A friend of mine recently gave me an issue of Transformations Magazine, a porn mag focusing on..... well that's what unsettles me. I can't figure out if it's supposed to be a magazine for Transgendered people, porn shemales, or a showcase for really ugly crossdressers.
The "woman" who publishes it is a lifelong crossdresser in his sixties. He seems hellbent and determined on blurring the line between men in women's clothing and women born male. This is a very big red flag for me given my recent and ever growing frustration with Crossdressers.
Now I'll play nice enough to use their word, and not refer to them as transvestites. Being an intersexed woman who loathes the words "hermaphrodite" and "shemale", I can fully understand a Crossdresser not wanting to be called a word that brings to mind an image of an ugly man in lipstick selling his ass for money, as I'm told by many CD's.
And I try, oh my fucking god how I try, to be non-judgmental and accepting of differences, and to a point I succeed. I accept a crossdresser's right to wear whatever the hell he likes, and do as ever he wants while dolled up, so long as no one is harmed in the process.
(For the record, my definition of "harmed" involves serious bodily injury resulting in irreversible damage or scarring or death, not offended sensibilities disgusted by a man in panties and having a puritan hissy fit.)
But in thelast few years, Crossdressers have been slowly trying to wedge themselves under the transgender umbrella and that's where I draw the line. I even hear Crossdressers claiming dressing is no more a choice for them than being gay is to a gay man or being a woman is for girls like me.
Bullshit.
Crossdressing is a fetish. It is a taboo engaged in by horny men with emasculation fantasies who get off on the sauciness of breaking a taboo of society.
Crossdressers almost universally dress only at home or at special parties. And very few of them can be bothered to do their damnedest to pass as a normal female. Most crossdressers dress slutty for the extra thrill. The feel of women's clothing on their skin gets them off.
And those clothes area goddamn choice. It's their choice, more power to them if it makes them happy, but it's still a goddamn choice. They choose to dress up. They still go to work dressed like any other man, and their biggest fear is their wife and co-workers finding out and calling them a pervert.
Crossdressers are not in any way transgendered. They still identify as men. They don't dress full-time 24/7. And dressing makes them horny.
Anyone who does dress full time and wants to be called a she isn't a Crossdresser. And therein lies the problem.
Non-Op Transsexuals are being used to blur the line between men in dresses and women with penii. Transsexuals who go the full route to surgery have a bad habit of thinking any woman who decides she doesn't need surgery to be happy isn't a real transsexual, let alone a woman.
This attitude is no better than the pseudo-feminist hate mongering against transwomen under the "women born women" dogma we fight so much of late, like in the current local (Vancouver BC Canada) case of Lu's Pharmacy. Google it.
Wannabe feminists who really don't have the first clue what real feminism means, tell trans women we don't count and never will because we weren't born women.
And then those same transwomen turn around and tell non-op transsexuals "You're not getting the operation? Well sorry but you're not really a transwoman then."
And THIS is what has given Crossdressers the foot in the door to do more damage to our fight for simple acknowledgment than any cissexual woman privilege does.
Non-op transsexuals get told they don't count by a group already being told they don't count. We tell them they're just Crossdressers. The ACTUAL crossdressers in turn then latch onto them. You're just like us they say. And we're just like you.
And that's how Crossdressers have gotten themselves underneath the transgender umbrella, making it that much harder for us women to get our equal acknowledgment. A hateful place like Lu's Pharmacy, when arguing their exclusion of transwomen for example, can just point at the men in lingerie and say "See? That's a man in a dress, now you have to prove YOU aren't just a man in a dress too. If we let YOU in, we have to let HIM in."
And this horrid repulsive magazine Transformations is the very definition of this destructive line-blurring bullshit. They have a section on "Transgender news", but fill it with articles about drag queens and men having their cocks nearly cut off in freak accidents.
The young lady who was the centrefold is very clearly a transgirl, having breasts, and very visibly undergone electrolysis, hormone replacement therapy.
But the centrefold spread was called "Boy Girl of the Month".
For every advertisement for products to help feminize skin,aid breast growth, and retard beard growth to help transwomen, there were twice as many ads for sissy slut mags, forced feminization websites and bad tranny porn. The 4 or 5 actual transwomen in the mag looked like women. The 80 or so crossdressers looked like Rocky Horror extras. Half the articles focused on crossdresser fetish clubs, and what few mentions directly there were of transgender or transsexuality were always worded to denigrate us as women and make us sound like effeminate men in drag who just went that extra step and got a boob job.
I'm a blunt and honest woman. And I respect the right of any man or woman of any configuration to do or be as they wish so long as no one is harmed.
But I fucking hate Crossdressers right now, and I want them out from under the Transgender Umbrella. And I want my sister transwomen to stop belittling non-op transwomen, and just accept your non-op sisters so that the CD's can't co-opt them to try and pass their harmless fetish off as an involuntary state of being like transsexuality.
