Diane

 1980

 

Middle school is an awkward time for a lot of kids. In any school, there is that one girl who suddenly blossoms, becoming mesmerizingly pretty overnight as puberty kicked in. In our school, Northwood, the girl who suddenly went from Plain Jane was Diane.

Late in 6^th grade, Diane suddenly had noticeably large breasts, and better shaped legs than the girls around her, and she was suddenly pretty, too. Her breasts weren’t just noticeable. They were large. It seemed to happen overnight, but I’m sure that the reality was it was over a period of months.

The guys were evenly split on her. Half of the boys had no interest in girls yet, and the other half worshipped the ground she walked on. The girls also seemed conflicted. Many were so mad at her they could spit, and at the same time, the girls all seemed to want to be her friend.

Mind you, she couldn’t help going through the changes her body was experiencing, and I have no doubt that she was spending a lot of time experiencing negative emotions associated with what people were saying about her, and about how she was feeling, physically.

I remember one day in science class, that Diane, who was sitting at the table right behind me, was the subject of conversation. It was one of those conversations about someone that is carried on right in front of them, while pretending they’re not there, and can’t hear. The conversation was about her breasts, how stupid she looked with those big things, how she was a freak and a loser because of her body, how she felt she was better than everyone else because she had tits, how she clearly was a slut because she showed her breasts off (you know, wore the same tops every other girl in school wore), etc.

This went on for about 15 minutes, despite the presence of the teacher in the room. We were doing activities, so the teacher, rather than lecturing, was in the front of the room, at his desk. I remember feeling increasingly bad for her. Finally I couldn’t take it any more, and turned around and told them to stop it, that they were being mean. There was a shocked silence for a moment, and then some laughter, and a comment that “look, the wimp is defending the slut”. But they stopped, which shocked even me.

The kid I hung out with in middle school at that time, Mike, he asked me what my problem was. All I could come up with was that it was wrong, talking about her like that. He seemed to find that odd, to the point that by the end of that year, we were no longer talking. 

Diane seemed to appreciate it, though. For the rest of 6^th grade, I had a sort-of friend. We were in different social circles, but she would talk with me, and I always got a smile and a wave.

 

Caught

2017

 

In the barracks in California for training, I had adopted the tactic of showering late at night, by which I mean 2 in the morning, because at that time, everyone was asleep. I also showered on different floors, because it seemed less likely someone I knew would see me if they went to the bathroom.  It worked well and kept me in a position where I was relatively safe showering, as a transgender person in a barracks full of men.

I wasn't super far into transition at this point. I had shaved legs, and painted toes, though the color was very near skin tone, and hard to notice. But still, I tried to play it as safe as possible. 

This night, I was finished showering. I had heard another shower start, and thus knew another person was present. I dried off quickly, and headed out. On the way out, I passed the other person’s shower. I stopped at the sink for a moment to trim my eyebrows. Done, I took of my towel, and quickly dried off my face.

At that moment, the shower behind me opened, and the other person stepped out. I was in the act of turning to leave, and turned toward him as he stepped out. I had never seen him before. He was tall, and goodness, was he built! I noticed in a moment his powerful chest and arms, water glistening on his skin. My eyes dropped down his chest to his flat, muscular stomach, and then oh my god, to his dick, hanging between his strong legs. My gaze just kept traveling, drinking in what I was seeing. I was mesmerized. I have no idea how long I feasted on him with my eyes.

“What the F-!” the harsh voice snapped me out of it, and I realized with a horrible, sinking feeling that not only had I been checking out every beautiful inch of him with my eyes, but I had been caught doing it. He was glaring furiously at me.

He called me a sick f__k, and yelled at me to get out before he kicked my butt, and I cried out and darted out of the room. I wrapped my towel around myself as I hurried out, hearing him cursing me from the room behind me. I remember being thankful as I went down the hallway and the stairs in a mad scramble that I didn't pass anyone.  In my room, alone in the dark, I laid there in my bed and cried.

I was lucky, and I knew it. That experience could have ended very badly.

Thankfully, within a few days I was on my way home.   

The Wargame

 1994

 

I was in the Army, participating in a wargame in the New Mexico desert. The armored vehicle I commanded was undergoing mechanical issues. So my driver, and myself, were left with the vehicle while the attack continued away from us. Maintenance teams in general were overwhelmed, and I found out later our unit's maintenance team was captured. We were there, by ourselves, for a week.

The desert heat was oppressive through the day, and the nights, by contrast, were rather frigid. So, my driver and I spent the days sweltering. We quickly got smelly, and thus made sure we bathed each day. Now, my driver would simply bathe right in front of me, but I just plain couldn’t do the same. I was very uncomfortable with the idea of undressing and washing in front of him. Each morning, when it had warmed up a bit, I would take the portable shower we had, and go around to the front of the armored personnel carrier, and shower where I couldn’t be seen.

