish? Or is it something else that draws you here? My story above is just ONE. I know everyone has their own story and reasons. And it doesn't mean at all that my story is universally shared nor does it means what was right for me - will be right for others."It's easy to feel Miss Mako's happiness in her words and her question felt like a plea that others follow her lead. Most who answered saw their consumption of TG media as a fetish. They called it a sort of game that isn't to be taken too seriously. Miss Mako didn't judge anyone that replied. She gave a cursory thank you.
Since her transition five years ago, she has slowly disappeared from the community. In her words, "since I started my transition it has shifted my desire to do TF TG material has declined since I now just live life and I've never been happier".
Is she overcompensating to the only group she knows will understand her? Is she lying to the group in an attempt to convince herself she's happy?
I hope not.
Stories like hers always make me a little melancholy. I know most of the people who responded to her are kidding themselves. All of them are transgender though perhaps not transsexual. I'm surely in the former and I know a part of me wishes I were in the later. Combine that with my bad habit of obsessing about the past and one question keeps nagging me:
'How do you answer a challenge like that?'
It's not like anyone really knows the truth about themselves. There are no absolutes in life. The truth is all of us have the characteristics of both female and male no matter what our genetics say. An extra dollop of testosterone at the right time can make someone with XX chromosomes appear to be a boy just like an XY with estrogen will seem to outsiders like any other girl.
Genetics alone don't tell the tale. Neither do hormones. Does the way a child is raised have an impact? I'm sure it does but can't be the whole cause. There are many scientific studies that have shown this.
Recently I've been obsessed reading about how hormones affect the adolescent body. Boys and girls look different in elementary school but if you grew a boy's hair long and put him in a dress few would notice. Kids have a sameness that only changes in puberty. That isn't to say there aren't differences - there are obvious differences in genitalia. This happens because boys get a large dose of testosterone in the womb at about six weeks that initiates a physical change. Boys get a second dose right after birth but it quickly fades and then get nothing for the next 10+ years of their life. Girls develop in a default state in a world without testosterone.
Only around age ten do things start to change. Girls start first, the change occurring due to production of estrogen in their ovaries. It starts for boys about two years later with the production of testosterone in their testes (which would have become ovaries without the surge of testosterone in the womb).
Because of this, it makes sense that the earliest time for a child to transition is ten years of age. That's when many young girls start down the path to a future body shape that will drive boys crazy. The problem is few ten year olds really knows their mind. The reality is few people twice that age truly understand themself. Ten year olds have the added disadvantage of living in a world where blind acceptance of their parent's word is the norm. Their brains haven't developed enough to allow the self sufficiency for a decision of that magnitude. By the time many are mentally ready to decide, nature has made permanent changes which cannot be undone.
I wonder about the people who answered Mako's question. They are all much older than the ten year olds I described above. Are they truly describing their deepest feelings? What are they thinking in the dark of night? What would their decision be if given a choice in the womb? What would their choice be if given the option at age ten? Twenty? Do they know even now? Will they feel the same in five years? At a minimum I bet many of them will always feel a desperation they hide from most people in their lives.
I've heard it once said that if your mind gets to the point where you question if you are transgender then the probability is good that you are transgender. The subject is taboo and not one that's easy to broach, even to yourself. Many people lie to themselves for years which is why there's so many intermediary steps.
Unfortunately by the time people understand themselves, they also know there isn't a cure that can give them what they really want. Their memories of life as a boy will always be lurking in the shadows but the memories will fade in time. The real issue is deeper. They want nothing more than to be a real female and they know it is impossible. At best you will be a facsimile, a close approximation.
The introduction of testosterone in the womb killed the opportunity to be a mother for MTF transexuals. The additional testosterone at puberty changes the appearance and forever brands them with masculine qualities. FTM have it easier in this regard because women, unlike men, are judged by their appearance but both types of transexuals have the burden of a chemically altered appearance that only the luckiest can overcome. This leaves an underlying fear that will forever color the lives of 'the afflicted'.
"Can I pass?"
