Second person

An artist named Miss Mako made independent movies in the horror/scifi genre whose subjects usually dealt with some form of transgenderism.  About two years ago, Miss Mako announced to the world he needed to take some time off because in reality, he had come to the conclusion that he was a she.  I've seen this over and over in the TG fiction world and I think it's because many trangender artists use writing, art, and movies to help them better understand themselves.  It is always a slow process that usually ends up in the same place.

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.

Metrics

Just had to do another metrics posting as I've noticed something very weird. You can find my last post on the subject of metrics here.

	Words		Reviews	Pageviews	R/PV		Reviews	Pageviews	R/PV	+/-
Fictionmania
Crossdresser Young Man	5,519		2	1,087	544		5	1,670	334	583
The Trial of Stewart	10,893		12	10,531	878		12	12,165	1,014	1,634
Bringing Back Isabell	10,732		2	9,023	4,512		2	9,854	4,927	831
A Brother's Request	1,711		13	4,062	312		13	4,608	354	546
Small Town Journey	50,845		8	4,597	575		10	5,474	547	877
Jersey Girls	11,813		4	13,066	3,267		4	15,099	3,775	2,033
Mystic Godfather	21,175		8	5,306	663		8	6,348	794	1,042

The trends I noticed before, namely the titles with the racier content gets twice as many views.  Both Jersey Girls and The Trial of Stewart were my attempt to go dark but probably my worst attempts.  Neither has gotten another review with as many views as my other five titles combined.

I consider Small Town Journey my best story and it got 2 reviews with 877 additional reads.

My second best story is Mystic Godfather and it got no reviews in 1,042 reads.

The weird part is Crossdresser as a Young Man got 3 reviews in 583 reads.  I've always considered this my worst story, more of a stream of thought than actual writing but it appears to have been good enough to get some people to leave reviews.  It is now my most reviewed story per read which honestly confounds me.  My first thought was maybe it had gotten a ton of views from being on the front page or something but it actually got the 2nd least.  Truly bizarre and I'm assuming for the moment just a weird coincidence.

Metrics Update

This is an update of my post called "metrics".  Fictionmania has very rudimentary ways to tell how a story is received so I documented the page views and reviews at that time to get an idea of success..  It is a year later and I want to see how many views I've gotten since.  My suspicion is the shorter and R rated stories will get more views.  I already know there haven't been many reviews but that wasn't unexpected.  Only new stories get reviews for some reason.

The first number under the story is last year.  The second number is today.  The third is the difference.

• Story of a Crossdresser as a Young Man (Rated G - 28.8k - 5,519 words - Crossdressing /TG) 
• 1 Review - 806 Pageviews - 806 R/PV
• 2 Reviews - 1087 Pageviews - 543 R/RV
• 281 reads

• The Trial of Stewart (Rated R - 59.6k - 10,893 words - Transformation) 
• 12 Reviews plus 1 by me - 9230 Pageviews - 769.1 R/PV
• 12 Reviews plus 1 by me - 10531 Pageviews - 877.6 R/RV
• 1301 reads

•  Bringing Back Isabell (Rated R - 58.0k - 10,732 words - Transformation)
• 2 Reviews - 8,404 Pageviews - 4,202 R/PV
• 2 Reviews - 9,023 Pageviews - 4,511 R/PV
• 619 Reads

• A Brother's Request (Rated G - 9.7k - 1,711 words - Crossdressing/TG) 
• 11 Reviews - 3646 Pageviews - 331.5 R/PV
• 13 Reviews - 4062 Pageviews - 312.4 R/PV
• 416 Reads

• Small Town Journey - (Rated R - 274.2k - 50,845 words - Crossdressing/TG)
• 8 Reviews plus 1 response by me - 3660 Pageviews - 457.5 R/PV
• 8 Reviews plus 1 response by me - 4597 Pageviews - 574.6 R/PV
• 937 Reads

• Jersey Girls - (Rated R - 41.2k - 11,813 words - Transformation) 
• 4 Reviews - 11340 Pageviews - 2835 R/PV
• 4 Reviews - 13066 pageviews - 3266 R/PV
• 1726 Reads

• Mystic Godfather - (Rated R - 113.7k - 21.175 words - Transformation)
• 6 Reviews - 3805 Pageviews - 634.2 R/PV
• 8 Reviews - 5306 Pageviews - 663.2 R/PV
• 1501 Reads

OK ... That was interesting (for me at least).

I found a few surprises as I compiled the numbers.

• Jersey Girls was the most accessed story but no one left a review.  That reinforces my belief when I posted the story that it just didn't come together very well.  I'm glad I attempted it as it was my first attempt to write something dark.  
• Why did it get so many review?
• It is one of my shorter works at 11k words
• It is R rated
• It has the Crime Punishment & Revenge tags

•  Mystic Godfather & A Brother's Request both got 2 reviews which reinforces my belief they both are two of my best works.  The ironic thing for both is how quickly I wrote the stories.  Mystic Godfather took 2 weeks of furious writing as experimented with first person writing.  I wrote A Brother's Request in one sitting to help me through a panic attack in the early morning hours a few years ago.

• Small Town Journey's reception still disappoints me because I put so much of myself into it.  It is a long work for fictionmania but the research I did while writing it helped me understand the transgender community.  I really think the length hurts is as does the exposition storytelling I used at the beginning.  If I had to do it over I might use more flashbacks to avoid so much exposition.

 Did this exercise teach me anything?  Not really but it reinforced things I already knew.  The readers of Fictionmania prefer transformation stories that are about 10,000 words long, X rated, and dark.  Anyone that has spent much time there knows that.

What makes a girl?

My last posting spoke about history and possibilities about how people in the LGBT world evolved with a focus on the brain.  My research into that discussion made me wonder what makes a girl.

A few weeks ago I heard someone make a statement about LGBT community that,

"We are all experts about LGBT as it relates to our own journey but fail to realize that every person is different."

As my inner self and outer portrayal have clashed I've investigated the subject to better understand tmy own conflict.  There are a few constants but it all comes back to one main question -- 

"What makes a girl, a girl?"

Gay vs Transgender - How did they evolve? What does it mean? Are they the same thing in different guises?

