Coming Out Queerer

we were cool before the fucking

Mon, 21 Nov 2011 00:16:59 -0500

i want to just be real and honest and carefree. not fucking carefreely. but just fucking carefree, you know?

we used to just say whatever we wanted to each other and laugh and be merry and get each other, you know?

i fucking miss that shit.

it was cool.

we were cool.

the fucking was fun.

but we were cool without the fucking too.

we were cool before the fucking

i thought we were really good friends

i feel abandoned by you as a friend

multiple times

i know we’ve dabbled in romance. but it’s never worked out.

maybe being friends with me was more romantic to you than I thought. or not. how am i to know?

i miss the fun we had.

Broken Hearted Straight Edge Dyke

Fri, 14 Oct 2011 02:54:54 -0400

It was a Thursday night, with nothing to show up for tomorrow. I was freshly broken hearted, and I needed a night on the town.

A friend came over for dinner, and we recorded a podcast together. Then we went down to the local tweetup. I haven’t been to one in years. I said hello to a few people and then was so bored by all the straight people in the fancy hotel bar that I grabbed my hoodie and headed out the door. At first I tried a club that I heard some friends were at. I looked around and didn’t see them, found the bathroom, and took a shit while checking my email. Oh the wonders of a smart phone. It was early enough, so I thought maybe I’d take myself out for a movie. I checked Fandago, and everything yet to play sounded pretty shitty, so I scratched that idea.

I thought about turning on my location on OkCupid, but my phone battery was running out of juice, and it’s always the same one or two dykes I’m not interested in on the Locals app anyway. Then I realized all of the hipsters hanging out in the window of the art school gallery were there to see my friend’s boyfriend’s band, who weren’t bad. I thought what the hell and went on in. The was no cover, and I saw some friends. I stood around with all the straight hipsters and watched the crowd. The people walking by the window outside were more interesting, even though some of the hipster girls were kind of pretty. I was still surrounded by straight people.

After that, I didn’t want to go home, so I decided to try that bar I heard was still a gay bar. I don’t even drink anymore so I was a little nervous about checking out the unfamiliar scene, especially when everyone outside looked straight here too. I went inside, and almost immediately saw one of my ex’s friends, who I pretended not to see. I walked into the little bar a few more inches and all of a sudden a punk band started playing. They were pretty good. They were playing songs with titles like “I just want to be alone” and “Go fuck yourself.” It was perfect for my mood. I hung out leaning on the wall for a while, scoping out the crowd and listening to the music. Every girl I thought was hot would suddenly kiss or grab the ass of some ugly guy. I went and sat on the couch near what seemed to be the only single girl in there and watched the rest of the band play. She seemed kind of out of it and probably straight. As soon as the band ended I got the hell out of there.

I headed down the hill and saw a couple weathered older dykes outside the gay dance club. I asked if there was a cover and they said no and convinced me to go in. Someone I cancelled a date with was supposed to be in there, but I figured I don’t even know her so what’s the big deal. I walked all the way to the furthest back corner of the bar, sat down and ordered a seltzer. A sad drunk man sitting alone at the next corner of the bar came over to me because he thought I needed a pat on the shoulder. Apparently sitting there in the corner of a gay bar broken hearted and drinking seltzer I looked sad enough for the drunk man to come care about me. As soon as he left me alone, a large black woman who referred to herself as Big Mama came over and wanted to do shots. I quit drinking a decade ago and somehow this didn’t make me break my resolve. She started telling me about her diet and her vacation and how her sister wanted her to be skinnier. The whole time she was rubbing parts of her body all over my thigh because her midsection would touch me as soon as she leaned in to talk to me. She started hitting on me a little harder and I got less and less interested in what she had to say until she left. Then the drunk man came back over. By the third seltzer, I was ready to get out of there, and I felt a little better, because I didn’t have the same life or problems as these two people, and I got to watch some dykes rub up against each other a bit. I had wished the dance floor was more hopping so I could get lost in it and dance, but it wasn’t, so I took a piss and left.

