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

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.

I’m out visiting extended family for the holidays, some of whom I have not seen in two years, and all of whom I have not seen since my latest shortest haircut.  Even in my early 30’s I somehow feel somewhat teen-like, visiting family with a new haircut and a nose ring, with clothes a little bit butcher than they might remember.

Family members certainly have a way of mixing compliment with critique, with a (kind?) “Your hair is so beautiful, you should grow it out.”  I used to have long flowing wavy red hair, the kind that made others jealous sometimes apparently.  It was the kind of hair that attracted all sorts of straight males and garnered lots of compliments from women who coveted long hair or frequently dyed their hair to find the perfect color.  It’s true, as a red head I am lucky to have color while others are greying, etc., but regardless of what I have that other folks might wish they had, I deserve to present how I like and feel attractive doing so!  I rely on the (real!) compliments of my friends who are awesome and tell me hot how I am, rather than telling me I would be beautiful if….

While it has taken some time to gradually shift my wardrobe in a direction that feels more appropriate to my gender identity and presentation, I have been feeling more confident a lot more frequently, in the town in which I live, and even at the office.  My heels are high up on some shelf in my closet, and my skirts hang off to the side unworn.  I rotate through a handful of slacks and button down shirts, and have developed more of a collection of knit boxer briefs and socks to go with my Fleuvogs.  Dressed casually I feel the most confident, both probably because it feels like the shifts in my casual wear are less extreme, and I am more comfortable in casual wear in the first place.  I like jeans, converse, thermals, and hoodies.

I stressed a bit packing for this visit to family, both because I would be traveling to a different climate, and because I started thinking about how I might feel more uncomfortable around family than I do in the rest of my life.  I think that part of this stems from facing individuals who may expect that I look the same as when they saw me last.  As far as I can recall, I think that it is quite likely that I look different every few years anyway.  My style has changed quite a bit over the years, from a scruffy but feminine hippie, to a messy art student in baggy men’s clothes, to a more refined woman in fitted jeans and tighter shirts, and gradually settling into a butcher more masculine but still somewhat genderqueer dress as of late.

With all that said, I shaved my armpits but not my legs, packed tank tops with built in bras as undershirts, and all my favorite knit boxers and boxer briefs.  I also packed jeans (men’s and women’s), some long sleeve jerseys to wear under concert tees and some short and long sleeve button down shirts.  I topped all of this off with some mens’ hoodies and a suit jacket.

I walked in the door to my cousin’s house on Christmas day in men’s jeans, a casual short sleeve button down shirt, and my short boyish hair.  I was greeted with hugs and some strange looks.  My 80 year old uncle blurted out “I didn’t recognize you!” as he gave me a hug.  I think his comment made me feel stranger than anything.  I don’t intend to confuse my elderly relatives.

Honestly, I think so far the reaction to my transitioning appearance has been quite uneventful.  I think I am much more concerned about my appearance than anybody else.  My insecurity vamps up in apprehension of a reaction or a judgement.  And it keeps me from doing things like walking around in my boxers.

As I have been going through my genderqueer butch puberty, I have gradually transitioned to wearing men’s underwear for the most part.  Last summer I remember looking longingly at the underwear in the men’s section at Target, nearly buying some boxer briefs that looked so comfortable, but then not, because the “package” would be empty.  I then wandered back over into the women’s section and bought some little “boyshort” style women’s underwear, which fit nice and snugly (albeit a little too snugly for my tastes lately).

At the end of the summer I was dating a wonderful person with some similar transmasculine leanings who encouraged me to go right ahead and buy the men’s underwear if that’s what I wanted.  It didn’t matter whether or not there was some extra fabric around the crotch.  I didn’t have to fill it out to deserve to wear it. (Or I could fill the package….wow…an even more exciting concept I had not let myself dare to dream at that point).

So, to make a long story short (boy shorts), or at least get closer to the point, I started buying men’s underwear.  I may have snuck some into my cart at Target, bought some along with vacuum cleaner bags at Sears, and even tried some on at Marshalls.  I’ve tried out a few different shapes, to include boxer briefs and knit boxers, and have explored a variety of brands and sizes.  I’ve played around with the gender intentions of the clothes I wear for work and for play, as well as with my hair, jewelry, makeup, etc.