I think many transgender people first wonder if they are gay.  For instance, when was a teenageer I had no idea that there was a difference between a person identifying themselves as a gender opposite their genetics (transgender) and sexual attraction (homosexuality).  As a kid it really never dawned on me that the two weren't the same thing.  In my mind there were 3 types of relationships between people - male and female, male and male, and female and female with the last two being unnatural.  

Transgender never entered the equation.  I had heard stories about men turning themselves into women but never equated the two and never applied it to me.  In fact, I always thought the idea was funny.  Why do that if you were already a man?  It made no sense.

In some ways I'm sure part of the issue was self denial as many of my mannerisms mimicked a girl and I worked hard to hide it.  It wasn't until a series of girlfriends commented behind closed doors on my feminine nature that I finally accpeted I'd never get rid of it. Even then I wondered if I was gay and I didn't think much about my being transgender.

My concern was this ---

What if my feminine tendencies were in fact my mind trying to convince me to be a girl because that would allow me to accept the fact I was gay?   After all guys were supposed to be with girls.

I even considered going to a gay bar just to find out if they were right.  I knew somewhere deep inside my upbringing conditioned me to reject the whole notion of being gay.  Was it as simple as meeting some guys and trying being gay for a while?  Ultimately I couldn't bring myself to take that step.

As time passed, I couldn't help myself and gave into my feminine side.  As a child, I'd worn my mom's clothing when no one was at home.  As an adult, I experimented with makeup behind closed doors.  The next step is hard to explain to anyone that isn't in my shoes but the only way I can explain it is my skin felt itchy.  That doesn't even begin to explain the feeling but as I grew older and went through the ebbs and flows of shame, I felt an anxiety that I had to do more.  Finally I gave in and bought some clothing.  I actually don't remember my first time but it wasn't long until I had a wardrobe full of panty hose, bra's and underwear along with full outfits.


It felt wrong but I also knew I couldn't help myself. As I spent my first night in women's clothing I felt the tremendous anxiety fall away but I also knew it wasn't enough. As I've said in other posts, I knew I had to go further. I spent my evenings in private, dressed as a woman. All my role playing online was as a woman.  I felt the urge to go further but also knew I couldn't.  Instead I began to write and I began to research in hopes of satisfying this 'curse'.
That led me to ask a series of questions that I still struggle to answer.

What is a woman?  Why do men crossdress?  Why do TG people feel like they are a trapped in the wrong body?

 I don't know.  I can answer other questions.

Why are men gay or transgender?

This is a philosophical question as no one can really answer for anyone else.  We are what we do and what we feel.  As of this moment right-wingers believe 100% that these are learned traits which can be unlearned while science has found that hormones, genetics at least play a partial role.  I, like most people in my situation, can guarantee the fundamentalists that being LGBT isn't a conscious choice as many of us would change our minds once we see the hurdles faced by an alternative lifestyle.


Why do LGBT exist?

To answer this I turn to science.  I'm a big believer that the way modern humans act didn't pop up since we've learned to write.  In fact, I think one of our biggest hurdles is overcoming our animal nature to allow our brains to control our acts instead of instinct.  Humans are unique in that we can choose to have sex with our partners.  That decision is made in our brains so we must search the brain if we want to get answers.

One assumption I make throughout all of this is that if LGBT people exist today, then they must have existed 20,000 years ago.  Proof of this is you see commentary about it in just about every ancient text modifying people's behavior.  The Bible is a prime source and viewing it in the context of a social contract makes it easy to understand why societies prohibited homosexual or transgender relationships.  After all, they depended on families to have children to survive.  In that sense, homosexual or transgender relationships were bad for the community.

It still makes me wonder what homosexuals and transgenders were like 20,000 years ago.

Homosexuals feel the need to be with those of the same sex.
Transgenders need to appear like the other sex because their brain tells them they are the other sex..

It's not like high heels existed back then. :P

I've seen arguments that say transgenders are a modern construct because woman's clothing is a modern construct.  It's a false argument because the human brain doesn't work like that.  Transgender men wear modern women's clothing because their brains tell them in order to match their brain to their appearance they need to change their manner of dress.  It's the same reason why 'two-spirited' Sioux males on the American Plains wore women's dresses while women with the ability to hunt were allowed to dress as men.

It is not hard to 'prove' that the LGBTs of prehistory probably had it a lot better than the group does today.

Societies in prehistory tended to be small groups with alpha males leading the 'tribe'.  Do you think a male that took on the appearance of a woman was seen as a threat by the leader?  My guess is men like this would be prized and encouraged.  What about men that liked to be the recepiant of anal sex with other men?  Do you think they might be valued on a long hunt in a society without social stigma?  What about women that preferred to do the work of men?  Do you think the alpha male saw them as any kind of threat to his authority?

My guess is LGBTs were prized during prehistory.

That leads to in interesting question however -- if LGBT men were unlikely to reproduce (I'm sure women still had no choice in the matter) then how did their genetics pass into the current day.

I will try to answer that later.

How did the split occur between women and men in our genetic history?

((This is a bit long and off topic but I enjoyed looking into it and I hope you do too.  I promise there is a point at the end.))

There are two types of reproduction - sexual and asexual.  Asexual reproduction was the only method of reproduction for most of the world's history.  Life started about 4 billion years ago with single celled organisms but about 1.2 billion years ago these single cells organisms evolved the ability to have a male and female form.  In some ways the cells that did this are the true Adam and Eve as most living creatures on the Earth descend from this split.

These creatures, called eukaryotes, soon evolved into more complex creatures but it took a long time for their DNA to appear anything like like modern humans.  As these creatures branched into plants, fish, amphibians, reptiles, birds, insects and mammals, DNA used different ways to determine sex.

((Keep in made that there are outliers in everything in the next paragraphs.  After all outliers is literally what evolution does as it allows the 'fittest' variation to thrive.))

Life evolved from amphibians into reptiles and the method for determining sex in most reptiles to this day is the temperature of the eggs during a specific point in embryonic development.  When mammals evolved from reptiles about 200 million years ago, they needed a different method of determining sex as all their eggs develop at the same temperature as mammal offspring develop inside the body at a constant temperature.  As a result, mammals evolved to use XX (female) and XY (male) chromosomes to determine sex which is what tells the body when to apply hormones at various parts of natal development so that offspring develop into male and female versions.