Instead of heading home I walked down towards the strip of bars and wandered into a happening dance club. There wasn’t a cover anywhere! The DJ and the lights were pretty good, but all of the people were so fucking straight except for one really young butch. All the women were in sparkles and dresses and showing a lot of skin, while all the men were dressed more like me, in shirts and hoodies, and jeans. I closed my eyes and danced a bit but then I had to pee again. This should be interesting, I thought. Every single woman I passed on the way into the bathroom stall kind of whipped her head out of a drunken stupor and then settled back down when they realized I was female, except on the way out of the bathroom, as a few drunk shorter women were heading in. As I opened the women’s room door to leave one actually put her hand right on my chest. She pressed into me to turn herself around until she realized she could feel breasts through my shirt. She looked up at me and drunkenly apologized while sliding past me into the women’s room after all. I left soon after.

I was still not ready to go home, so I cruised the strip to see if any other clubs were happening, but there didn’t seem to be any more with enough people in them where I could lose myself to the dance music. Then I came up around a corner and remembered the blues club that sometimes had some hippie bands that I used to like when I was younger and stoned all the time. Sure enough a Dead cover band was playing and I got into yet another bar with no cover. They played a lot of songs I knew and I stripped off my wet hoodie and my plaid shirt and danced around in my tank top, letting my armpit hair loose among the hippies. There was even a hula hoop that I danced with all through “Eyes of the World.” During “I Know You Rider” I got into my old groove and was really spinning around with centripetal force. It felt good and familiar even though in took a while to get into because the floor was so sticky. I wanted to get high. I somehow made it through all of the other bars without drinking to drown out my broken heart. I didn’t want to end up all droopy and bitter like the man who felt sorry for me at the gay club, or all crazy and stumbling like the guy that got asked to leave the floor at the punk band. Even still all this dancing to the hippy music made me want to smoke a bowl. Incidentally, this was the last club I ever drank at over ten years ago, before I went and smoked a bunch of pot and puked all the way home. A few straight hippy dudes tried to dance with me, but I still had my oblivious-just-keep-spinning-around-in-the-groove trick going, so they were calmly deflected. Straight people again. I think if any of them had magically whisked me away to a carpeted tapestry laden candle lit room for bong hits I would have gotten, but I guess that wasn’t in the cards for me. Thank you higher power for keeping me safe I guess. And for helping me to get through the first day in a while that I haven’t cried over my ex girlfriend.

It was a more than eclectic evening out on the town. What is a broken hearted straight edge dyke to do?

some thoughts on dating, attraction, honesty

Sun, 09 Oct 2011 19:57:58 -0400

I keep “short term dating.” I don’t mean to, but it’s what seems to happen. I did, after all, put it as one of the options I was looking for on a dating site. So I shouldn’t be so shocked then after all, right?

In any case, all of this dating keeps teaching me a few things. Mostly about what I want and don’t want. But also about how to fine tune my online presentation to be as honest as I can so that I really am who I am when I show up for a date. That’s what I want everyone else to do, right?

I don’t want to be someone else’s experiment. Unless they are really hot and I am horny and we’re both clear about what’s going on. Quite frankly the cl ads near me either don’t attract me or are creepily young.

I thought I had more to say here. I guess the honest truth is that I am heartbroken, and I have started dating again.

Here’s what has happened so far:

I’ve responded to a few casual cl ads, but I find few to respond to because I am either so appalled by grammar errors, or they are severely, offensively, anti-butch. The responses I have received I am not attracted to. Is this fair for me to say? I feel uncomfortable having this conversation with too many people.

Physical attraction is important, to me, both in casual encounters and longer relationships. I don’t think this is wrong. I’ve found that my gut reaction even to an online presentation or profile is usually quite close to the truth.