He found it a bit odd, and teased me a bit. In his southern twang he'd say "What's the matter Sergeant?". But I couldn't tell him. He'd try to be silly, pop around the side of the personnel carrier. But I always coverd my chest, and that just made him laugh harder. 

Naturally, because my life so rarely goes right the first time, when our First Sergeant and his driver stopped by after that week to replenish our food and water, where was I? Yep. Showering. 

I wish I could say that showering got easier. But unfortunately, it didn't. 

But the worst part of the experience was yet to come. My driver and I noticed one morning that a lot of tarantulas were around. Next thing we know, we were surrounded with them. Some sort of migration. The desert was black and moving. The stuff horror movies were made of. 

At least the showers stopped. We spent three days on top of our armored personnel carried, fending off spiders. 

Modeling the Pretty Panties

 (2017)

 

I have a lot of panties. I need a good number, because I wear a pair every day to work, and then a different pair in the evening. Most of them are boy shorts, because those fit me better, and they feel good in how they fit. Accordingly, they look better on me. One of these is a marbled pair, cream with raspberry swirls. They look really pretty, and I totally love how I feel in them. Have you ever owned any garment at all that you felt great just from simply putting them on? That was that pair of panties.

One day, my lovely wife was in the bedroom, freshly showered, getting ready for us to go some place. I finished showering, and toweled off. I went into the bedroom, got out some socks, and took out a pair of panties, which turned out to be those cream and raspberry swirled boy shorts.

I slipped those panties up myfreshl y shaven legs, and into place. Immediately, I just felt very pretty. I turned, and cocked a leg. I’m sure I was beaming. I turned some, modeling them for my wife, exclaiming how pretty I felt in those panties. I noticed her smiling, and her eyes were dancing, which happens when she is really happy.

“What?” I asked.

”That was just really cute” she giggled.

You know that interior feeling of warmth you can get when all is right in the world? Yeah. That.

The "Fight" in the Alley

 1981

 

It was 8^th grade, the time in life when people in my middle school were the kings and queens, running the school, as far as we were concerned. Not me, though. I was just trying to get through. Like all schools, there were some boys who spent their days trying to assert their dominance. I wasn't the most masculine student, and one day an eighth-grader named Steve decided that he was offended by me.

Steve was an eighth-grade football player. I was about 5'5" at the time, and he was nearly 6 feet tall. He was a pretty big guy, with about 80 pounds on me. He was also a karate student. Sarcastically speaking, I was overcome with joy at the prospect of fighting him. 

Steve buzzed it around school that I was gay, and had hit on him. Naturally, the other guys egged him on to kick my butt.  So on a Monday he announced that he and I were fighting on Thursday morning, 15 minutes before school started, right in front of the school. Interestingly, I had no idea for over a day that this was the case. I guess everyone thought I knew, so no one mentioned it. Imagine my shock upon hearing it!

Steve was much larger than I was, and had a reputation for being a pretty good fighter. In other words, I’d rather not have to do this. But I also knew if I didn’t show, I’d be considered a coward. As far as everyone knew, I was a boy. Being considered a coward would mean every boy in school would be looking to fight me, just to improve their own reputation. 

Wednesday, I ran into him in the hallway. My middle school, the former high school, was an old, three story tall building with a full basement that was also classrooms, and there were a huge number of stairways. You could easily go for days and not run into someone. We were supposed to meet to fight the next morning. I had no idea why I did this, but I told him I didn’t want to meet in front of the school, because we’d just get suspended. I told him I wanted to meet in an alley that was a block away from the back of the school, a half-hour before school started. He agreed. Thankfully, there were witnesses, including some of the cheerleaders. In my community, the cheerleaders had the power.

Thursday morning came, and I was there in the alley, 10 minutes early. I guess I’m an idiot. Who comes early to get their butt kicked? But hey. My dad had taught me to be early for things. I stood nervously, looking at my watch, and waited. And waited. And waited. No one showed, not even spectators. I was only a few minutes from being late for school. Finally, I went down the street to the school. As I walked in, a passing girl announced “Here comes the pussy!” Cue the laughter.

I was surprised, and told her I waited at the agreed upon spot, and Steve never showed. The kids that were laughing heard it too. I went to my locker, grabbed my books, and went to class. In the next few hours, the ridicule of me for not showing for the fight became kids telling me it was cool that I had “won” the fight. Steve, it seemed, forgot he had agreed to meet in the alley. So, he and a bunch of his closest friends waited in front of the school along with the potential spectators. So, Steve was a no-show. In middle school social rules, I had won the fight.

Steve found me in the hallway at the end of the day, and told me he wanted to fight. I told him bluntly that I’d pass. I had won, and that was that. His friends told him it was fair, and to back off, and the result of the day was that I won!

Why Do Cisgender Lesbians Reject Transgender Women So Often

Why Do Cisgender Lesbians Reject Transgender Women So Often?

This is something I hear a lot from transgender women I interact with online. These women are transgender lesbians, and it can be really hard to find cisgender lesbians who will give them the time of day. That makes me sad. 