These chromosomes are like a cookbook to bake a loaf of bread.  Hormones are like the yeast to make the bread react in a certain way.  As every cook knows ... just because you have a recipe it doesn't mean the bread will always turn out the same.  Sometimes, timing can effect the end result.

Going back to my comment earlier about direct genetics ... if genetics were the only cause of LGBT tendencies then this would have led to their extinction when they didn't reproduce at the same rate as 'normals'.  The fact that they still exist shows the answer is more complex and why many feel that like our amphibian ancestors, that timing of hormones during a specific point in gestation is the key in creating a feminine brain.

Where does gender ID originate?  Is gender learned or innate?

This is a question that science cannot answer at this point as causation isn't easy to pinpoint.  This has made it easy for many skeptics to state that being LGBT is 'all in your head'.


Put a box of toys on the ground in front of a bunch of 6 year olds and the boys will tend to play with balls and trains while girls tend to play with dolls.  Some of this is reinforced by the toys we give our children but if there weren't innate differences, the number of boys and girls demanding to play with the other genders toys would be much greater.  Either there is an inborn need to identify with your gender or the children of both sexes have variations in the way their brains work ((the answer is probably both answers are true)).

As you might imagine, this is a controversial topic as can lead to stereotyping women and reinforce societal prejudices that has caused women to end up in more menial and lower paying jobs.

Having said that, testing has shown that male brains tend to focus to the left side of the brain which is where the logic centers reside, while female brains allow for better connections between the right (artistic) and left hemispheres of the brain allowing easier communication skills.  Men's brains are about 10% bigger which can be a result of their larger size but they tend to have more gray matter (thinking matter) while women have more white matter (connective tissue).  At the risk of sounding stereotypical, men have more brains, but women have the ability to put more of their brain into use.

Scientists are still just touching the surface of understanding how our brains work but we do have studies that give us a few answers.

For instance, 90% of the people in the world use their right hand as the dominant hand.  This makes sense as men typically are left brained focused and it controls the right side of the body.  What doesn't make sense is that women are 4% more likely to be right handed than men. 

According to one study, left handed people are twice as likely to have gender identification issues than right handed people.  Is that because 'femaleness' is in the right side of the brain and these people have an easier time accessing it?  Or perhaps they have a female brain?

On a personal note, I am right handed but a few years ago my company tested all its managers to see how their brains work as an exercise to help us better understand one another.  As our primary work function was to work with numbers, most everyone was deep into the left side of their brain.  I was an outlier sitting at 48% left brained.  While most of my co-workers made fun of my outlier status (they averaged about 70% left brain), the facilitor explained that this actually increased my value to the company as I was more able to have outside the box thinking as I could use both sides of my brain.

At the time I never considered the possibility that it also allowed me to mimic a female brain.

That brings me back full circle.  Is my ability to to access the right side of my brain what causes my feminine tendencies or was I given a female brain sometime during gestation and I have fought my nature my entire life?  What came first the chicken or the egg?  Cause and effect?  Nature and nurture?  I don't know the answer.

How does sexual attraction work?










For most creatures on earth, sexual attraction is hormonal.  For most mammals this means the female releases a pheromone to let the males of their species know it is time to mate.  Males of the species have a vomeronasal organ (VNO) in their nasal cavity that detect these pheromones and when it is triggered, an uncontrollable impulse forces copulation.

About 200,000 years ago, humans evolved away from having a VNO and therefore became the only creature on the planet with the ability to choose whether or not we want to mate.  We choose our partners.

This evolutionary branch in humans would have been a disaster except our large brain allowed us to reason that having children was beneficial to our survival (and after all it wasn't like sex wasn't fun).

This evolutionary change of giving us choice in our partners also made us face something no other species in the 4 billion year history of the earth ever had to consider.  Since we weren't controlled by hormones what if somehow the brain's wiring got messed up and we were attracted to the same sex?

Certainly some of the old urges remain.  When I see a girl in a summer dress, it can send shivers up my spine as a deep unspoken need asks to be filled.  That is biology and hormones but my hormones do not control me.  Sex is a choice.

The ability to choose means that means that homosexual sex is a learned behavior but then again so is heterosexual sex.  It comes from within based on our attractions and this again is something that science cannot answer at this time.

If vaginal sex is needed for procreation then why did we evolve to make anal sex feel good?

This is a question I've wondered for a long time and something I ask Christians when they say God did not intend for humans to have anal sex.  Why do this?  Was he trying to lead 'weak-minded' people into temptation?

Again I return to evolution and while I have no proof, I believe the answer (and keep in mind I'm totally talking out of my depth) is that sometime during the evolution, males found they preferred mates that also enjoyed anal.  After all to a man, any hole is good when they want to have sex and humans were smart enough to figure out that anal sex did not cause pregnancies.

Finding a partner that liked anal meant the woman would be more likely to get a return visit.  This meant more births and over time it led to both men and women with nerve endings in the anus to make sex feel good in that area (or so I'm told).

So what does that mean?

It means simply that homosexuality is all about attraction to a physical look.  It doesn't not mean a desire for anal sex as any sex is really the goal here.  I understand this was a long route to get to this point but I make it to get to my the reason I started this post in the first place.

Gay vs Trans

Imagine you are a homosexual man who has dated another guy for 5 years but your boyfriend realizes he's really not gay, he's TG and he decides to transition. Considering that homosexuality is all about physical appearance, can the homosexual man accept the new trans-woman? In theory he couldn't.

Then again humans have the ability to choose their partner. Will he be able to look past the fact he no longer finds the trans-woman attractive? It is his choice.

Does that make him straight since he is now dating someone with the appearance of a woman?

Nope. He's a gay man that has chosen to date a trans-woman. 

Now let's flip that on it's head:

Imagine you are a transgender male who by definition has a female brain.  Keep in mind that a large majority of trans-women prefer other self identified women as their mate. 

Doesn't that have to mean that the area that develops sexual attraction is in a different area of the brain than gender?

Doesn't that prove that gender ID and attraction have little to do with one another?