Take my date today for example. I met up with a friendly woman who seemed to have a lot I wanted to talk to her about, was pleasant enough looking, but really didn’t flick my clit to look at, you know? And that’s exactly how I felt in person. As our conversation kept getting more and more interesting, I kept looking at her and thinking, can I make attraction grow here? And I don’t think I can. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

And smell, that’s another thing. I didn’t like her smell. It was kind of grandmotherly-ish. I’m not sure what it was, if it was a fragrance, or a beauty product…it was kind of sharp and strong like a potpourri dish. I feel bad having thoughts like this, but what I am to do? Isn’t this gut reaction at it’s most basic?

When I am attracted, I really get all warm in the loins. I flex. Sometimes this confirms I’m gay. I was walking with today’s date, and at one point this hetero couple was walking in front of us in bathing suits. Watching the bikini bottom and ass curves move with every step the woman took really made me flex. A few times. My date and I had exchanged coming out stories (how often do you have this conversation on a first date?) and she was talking about how she knew she was gay. I so badly wanted to point out this difference in my attraction to the couple walking in front of us. Would this have been wrong? Indecent? Inappropriate? Rude?

Which brings up another question. What is the best way to be clear with someone on a first date that you are not romantically attracted but do indeed want to be friends?

(via speak-slow, gracetoons)

Thu, 18 Aug 2011 16:21:51 -0400

(via speak-slow, gracetoons)

An update to my gender identity exploration process

Wed, 17 Aug 2011 17:02:09 -0400

I started this blog a few years ago, in order to have an anonymous outlet as well as a conversation forum for some of my thoughts as I explored a butcher identity.

I had come out a decade earlier, but still certainly had layers of “the real me” to uncover. (and still always will to some extent I’m sure!)

I was born into a white homogenous heterosexist suburb of Boston. I didn’t know anyone gay until I went away to boarding school, and even then my mother had been so critical of any aberration from any norm in my appearance that I think it really stunted my self esteem and self expression. I didn’t join the Gay Straight Alliance in boarding school (this was in the early 90’s) because I was too afraid that someone would think I was gay.

Though I saw girls kissing at a rugby social my freshman year of college, I drank too much and smoked too much pot to come to any sort of terms with my sexuality for many years. I sucked a lot of dick and had a lot of meaningless sex with men. I was actually too stoned to notice that there may have been some queer women or at least some cool feminist things happening around me. I spent most of my time with stoner boys. They didn’t mind my hairy armpits, were harmless compared to some of the men that had taken advantage of me, and thought I was pretty cool. And feeling pretty cool was a big deal for me back then, after growing up feeling very not cool. I guess I wasn’t ready to rock the boat just yet.

It wasn’t until after college that I finally had a close lesbian friend. She was a cool artist and I spent a lot of time hanging out with her and friends in my early 20’s. It was during this time that I broke up with my stoner boyfriend and started exploring my sexuality. I had absolutely no idea how to date women. I came out as bi, and wanted so badly to date women, but ended up continuing to date men on and off for years because they would hit on me, and I really didn’t know how in the world to ask a girl out.

It’s funny looking back on myself during my early years of coming out. I shaved my head and wore pretty big men’s clothes. I don’t think I was trying to look queer and had not much concept at the time of the word “butch.” I was doing a lot of drugs, pretty miserable, and a lot of the sexual assault I had experienced thus far in life was really hitting me hard. I was consciously trying to hide the female curves of my body from predatory men, and baggy men’s clothes did this quite well. Walking home to my first solo apartment in big pants, combat boots, and a big hoodie made me feel much safer. No one bothered me at night when I looked like a boy.

It was around that time that I hit a bottom with drugs. I overdosed, was pretty crazy for a while, but eventually ended up cleaning up my act and staying clean. Finally getting off of drugs certainly allowed me to come to whole new levels of exploring who I was that I had thus far missed in my life.