As I let myself explore more sections of clothing stores, sometimes filling my cart up completely with clothes from the men’s sections and then traversing the store to try them on in the women’s dressing room (Oh the irony…I love H&M for having gender neutral dressing rooms) my men’s underwear drawer filled up, and my women’s underwear drawer was opened far less often.  Depending on where I am or who I am with (friends, lovers, etc.) I have noticed new comforts as well as discomforts with my new underwearshape choices.  When spending the night at a friend’s place, or sharing a hotel room with friends, I’ve found boxer briefs to be much more comfortable and convenient for casually sleeping and hanging out.  Less revealing than women’s panties, they feel appropriate to wear in lieu of pajamas if need be, and far more concealing for prancing off to the bathroom without a robe.  With a new lover this fall, I felt a little more self conscious, wondering, does she think these are sexy?  Do they turn her on?  Why does she take them off with my pants?  What does she think when I am getting dressed in the morning?

And then there’s the gym.  I’ll have to say, I don’t go there that often, not because I’m not sporty, but because there are many other active things I like to do that are far more exhilarating, fulfilling, and enjoyable for me, so the gym is sort of a last resort for me in the exercise department.  Like buying from the supermarket what I would have rather found at a farmstand.  But I digress.  The locker room was what I was getting at. I wasn’t prepared for how I would feel when I got to the locker room for the first time and realized I was wearing men’s underwear.  Not really prepared at all.  In addition, I have let my body hair grow out this fall as well, which brings another level of insecurities for me in occasional situations (though these I have encountered before as I have had my hairs every which way at some point in my life, going through hippy phases and the like).

So there I was at the gym one day in my office wear, which recently mostly consists of business casual pants (usually of some women’s size), a collared button down shirt (usually, but not always, of a men’s style), and underneath it all, knit boxers or boxer briefs.  I usually love the locker room situation.  I love being naked, and I love seeing women naked.  What a lucky lucky place to be, as long as I can keep from letting anyone think I might be ogling.  I hope no one notices when I occasionally have to smile to myself after tasty glimpses of breast and thigh….

And there I go digressing once again.  Sorry.  What I am trying to say is that the first time I caught myself in a women’s locker room with my pants down, suddenly revealing men’s underwear to a room full of ladies, I felt seriously self conscious.  What were people thinking?  Did they even really notice, especially if they weren’t oglers like me?  Would I be judged?  Was this weird?  How many other women actually wear men’s underwear?  I hadn’t ever seen it in a women’s locker room before.

I think the first time I took them off really fast.  Better to be naked than caught in boxer briefs.  My bush was more gender appropriate for that room if anyone was judging anyway, right?  The next time, I think I thought ahead just long enough to decide to pull them off with my pants.  The same self consciousness arose on the occasions that I showered and redressed into street clothes at the gym, or even worse, at the locker room at work.  I pretty much just pulled them on and then the pants right after really fast.  It was really the best I could do.

But then today, I noticed myself do something else.  Well, I think I noticed when I noticed someone notice me.  I was with a friend, post shower, getting dressed in the women’s locker room at the gym.  I had one of my favorite pairs of boxer briefs, my favorite jeans (men’s Lucky brand) a bra, a black tank top, a men’s thermal, and a cozy stylish men’s hoodie to put on.  I feel so much more comfortable in the casual clothes that I wear outside of work than those I feel I must wear to conform to the “business casual” standard at the office.  I pulled on my boxer briefs, in no particular hurry, and with absolutely no self consciousness…until a girl across the room looked up at me for just a little too long.  The way women look at me just a little too long in the women’s bathroom in my office building since I cut my hair short and have been wearing more masculine clothes.  Her look, not exactly a double take, but sort of an extra long glance, made me instantly self conscious.  I knew that she was looking at my grey and black striped boxer briefs, with the nice loose package in the front, the piss hole for the penis I don’t have.  I really have no idea what she was thinking, nor confirmation that she really was thinking anything I was self conscious about.  And then I proceeded to get dressed and be on my way, in no particular hurry.