I don't know the answer but one thing is clear to me.  The human ability to choose will always cloud studies into the LGBT area as there will never be a consensus and that will allow the people that discriminate ammunition for their hate.

((I know most of this ignores lesbians and trans-men but I can only speak from my own personal viewpoint))

Truth or Dare!

For most of my life I've lived in a confused sense of my identity.  Who am I?  What do I want?  What makes me happy?

I'm certainly not alone in my narcissistic attitude and I know many people say you should just suck it up and learn to live with the reality of your existence.  I've thought that Pink Floyd's song 'Time' has a lyric that states western society's attitude the best - 'Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way'.

I've always felt darkness sitting on my shoulder, a quiet desperation.  Sometimes it sits silent as I pretend to go along with the role I use to blend into society.  Other times the feeling is so powerful that nothing else seems to matter as I stare into the abyss.

The funny thing is I don't understand it.  It's pretty safe to say I'm depressed but is it something more?  Am I bipolar?  Is it another type of mental issue?  Is it simply because I don't like myself?

I once read a saying that 90% of the people you know don't care about your problems and the other 10% are glad you have them.  The saying is a bit pessimistic but I think it is true that most people see themselves as the stars of their own movie.  The rest of us are just bit players.

I've never really liked myself but I've never done much to let others accept me.  Since I was a teenager I've been a periodic smoker yet I couldn't allow myself to adopt that moniker.  It put me in a category I didn't want to accept.  For years I smoked in private, hiding it from the world.  I'm sure few people cared but I didn't want people to think less of me.  It's stupid and I know it's stupid.  Imagine how hard it is for someone like that to admit they might be transgendered.

Since I was a kid I knew I had feminine tendencies though I don't know exactly when I realized it.  I was a smart enough to know I was different.  I was pretty sure it had something to do with a the fact my dad left when I was in 2nd grade.  In time I wondered if my mother's overcompensation was at fault.  The more I've read, I've learned that doctors don't understand it.

Nature or nurture?  What is the source of our behavior?  Is it learned or is it innate?

Most studies today find a very strong correlation between genetics and gender issues and that environment has little to do with this behavior.  In my teenaged year I knew I liked women and had no attraction to men but I also knew something was blocking me from being like the other guys.  Perhaps I was just weird. Like I said earlier, I wass the star in my own movie and no one had told me any different.

I learned to hide myself and never volunteer for anything lest my dark secret be found.

One thing that has never made sense to me is why these feelings even exist.  I'm a big believer that anything that happens in today's world happened to our predecessors 1,000, 10,000 or 100,000 years ago.  Gender issues really makes no sense how they developed over time.  Did ancient gender dysphoric men take secondary roles in the tribe?  Wouldn't that mean they were less likely to be the alpha male and less likely to mate?

That only leaves one option in my mind - either the genetics for dysphoria is passed from the mother's genes or something happens in the mother's womb during gestation.  Otherwise it seems likely dysphoria (and homosexuality) would have disappeared from the genetic record.

In time I know I blamed my mom for my problem. 

During my teenaged years if someone told me they were a woman trapped inside a man's body I would have laughed at them.  Like most teenagers I didn't take anything too seriously but I did that mostly to hide my fears.  I was scared of the changes in my body.  I wanted to let my hair grow but my parents wouldn't allow it.  I ran like a girl.  I preferred pinks and soft colors. 

Another issue is I struggled to know how to act around girls.  It was fine with other guys as I could copy them but behind closed doors with girls it felt more like a sleepover than anything else.  Every girl I dated said the same thing - 'you act more like one of my girlfriends than a boyfriend'.  I kept searching to find a girl that might understand me.  My dating life followed a pattern - meet a girl that liked me because I was good looking, talk for a while, decide to go out, date, have sex a few times, grow bored, break up.  They wanted something from me I didn't have and couldn't understand.  After 5 or 6 real attempts with the same pattern I pretty much gave up.  When I gained weight after college I didn't even try anymore.  Girls weren't knocking on the door to go out so I became a recluse and continued to put on weight.

I didn't understand my feelings.  I tried to ignore them as I knew I couldn't tell a soul.  There wasn't anyone out there like me.  I was alone.  I was a damaged. 

Many times in my life I've considered therapy.  I know it would help but just going to therapy gives a social stigma and I didn't want to deal with it.  The last thing I needed was someone in the HR department to let one of my bosses know which would cause them to get nervous and fire me.

The story I wrote a few days ago was a thinly veiled story of my life.  I actually took the trip through the park wearing breast forms and it was an amazing experience.  I got surprised by two hikers who certainly noticed them and practically ran from a guy who looked like a redneck homophobe.  Most of everything that took place happened in my mind as I barely said a word to anyone over the six hours I spent on the trail.

My favorite part was as it started to get dark.  I knew no one would be around and I wore my sports bra without breast forms.  The sun had gone down over the mountains and it felt cold in the shade but I felt a warmth I couldn't explain.

Before this week, I'd never worn women's clothing in public.  Honestly I usually wear baggy drab colored clothing so I don't stand out.  I rarely look in the mirror because I can't stand the sight of myself and it has only gotten worse as I've gotten older.  I've had body issues long before I gained weight.  I was thin before I got out of college and downright skeleton 130 lbs during my sophomore year of high school.  I've always  hated to swim because I would never be caught without my shirt.  The thought of baring my shoulders was a foreign concept.  Imagine my surprise at the smile that wouldn't leave as I trekked alone for two miles wearing only a bra.

I did go out to dinner with my dad that night but it wasn't anything like the story.  The only part that was true was a guy made a comment that I couldn't be his son because I was so much bigger.  My dad is an inch shorter with a slighter frame but with a gut that falls over his belt.  If I had to guess I'd say he weighs about 180 lbs.  I'm about 5'10" with a disappearing gut but I'm over 200 lbs. with much broader shoulders.  The fat on my body is more equally distributed on a bigger frame and I have more muscle which is what gives me the larger appearance.

That little comment took away all the positive I felt from the day.

It reinforced the thought that I'm too big to transition.  I doubt I will ever pass and frankly I'd need to pass as my past history tells me I don't have the inner strength to deal with the haters.  It got me to think about all sorts of crazy thoughts.  What if I bought hormones and did it in secret to see if I looked ok?  So many people I've read say they change things more than you can imagine.  Perhaps I don't have enough imagination.