Gender is a spectrum but the world groups its members into two groups. This means at some point every transgender person comes to a fork in the road and they must choose which path to take. It's a difficult question and almost impossible for an adult let alone a child. The answer is hard but the question is simple. Here's a simple equation that I think encapsulates the decision completely:
Regret of Change < > Regret of Not Changing
There will be regrets either way. This was determined in the womb. There are only two paths. One path will undoubtedly circle back on itself. The other will lead to a different type of regret and a pile of bills. All a person can do is decide then live life forward as best they can.
Most of my stories feel like an explosion of words with little point or meaning once I'm done. I always start with a hope of explaining the longing a little better. Every time I hope that perhaps this story can give me peace. It is my attempt to lengthen the time before I circle back to the same road's fork.
I'm here one more time. For most of my life I wasn't aware of the issue yet it's obvious in hindsight. How do you know what is best? When is the time to take action? How can you know?
This time I have given myself a challenge. Write a story in second person to describe someone living a lie. I honestly believe most of the people answering Mako have a similar story. It is not just a fetish. Here is my attempt:
Ten.
How could you ever possibly think of becoming a girl? You've grown up in a binary world. You are a smart yet shy pre-teen boy struggling to understand your place. The concept would never occur to you yet you're already aware of the differences. The other kids let you know. Is it because you're smart? Your Mom reassures you through the worst of it. Every kid has times of difficulty. Deep down you know she doesn't really understand but you appreciate the sentiment. You slowly learn to adjust. Don't think. Don't act. Let others take the lead if things seem headed down a path where the teasing might start. You learns to mimic the other boys. You learn never to trust your instincts because your inner self is always wrong. Your self-confidence takes a blow and will never really recover.
Eleven....
Twelve...
Testosterone is starting to flow but hasn't made its presence known quite yet. The girls around you have been developing for a couple of years and the boys laugh at the unfortunate early bloomers. You are intrigued at the changes going on in lives of your childhood friends though you don't understand why. Your Mom moves the family to a new school. It's an opportunity to start over but you have a hard time finding friends. You feel lost at the bigger school. Your voice is so high pitched that the choir director sits with the girls. The boys laugh. You withdraw even further.
As the oldest son of a single Mom you claim responsibility as the man of the house but feel different deep down. Afraid. Alone. Unequal. You can't tell anyone about your fears. Mom says everyone thinks they're different as a teenager. You find refuge in conformity.
You make a friend. Teresa sits next to you in choir. She doesn't appear to notice your oddness like the boys in gym class. She gives you an odd sense of peace that allows you to be yourself for sixty minutes every school day. You both find yourselves in the midst of uncontrolled laughing fits which causes the director to yell. You are careful never to allow it to go far enough to merit a detention. Your inner cloak of invisibility has gotten too adept to allow that to happen.
Thirteen...
Acne. A first sign of the changes inside and you have it bad. You grow five inches in a couple of months allowing you to briefly tower over many of your classmates, including most of the girls. You're 5'7", almost as tall as you'll ever grow but weigh half as much. You're easily under a hundred pounds, lanky and lithe, giving the appearance of much longer arms and legs than reality due to the lack of muscle.
You'd pass easily if you had long hair and a pair of boobs. With five years of estrogen no boy would ever be able to know the truth if not for that remnant between your legs. You're blissfully unaware that you're about to pass your first point of no return.
You wave to your friend Teresa on the first day of school but everything feels different. She seems to not notice you as she walks past. Teresa masked her eyes with a layer of makeup and you notice her chest had bulged a couple of inches since you parted ways for summer break. Her jeans are replaced by a short purple skirt and you can't get her image out of your mind the rest of the day. Didn't she see you? Why did you have a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach as you watched her disappear down the hall?
You know your friendship is over when you see the cheerleading outfit a few days later. Teresa is sitting with the popular kids. You watch from afar during lunch as the older boys circle her like packs of hyenas. Your Mom tells you there will be other girls. Why can't Mom understand?
A tier system separates everyone in school. Cliques form. Simple hierarchies emerge with popular kids on the top of a triangle, with the smart kids on one side and the rebels on the third. Of course that's a gross oversimplification. Every group has its leaders but you've never been comfortable in the spotlight. You find comfort in the lower strata allowing but even then a couple of friendships develop.
