Saturday, July 7, 2012

My Brief Delusional Time As A Lesbian



This morning I was lying in bed considering what to wear. I sleep naked these days, because I've enjoyed the new found freedom that being physically female brings. 

What I was wondering was, what to clothe my body with once I got out of bed, and despite the personal style I've developed over the past few years, I'm now totally at a loss for what to pick in my closet.

Being female, albeit a transgender female now 6 years post-op, the choice should have been clear to me. The reason for this dilemma is that I was told last night by a person of some prominence in the local lesbian community, that I "dress like a drag queen".

I thought I left being compared to a drag queen behind ten years ago. I love wearing black and always have. Doesn't mean I'm a "satanist", even if I am a witch. This revelation caused all sorts of questions to float up to the surface of my mind. I had up till then been enjoying my time out with a few friends, and all seemed right with the world. Apparently I was wrong.

Is there a dress code for tranny freaks? Why can lesbians - even physically feminine ones, wear butch attire - but when I don't wear a dress or skirt, I am "dressed like a drag queen"?

Why the double standards?


I have nothing against drag queens understand, and at one time I wouldn't have objected to the comparison, but having gone the distance at great expense and effort, to be called so is a sobering realization and a disappointment. It means that for the past 12 years I have been lost in a delusion in which I was passible as female, pretty and even liked and popular within the community. It was a rather rude awakening. On the other hand, I suppose I can only blame myself for not taking note of the signs, such as every other girl twenty-questioning me about my voice, am I or was I a man before, have I got a dick down there, or a vagina etc? Silly little me. Looks like I might have wasted my money.

And the other questions I was asked just double-tapped me as I sat there, reeling. What is my sexuality really? Am I into girls? Guys? If so, what am I doing here? And what is with that "asexual" shit anyway? You're not interested in sex? No wonder you're single. What kind of freak wouldn't be into sex? This one, apparently. And why did my religious affiliation and my "activities" need to be mentioned? What relevance did the fact that I'm not a christian - or the detail that the person interrogating me was - have to do with the equation? But of course, no "judging" took place, despite the impression being created that I had already been put on trial in absentia, weighed, and found wanting. As the person in question moved off, leaving me at the center of a growing empty space in the establishment, I was left with the clear impression that I was neither hot, nor cold, and had been spat out.

You see folks, my self-confidence has now been undermined. What do I wear today? What do I wear tomorrow? Skirt or slacks? Is this too masculine? Is this overly feminine? Is the make up too much or too little? Is my figure masculine or feminine, vagina and boobs aside, regardless of what I wear? Do I want to dress like a drag queen? A goth? Is there truth in the adage that clothes really do make the man? Or is it the body? I always thought it was the personality/soul/spirit that defined that.

Should I dress to please local lesbian society? Should I adhere to the as yet unknown and undefined universal dress-code for transexual females? Or should I dress to please myself, regardless of what groups I don't fit into on account of my looks, my tranny-freakiness, my social inappropriateness, my "radiophonic" voice that everyone assures me is "just fine",  my rumored vampyrism, that I am openly Pagan, my style of dress, taste in music, whether I wear my hair up or down etc etc etc.
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 Loderunner” by Christina Engela
Ever since he’d decided to quit being a P.I. and to try his hand at running cargo instead, things had just blown up in Timaset Skooch’s face one day at a time. (Florpavian Flamebirds tended to do that occasionally.) Between the labor disputes and accidental deaths among the crew, (who believed in settling disputes internally) he was beginning to get a headache worse than the ones he got from getting kicked in the head. Things had just gone pear shaped again and now he found himself in the middle of a kind of cat and mouse game with some cloaks and daggers thrown in for good measure.

Returning from an evening spent visiting relatives in Mars City he didn’t know he had, he arrived at the local space terminal to find his new acquisition stolen. A few minutes later, the crew of his slightly run down loderunner “Celeste“, returned from the nearby pub, blind drunk, puzzled and now unemployed as well.

He was sure it had something to do with the 10 000,00 credits he was offered  to transport two passengers to an asteroid in the rings of Jupiter, (as soon as possible, no questions asked), by a middle-man with no neck and a tendency to smile a lot.

And to crown everything, his girlfriend was mad at him too (just a little).  He was beginning to regret ever winning that card game…

Buy: Paperback / Ebook

Published: May 26, 2016
Pages: 268
Binding: Perfect-bound Paperback
Dimensions (inches): 4.25″ wide x 6.88″ tall (pocketbook)

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I didn't ask to be any of the things I am. I just am. You think I didn't want to be shorter, petite, feminine, prettier, to have a better voice and be more passable as a female? You think I don't have insecurities and vulnerabilities? You think your pain is any greater than mine? You think I don't bleed like you?

Seems I am just one of those people who just doesn't fit in anywhere, no matter what the group is or is about - I am just one of those freaks that will never fit in and feel part of  it, or totally accepted or welcome or included. Oh well, c'est la vie. Shit happens.

So now let me make it perfectly clear, darlings: I don't need your validation. I don't want your acceptance. I am what I am. If that makes me a monster, then gee - I guess it's too bad. If you don't like me, or any part of me which makes up the whole of who I am, I don't give a shit and you and yours can go fuck yourselves.

If my being trans or not a christian gets in the way of us being friends or more, then perhaps you should go look long and hard in a mirror and decide what the fuck makes you so fucking special. And if in future you sidle up to me saying "I'm not judging you, but..." while doing just that, be ready for the consequences.

You may be the one to discover first hand whether any of those rumors might actually be true.

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