Perhaps I can take enough so it would allow me to live a double life of crossdressing.  I could pass when I wanted but deep down I know that wouldn't be enough.

I went hiking a few more times after I wrote the story the last week.  One day it was a bit cold and I wore a slight jacket with my bra and breastforms underneath.  I developed a trick which was to use the chest strap on my backpack to bind my 'boobs' to hide them if anyone saw me but I had to be careful as I didn't want to damage them.  That trick gave me the confidence to walk without much fear though I doubt it hid much.  I kept them on for most of the journey the next day and I even passed a few people wearing them bound to my chest.  It felt amazing.  A pretty girl biker passed and I'm sure she noticed as she turned around and rode back to me in a way that wouldn't make sense otherwise.  She smiled as she passed and I said 'hi' in my most feminine sounding voice but I couldn't help but wonder.  'Does she like me?'  'Does she like crossdressers?'  I know it was unlikely but it's situations like that where I know I'm definitely attracted to girls as that has never happened with a guy. 

Walking that full day felt so good I did it again a few days later.  The temperature had jumped so much that wearing a jacket wold be silly but I did it anyway.  I needed my safety net.  The trails were packed all day.  The first couple surprised me and as I wasn't prepared I'm sure the woman saw everything.  I gave a shy wave and hurried off.  I hadn't even gotten to the halfway point when I'd passed three other groups then saw a group of twenty people sitting at the turnabout.  With so many people I found a place to change.  I couldn't take it.

Here's the silly part.  With all the weight I've gained over the years I've accumulated enough fat on my chest to almost fill an A cup.  While I've lost easily 80 lbs in the last few years I still haven't gotten rid of my 'moobs'.  The weight loss had made my most comfortable sports bra loose enough that I worried my breast forms would fall out.  Instead I used a smaller sized bra that I usually used without breast forms.  They worked well with breast forms but what I hadn't counted on was how it would push my looser skin in a way that created two noticeable bumps on my chest.. 

I didn't notice myself until much later.  The sight of my own chest sticking out from the tight fitting jacket made me laugh.  I doubt many would notice but the thought of going on hormones to make them bigger made me happy but it wasn't just that.  All I really want is enough change to the fat distribution in my body so someone wouldn't notice 'man in a dress' immediately.  I knew I'd definitely live as a woman if I could too but I'd give anything just for that small victory.

My legs felt wiped from three long hikes in five days and I knew the last part would take a lot longer than normal so I decided to enjoy it.  Few people travel this part of the trail so I decided to go full bore.  No jacket.  Just a bra with breast forms.

The day had cooled some but it still felt good to take off the jacket.  I tied my coat around my waist and began to walk.  Three miles until civilization.  I kept a wary eye in case someone decided to go this route which took away some of the fun but a slight brush of my chest sent a shiver down my spine.  I looked at myself from the outside.  Yes I looked like a man in my face but a woman below the neck line.  I didn't have the classic curves of a Marilyn Monroe or or the long runway legs of a Gisele but I looked like a woman nonetheless.  Wearing just cargo pants, a backpack, and a sports bra with oversized breasts I realized I looked like bigger version of Lara Croft (a video game / movie character if you aren't aware).  The idea made me laugh.

The sports bra felt entirely natural.  I'd had body issues my whole life and never liked showing my shoulders or stomach but was it possible that all these years I'd secretly felt ashamed of my underdeveloped chest?  I felt embolded with every step.  That had to be it.  It made sense.  My body issues in that area hadn't really occurred until 6th grade which is about the time most girls start to develop.  Was it possible?  I knew only a therapist could help me answer that question but I couldn't do that yet.

I did know I felt comfortable in my skin for the first time in a long time.  I was making good progress losing weight and the continual depression of the past had turned into ups and downs. 

My hike was almost halfway to the spot where I knew I'd have to change when I saw two people in the distance.  My disappointment hit me like a truck.  I'm not sure if they saw me but I think they did as they turned around.  I couldn't see them clearly because I didn't have my glasses but I could tell by their voices it was two women (if only!).

I looked at my chest to see the two large protrusions.  Even if the women didn't notice my large chest I'm sure they saw my bra as my bare stomach and shoulders were hard to miss.  I stopped, put the breastforms in my backpack, and put on the jacket with the zipper undone so I could still see the bra.

The bra still appeared to hold the boobs of a 12 year old girl as it pulled everything together.  I decided I had to catch the two women to let them see me up close.  I still have no idea why I wanted to do this.

I'm sure I scared them a little like the bodybuilder had done to me the previous week but I couldn't worry about it.  They stopped when I got within about 20 yards.

One lady asked, "Where are you coming from?"
I didn't bother to disguise my voice.  I know it's not ready anyway.  "I did the full circuit."
"Nice."
"Do you live around here?"
"In the housing development up the road."
"That's a nice area."

They made it obvious they were done talking so I said, "See you around."
They answered, "See you around."

I kept going up the trail.  I have no idea what they thought about the guy wearing a sports bra but their gaze didn't even move from my eyes as we spoke.  I'm sure it would have been different if it were two men but I know I couldn't have spoke with two men wearing a sports bra.  The only reason I think I did it was to feel like part of the sisterhood but these two weren't ready to accept me.  Not yet anyway.

As I finished my walk I thought about my progress and it made me think of the game truth or dare.

Do I want to be happy? Truth.
Am I transgendered? Truth.
Have I done everything I can to live with myself without making a change?  Truth.
Would I want to live as a woman despite all the negatives? Truth.
Does the pain hurt so much that I'm willing to risk losing friends and family?  Truth
Do I want to try hormones? Truth.


Do I want to transition?  Dare.

Would it be so bad if I could finally find some happiness?

 Two years ago when I started I weighed 308 lbs.  I haven't weighed myself for fear of disappointing myself or giving myself a reason to slack off.  I just keep working out and hoping my pants sizes will continue to go down.  I started at a 48 sized waist and I'm almost at a 38.  My goal is a 32 before I weigh myself.  That was my waist size in college.  If I can get my weight to my high school weight of 165 I'm going to look into transitioning.  A therapist can help me figure everything out and if they agree I've got GID then that's a good weight to start transitioning.  Hormones will move fat around as I take more weight off as my muscles start to atrophy without testosterone.  I just need to stick to a good workout plan and a healthy diet.  Will it take six months?  A year? 

