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

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

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.

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!”

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 :)

Ready, set, queerer!

Ok.  So I’m going through some changes. I think. 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 metamorpheses.  And how much it helps to share what is in my head, heart, brain and skin.

I could start from the very beginning. Or just start where I am at right now, and unravel a little.

I think the hardest part of what I am going through is the world outside.  Just as soon as I come out a little more to myself, or allow myself to be just a little more who the fuck I am, then I take something from outside of myself personally.  Maybe it is personal.  Maybe I do a triathlon and think and think and think while I swim bike and run and wonder “can I really do this” and somewhere along the way as I realize that I am doing this I think so loudly I want to shout it, “I AM SO GAY!!!!!” and it makes me happier than ever.  And then the next day I mention a woman I am dating to my mother and I hear the disappointment in her voice like icicles weighing down a moustache.  “Do you still wish I wasn’t gay?” I inquire?  To which I receive the lovely, “I can dream a little, can’t I?”

OW. Wow. I felt like I was punched in the heart.  And that’s perhaps the way it always was growing up.  Except I don’t think I ever really got to the full moments of coming out to myself however I was before I got punched in the heart.  I just was stifled all along before I ever came out.  As a high schooler I wasn’t allowed to play ice hockey because as a girl I was supposed to be a figure skater.  As a hippy tour kid I would come to visit my mom and she would have a bottle of “Smells Begone” right inside the front door.  When I finally found someone capable of commiting to a relationship with me enough to bring home to visit, of course he wasn’t good enough.

And then, after coming out as bi, there was always the hope after every breakup that my next relationship would be with one of those creatures with a penis.  Once, while coming out of surgical anesthesia at age 30, I said to my mother, “Do you still love me even though I’m gay?”  She didn’t say a word.

It’s a wonder I even let myself be who I am.  Well, I do. One moment I feel great about it all, and the next self conscious.  One moment one thing feels great, and then the next I wonder about everything.  I think about boxes and labels and who needs to know what and/or nothing. And when it comes down to it, all that really matters is that I am comfortable with myself.  Even if I prefer femme tops and butch bottoms.  I’m talking about clothes here. Boxer briefs and a corset. Mmmm. That feels great right about now.  I feel queerer than straight, butcher than femme. And a little like…no…a lot like nothing that really even has a name.  Not that the general public understands anyway.  I’ve been reading a bit here and there.  Some S. Bear Bergman, some Kate Bornstein.  Wikipedia’s definitions of butch, boi, genderqueer, and genderfuck.

And then just living. 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