They have a choice. We don't. Stop rejecting our non-op sisters and giving the ones who can choose free reign to make us look like men in dresses. It's hard enough getting accepted by society without being rejected by your own kind and bastardized by the wannabes.
10/15/2009
10/10/2009
A Memory Unsettles Me
WARNING; Potential to trigger. Read at your own discretion.
I was reading an entry in Melissa McEwan's excellent series of blogs about rape on Shakesville, and as I read through the various different stories about privilege and rape culture and the excuses society makes, a memory surfaced of an event I had long forgotten.
Those of you who know me and/or have thoroughly read this blog know that I'm a rape survivor. You also know when I was a teenager and full of rage and anger I thought about committing rape out of a desire to hurt a girl who tormented me in my group home.
After I myself was raped, brutally for over three months straight, I often looked back on my youthful rage with shame. I had never acted on the thoughts beforehand, and afterward I knew having survived it I could never be capable of committing it. But in my apparently chronic need to beat myself up and punish myself, I was often wondering if, BEFORE my own rapes, I COULD have gone through with it had the opportunity ever prevented itself. Could I, as an angry rage-filled closeted teenage transgirl trapped in a boy's life, have destroyed another human being with the act of rape before it happened to me?
Sometimes I even convinced myself the rapes I endured were my punishment for ever having pondered committing rape. Karma, the universe balancing things out. Honestly? Sometimes I still DO wonder if what I endured was my punishment for the bad shit I did as a kid out of rage.
But tonight while reading Melissa's blogs, a memory surfaced that reassures me. And at the same time saddens me as I realize from this memory just how pervasive rape culture really is.
I was 15, still living male, still binding my breasts, living in the group home my parents shunted me off to so they wouldn't have to deal with me. The special needs school they shipped us to also had kids from other group homes in the chain, and one of them was Anne-Marie, a Native girl whose parents shipped her off for her slutty behavior/self-harming resulting guilt issues.
One day at lunch Anne-Marie, with I had spent a few weeks flirting kissing, and once boob touching, took me a a couple other boys down under the nearby highway bridge. \
The two boys and I engaged in the expected stupid sex goading boys do while she tookoff her pants and lay back on the ground ten feet away, watching us. One boy stayed away knowing his girlfriend would kill him if she found out. So they goaded me over there.
I loved Anne, I wanted her badly, I hoped maybe the apparently impending sex would be the start of something that would help chip away some of my misery I lived in. So I walked over to her, took off my pants, and straddled her missionary, with my boy bits beginning top push inside her.
That's when she said no.
And I stopped.
And I stood up and walked away while the third boy went over and pretty much fucked her without protest I stood there, refusing to let the girl inside cry and reveal herself beside a tall musclehead who would've beat me up for it.
She started dating the boy who didn't take no for an answer. Itwas test. She declared me a pussy from then on and mocked me. The whole thing had been atest to see which of the boys she liked was man enough for her. I was a pussy to her because I took no for an answer. And for years I never thought about that incident, and I'm not sure why.
But I remember it now, and knowing I had every opportunity in that moment to ignore a girl saying no and commit a rape....
And I stopped when I was asked to.
So I know now, in my heart, that I never could've done it, even when I pondered doing it, I know I never could've gone through with it, and that gives me some peace.
But...
I'm also very disturbed by two things in the memory.
First is that, while I myself took no for an answer, I stood by motionless in my own hurt feelings while my friend did not take no for an answer and fucked a girl I had feelings for, which for all I knew at that moment really was rape. I had no way of knowing she didn't really mean no, I only knew that she said no to both of us. For all I knew he was raping her and I just stood there, and that really really bothers me. Now I find myself wondering if I'd have the courage to interfere if I stumbled across a rape while out, if I'd try and stop or just sit there frightened. I don't like that feeling.
The other thing that bothers me is that it WAS a test. Anne-Marie took boys down to a secluded place, made herself sexually available and set up a scenario in which she could be raped to test our manhood, and in her mind, the one who had the balls to rape her was boyfriend material while the one who took no for an answer was a worthless pussy.
I can only begin to imagine what her parents may have done to her to leave her with the belief that rape is macho and real men don't stop if you say no. In fact I'm horrified by the most likely scenarios that left her with those ideas. I didn't understand it then but I know now that everything that happened under that bridge was a product of rape culture. Rape culture in North Americateaches us that
- No means yes
- Real men take what they want
- Respecting women makes you weak
- She probably wants it
In hindsight the only comfort I take remembering that day is the knowledge that I took no for an answer. If I was the potential teenage rapist I had often feared I may have been before I myself was raped, I would have kept going. I wouldn't have stopped. So I take comfort in that.
But the rest of it disturbs me. It unsettles me deeply. My complacency while my friend was possibly raping her. Her doing it all as a manhood test. The idea that any of it was okay. The idea that a teenage girl thought rape was just what real men do to girls. And the new nagging question that will eat at me for a long time.
I'll never again wonder if I could have committed rape. I know now without a doubt, I'm not just incapable of it now as a survivor, I never WAS capable.