I know it's going to take a lot of work but everyone needs a goal.  In the meantime, if you see a man wearing a pair of breast forms walking in a park make sure you say hi.  She needs all the encouragement she can get.

A walk in the park

I tied my shoes and hid the secret cargo in my backpack then locked the door behind me.  I could see the entrance to the park in the distance as I started my hike.  Memories of a lifetime filled my thoughts.

****

I remembered many of the adults in my extended family commenting in my youth that I was '14 years old going on 40'.  I had thought as a compliment at the time because I was an overachiever but looking back it was probably due to my anxious nature that I thought I hid from the world.

I suppose most kids feel they are different from everyone around them and they learn over time to hide themselves by conforming to the social norms.  I worked hard to fit in despite the overwhelming feeling I was different.  I think I succeeded for the most part.

I wasn't ever one of the popular kids but I know I wasn’t unpopular either.  I was in that second group of kids that most people ignore.  My grades were good.  I did well in sports.  I had good group of similar minded friends.  I was too shy to ask out a girl.

Reviewing my yearbooks, I saw a good-looking kid but knew that didn't matter, as my confidence could not have been lower.  I didn't feel comfortable in my skin.  Most girls saw me as an odd, stuck up kid that did well in sports. I thought hard work would improve things but the harder I worked the worse I felt.

My first cross dressing experience happened when I was 10 years old.  I felt an urge I didn't understand.  I lied to Mom that I wasn't feeling well and she let me stay home.  After waiting a few hours to make sure I was alone I snuck into her room and spent the morning wearing one of her wigs, a bra, and high heels.  It felt like a farce but over the next few years, it grew to include my first attempts at makeup and smoking her cigarettes.

I knew something was wrong with me but I couldn't explain it and I know I couldn't tell a soul.  I thought I might be gay but I also knew I wasn't attracted to people.  It didn't make any sense.   The difference between gender ID and sexual attraction were foreign concepts.  I had no idea what a transsexual was though I'm sure I would have laughed at the idea if someone explained it to me.

I relived those teenaged years a lot in my mind.  I wished there was a way to go back.


I'm sure most people relive the confusion of their teenaged years as that time in a large part forms the adults we become. The hardworking, reclusive teenager I was became a hardworking, reclusive adult.  Make that an increasingly unhappy adult.

I started writing to sort out my feelings. Fast forward a few more years and I have a closet filled with women's outfits and a suitcase full of makeup and assorted appliances.  I spent entire weeks living alone completely en femme.  I was happy but I felt trapped.  Everything felt superficial but I knew I couldn't take my obsession further.  I couldn't transition.  The insecure child inside wouldn't allow it.

TG stories helped me cope but like a sort of drug, it didn't take long until needed something stronger.  I moved on to YouTube videos of MtF transitions.  My tears fell as I watched men transform themselves into women.  Could I do that?  Would I be able to pass?  I studied medical literature.  I read firsthand accounts.

I knew I was transgender.  That was true the first time I put on my mom's high heels.  It took well over a decade for me to accept that fact but that didn't make acceptance any less of a hurdle.  I had a gender identity problem.  Was my GID a big enough issue to outweigh the negatives?

****

I made good time as I crossed into the park, my legs felt strong.  This would be a long hike.  Hiking alone through the wilderness would allow me the freedom to do something I needed to do but only could recently understand.

****


One thing I've always hated is people that say stupid things like 'gays just need to find the right person' or that 'they can change with the right therapy'.  A gay friend in college reinforced this belief when he explained through tear-filled eyes that he'd give anything to change his sexual orientation.  Would anyone voluntarily choose that lifestyle?  Would anyone really want that kind of grief?

I was so far into the closet at the time that I felt joy knowing it was his problem and not mine.  If only that statement were true.  At least gays feel comfortable in their own skin.  At least gays didn’t have to change their appearance.  They could blend into society with no one the wiser if they wanted.

The more I studied GID the more I knew the idea fit like a glove.  I could hide it from the world but I couldn't hide it from myself.  None of the literature can explain exactly why it happens - genetics?, hormones during pregnancy?, upbringing?, a combination of all three?  No one knew.  I just knew that parts of my brain were more comfortable being female than male and there was nothing I could do to change it.

Could I live with the consequences?  Could I transition? My desire depended on the day.

There are many obstacles to transitioning.  The older you get the less effective the drugs and I wasn't a teenager any more.  My hairline had already moved a little which would only get worse with time.  My face wasn't overly masculine with a male nose and a head much larger than you'd find on a female.  I had short legs with a long torso which is exactly opposite as you'd find on a girl.  I had broad shoulders and muscular legs.

Was I trying to talk myself out of transitioning?  Plastic surgery could fix most of those issues.  The biggest hurdle was the weight I’d gained while I hid from the world.

For most of my youth, I was skinny.  As a 3-season athlete, I kept the pounds off.  I remembered weighing about 150 lbs by the time I graduated high school.  Transitioning then would have been easy but after college, my depression deepened and I spent night after night at home.  Poor eating habits and an agoraphobic-like fear of being outside piled on the weight.  I weighed over 300 lbs. when I put real plans together for a suicide attempt.  As a last ditch effort I called a therapist who saved my life.  We put together a life plan and the first step was to get my weight under control.

I changed my diet and I started working out.  My mood swings made progress slow but after two years, the 200 lbs barrier was in sight.  I had a long way to go but my progress gave me confidence to try some things I never could have considered as a kid.

****

My plan for the hike was bolder than usual.  It had gotten a lot colder so I wore my favorite sports bra under a t-shirt and a sweatshirt.  My breast forms lay hidden in my backpack.

I didn't see a soul the first hour of the hike, which gave my plan confidence.  The trails wove through hilly terrain growing ever more secluded until you reached to the other side of the park.  Many people hiked around the edges but few hiked the interior.  I wanted to hike in girl mode and after not seeing anyone for so long I popped my breast forms in much earlier than I planned.  Feeling the weight on my chest felt great and I smiled at my own genius.