This was about a decade ago. I would say that it was during the past decade that I in a long roundabout way came much closer to getting back to the core of me (threads of which have certainly been consistent through all my tumultuous phases of life).

The key layers of this involved exploring what bisexuality meant to me, as well as to other people (who often had quite different ideas of who I was precisely because of my bisexual label). It was fascinating to see how differently the world saw me (and treated me) according to who I was dating. I was offended by the term “heterosexual privilege” at the time, because I was still going through a lot of emotional turmoil and didn’t feel the least bit privileged. I felt a lot of prejudice from within queer community at the time, and felt like I fit in no where (too straight to be gay, too gay to be straight).

When I finally had a long term relationship with a woman I came to a new level of understanding about my sexuality. Questioning my sexuality and starting to have sex with women was much different than being in a relationship for 3 years. I experienced a lot more homophobia than ever before, and yet as I was growing up emotionally (staying clean from drugs and alcohol allowed me to do this), I was really beginning to feel more myself than ever before as well. To come out in a heterosexist society takes a lot of guts. It took me a long time to fully come out. I could give a number of reasons: fear, heterosexism, homophobia, pressure from my mother to fit in and be straight, etc., etc. I’m not sure I can clearly put my finger on any one reason. I just knew so much more about myself after that long term relationship. By the time we broke up, I was already in my 30’s. As I started getting ready to date again, I was quite clearly only interested in women. In fact, when I was having sex during that relationship I remember thinking about how much better sex with women is. I know I had had a lot of sex with men, and some of it was certainly fun, but this was a whole new level of good, of satisfying, of exciting, of pleasurable. I know that I often thought “How did I have so much hetero sex before this?” “Oh my god, I am so gay.”

So to wrap it up a bit, it took me into my 30’s to really come out as gay, after about a decade of identifying as bisexual. In that long term relationship, and really before that too, I had never been interested in butch/femme identity, I guess in much the same way that I wasn’t interested in being gay before I came out. It was something I had preconceived notions and judgments about and I didn’t think it had anything to do with me. I’ve thought that about many things throughout my life, until some sort of experience and open-mindedness pushes me beyond some edge and gets me to see things in a new way and then suddenly I feel like I came home at last, to a place I never thought was mine. This process could describe so many aspects of my sexuality and gender identity (which I am just getting to). I thought I was straight, I thought I was bi, I didn’t think I would like to spank anybody or be fisted. Time and time again I got to new levels of comfort with myself and the world around me and would finally let myself be a new layer of who I was.

This is what has been happening in the past few years with my butch identity.

This is what I wrote when I started this blog:

“Ok. So I’m going through some changes. Self awareness, fashion, sex, gender, sexuality, presentation. Not sure I even have the words for all of this. Kind of scared to do this publically. But then I know how helpful it is for me to read the thoughts of others going through uncomfortable and beautiful metamorphoses. And how much it helps to share what is in my head, heart, brain and skin.
Allowing myself to tell myself the exact opposite of what I might have told myself growing up, or yesterday, or last year. Like, in my fantasies, sometimes I am a man, but I don’t want to be one in real life…or maybe I do? or not? or just a little…and what is female masculinity? who am I attracted to? am I attracted to you because I want to be you? or do you? or both?

And allowing all of that to just be beautiful, ok, honest, and fluid.

Whew…I like opening this fountain…of genderqueer butchdom…or something.

xoxo,

Zoey Rayal”