But now I'm always going to wonder, nagging at me, asking myself in the back of my mind, I'll always wonder now...
IfI saw a woman being raped, would I be brave enough to save her? Would I try to stop it?
And what bothers me most of all, is that no matter how much I tell myself yes I would, I know, unless it happens, unless I find myself in the position to stop a rape, I will never truly know if I'm capable of interfering to stop it. I think I would. I know I'd want to. But I honestly don't know if I would have the spine to.
And that shames me more than anything.
God I hate what if's.
I was reading an entry in Melissa McEwan's excellent series of blogs about rape on Shakesville, and as I read through the various different stories about privilege and rape culture and the excuses society makes, a memory surfaced of an event I had long forgotten.
Those of you who know me and/or have thoroughly read this blog know that I'm a rape survivor. You also know when I was a teenager and full of rage and anger I thought about committing rape out of a desire to hurt a girl who tormented me in my group home.
After I myself was raped, brutally for over three months straight, I often looked back on my youthful rage with shame. I had never acted on the thoughts beforehand, and afterward I knew having survived it I could never be capable of committing it. But in my apparently chronic need to beat myself up and punish myself, I was often wondering if, BEFORE my own rapes, I COULD have gone through with it had the opportunity ever prevented itself. Could I, as an angry rage-filled closeted teenage transgirl trapped in a boy's life, have destroyed another human being with the act of rape before it happened to me?
Sometimes I even convinced myself the rapes I endured were my punishment for ever having pondered committing rape. Karma, the universe balancing things out. Honestly? Sometimes I still DO wonder if what I endured was my punishment for the bad shit I did as a kid out of rage.
But tonight while reading Melissa's blogs, a memory surfaced that reassures me. And at the same time saddens me as I realize from this memory just how pervasive rape culture really is.
I was 15, still living male, still binding my breasts, living in the group home my parents shunted me off to so they wouldn't have to deal with me. The special needs school they shipped us to also had kids from other group homes in the chain, and one of them was Anne-Marie, a Native girl whose parents shipped her off for her slutty behavior/self-harming resulting guilt issues.
One day at lunch Anne-Marie, with I had spent a few weeks flirting kissing, and once boob touching, took me a a couple other boys down under the nearby highway bridge. \
The two boys and I engaged in the expected stupid sex goading boys do while she tookoff her pants and lay back on the ground ten feet away, watching us. One boy stayed away knowing his girlfriend would kill him if she found out. So they goaded me over there.
I loved Anne, I wanted her badly, I hoped maybe the apparently impending sex would be the start of something that would help chip away some of my misery I lived in. So I walked over to her, took off my pants, and straddled her missionary, with my boy bits beginning top push inside her.
That's when she said no.
And I stopped.
And I stood up and walked away while the third boy went over and pretty much fucked her without protest I stood there, refusing to let the girl inside cry and reveal herself beside a tall musclehead who would've beat me up for it.
She started dating the boy who didn't take no for an answer. Itwas test. She declared me a pussy from then on and mocked me. The whole thing had been atest to see which of the boys she liked was man enough for her. I was a pussy to her because I took no for an answer. And for years I never thought about that incident, and I'm not sure why.
But I remember it now, and knowing I had every opportunity in that moment to ignore a girl saying no and commit a rape....
And I stopped when I was asked to.
So I know now, in my heart, that I never could've done it, even when I pondered doing it, I know I never could've gone through with it, and that gives me some peace.
But...
I'm also very disturbed by two things in the memory.
First is that, while I myself took no for an answer, I stood by motionless in my own hurt feelings while my friend did not take no for an answer and fucked a girl I had feelings for, which for all I knew at that moment really was rape. I had no way of knowing she didn't really mean no, I only knew that she said no to both of us. For all I knew he was raping her and I just stood there, and that really really bothers me. Now I find myself wondering if I'd have the courage to interfere if I stumbled across a rape while out, if I'd try and stop or just sit there frightened. I don't like that feeling.
The other thing that bothers me is that it WAS a test. Anne-Marie took boys down to a secluded place, made herself sexually available and set up a scenario in which she could be raped to test our manhood, and in her mind, the one who had the balls to rape her was boyfriend material while the one who took no for an answer was a worthless pussy.
I can only begin to imagine what her parents may have done to her to leave her with the belief that rape is macho and real men don't stop if you say no. In fact I'm horrified by the most likely scenarios that left her with those ideas. I didn't understand it then but I know now that everything that happened under that bridge was a product of rape culture. Rape culture in North Americateaches us that
- No means yes
- Real men take what they want
- Respecting women makes you weak
- She probably wants it
In hindsight the only comfort I take remembering that day is the knowledge that I took no for an answer. If I was the potential teenage rapist I had often feared I may have been before I myself was raped, I would have kept going. I wouldn't have stopped. So I take comfort in that.
But the rest of it disturbs me. It unsettles me deeply. My complacency while my friend was possibly raping her. Her doing it all as a manhood test. The idea that any of it was okay. The idea that a teenage girl thought rape was just what real men do to girls. And the new nagging question that will eat at me for a long time.
