Tag Archive | Sexuality

Questions about my sexuality.

Sexuality is a perplexing thing, at least for me. It’s probably why I’m bad at it, or at least finding partners. The root lies partly within the question of my gender. While sexuality and gender may be different things, they are, in my own personal opinion, inexorably linked. It’s inescapable.

The question I’m always asked is what am I? Am I straight? Am I gay? Am I a lesbian? The answer depends on my gender. Am I a man or am I a woman? The reality is convoluted in that I identify both ways. I’m both male and female, and somehow neither. That ambiguity is something I’ve been struggling with my whole life. Does that mean I’m non-binary, as one person told me, or am I bigender?

I will confess that I really don’t care to define myself so narrowly. Other people seem to be the ones interested in placing me neatly in a column. It’s what we do, we categorize each other by several different criteria. Height, weight, hair color, race, ethnicity, nationality, body type, intelligence, education. I could probably keep coming up with other criteria, and so can you. It’s human nature.

So when it comes to my sexuality, narrowly defining myself has seemed to me to be an exercise in futility. I’ve always been attracted to women. Simple, right? But does that make me a straight male or a lesbian female? Also, I’ve been attracted to men. Not often, but it has happened. I’ve probably been with as many men as I have women, especially lately. Men are easier to bed.

I don’t claim to know the answer, and frankly I don’t care. I’ve always been drawn to the female form, but a nice penis is nice, too. I can’t help my feelings.

The easy answer, therefore, is to say I’m bi.

The trouble is that, be virtue of my own gender, and the fact that I live my life in both worlds, many find me undateable. I know there are those who aren’t put off by it, but I haven’t found anyone, and most men just want to satisfy some fetishtic curiosity.

So, for the most part, I have learned to be comfortable with my own company. I don’t date. I don’t seek to date, and I rarely, if ever, try to find a sexual partner. Why should I?


The difficulty of finding acceptance


I took a few days off from work. The reason was so I could come down to DFW to see my friend so we could see Deadpool 2 together. It was a great movie. Glad we went! I’m not much of a superhero/comic book person, but I loved the first movie, and I loved the second one as well. Now I’m waiting for Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald. I can’t wait!

What I love about heading out of town is being able to exist in my own skin and be me. I don’t have to be drab and pretend anything. I can dress up and remember that I’m more than what my body tells me. I’m more than what my chromosomes made me out to be. I’m what my mind tells me I am.

The long weekend also allowed me to escape from home, to get away from what’s been stressing me out. Ever since my conversation with my parents, then the conversation with my sister, I confess that it got to me. I forget that this is a huge deal. Took me a lifetime to come to terms with it. It’s unfair of me to expect them to just happily accept this. I’m being selfish.

A lot of my friends have been great. They sympathize with me, but they also remind me that this isn’t a minor thing. It’s a monumental shift in my existence. To ask someone to be okay with someone deciding to be a different gender is a lot to ask. For some, it’s too much. That’s the sad reality of being trans.

But for me, though I identify myself under the trans umbrella, I exist as both male a female. I prefer to present myself as female as I feel better of myself as Stefani, but I’m equally secure as Joe. I can’t deny either aspect of my reality.

Which doesn’t mean I haven’t considered hormones. I have, I am, and I will continue to consider it. I would like to feminize myself more even if I don’t completely transition. Not everyone wants to have gender-reassessment surgery. I have thought about it, naturally, and one of my earliest dreams I remember about by identity involves me having a female anatomy.

The struggle for me is that I was born a certain sex. I was born, for better or worse, with a penis. I wish I was born with a vagina instead, or at the very least identifying with the gender I was assigned. That’s the struggle we face. Accepting our assigned gender or accepting that our gender runs counter to what our anatomy tells us.

There’s also a certain amount of God-fear as well. I was born Catholic, and though I’m not practicing, I haven’t abandoned my religion completely. I feel as though I’ve lost my faith at times, but to reject it completely is beyond me. I envy those born without this burden.