You were the best athlete at your old school and did ok for a while but the growth spurt made you clumsy. You had always done well in school but your mind is struggling to find focus. It builds and build until it feels you might break.
You convince Mom to let you stay home from school about once a month. You aren't sick but she rarely says no. You felt a sense of relief as you watch the schoolbus pass from an upstairs window. It doesn't take long for that feeling to disappear, replaced by a nagging sense of guilt. The inner voice calls. You ignore it the first couple of times you skip school but eventually work up the courage. You crack the door to your Mom's room. She'd kill you if she knew your mind.
The high heels hurt your feet so you try the long wig. Easy on. Easy off. You don't dare try on any clothes but the makeup table calls to you. You feel the sense of peace as you glide the various wands across your face. You like purple the best but the end result looks nothing like Teresa. You wonder what she might say if she saw you now.
Fourteen...
Things start to change. You've grown bigger but nothing compared to how you'll look in ten years. Testosterone has started its work on your bone structure but you ignore the change. Bones on girls like your friend Teresa have already stopped growing allowing them to start maturing into their final form. For boys it's a slow, gradual process that continues for another six or seven years. At this age, many boys still look like a overgrown children and you are no different. Your shoulders broaden at bit, your brow gets more a little defined, and your hips begin to lock into place. The changes are barely noticable. Later you will have countless sleepless nights wishing you could go back to this time. Once the tyranny of bone structure is created it is impossible to go back. For the future you, it's a dead giveaway on sight.
Your Mom says you are just going through a 'phase' but your future self knows better. Your school picture that year was easily your worst. The acne is so bad the gallons of Clearsil you use has no chance to work. Your face takes on the puffy look of a steroid user on a heavy cycle. Your braces are the finishing touch on a boy no girl would date. Your slender frame still weighs less than 120 pounds and isn't much help against the bigger boys on the football field.
Your Mom takes you to her dressing table, hoping to show you how to use her concealer to hide the worst of your acne. You push down the fears Mom has found out. You listen intently and you notice the surprise in her face when you ask if you can watch her get ready the next morning. You don't care. You're an apt pupil, asking lots of questions that might be dangerous but you need to know. For a week afterward you use the concealer until one of your buddies asks about powdery crap on your face. You tell him its a new type of acne medicine. You feel yourself blush as the other boys laugh.
You never use it again except on your 'days off'. Your skills improve, the concealer hiding the worst blemishes and your new learned skill blending together mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow into a believable trifecta. You find it hard to look in the mirror. The combination of wig and makeup almost makes you look normal but you laugh anyway. Your future self would pay any price to sit in that room.
A couple of your friends go to school dances but they aren't for you. You don't have any girl friends and only someone with pity in their heart would consider going with you. You know deep down there's more to it. A couple of your guy friends ask if you are gay.
You've never considered this possibility until they mentioned it. You don't attend a church but know very well that gay people went to hell. You aren't gay. You can't be gay. You didn't know anyone else at school who was gay and besides, you spent most of your lunch time watching girls like Teresa. You liked girls. It was just a phase.
You have your first thought of suicide. After getting straight A's for most of your life, your course average dropped in intermediate school and then even further in high school. For the first time in your life, you aren't on the honor roll. That seems minor in hindsight but the combination of awkward looks, dropping grades, and lack of success in sports put you into a funk that lasted most of the year.
Only the vacation days seemed to help. You ignore any other reasons for the pain. You wouldn't understand even if someone told you the truth. Your mind is closed.
You soothe your conscious with the knowledge you never seriously considered your thoughts about death. You know the people that commit suicide are damned to hell. You don't understand that you'd broken a seal. Once you've given thought to suicide, it is easy to find the darkness again and every visit gets easier. The thoughts become an ever present albatross even when things look better.
Fifteen...