I'll never again wonder if I could have committed rape. I know now without a doubt, I'm not just incapable of it now as a survivor, I never WAS capable.
But now I'm always going to wonder, nagging at me, asking myself in the back of my mind, I'll always wonder now...
IfI saw a woman being raped, would I be brave enough to save her? Would I try to stop it?
And what bothers me most of all, is that no matter how much I tell myself yes I would, I know, unless it happens, unless I find myself in the position to stop a rape, I will never truly know if I'm capable of interfering to stop it. I think I would. I know I'd want to. But I honestly don't know if I would have the spine to.
And that shames me more than anything.
God I hate what if's.
Self Defeating Success Story
Today one of my twitter friends, Adult Film actress Wendy Williams, happily and proudly tweeted that her friend and fellow porn star Danielle Fox was coming out of seclusion at long last after recovering from successful SRS.
For any reading this not in the know, SRS is short for Sexual Reconstructive Surgery, the end result of transition for many trans women.
Although I'm Intersexed, I still count myself as a Transwoman because until learning about my IS Biology through medical tests 7 years ago, I believed I was a trans woman and lived as most live, jumping through all the same hoops just for simple recognition.
So for me, hearing one of my sisters has reached and surpassed her goal is always joyous news. So, wanting more info about Danielle, I followed the link in Wendy's tweet.
My first problem is that the link lead to a site about Gay Porn News, on which the story of Danielle re-opening her website was posted.
Trans porn that depicts a transwoman fucking a guy is NOT Gay porn, because regardless of the fact the woman in question might have a penis, the sex shown is heterosexual. I am sick to fucking death of cis gays appropriating transwomen. Classifying Trans Porn as Gay Porn is just another way Cis Gays ungender us, because it gives the uninformed the impression that transwomen really just are gay men who took their feminine side to extremes, and not real women at all.
My second problem is with Danielle herself. But not for being trans.
I'm proud of her for going the distance, achieving her dream. So many transwomen who want SRS never reach that plateau. And having now seen her new pussy I can say she definitely had good work done. There is no absolutely no physical signs that she was ever male.
I also completely understand her having worked in porn all these years. It paid for her transition, it paid for her surgery. It keeps her off street corners and out of alleys. It keeps her fed housed and clothed. Many transwomen have to do porn not only to fund transition but just to survive, since in most of the world we have no human rights protection, no job equality, and can't support ourselves outside of sex work. More power to Danielle in that she actually enjoys her work.
No my problem is with her website.
I have no quarrel with her returning to porn Post-Op. She clearly enjoys sex work and it's provided a good living for her. I see no reason she can't proudly display her post-op body as ever she sees fit.
But why did she have to call her new porn site Sex Change Tranny?
She's post-op now. If she wanted to she could just go do normal straight porn as good as her results were. Not that she has to hide. I'm glad she's proud of being a trans woman.
But outside of porn the word "Tranny" is as bad as the word "Nigger". It's a hate word, a derogatory slur designed to belittle and dehumanize us, to render us little more than perverted caricatures of real human beings. No transwoman likes being called a Tranny and reduced to the mental image of being just a confused gay man in a dress.
Danielle is a porn actress. Given the rationalizations I've heard from porn companies defending the use of terms and words that are universally proven to perpetuate bad stereotypes, I'm sure she did it to both keep her ill-informed cis chaser fans happy and to be easier found in Google searches. After all, the ignorant masturbating perverts who lust after us but can never be bothered to LEARN about us won't put "Trans woman" into a search engine to find T-Porn. They'll always use Tranny or Shemale. Because they can't be bothered to learn the right way to refer to us, and assimilators like Danielle can't find the spine to educate or correct them.
That's my problem with Danielle. She's become a collaborator. She's selling out her sisters in order to assimilate and be accepted without really being accepted. She's perpetuating damaging stereotypes against her own kind and inviting the world to view her as a freak rather than as a real woman. She's doing the haters' work for them, helping to let masturbating tranny chasers blissfully remain ignorant of trans womens' realities so she can keep being a success in porn as a freak novelty act.
She may as well have called her site "Man with implants and mutilated genitals", for all the damage her complacency will do her sisters. Because she sure as hell isn't doing sweet fuck all to teach anyone to see anything beyond the stereotypes.
She's the porn version of a Gangsta Rapper, saying nigger 6 times in every verse of a song. Those who don't know any better will hear these black rappers talking about themselves in this derogatory way and think that makes it perfectly okay and never learn any different until someone gets hurt.
A transwoman perpetuating use of the word Tranny is the same thing. All the cis people who don't know any better will see a transwoman do it think that means it's okay to say it.
Every day I see privileged white teenagers on the bus saying nigga this and nigga that and completely oblivious to the true impact of it. If I were a WOC I'd bitchslap them for it. But I AM a transwoman, and I refuse to let ANYONE, even other transwomen, throw "Tranny" around like it's accurate without telling them where to stick it.