I understand of course that people often like to be physically attracted to someone, but if we're being honest, who one is physically attracted to changes much more often than people admit. For example, someone who is wildly attracted to a tall blonde, who ends up in a relationship with a petite brunette.

Relationships go deeper than the surface. The people we're attracted to check some boxes other than just what do they look like, if there is to be a relationship. Frankly, I've seen some amazingly hot transgender women anyway! Attraction also hinges on their personality, as well as their values and norms. 

There are a lot of great people out there. It seems silly and counterproductive to just plain block off the possibility of a relationship with someone based solely on the preconceived biases we all carry. 

Let's be real. No one knows what anyone else looks like under their clothes until and unless they end up at a point where they see them without those clothes. no one knows in advance anyway what a transgender woman has in her pants. For that matter, I met a cisgender guy who had no male genitalia because of an accident. So no one ever really, truly knows. Why in the world shut off an entire group of people, many of whom are resilient, fun, and caring?

Bluntly, it comes down to prejudice. Ignorant, probably unintentional, prejudice. These folks aren't ruling out dating a transgender woman because of who they are, but rather because of who they used to be. Who among all of us walking the Earth doesn't have some pretty out there stuff in our past, that if known, might make us somehow less desirable? All of us. 

Yet, none of us should have been in that position, and should not be now, either. That was what we WERE. We're not that person anymore. we're not. No one really wants to be judged on their past. Listen to who they are. No one reading this has a perfect body. Instead, maybe folks should be more like Pastor Mark Wingfield, and just be friends with a transgender person. See what happens. You never know!

What You Didn't Know About Sex That You Didn't Know You Didn't Know

 

Usually, by the time you're in your 40s and 50s, you know a lot about sex. I was pretty educated about sex. Knew my body pretty well, and knew what to do in the bedroom. Mind you, this isn't really a topic people talk with each other about. But by the time you're in that age group, generally, you know what you're doing. 

But then there are transgender women who have transitioned. What a muddled mess! Freaking nothing feels the same. Nothing works the same. Things that used to be awesome are useless, and things you never thought of before are the things you need to do. But good luck figuring out what these things are because no one else knows either!

Add to that, every woman is different, and what works for one woman doesn't work for another. Then, there is the reality of being transgender. Some of us have different parts than others of us do. Not only might doing a certain thing not work, but it literally might not even be possible!

As if that weren't enough, there are questions about your sexuality, when you're a transgender woman. Do you like women? Do you like men? Are you gay? Lesbian? Bisexual? Asexual? Pansexual? Does it matter? If it doesn't matter, what does that mean? Emotionally, does being nude in front of a man as a transgender woman scare the heck out of you, or excite you? What about in front of a woman?

One of the biggest challenges? What works today might well not work tomorrow, because now you have a woman's body with a woman's hormones, and gosh does that body do things the same way as cis-gender women or what?!? So today, you might want a gentle touch on your nipples because it totally drives you wild. Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow you might need it to feel like someone pinched the heck out of them, or you might not want them touched at all. Who knows?

There are no manuals for this stuff. None. It's all trial and error. You feel awkward like you have never felt before. The difference between you and most folks is they get to explore over a series of years, whereas you're kind of expected to know it all asap, while unlearning all you knew before. It's being nervous. I have no idea why a person would feel nervous exploring alone in a room, but trust me, it is very possible. 

If someone else is there, what are they seeing? Do you look good or ridiculous or awesome? What are they thinking? It's a learning experience for your partner(s) too. They can be just as nervous and awkward about it as you are because this is new to them too. 

It's all kind of awful. Just being honest.

Yet, it is also one of the best experiences of your life. I have had the blessing of my wife and two women friends who encouraged me to try to just relax and take my time to figure things out. That's wise advice. Why?

Skin feels different. Touch feels different. Used to have a hairy chest? Might not now! Responses and reactions, goodness are they different! The most challenging part, and I guess it seems silly that it would be challenging, is that after transitioning the topography (in other words, the contour of your body) is a lot different. That can be startling in the middle of a private moment!

You can't stop because it's awkward. It's too important to quit on. This isn't riding a bicycle. Rather, it's trying to fly an airplane by channeling your bicycle riding experience. You have to keep learning, because if you don't, the nervousness, awkwardness, and embarrassment will overpower you, and when you fall off the bike you might never get back on. 

Harder still than overcoming everything and exploring yourself is figuring out how to explain to someone what you desire to feel and experience. Believe it or not, your vocabulary has to change too, or the way you ask for a certain touch might get you something you didn't anticipate. You have to make sure you don't ruffle feathers if your partner is a man, or hurt feelings if your partner is a woman. It's easy to do. A little understanding goes a long way. 

Don't give up. But don't just jump right back into the pool, either. Learn about yourself first. Why? Because you don't know what you don't know, yet. But learning it can be fun!