You will never forget the night you watched the cabaret show on TV with a buddy. The show featured rows of naked dancing ladies and the rhythmic bouncing of their breasts caused repeated involuntary reaction between your legs. You can't take your eyes off the screen. You stay up all night talking to your friend and both lose any pretense of embarrassment. Words can't describe your intense feelings of lust. You'd both seen naked pictures before. Why did these women seem different? Or were you different?
Mom starts complaining about the number of times you take a shower. You put together your first list of girls you like best in school even if your terminal shyness means you don't even speak to half of them. Teresa goes on top even though you haven't spoken in two years. She knew your mind best.
You try not to stare but the girls are constant distraction. They look nothing like the full grown women on TV yet you find them just as stimulating. Most of them wear a lot more makeup than you've found is necessary but it does make them look older if not sluttier. School days become a delightful sort of torture. Tight jeans hurt like hell but no boy dares wear loose clothing for fear putting the loss of control on display. Prayers are said during class hoping for an end of excitement before the school bell calls for the next class.
Girls notice they can get attention if they show off their curves. Not even the teachers are immune to their charms. Tight dresses become the norm for those that can pull it off. Schoolwork is far down the list of priorities for most.
You learned through the summer rumor mill that Teresa quit the cheerleading squad but nothing prepared you for the sight during the first week of school. You don't recognize her at first, standing at the edge of school property with a couple of boys from the rebel clique. Her outfit had morphed from the pretty dresses she usually wore into skin tight leather that left little to the imagination. The low cut top showed obvious pride in her mammary development and you find it impossible to fault her for the impressive display. Dark lines of liner encase both eyes. A cigarette smolders in her right hand as the older boys circled for attention.
You find an ideal spot to watch from a distance. It's doesn't feel like stalking. You both are at the same spot every lunch. It doesn't seem possible this was your friend from a few years past. She looks so different. You start stealing a couple of your mom's cigarette's for your own 'days off''. You attempt your own hand at darker shades. The lipstick stained butts lining the ashtray gave a thrill beyond words. You try on your first bra and cover it with a nightgown.
The person staring back in the mirror doesn't look as ridiculous as you expect. You feel a growing comfort before angst forces you to look away. The slow transition to manhood had begun to take its toll. Your friends would tease you unmercifully if they ever saw this 'girl' staring back in the mirror. The few stray hairs on your lip warn of the coming peril but there was no need for a razor.
The year passed in a haze. Testosterone, tobacco, and tits. Oh my!
Sixteen...
The clouds start to lift. Your shoulders broaden a little more. Your body fills out to a more respectable 140 pounds. The acne disappears completely and you notice girls beginning to look in your direction. You start shaving once a week even though it isn't necessary. Your grades improve, you make the honor roll again. You find yourself starting on a couple of sports teams earning you a letterman's jacket. You stop smoking. People at the school learn your name. You find yourself surrounded by friends pulled from every clique.
The 'vacation days' continue.
Social opportunities expand but you don't want to date. Girls try to fix you up with their friends but you turn them down. You know something isn't quite right. The thought of going steady put you into a cold sweat.
You lie to yourself that you are holding out for Teresa even if she's running with another crowd. When the time is right, you'll be the nerdy/popular boy that professes his love for the girl from the other side of the tracks. It will be like Romeo and Juliet. She has to remember the fun you used to have when you were younger. You wait for her to break up with her loser boyfriend. You refuse to believe the whispers going around school until you see the little bump on her belly. Gone were the tight dresses and heavy makeup. Gone was the boyfriend. They were replaced by looser clothing and tear stained cheeks. You give thought of approaching your old friend but instead fall prey to pride and the judgment of others.
Has it all been a lie? Your obsession with Teresa disappears and you find yourself unable to chase anyone else. Why don't you want to date? You know you've grown to like the new found respect. You've emerged from a hellish two years and never wanted to go back to the darkness. You don't realize the darkness comes from within. You decide to throw yourself into short term goals, forsaking all distractions, including girls, until it was conquered. That will bring happiness. Your grades improve to straight A's.
The distractions partially soothe the nagging feeling you can not explain. Your secret vice of crossdressing falls away only when you get to college and probably because you don't have access to Mom's closet. You douse your pain in alcohol and the beds of nameless girls. A couple of girl friends comment on your refusal to commit but you say it's not a big deal. You are having fun. You have plans.