I am Intersexed, and trans and a WOMAN. I am NOT a tranny.
And neither are you Danielle. You are a woman, NOT a "Tranny". Grow a spine and tell your fans that. You're among the most public visible transwomen on earth, and you're beautiful. Use it to TEACH the bastards, not perpetuate their marginalizing us.
Be a porn star all you like. I would if I had the body to pull it off.
But don't be a traitor to your own kind.
For any reading this not in the know, SRS is short for Sexual Reconstructive Surgery, the end result of transition for many trans women.
Although I'm Intersexed, I still count myself as a Transwoman because until learning about my IS Biology through medical tests 7 years ago, I believed I was a trans woman and lived as most live, jumping through all the same hoops just for simple recognition.
So for me, hearing one of my sisters has reached and surpassed her goal is always joyous news. So, wanting more info about Danielle, I followed the link in Wendy's tweet.
My first problem is that the link lead to a site about Gay Porn News, on which the story of Danielle re-opening her website was posted.
Trans porn that depicts a transwoman fucking a guy is NOT Gay porn, because regardless of the fact the woman in question might have a penis, the sex shown is heterosexual. I am sick to fucking death of cis gays appropriating transwomen. Classifying Trans Porn as Gay Porn is just another way Cis Gays ungender us, because it gives the uninformed the impression that transwomen really just are gay men who took their feminine side to extremes, and not real women at all.
My second problem is with Danielle herself. But not for being trans.
I'm proud of her for going the distance, achieving her dream. So many transwomen who want SRS never reach that plateau. And having now seen her new pussy I can say she definitely had good work done. There is no absolutely no physical signs that she was ever male.
I also completely understand her having worked in porn all these years. It paid for her transition, it paid for her surgery. It keeps her off street corners and out of alleys. It keeps her fed housed and clothed. Many transwomen have to do porn not only to fund transition but just to survive, since in most of the world we have no human rights protection, no job equality, and can't support ourselves outside of sex work. More power to Danielle in that she actually enjoys her work.
No my problem is with her website.
I have no quarrel with her returning to porn Post-Op. She clearly enjoys sex work and it's provided a good living for her. I see no reason she can't proudly display her post-op body as ever she sees fit.
But why did she have to call her new porn site Sex Change Tranny?
She's post-op now. If she wanted to she could just go do normal straight porn as good as her results were. Not that she has to hide. I'm glad she's proud of being a trans woman.
But outside of porn the word "Tranny" is as bad as the word "Nigger". It's a hate word, a derogatory slur designed to belittle and dehumanize us, to render us little more than perverted caricatures of real human beings. No transwoman likes being called a Tranny and reduced to the mental image of being just a confused gay man in a dress.
Danielle is a porn actress. Given the rationalizations I've heard from porn companies defending the use of terms and words that are universally proven to perpetuate bad stereotypes, I'm sure she did it to both keep her ill-informed cis chaser fans happy and to be easier found in Google searches. After all, the ignorant masturbating perverts who lust after us but can never be bothered to LEARN about us won't put "Trans woman" into a search engine to find T-Porn. They'll always use Tranny or Shemale. Because they can't be bothered to learn the right way to refer to us, and assimilators like Danielle can't find the spine to educate or correct them.
That's my problem with Danielle. She's become a collaborator. She's selling out her sisters in order to assimilate and be accepted without really being accepted. She's perpetuating damaging stereotypes against her own kind and inviting the world to view her as a freak rather than as a real woman. She's doing the haters' work for them, helping to let masturbating tranny chasers blissfully remain ignorant of trans womens' realities so she can keep being a success in porn as a freak novelty act.
She may as well have called her site "Man with implants and mutilated genitals", for all the damage her complacency will do her sisters. Because she sure as hell isn't doing sweet fuck all to teach anyone to see anything beyond the stereotypes.
She's the porn version of a Gangsta Rapper, saying nigger 6 times in every verse of a song. Those who don't know any better will hear these black rappers talking about themselves in this derogatory way and think that makes it perfectly okay and never learn any different until someone gets hurt.
A transwoman perpetuating use of the word Tranny is the same thing. All the cis people who don't know any better will see a transwoman do it think that means it's okay to say it.
Every day I see privileged white teenagers on the bus saying nigga this and nigga that and completely oblivious to the true impact of it. If I were a WOC I'd bitchslap them for it. But I AM a transwoman, and I refuse to let ANYONE, even other transwomen, throw "Tranny" around like it's accurate without telling them where to stick it.
I am Intersexed, and trans and a WOMAN. I am NOT a tranny.
And neither are you Danielle. You are a woman, NOT a "Tranny". Grow a spine and tell your fans that. You're among the most public visible transwomen on earth, and you're beautiful. Use it to TEACH the bastards, not perpetuate their marginalizing us.
Be a porn star all you like. I would if I had the body to pull it off.
But don't be a traitor to your own kind.