My legs felt great and I kept a fast pace which meant I the further I went, the hotter I got.  My sweatshirt went into my backpack leaving only a thin t-shirt which bulged outward from the the B cup breast forms hiding inside the sports bra.  I loved every minute of it.

Was I secretly hoping someone would see me?  I was pushing the boundaries of safety and I think a small part of me enjoyed the fear.  That didn't stop me from breathing a sigh of relief as I turned towards a long secluded trail that few people traversed.  I looked forward to the solitude even though I knew every step took me closer to a turnabout where many people hiking from a local hotel used as a turnabout for an easy 2-mile hike.

****

"Can you help me?"
The man's words brought me out of the dream state where minds go when they aren't paying attention to the task.  I'd gone less than a 1/10 mile into the 'secluded area'.  Thoughts raced through my head as my mind raced.

I half-ignored the man as I walked past as I considered how to answer when I saw a woman 50 yards up the trail.  Having no choice I continued to walk towards the woman while addressing the man over my shoulder.  Two days of beard growth betrayed me as male despite the large bulges on my chest.

The man asked in an almost pleading voice, "Do you know the way back to the hotel?  Can I get there from the direction you came?"

As I'd travelled every part of the park during my hikes, I knew the answer.  I had to help.

"You are good.  Just go straight when you get to the next crossroad.  It will wind around but eventually will take you back to the hotel."

The man had stopped walking as I responded and a passed the woman as quick as I could, trying to hide my chest while trying to hide side boob profile from either of them.  The woman didn't seem satisfied by my quick response and she followed me the way she had come forcing me to stop for fear of 'outing' myself by continuing to act so odd.  I hadn't noticed either of them looking at my chest but frankly, they didn't have to.  My chest stuck out so prominently it made the name of the sports team on my t-shirt easy to read.  The woman stopped a few feet behind me and I pointed to a far away trail.

"See that trail that runs along the hill over there?"

I was thankful when they did as I asked.  At least they weren't looking at me.

"That's your destination.  It will go around to the other side of that hill then head north to the hotel.  I will be coming around from the other direction on my own hike and will make sure to look for you."

My answer seemed to satisfy the woman who stood two feet in front of me.  All it would take is a look down but her gaze never left my eyes.

"Thanks for your help."  I watched the two turn and head into the distance.

****

I race walked for a bit gain some distance in case they doubled back then doubled over in laughter at thought of what had just happened.  I had no doubt I'd been 'clocked'.  Five years before I would have been mortified at something like this but for some reason it didn't bother me.  I consoled myself with the thought I'd never see them again after this day.

I did worry that in my haste that I might have given bad directions.  Did I tell them to go straight at the crossroad?  Panic set in that I might have put them in danger.  Deep down I knew I should have told them to turn around, as it was easy to get lost in the park.  There were many crossroads and none of them had maps.

Guilt made me quicken my pace.  Was it so wrong that I wanted to spend the afternoon wearing my breast forms while I hiked?  I had to get to the hotel.  The sooner I got there the sooner I could meet them coming up the trail to the south but the thought of the hotel created another issue.

The hotel had a popular 2-mile turnabout, which is where the two people I'd already met came from.  Few were adventurous enough as them to do a 6-mile hike into the wilderness without a map but I knew the turnabout was sure to have people in it.  I pushed the thought from my mind for the moment as I enjoyed the wilderness surrounding me.  For the next mile, it was just me, the bounce on my chest, and a smile that wouldn't stop.

I wished it could have lasted forever but I saw the building that marked the turnabout far sooner than I wanted.  I thought about taking off the breast forms but wanted to savor every moment and since it appeared no one was in the building, I decided to enter to change inside.

I didn't see the man until I was two steps from the door.  He sat nonchalant in the window ledge, taking in the sights and I'm sure he saw me.  I tried to play it off by walking around the outside of the building to make him assume that I had meant to stay on trail.  He remembered a spot nearby where he could change without anyone seeing.  Every step took me closer to another group walking up the trail. 

What I hadn't counted on was the man inside the shelter exiting to follow me 10 seconds after I passed.  Had he seen me?  Did he want to walk with me?  Had he exited because he saw my 'breasts' and assumed I was a girl?

Panic set in but not in the way I expected.  Everything felt surreal.  I felt like a girl.  The guy following me was about 6'2" tall, looked to be about 22 years old, well tanned, and since he wasn't wearing a shirt I could see a muscled body that showed he worked with free weights about every day.

If you looked up the stereotypical picture of assholes that beat up gays or transsexuals, you'd see a picture of this guy.  I knew the characterization probably wasn't fair but I also knew I didn't want to take a chance.  My hand felt in my pocket for the knife I always carry whenever I hike.  I had to figure a way out of this mess of my own making.  I increased my speed in hopes of putting some distance between us but I'd already put in well over five miles of hilly terrain at a fast clip and this guy had only done a mile and had a nice rest.

Somehow, I slowly pulled away.  I'd always heard the term 'fight or flight' and it wasn't until that moment I understood how amazing the rush of adrenaline can help a person do things they could never do otherwise.  I surged ahead to a good lead but when I saw the hairpin turn a quarter mile ahead I knew I had no choice but to make eye contact.  We'd have to acknowledge one another.  My mind imagined the conversation going something like:

"Do you mind if I walk with you?"
"Ummm... sure."
"Nice tits."
"Thanks."

That was the most positive outcome of the dozens of alternative spinning in my head.

Desperation set in as the turn got closer.  I shoved one hand down my bra and pulled out a breast form.  It's only a B cup and not that big so I could easily hold it with one hand despite the slight coating of sweat that covered it.  I prayed it wouldn't slip as I shoved my other hand in my bra to grab the other one.

Now I was walking down the trail with a breast form in each hand walking in such a way so the guy behind couldn't see my hands as I realized I had no place to put them.  I thought for a second about putting them down my pants but I knew they'd only stay there for a short while before falling to the ground.  This would have been mortifying but also might have damaged the forms.  I knew my pants pockets were too small, which left one option - my backpack.