As I read these words today I thought it was time to change them, because I’ve come quite a long way in the past few years. I was scared to identify as butch, but I’ve heard myself say the word out loud more than once. I was scared to shift my appearance. I was scared to cut my hair short again, after years of positive reinforcement from my family and the professional world for my long beautiful hair. I was scared to change my dress for many of the same reasons. I was scared to change my underwear choices lest my lovers laugh at me or reject me when they got my pants off. I was scared of trying to claim an identity that might mean something different to somebody else. I was scared to claim an identity and have someone tell me I wasn’t enough of something to claim that identity.
I’m sure I still have a long way to go in life in getting to know me, and fully being me. (I certainly stumble with job interview outfits, new clothes for fancy occasions, and that sort of thing). And I still wonder whether my lovers will like my hairy armpits, my sports bras, and my men’s underwear. I hesitate to think that I need acceptance of these aspects of my presentation from other people in order to feel comfortable in my identity. I will say that my current lover finding me sexy not despite these things but precisely because of these things certainly helps.
In any case. I feel clearer about my identity (sexuality and gender) than I did when I first started this blog. I want to update my profile blurb, but before I did that I wanted to reflect on what has gone on it the past few years. Thank you to all of you who have liked, commented, or reblogged my posts. It has done numbers for my self esteem as I continue to explore who I am and how I express me.

Peace,

Z Rayal

Better than a brush

Sun, 06 Mar 2011 22:21:41 -0500

Better than a brush

Country music & my trans identity

Mon, 28 Feb 2011 21:19:02 -0500

Whether it’s cuz I’m gay, butch, andro, genderqueer or trans, when I listen to country music, I identify w/ the male singers crooning over the pretty girls they want.

If you are a feminist, reblog this because I want to follow you.

Sun, 06 Feb 2011 16:57:10 -0500

Am I trans?

Wed, 26 Jan 2011 22:56:09 -0500

How can I take this long to wonder something so clearly today? And if I am wondering today will I feel differently another day?

I feel that the older I get the more I peel back the layers of the real me and become truly who I am.

I was watching a movie tonight. “Country Strong” if you must know. I enjoyed the drama, the love, the clothes, the music. I have been attracted to men and women in my life. I more recently identify as gay. Queer. Lesbian. Depending upon the moment. Genderqueer. Androgynous. I know I am mixing up sexual attraction and identity here. I know those two are different. They are still related to my identity. My presentation. My sexuality presentation. My gender presentation. The more I wear mens’ clothes, buy mens’ clothes, feel sexy in mens’ clothes, and feel confident in mens’ underwear even in the womens’ room at the gym, the more comfortable and sexy I feel just being me.

Tonight watching the movie I thought about how much I really want to be the hot guy that gets the girl. That’s who I want to be in the movie. That’s who I want to dress like, feel like, act like, experience reality like. I know movies aren’t reality. But we see ourselves in characters on the screen. In seeing what I identify with up on the screen in front of me I see myself a little more at the same time.

After the movie I asked my friend, “I know I probably won’t do it, but would you still be my friend if I transitioned to be a man?”

She said, “Of course.” Then she asked me about it. I replied, “I feel like it is up ahead of me in the future, like the way being gay seemed before I let myself realize consciously that I was.”

Does that make any sense? I feel like I have said no to so many things that I later embraced fully. Like I was so scared to identify with something unknown that didn’t seem possible or was just so scary. Like bisexuality, or just gayness. Fisting, spanking. Butchness. Androgyny.

That’s as far as I am ready to talk about it tonight. Please share your thoughts with me. Thank you.

Zoey Rayal

xoxo

Feeling sexy in my underwear

Thu, 06 Jan 2011 23:04:57 -0500

I am settling into me. Some days I dress a little butch, while other days I femme it up a bit. Always I wear men’s underwear, except of course when I wear no underwear at all, which is what happens when I wear workout clothes. I remember when I started wearing men’s underwear. I experimented with different styles. I struggled a bit with boxer briefs riding up under loose pants. A few things have changed since then. My body size has changed. Actually I have lost about 40 pounds so my shape in general is different. Besides that, the more I am who I am, the more I shop for what I want to shop for, the more I wear what I want to wear, the more I change at the gym, etc., the more comfortable I am with myself in general.