10/08/2009
The Threesome That Killed Mister Allen
Those who know me know I'm intersexed. For those not knowledgeable that's the proper medical term for what most people call a hermaphrodite. I'm biologically, genetically, chromasomally female. I have a uterus and an ovary. However I also have a penis and a testicle, and a genetic blood disorder that makes the invasive surgeries required to correct my genitals too life-threatening for any doctor to go near with a ten foot pole. At birth I had an underdeveloped vaginal opening embedded in a small scrotum, which doctors surgically destroyed as per common practice of "fixing" intersexed children by forcibly assigning them one sex rather than allow a living gray area out into their black and white world.
I was kept at the hospital for the four days it took to cauterize the mucous membranes and sew me up. My parents were belatedly informed that I was a boy and raised me as such, blissfully unaware of the years ahead of them of getting pissy at strangers for telling them what a pretty daughter they had and fighting with me over who I was.
I've been wanting to tell the stories of my little lifetime, given my declining health and the knowledge that I likely won't be around a great deal longer. This way some of me survives online with Hedon, and hopefully whoever takes up the role of Shaman when I'm gone understands the things that made me.
I couldn't choose between the two stories I most wanted to share today so I asked my Twitter friends to vote. Voting results said I tell this one. The reason for the preamble about being raised male is to help you understand some of the things in this story.
After Juvey I was all but broken. For those not easily triggered, or who really want to understand that sentence, go here. at 18, I moved out of my parents' home and didn't speak to them for years. I had always planned on coming out as a woman at 18, abandoning the Witless Protection Identity forced on me since birth. But what happened in Juvey delayed me badly. I was scared to be the real me, fearful because, if I could be so violated in Juvey while still living in the boy disguise, what would happen to me if I was out in the world as a transsexual woman? (I believed since Iwas 7 and saw a 60 Minutes story of a Transwoman's surgery that I was trans, as it wasn't until 7 years ago I learned what had been done to me as a baby).
So for 7 years I puttered miserably through life as an unhappy ugly chubby man, with the closest I ever got to being myself happening only when dressing up for the local weekly Goth Night. I didn't attempt sex til I was 23 and that ended badly. I was miserable, but still too afraid to come out and be me.
When I was 24, single and alone with no friends except some people online, I went downtown into Vancouver for New Year's Eve. I didn't drink, and I wasn't much of a partier. I had no friends to chill with. I just didn't want to be alone and suicidal yet another year. I wanted to be around people even if no one was talking to me.
At around 10 I was nursing a mug of Coke at the bar, staring numbly at the tv behind it, when one of the waitress flagged the bartender and pointed at someone and then at me. The bartender refilled my Coke and said it was courtesy of a pair of impossibly beautiful young ladies sitting alone at a booth.
Nervous as all fuck but curious, I went and asked to join them after thanking them. They smiled and invited me to sit down. My insecurity kept waiting for some cruelty, some "pick on the ugly guy" humour, but they seemed genuine and interested. After 20 minutes they invited me up to their room and the 3rd floor.
While managing to keep my shirt on so they wouldn't see either my bindings or the decently large breasts I kept hidden under them, two gorgeous women, looking like A-List porn stars or pin-up models, women who should easily of been out of my league, fucked and sucked both me and each other, passionately, powerfully, wildly. I'd be lying if I didn't admit it was probably among the best sex of my entire life. They got three orgasms out of me and I lost count with them after 5 or so each. It was truly amazing sex.
Now before you write this off as made-up bullshit for Penthouse's letters page, remember this is ME telling the story, and I don't get happy endings. There's almost always a catch.
We went back downstairs to the bar, and sat for another round of drinks. I should've just smiled and kept my mouth shut as they wrote down their phone numbers for me, but my goddamn insecurities reared their ugly head, and I stupidly asked them.
I was probably the least attractive guy in the bar. Chubby, plain looking, surrounded by fit healthy sculpted studs that were easily more attractive. With all those hot guys in the bar.... why did they pick me.
The brunette squeezed my hand, and the blonde, with a completely straight face and no visible sign of knowing how cruel she was about to sound, said,
"Well, because fat homely guys always try harder in bed, studs never care if we get off, fat dudes put in more effort so the cute girls will like them more."
For a few seconds I was still, absorbing what she'd just said. I quietly took out a ten to cover my drink and a tip, handed them back their numbers, and with tears streaming down my fat ugly cheeks I got up and left. They tried to call out for me to come back and they were sorry but I just kept walking.
I got on the Skytrain and went home, crying the whole way and crying myself to sleep.
The next morning I packed up all my guy clothes into a suitcase, along with all my guy crap like aftershave or cologne, and my breast binding. I took them down by the railroad tracks in New West and dumped everything into an old oil drum and burned it, along with every picture of me as a male adult.
Mister Allen was forever put to rest that day, and good fucking riddance. I've never ever looked back. In the end, after having the best sex of my life ruined by an offhanded blow to my fragile self-esteem, I decided the world would find ways to hurt no matter who or what I was, and if I was going to get hurt by insensitive shallow people, I may as fucking well do it with my make-up impeccable, my tits properly displayed, and a woman in the mirror every day.