Putting both slippery breast forms in one hand, I loosened the backpack and pulled it around my body to access the inner compartments.  I stuffed the forms inside then pulled out my package of sunflower seeds to show I opened my backpack for a reason.

The whole process lasted thirty seconds but it felt like thirty minutes.  As I replayed the events in my head, I couldn't believe what I'd done.  Somehow, I'd shielded a guy twenty yards behind from seeing me take off a pair of breast forms with one hand and put them into a pack with the other while my backpack was still attached and did it without breaking my stride.

At least that's what I told myself.  For all I knew, the reason he'd lost ground was that he was trying too hard not to laugh.

For the next two miles, I walked as fast as I could to increase my lead as I really didn't want to talk to the guy but adrenaline only lasts so long.  He was no more than 15 yards behind the entire way until we got to a large hill that led to the hotel.  By the time I got to the top, I couldn't see him.

****

I met the man and the woman just as they were leaving the trail and headed for the hotel.  I waved and the woman ran over seeming happy to see me.

I said, "I see you guys made it.  I was worried my directions would get you lost."
"Nope.  Thanks for the help."
"No problem."
"See Bob!  I told you he had a State shirt.  Did you go there?"
"Nah.  I just like the shirt."
"I see.  Well thanks for the directions."

All I that short conversation proved was I'd been 'clocked' as a cross dresser.  The fact my boobs disappeared in between our two conversations had no other explanation.  The woman had certainly noticed the name of the college the first time we met which meant she noticed the breast forms.  Bob had probably only seen my breasts without reading the shirt.  That would be just like a man.

The whole situation made me laugh and I couldn't shake my happiness that grew with every step.  As I headed back into the park I smiled as I’d already been caught cross-dressing in public at least once and everything turned out ok.  This time of day, it would be unlikely to see anyone on the trail.  By the look of the sun, I knew I might not make it home before dark but I was having so much fun I decided to take the long trail that none but the foolhardy would take at this hour.

Feeling as if I'd left civilization behind, I took off my shirt leaving only the bra exposed to the wind.

At this point, my legs felt wiped but I didn't care, as mountains were no match for me on this day.  The sun fell further in the sky but I knew if I didn't make it in time, my headlamp would show me the way. I had to savor this.  It felt so good.  It felt right.

The night air felt cold on my skin as I made my way through the park.  I barely noticed it.  The stars shone down as I hit the final stretch of trail.  I didn't want to cover up but I could saw the housing development ahead.  The last thing I needed was my neighbors seeing me hiking in only a bra.  I pulled on the sweatshirt.  I'd taken enough chances on this day.

****

As I walked the final stretch to my house, Dad called on the cell phone.

"What's up?"
"You busy for dinner?"
"Nope but can you give me time for a shower?  I just got back from a long hike."
"Can you meet me at CJs in an hour?"
"Sounds good."

The crowd looked sparse as I entered.  I saw Dad seated in his favorite booth in the corner.  Most of the rest of the crowd had disappeared as its clientele preferred to eat early.

As we waited for our orders dad asked, "Anything exciting happen today?"
"I helped a couple that got lost in the park."
"Hikers from the hotel?"
"Yep."
"One of those days someone is going to get hurt out there."

I nodded at Dad.  We'd never been close but as I considered my future, I'd reached out to him knowing that perhaps soon our relationship would be lost forever.  Our small talk meandered about meaningless things but I was glad for the company.

What he'd think if he'd seen me in the sports bra?  His stance on gay marriage made me think his reaction probably wouldn't be good, that much was certain.

I smiled politely as he gave me a shot for shot recap of his golf match he'd played earlier in the day.

I thought back on my own day and recapped it in my head.

Meeting the woman and man wasn't nearly as bad as I feared even though the woman certainly had pegged me as a cross dresser.  Would everyone be that nice?  Was it actual relief I felt when I realized she knew and it didn't matter?  Was it possible my Dad might feel the same if I told him?

The well-built man who'd given me a scare gave me a taste of something else altogether.  Was it fear?  Probably.  I'd lived my life in a man's skin with all the privilege that came to those of that gender.  Women had to be careful and trans-women doubly so.  Testosterone blockers and estrogen would sap my strength making me an easy target.  Could I live with that?  How would I feel living in fear?  Attempting to hike alone in the park would be stupid as a trans-woman.  Once I started hormone replacement, I would never be able to hide the truth as I'd done that day with the breast forms.  There'd be no turning back once the changes took hold.  Could I live with that?

Someone approached dad's table and began to speak but I ignored them until I noticed him pointing at me.

"Who's this?"
"My son."

I shook the man's hand.

"I'm Larry.  I golf with your dad every Tuesday."
"Nice to meet you Larry."

I didn't want to engage in small talk.  My head was still swimming from the events earlier in the day.  What did it all mean?  How did I feel?

Larry said, "He's a big one."
Dad beamed as he responded, "My son played three years on the high school football team as varsity cornerback and made all distract on the track team."

Is that how dad saw me?  Could he live with something else?

"Are you sure he's your son?"

I didn't respond as the two men entered into series of good-natured jabs you find between guys at any sporting event.  Would hormones be able to change me enough?  I'd always been big.  I knew I loved the feeling as I walked alone through the park wearing only a bra.  I knew I was a lucky that no one saw me but every fiber of my being knew that my genetics didn't match my gender.  Why did I have to be so different?  It wasn't fair.

Larry's comment hit home as it held my biggest worry.

'My he's a big one.'

Hormones could only do so much.  If I did transition, could I live with the ramifications?  What would I do if everyone around knew I was transsexual at a glance.  Could I live with it?  It felt good hearing dad's pride as he relived my glory days.  Would dad be comfortable introducing me as his daughter?  Would we even have a relationship?

The server started to place the bill on the table but dad passed a twenty and told her to keep the change.  He always insisted he pay.  Was there guilt for his lack of attention when I was a child?  Perhaps.  We walked out the door together.

"Thanks for dinner dad."
"It was good seeing you son."

I watched dad's taillights disappear into the distance before pulling out of the parking lot.  Was I ready to make a decision about hormones?  I'd already found a TG friendly therapist who'd already approved them. Was I ready?  Perhaps tomorrow I'd take another walk in the park to clear my mind.