I have found that when I am wearing loose men’s jeans, or any loose jeans for that matter, I prefer loose knit boxers. It feels like soft pajama clothes lining the crotch of my pants. When I’m wearing tighter jeans, I like to wear boxer briefs. I found that I prefer the longest leg boxer briefs I can find. I find the longer the leg the less they ride up my inner thighs. Sometimes I still wear women’s jeans. I wear boxer briefs with these too. Sometimes for job interviews I might even wear women’s office pants. I wear boxer briefs with these too.

I have always derived a secret satisfaction from feeling sexy in my underwear even if nobody else is going to see them. I dressed like a straight woman for a few years. I’m not sure how else to describe it. There was a while when I wore men’s clothes mostly because I was larger and they didn’t feel so tight on my belly. At some point I lost some weight and could wear women’s clothes that were smaller than the plus size section and I felt sexier. Suddenly I wanted to wear jeans that fit my body more closely and I didn’t feel as much like hiding my belly. At the time I was noticing more attention from men. I let this attention prop up my self-esteem a bit. I was actually going through a stage in my sexuality where I was reclaiming control over my body in sexual experiences with men. I was casually dating multiple men concurrently with full disclosure, playing the field, if you will. At the time I identified as bisexual, but was still very new to dating women. It was easier to keep dating the men that continued to pay attention to me. I wore thongs. Tiny little gauzy string bikinis. Sometimes these would be seen by various lovers. Or not. Even thinking about the panties I wore turns me on a little bit right now. Those tiny little gauzy things tight around my girl parts. It makes me flex a little. Whenever I found myself in an individual public bathroom I would check myself out in the mirror, undoing my pants to show my panties. These days I feel similarly sexy in my boxer briefs. I like being seen in them. I also like seeing myself in them. I like seeing myself in the bathroom mirror at work unzipping my women’s jeans to reveal my Express boxer briefs.

i'd do me now, i'd do me then...

Tue, 15 Jun 2010 23:49:49 -0400

looking at pictures of my younger self so girly with long flowy hair…a bit conflicted when others said how pretty i was…but then i just saw my cheek in the reflection of the midnight kitchen window, the sun kissed skin across my cheekbone framed by my sexy little short drogy do…and i thought as i looked at me “oh you are so sexy” and i thought of the younger skinnier me with the gorgeous hair and the tight jeans…

and i thought…

“oh you are so sexy, i would totally do you!”

sexisnottheenemy: Our Porn, Our Selves

Sat, 12 Jun 2010 00:09:31 -0400

sexisnottheenemy:

Our Porn, Our Selves

Kickstarter - Breaking Down Homo-phobia Through Photography

Sat, 05 Jun 2010 22:23:14 -0400

Kickstarter - Breaking Down Homo-phobia Through Photography

Self conscious when others comment on my presentation

Wed, 17 Feb 2010 14:46:33 -0500

In case you didn’t know, I’ve been going through some sort of genderqueer butch transitioning/coming out process. Which mostly means to my aquaintances that my style of dress & presentation has been changing. What it means at work is that I never wear skirts any more. I wear men’s underwear under my pants. No one knows this unless they see a playboy wideband above my Lucky’s on casual Friday. They certainly don’t see me wearing high heels, unless of course they see me today in my men’s H&M shirt all big over my ladies wide bottom office pants, under which I wore some chunky high heel boots. Why? Because I felt like it.

Why to all of this? Because I felt like it. Some mornings…well maybe most mornings…but not every morning, I go through that teenagery trying on a million things & changing again & again process before I finally find the right combo of things that I hopefully feel okay in leaving the house.

And then I’m out there in the world, for the next 9-12 hors or so. I even still have a comfortable old pair of women’s underwear in the side pocket of my backpack to put on if my knit boxers get too uncomfortable bunching up in my crotch with the wrong underwear-pants-combo. I actually forgot those spares were in there since I’ve gotten into a routine of boxer briefs (hopefully long ones) under tight pants, and baggy knit loose boxers under loose pants.