So that's the story of the Threesome that killed Mister Allen. Maybe it was a mercy killing. Sometimes I wonder what I'd say to those girls if I met them today. I used to think I'd scream at them for being such insensitive cunts, but I'm old and softened now and in hindsight I know they probably honestly didn't realize how that would sound to me, and that I likely hurt them too by just walking away without another word or their numbers.
So I'd probably just hug them, tell them thank you for motivating me past my fears, apologize for walking out, and let them be.
Do I ever wonder what would have happened to me if I'd stayed? Of course. I'm only human. But what if's mean sweet fuck all in the end. The end result is what you have to live with.
I'm Penny Marie Sautereau-Fife. Mister Allen is long dead, if he ever really lived.
It really was amazing sex though, so at least he went out with a bang.
I was kept at the hospital for the four days it took to cauterize the mucous membranes and sew me up. My parents were belatedly informed that I was a boy and raised me as such, blissfully unaware of the years ahead of them of getting pissy at strangers for telling them what a pretty daughter they had and fighting with me over who I was.I've been wanting to tell the stories of my little lifetime, given my declining health and the knowledge that I likely won't be around a great deal longer. This way some of me survives online with Hedon, and hopefully whoever takes up the role of Shaman when I'm gone understands the things that made me.
I couldn't choose between the two stories I most wanted to share today so I asked my Twitter friends to vote. Voting results said I tell this one. The reason for the preamble about being raised male is to help you understand some of the things in this story.
After Juvey I was all but broken. For those not easily triggered, or who really want to understand that sentence, go here. at 18, I moved out of my parents' home and didn't speak to them for years. I had always planned on coming out as a woman at 18, abandoning the Witless Protection Identity forced on me since birth. But what happened in Juvey delayed me badly. I was scared to be the real me, fearful because, if I could be so violated in Juvey while still living in the boy disguise, what would happen to me if I was out in the world as a transsexual woman? (I believed since Iwas 7 and saw a 60 Minutes story of a Transwoman's surgery that I was trans, as it wasn't until 7 years ago I learned what had been done to me as a baby).
So for 7 years I puttered miserably through life as an unhappy ugly chubby man, with the closest I ever got to being myself happening only when dressing up for the local weekly Goth Night. I didn't attempt sex til I was 23 and that ended badly. I was miserable, but still too afraid to come out and be me.
When I was 24, single and alone with no friends except some people online, I went downtown into Vancouver for New Year's Eve. I didn't drink, and I wasn't much of a partier. I had no friends to chill with. I just didn't want to be alone and suicidal yet another year. I wanted to be around people even if no one was talking to me.
At around 10 I was nursing a mug of Coke at the bar, staring numbly at the tv behind it, when one of the waitress flagged the bartender and pointed at someone and then at me. The bartender refilled my Coke and said it was courtesy of a pair of impossibly beautiful young ladies sitting alone at a booth.
Nervous as all fuck but curious, I went and asked to join them after thanking them. They smiled and invited me to sit down. My insecurity kept waiting for some cruelty, some "pick on the ugly guy" humour, but they seemed genuine and interested. After 20 minutes they invited me up to their room and the 3rd floor.
While managing to keep my shirt on so they wouldn't see either my bindings or the decently large breasts I kept hidden under them, two gorgeous women, looking like A-List porn stars or pin-up models, women who should easily of been out of my league, fucked and sucked both me and each other, passionately, powerfully, wildly. I'd be lying if I didn't admit it was probably among the best sex of my entire life. They got three orgasms out of me and I lost count with them after 5 or so each. It was truly amazing sex.
Now before you write this off as made-up bullshit for Penthouse's letters page, remember this is ME telling the story, and I don't get happy endings. There's almost always a catch.
We went back downstairs to the bar, and sat for another round of drinks. I should've just smiled and kept my mouth shut as they wrote down their phone numbers for me, but my goddamn insecurities reared their ugly head, and I stupidly asked them.
I was probably the least attractive guy in the bar. Chubby, plain looking, surrounded by fit healthy sculpted studs that were easily more attractive. With all those hot guys in the bar.... why did they pick me.
The brunette squeezed my hand, and the blonde, with a completely straight face and no visible sign of knowing how cruel she was about to sound, said,
"Well, because fat homely guys always try harder in bed, studs never care if we get off, fat dudes put in more effort so the cute girls will like them more."
For a few seconds I was still, absorbing what she'd just said. I quietly took out a ten to cover my drink and a tip, handed them back their numbers, and with tears streaming down my fat ugly cheeks I got up and left. They tried to call out for me to come back and they were sorry but I just kept walking.
I got on the Skytrain and went home, crying the whole way and crying myself to sleep.
The next morning I packed up all my guy clothes into a suitcase, along with all my guy crap like aftershave or cologne, and my breast binding. I took them down by the railroad tracks in New West and dumped everything into an old oil drum and burned it, along with every picture of me as a male adult.
