Becoming trans II

How I became transsexual.

My mother was intensely controlling. The only way I could assert control myself was over what I ate, so I refused most things: I refused all potato apart from chips, and ate rissoles or beefburgers, beans and chips most evenings. She made all my clothes. Most people learn their accent from those around them, as my sister did, but I spoke with an English accent like my mother, not an Argyll one. My father did too. You could argue that as a primary school teacher he should speak with a neutral accent to appear professional and model the Queens English for potential professional people, but Scots sound Scots, except him. Then she died, and someone asked me why I spoke with an English accent, when my father’s Scots accent was lovely.

I want to prove it to you, so you cannot deny it, and I imagine you challenging the paucity of my evidence and my understanding, and laughing, and- I would become miserable like a child, who does not know the pain will end.

I did not do teenage properly. I never rebelled. In my thirties I decided it was time to do teenage, and get rid of attitudes I had not questioned.

Those horrid words! My father was “pussy-whipped”. My mother “wore the trousers”. My father alluded to this, calling my mother “The Boss”, and expressing delight seeing her drive off in her nurse’s uniform, so purposeful, going to sort things out. Yet I learned that this was Very Bad Indeed, that boys don’t cry, and that I needed to make a man of myself. It’s like a woman I met born in the Ukraine to Ukrainian parents, who came to the UK when a child. When they ate dinner together, they spoke English, because they were in England and it was essential to speak English.

This is a way women and men are together! Not all of them, it is a minority taste, though how minority I don’t know because it seems so condemned! It is Unmanly! It is Unfeminine! The men are pansies, probably poofters, and the women termagants, viragos, harridans. I had a conversation with a man whose current girlfriend wanted him to be “more manly” and who had decided to try: he would put on an act, rather than behave spontaneously and freely. Another man I met had quite a passive girlfriend and a hard manner, and when I met him the second time he had dumped her, and seemed far gentler, as well as more relaxed and humorous. A woman has a soft boyfriend and wants him to make a move, make it a relationship; and I think, but he wants you to make the move! He wants you to take control, really.

A lesbian wrote that the straights were at it in high school, but she had to wait until University before discovering sex. I still haven’t got an idea how to get together with a compatible woman. My mother died and my father went out looking for a partner- he found one within 18 months, and eventually married. Yet, I don’t know what the rules are, I am just learning what I want and don’t know how to get it. Concepts like “dominant women” or “sissies” get in the way, playing on the sense of humiliation of the man who is stripped of “manliness”, and made something weird and ridiculous rather than natural and normal and with valuable gifts for a family and society. I am not aware of fictional portrayals of such relationships working well- perhaps Stuart and Ann on LA Law, and all I can really put my finger on is that she is taller– and very few of them being disastrous. I might go back to Walter Scott. There’s a wife there who knows how to manage her husband, let him make little decisions and managing him into making the big ones as she wishes.

When I left University I had no idea what my feelings were,

I am perfectly calm

and a desperate need to Make a Man of Myself, and a very narrow idea of what that Manliness should look like. And female embodiment fantasies which I felt deeply ashamed of, and a habit of buying women’s clothes and then getting rid of them every month or two, and shame about that; and wet dreams about cross-dressing, also shameful. Even now I feel guilt and shame about just about everything. Saying these things here is my way of trying to make them bearable. I saw a psychiatrist and chose to have aversion therapy, after which I almost gave up dressing female.

To be continued.

Go on, you know you want to

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