My tops differ. Mostly men’s shirts or sweaters, & I’ve been wearing a suit jacket for a coat. Once in a while though, I’ll wear an old girly sweater, or even a whole girly outfit.

Sometimes people that haven’t seen me in a long time might notice & comment on some difference they see in my appearance. My uncle didn’t recognize me when I walked in last Christmas. My aunt said my hair is so pretty when it’s long (which it’s not). One cute bi girl at work noticed my clothes getting “butchier,” and that she liked it. That made me self conscious, but I smiled satisfactorily to myself as I walked back to my cube. The same friend today noticed my boots were “girly,” and I thought about whether she was judging me for not being butchy enough or something. My D.O. said she never thought she’d ever see me wear argyle when I lay down on her table in an Express men’s sweater yesterday. Interestingly she said that I looked so appropriate for the office, with my suit jacket and all, as she said she has a hard time looking professional. That was the first time it ever occurred to me that this menswear might be making me look more professional. Trying to find something to wear to the office as comfortable as my big Lucky’s & my hoodies with thumbholes is not easy. Perhaps while I’ve been wondering more about the people at the office that don’t say anything (and I think I see them think about my appearance changes), I’ve actually just looked like I work in an office. No hose and heels, no skirts and perfume. Yes button down shirts and slacks, and some men’s deodorant. Once in a while a little wax in my hair.

I’m not trying to pass for a man or even a butch. I smile inside about my own genderqueer choices, the women’s slacks over the DMK boxer briefs, the little sparkling nose stud and the butchy hair, the big men’s shirt & the chunky lady’s boots. Perhaps I look like I’m in the 80’s? Who knows?!?

When it comes down to it, I’m just wearing what I felt like. And that’s that.

xoxo, Zoey Rayal

Some thoughts on butch on butch love

Wed, 20 Jan 2010 00:39:39 -0500

I’m not sure that I really have that much to say at this moment. Scratch that…I have a lot to say, but very little experience in this area. When I googled “butch and butch dating” I didn’t find too much. I found a few threads of people much younger than me talking about wanting to be themselves, but doing things like growing out their hair and dressing more girly to attract butches, when that wasn’t really how they wanted to present at all. I even found a thread on the butch femme website discussing once again the lack of information, attraction, interest, etc. available to “faggot butches.” These discussion threads, though, were very old. Maybe I didn’t look hard enough. Maybe I didn’t look in the right places, google the right words?

Does any one have any advice?

(via lesbihonest)

Fri, 08 Jan 2010 00:58:12 -0500

(via lesbihonest)

kimclit: elengberg:patriarchyisbullshit:smoothnougat)

Fri, 08 Jan 2010 00:50:09 -0500

kimclit:

elengberg:patriarchyisbullshit:smoothnougat)

mrsexsmith: transpride: xxboy: OH HELL YEAH. Amanda Simpson,...

Mon, 04 Jan 2010 01:53:55 -0500

mrsexsmith:

transpride:

xxboy:

OH HELL YEAH.

Amanda Simpson, who has served on National Center for Transgender Equality’s Board of Directors for the past 3 years, has been appointed by the Obama Administration as a Senior Technical Advisor to the Department of Commerce.

(via News Bulletin: Transgender Woman Appointed to Department of Commerce)

mrsexsmith: sexual: singlebychoice: hello-lover: adorablelife...

Mon, 04 Jan 2010 01:51:02 -0500

mrsexsmith:

sexual:

singlebychoice:

hello-lover:

adorablelife:

honeyniss:

(via toujourstard)

Shopping in the Men's section while insecure in a butch identity

Sun, 03 Jan 2010 22:30:00 -0500

I noticed how I am getting more comfortable with shopping in the men’s section the more I do it. I know this has got to be easier for me than my male friend shopping for women’s lingerie, but, well, we all have our fears and insecurities, especially when we act outside of gender norms in public.