Mister Allen was forever put to rest that day, and good fucking riddance. I've never ever looked back. In the end, after having the best sex of my life ruined by an offhanded blow to my fragile self-esteem, I decided the world would find ways to hurt no matter who or what I was, and if I was going to get hurt by insensitive shallow people, I may as fucking well do it with my make-up impeccable, my tits properly displayed, and a woman in the mirror every day.
So that's the story of the Threesome that killed Mister Allen. Maybe it was a mercy killing. Sometimes I wonder what I'd say to those girls if I met them today. I used to think I'd scream at them for being such insensitive cunts, but I'm old and softened now and in hindsight I know they probably honestly didn't realize how that would sound to me, and that I likely hurt them too by just walking away without another word or their numbers.
So I'd probably just hug them, tell them thank you for motivating me past my fears, apologize for walking out, and let them be.
Do I ever wonder what would have happened to me if I'd stayed? Of course. I'm only human. But what if's mean sweet fuck all in the end. The end result is what you have to live with.
I'm Penny Marie Sautereau-Fife. Mister Allen is long dead, if he ever really lived.
It really was amazing sex though, so at least he went out with a bang.
10/05/2009
New Hedon Word of the Week; Nastard
Having recently felt the ire of a celebrity and his rabid fans because I had the utter gall to politely and courteously disagree with his humor about Breast Cancer, I was reminded of one of the many verbal mish-mashes Fran makes. It seemed like a perfectly good basis for a new entry in the Word of the Week series, and so I have given Fran's slip of the tongue a formal definition, dedicated to famed dick-joke aficionado Kevin Smith and his legions of rabid aggressive fans.
Nastard (NAHS tard) Noun - A person, male or female but usually male, who, incapable of maturely accepting even the most polite opinion that differs from their own, will either launch into a vitriolic attack of the person disagreeing, and/or convince others in their thrall to engage in the deplorable behavior for them. Could be considered a contraction of "Nasty Bastard". A Nastard refuses to allow even the tiniest shred of differing opinion into their world view, no matter the reason or basis. Anyone telling a Nastard that they think the Nastard is wrong or misguided in anything will be on the receiving end of juvenile, sexist, often misogynist verbal attacks questioning their sense of humor,their understanding of the facts, their intellect, and even their worthiness of being a life form. The victim of a Nastard will be vilified and verbally crucified in blind defense of the Alpha Nastard's worldview.
Example - When I told Kevin Smith very nicely and courteously that I was going to unfollow him on Twitter because I personally felt that his making jokes about Breast Cancer involving fucking and cumming on women's breasts as being the most valid reason to donate to Cancer research were in poor taste and going a little overboard, he became a total Nastard, sicking his other fans on me en masse on Twitter, resulting in a day of verbal onslaughts calling me a stuck-up humorless breast and sex hating feminist bitch who both doesn't get his humour and makes real women look bad, all because I politely told him his jokes were not to my tastes.
This has been your Hedon Word of the Week. Use it, live it, love it. There's certainly enough people to fit it online.
UNRELATED NOTE - Roman Polanski DRUGGED AND RAPED A 13 YEAR OLD GIRL. Fuck every single Hollywood asshole supporting him like he's an exiled hero. HE RAPED A CHILD. That is the bottom line.
Nastard (NAHS tard) Noun - A person, male or female but usually male, who, incapable of maturely accepting even the most polite opinion that differs from their own, will either launch into a vitriolic attack of the person disagreeing, and/or convince others in their thrall to engage in the deplorable behavior for them. Could be considered a contraction of "Nasty Bastard". A Nastard refuses to allow even the tiniest shred of differing opinion into their world view, no matter the reason or basis. Anyone telling a Nastard that they think the Nastard is wrong or misguided in anything will be on the receiving end of juvenile, sexist, often misogynist verbal attacks questioning their sense of humor,their understanding of the facts, their intellect, and even their worthiness of being a life form. The victim of a Nastard will be vilified and verbally crucified in blind defense of the Alpha Nastard's worldview.
Example - When I told Kevin Smith very nicely and courteously that I was going to unfollow him on Twitter because I personally felt that his making jokes about Breast Cancer involving fucking and cumming on women's breasts as being the most valid reason to donate to Cancer research were in poor taste and going a little overboard, he became a total Nastard, sicking his other fans on me en masse on Twitter, resulting in a day of verbal onslaughts calling me a stuck-up humorless breast and sex hating feminist bitch who both doesn't get his humour and makes real women look bad, all because I politely told him his jokes were not to my tastes.
This has been your Hedon Word of the Week. Use it, live it, love it. There's certainly enough people to fit it online.
UNRELATED NOTE - Roman Polanski DRUGGED AND RAPED A 13 YEAR OLD GIRL. Fuck every single Hollywood asshole supporting him like he's an exiled hero. HE RAPED A CHILD. That is the bottom line.
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