I’m glad to realize that for once I didn’t feel self conscious, even for just a moment, about my butch underpants at the gym :)

Exploration of underwearshapes is one of my favorite ways to find comfort with and grow into my gender identity.  Sometimes, back in my baggy messy sloppy ripped up clay and paint splattered art school days, I took pleasure knowing just how very sexy my tiny little bejeweled thong might be.

That was awhile ago.  Went right through and out the other side of that thong phase.  Well, at least on my body.  I still like the looks of them on someone else;)

In any case, my more recent forays into new underwearshapes have been into boxerbriefs.  And not just the women’s boyshort version (though they were certainly a gateway underwearshape).  I mean the package worthy real deal.  I have shopped in and out of the men’s department for a variety of items my entire life.  In high school, and perhaps before that, men’s boxers were the thing to wear in the dorm, and even out and about as summer shorts, if I seem to remember correctly.  The men’s department has always had cheaper T shirts; the white V neck variety has been a staple in my wardrobe on and off.  I have big feet anyway, usually in men’s boots, and a package of men’s white socks is another staple.  In the past few months to a year, I noticed how inexpensive and comfy men’s department pajama shorts are.  At about that time that I started buying the men’s pajama shorts (it’s always a great excuse to use “pajamas” as the reason to buy something I may not be able to wear out in the world yet), I started more seriously looking at men’s boxer briefs.  On one particular occasion I was just about to buy them but worried about all the extra material around the package that I didn’t have.  And I picked the womens version, that would wrap right up tight there around my female business.  I bought some playboy cotton jersey boxers on the sale rack at Marshalls and loved wearing them to bed.  I liked the girl shorts, but they were too hot in summer and they kind of rode up in the middle.

Somewhere in the middle of this process I started dating a wonderful human being who got right into this underwearshape discussion with me.  My cousin thought she looked like a man.  I found her extremely attractive perhaps because she was a woman that embodied a beautiful masculinity.  But I digress.  She moved to another city and broke my heart a little, but really encouraged me to be a little more of who I am, and I am eternally grateful for that.  She actually pointed out to me one day that there was a big butch inside of me waiting to come out.  I don’t know exactly how she could see that so clearly and just say it to me like that like noone else before ever did, but I’m glad she did.  We never did get to go underwear shopping together (did I mentioned she cracked my heart just a little by moving away and on), but as I said, we discussed our comfort levels and attraction to a variety of underwearshapes.  She looked so good in the pastel men’s underwear she wore occasionally.  She encouraged me to go ahead and buy the underwearshapes I wanted not just even if but just because they had a package.

And so it began.  A foray into exploring more men’s underwearshapes.  From Express to the Gap, to Hanes at Sears, and Calvin Kleins and Body Glove at Marshalls.  I’ve found that just like women’s clothing, the sizes vary among brands.  I want them to be the perfect new underwearshape for me, but they might not be all the time.  I found some gently loose cotton jersey boxers at the Gap that feel perfect with a certain pair of jeans.  I found a pair of extra long DMK boxerbriefs, that feel great under some feminine office pants.  My butt’s a bit round though, and so are my thighs, so sometime the legs of boxer briefs ride up in the crotch, except for the extra longs which don’t quite cover my butt crack.  I work in an office, where a far-from-any-metropolitan-area version of business casual is the dress.  For a while I had been playing dress up, with skirts and boots, capris and heels.  Somewhere around last summer I gave up on the heels and settled for flip flops. As we deepen through the fall towards winter temps, I have masculinized my dress quite a bit, with shorter and shorter hair cuts.  Little to no eye makeup.  Pants always, and never skirts.  More men’s button down shirts.  I still wear women’s pants, as they fit me better, and occasionally women’s shirts or sweaters.  I usually wear the boxer briefs under everything.  Only sometimes they bunch up somewhere, and I end up taking them off in the ladies room and bringing them back to my cube in my pocket where I sneak them into my backpack.  Then I go commando for the rest of the day.  That really may be my favorite underwearshape.