And since...
You often think of your 13 year old self. You wish you could talk to him. You find yourself looking at a picture of yourself from that year. You're playing summer baseball, struggling to adjust to your new found height, a skinny arm winding up to throw a runner out at first base. Would that boy ever believe the things his older self has done? Could he be convinced to take a different path? A path that might lead to a happier future?
Of course that boy would never agree. You were the man of the house after all. You had good grades. You were going to be the first in the family to graduate from college. You'd get a good job and then.... well... you really hadn't thought much past that part.
That doesn't stop your future self from dreaming. Somehow you'd get the money and somehow you'd convince Mom it was ok. Somehow the trauma of the change wouldn't affect you. Somehow your friends would accept you with no rebuke. Somehow you could convince doctors to do things that even now doctors refuse to perform on a thirteen year old. Maybe there's a wizard out there that could succeed where science would fail.
You wake up in a different world. The missing appendage doesn't bother you. You've never had much use for it though you do find it a bit annoying to sit to pee for a couple of days. Other changes move at a snail's pace but you don't mind. You're a thirteen year old girl. You're happy and aren't aware of the albatross that's been lifted from your shoulders.
You have a slight case of acne but it goes away after a couple of months. You get braces to straighten your teeth like many girls your age. You're chest starts to hurt and you watch as the two slight lumps result in an embarrassing trip with Mom to find a training bra. Your Mom teaches you to use makeup and you try to hide your embarrassment as all your male friends start acting weird. You cry when you have your first period. You know it's impossible but it's your dream. Your hair is cut short at first but it grows long, past your ears and then to your shoulders. You're all smiles during your first visit to a stylist though you make the lady promise to never cut off any length until its halfway down your back.
Your natural athleticism allows you to make the cheerleading team with your best friend Teresa. The sport is much harder than you expect but the camaraderie with the other girls fills your heart. The painted smile expected from all girls in that sport is real. You bathe in the joy from feminine bonds that you've craved for so long.
That's not the only yearning you notice. A boy asks you to a dance, an old friend from a former life. You're both older know and date for most of the next year, taking things slow as your body becomes less recognizable. Your Mom replaces the training bra a couple of times until you stop at a healthy C cup. You'd forget about them most times if not for the constant stares. Few conversations are ever had with a boy without at least one look.
You understand the desire better than most girls yet they give you no thrill. They get in the way more often than you expect and bras become an encumbrance soon after the initial thrill is gone. They're just a part of you and that thought makes you smile.
You and Teresa spend countless hours staring into mirrors. Panties. Skirts and dresses. High heels. Purses. Makeup. Lots and lots of makeup. Hundreds of choices all interacting to create potentially millions of looks. Your stylist convinces you to try life as a blonde like all the other cheerleaders but that phase only lasts six months.
You know your boyfriend is obsessed and you do your best to hide the fact the feeling is mutual. You also know its mostly chemical. The internal craving isn't all that different for girls and every date you feel yourself slipping a little further. It's only a matter of time before your willpower gives in completely. You asks Teresa to join you on a visit to the clinic. You are both put on 'The Pill'.
Junior prom is unforgettable. You and Teresa spend most of the morning at the salon before going home to put on your dresses. Yours is made of silk, long and red with two tiny straps are the only thing keeping your breasts from falling out. Your Mom helps with the makeup and you notice her tears as she finishes.
"You're gorgeous."
Your date arrives a couple minutes early and you make him wait just to show who's in control. His tux looks fantastic as he walks to the door. Mom keeps him busy while you complete your look. A look at your full length mirror shows dress's material hugging your hips then flaring out slightly to give a surprising amount of movement. It barely interferes your walk as you make your way into the living room. The look on your boyfriend's face makes it worth every penny you spent of your savings.
You leave to meet with Teresa to find her date running late. She's never had much luck finding a good guy. You give a practiced smile to your boyfriend to hide your nerves as he takes your hand. You pretend not to notice the slight layer sweat on his hand. Neither of you dares to say a word later at dinner about your after prom hotel reservations.