I used to go shopping for women’s lingerie with my male friend who preferred to wear such items. We would pretend we were a couple shopping for me. The first time I even held the money, and the panties, and made the purchase. Over time, he has become more comfortable with this, and as I have been transitioning to more masculine dress as of late, he sometimes accompanies me into the men’s section too. It’s quite a fun little escapade. Sometimes we sneak each other a peak of our transgendered underpants waistbands at a stop light on the way to the movies. That’s truly what friends are for!

I was at the mall last night and I happened into Express, for me a pubescent butch’s wet dream (I’m actually in my thirties, but as I come out a little queerer, a little butcher, I feel as though I am going through another sort of puberty). They were having a sale, and I finally got to buy a sweater! I have been attracted to the sweaters of some of the men at work. I compliment them on their sweaters, and even go so far as to ask where they get them. One very sweet man kindly motions for me to check his tag every time I do this. He has quite a collection from Banana Republic. I poke my head in that store from time to time, but find the prices overwhelming and the sale racks usually slim pickings. Long before I started even coming out to myself as butcher than I thought I was, I have been drawn to the gorgeous colors and crisp attire in the men’s department at Express. Which reminds me…I must get myself to a Structure, if that still exists. I used to date a guy when I was in my 20’s who had knit boxers from there. I loved them. I pretty sure I loved them much more than what was in them. It’s exciting letting myself do what I want, and buying new knit men’s boxers! They feel so good in my big baggy Lucky jeans. My crotch just feels so comfortable and free, like I am in pajamas! But back to Express - what a display they put on - what a palatable palette!

I noticed last night that I entered the store and shopped in the men’s section with slightly less insecurity and self consciousness than I have thus far. I remember some times throughout my teen years, and even perhaps my early 20’s, when I shopped shamelessly in the men’s sections. Somehow there were threads of style fads back then in the 80’s and 90’s that made it cool for women to shop for the men’s boxers to wear as sexy little summer shorts, or big flannel shirts to look a little grunge. Car-harts were also quite acceptable amongst hippie, artist, and outdoor leadership crowds (all of which I frequented at some point or another) in those days, and probably still today. In the fluctuations of my fashion sense over the years, I have certainly owned my share of men’s department clothes.

I have always felt a certain satisfaction in going right ahead and doing something generally assigned to the gender other than which I was assigned at birth. I liked to beat the boys on the soccer field (I grew up in the early 80’s, and before high school, for me there was no such thing as girl’s soccer). I instead was one of three 9th grade girls on the primarily 7th grade boys’ soccer team. I always wondered if we truly were good enough for varsity, but didn’t make it because we were girls. Even on JV the coach kept us (the 3 older girls) on the bench most of the time. In any case, whether at a team sport or out at recess, I prided myself on doing not only what the boys could do, but for trying to do it better. When my younger preteen brother started using foul language in front of (and perhaps with?) my father, I followed suit, even when it was met with shock by my father. When I have to go to the bathroom and there are single room separate sex toilets, I will head straight into the often empty men’s room. I kind of like the confused face I might see on the way out.

So why, after all of that, do I still feel shy in the men’s department? I still feel shy there, because I still feel shy claiming a butch identity. For a long time (most of my early “out” years), I shied away from butch and femme culture as I saw it re-enacting the hetero gender binary. I also didn’t think I fit into either category, nor was sure I was more attracted to one than the other. It has only been in the last year that I have really let myself even begin to transition into a more butch identity. Sometimes I wonder if I am really butch enough to be butch. I wonder if I deserve to be butch. I wonder if there is some definition out there of butch that I don’t fit into clearly enough, and am afraid to name myself as butch. I wonder sometimes if I am butch then will I only date femmes? Will those I am attracted to be attracted to me? Will other butches ever be attracted to me and want to date me?

All of these questions and all of these insecurities line my identity, and somehow make it even harder to buy a sweater.