Your smile shines bright as they take the pictures as you enter. The proof is apparent to all that look at the nearby screen. The child is gone, neither boy nor girl. You're all woman now and that is who you have always been.
Alas...
It's just a dream.
You might have made the change at twenty when you finally had the first inklings of the truth. So much in your life felt off kilter back then. You lived in a male dorm, the contrast between the way you thought and the other guys was obvious to anyone that looked. Effeminate was the kindest word they used. You never say it out loud but deep down you know you see the world through a woman's eyes but a man's body. The lack of privacy makes crossdressing impossible - imagine what the guys would say if they knew about that? You soothe your feelings by a return to smoking. You do it in private and buy the slender brand marketed to women. It helps ease a little of the pain. The rest you drown in a mix of alcohol and the beds of other girls.
You might have tried it at twenty five. Your career was just starting to gel but decided against it as the changes testosterone had made to your body were complete. That doesn't stop you from entering a store to buy your first makeup kit which eventually leads to your very first bra, panties, and eventually, a dress. You're good looking and a women are attracted to you, with a set of broad shoulders and masculine jawline could never be mistaken for a girl. You date but always break up with in a couple months. The closet always calls and your smoking has gotten worse. You're up to 5-6 every night. You only feel like yourself when you're alone until you meet 'the one'. The first girl that interests you since Teresa. You can't get her out of your head but you decide to wait. You become best friends. You throw yourself into work hoping advancement could quiet the voice in your mind.
You wanted to try at thirty but a series of promotions and the weight of responsibility made it impossible. Your best friend invites you to dinner and tells you her boyfriend has asked her to marry him. She then tells you she visited a gypsy to ask for advice. The gypsy responds, 'That man should not be your husband. There is another.' You know there is no gypsy. It's her way of asking a question as you both have struggled to talk about your feelings for one another. You know you are in love with her but can't find the words. How do you tell someone the truth when you've hid so much for so long? Is it fair to stand in the way of someone's potential happiness for your own selfish desire? She marries him six months later. You say you'll stay in touch but that only lasts a year. You close yourself off from the world, afraid no one could understand. You'd certainly lose your job if your boss found out. Despite it all, the regret of change are still greater than the regret of not changing. You need to focus on the goal. Work is the savior.
The testosterone in the blood of all men lessens as they get older and you are no different. This allows your mind to clear and by age thirty-five the truth is certain. You can no longer run from the facts. You aren't just a cross dresser. You always were transgender. But you aren't just transgender. You want to be transexual. What once had been unthinkable now seems desirable. Thoughts born from desperation invade your dreams. A lifetime of repression overwhelms you. You'd wasted so much time. People say it's not too late but they didn't see your reflection in the mirror. A half lifetime of testosterone had ravaged your body.
How could you ever tell your family. They don't have a clue. You'd been careful to close yourself off since leaving home. They'd never hid their disdain of people like you. Why do they take such offense? Didn't they know the pain their comments caused? Would they still make them if they knew your truth?
"God doesn't make people gay."
Their comments made it clear they'd never cared to learn the difference between any of the letters LGBT. Would they take the time if someone they knew personally were a member of that group? Then again, perhaps they were right. You knew people in that group had fought a long time for acceptance but some people would never understand. You knew and you couldn't explain it. Deep down, you knew you only really understood because you'd lived it. If nothing had happened to you, you'd be one of the first to judge just like you judged Teresa back in the day.
Perhaps reading about it would suffice. Did you really need to transition? Of course you knew only full transition could bring happiness but that was only if you could pass. Passing was impossible. No one would ever see you as truly female. Besides, you didn't have enough money to do more than hormones and electrolysis. It would kill your career. Why would you want to start all over in a gender that has always struggled for equality. Was it smart to give that up?
Maybe you could write a few stories. Maybe that would help fill the hole in your soul. Why does everything feel so dark sometimes? The old albatross beckons. Pills might do it. A gun. No! Write. Read. Dress. Forget.....
You can make this work.