I can’t help but wonder why religion makes this so difficult. If someone is born with a defect and there’s a surgery or treatment available, most would agree that the sensible thing to do is to accept said treatment. Heart condition? Surgery. Tumor? Surgery. Transgender? No such thing. God made you that way. You were born female/male. Accept it!

But people are born with heart defects and no one tells them to accept it. “God made you that way.” We amputate limbs, fix other issues, but anything to do with sexuality is taboo. The religious mindset is infuriating!

Sexuality is a natural biological function. Why do we place so much importance on it? Penises are beautiful, so are vaginas. Men are beautiful and so are women. Why is sex considered vulgar? Why does engaging in sex make women whores? Why aren’t men held to that same standard?

But I digress. Gender is more than what our physical bodies tell us. It’s independent of it. For most gender and sex aligns, but some of us it doesn’t. Why can’t I be a woman? Why can’t I change my body to align better with what my mind tells me?

In the end, it’s a battle too many of us have fought, and continue to fight, both with the world without, and with ourselves as well. I’ve come to accept who I am after many year of denial. I’ve come to the revelation after running from it for a lifetime. Now, I’m happier than I have ever been, though it’s not easy for me. I’m secure in my identity. I just hope my family comes around.

And I’m one of the lucky ones. Many are outright disowned. That, more than anything, is why being trans is so hard to our mental health.

Quiet September

img_20160903_1936571It’s been quiet lately in Stefani’s world. I’ve been closing a lot these past few weeks, and I tend to dress after work, so opportunities to dress up have been few and far between. I had hoped to meet another friend of mine last Tuesday, another crossdresser in town, for dinner, but plans fell through. I was disappointed, of course, but I understood. I hope she’s feeling better now, and I pray we can reschedule soon.

My hair is getting longer now. In fact, it’s driving me crazy. I kind of want to get the clippers and buzz it off. It’s at that awkward stage when it’s not long enough to do anything with, but long enough to get in the way. It’ll be several more months before I can do anything with it, and maybe up to a year before it’s as long as I need it. I can’t wait!

Now that it’s getting cooler, I’m needing to start buying myself some winter outfits. I do have a few, but I need more. I also need to buy myself a couple of jackets, a leather one so I can look like a kick-ass bitch, and something a little more sophisticated.

A friend from work with whom I confided my secret is wanting to take me shopping. I have my usual partner that I go shopping, but another couldn’t hurt. She’s wanting to take me to Maurices, should our bonus checks from work be large enough. I’ve never been in there. I wonder what’s in there. I wonder if there’s anything I’d like.

It’s crazy how invested I’ve become in this. I’ve come along way from my purging days, where I’d buy a few things, hide them, then become disgusted with my perversity and throw everything away, only to have my compulsion force me back into the cycle. Now I’m trying to build as large a wardrobe as possible. I’m staring to shift gears and buy more comfortable articles, shorts and t-shirts. I’m wanting to buy some capris, but I do believe they’re out of season. Damn it!

I brought another person into my circle recently. Actually, I had my bestie tell her husband about me. She told me that he wasn’t all to surprised by it. I think he had suspected I was a little on the gay side, so me being transgender wasn’t too much of a shock. I’m not gay, by the way, not that it matters. I’ve come to the conclusion that as far as Stefani is concerned, I’m bi.

Hopefully I can dress up this weekend. I desperately need it. The only thing is that I have nowhere to go. Gone are the days when dressing up and hiding all day in my friend’s apartment was sufficient for me. Now I want to dress up and go out. I love being out in public. I’m just not in a place where I can do so comfortably.


And another one finds out


At Myriad Botanical Gardens. Forgive my crazy eyes, lol! ~Stef~

It seems like I’m being found out all too often lately. A few weeks ago, my ex-wife called me to tell me that my step-daughter saw my pictures on my ex-wife’s phone. Okay. No problem. Not what I wanted to happen, but she’s okay with it, and we can live with it. Then last Monday, a co-worker hinted that she found my Facebook profile and asked if that was me.

Yikes! I thought I was being more careful, but I also knew it was inevitable. I pulled out my cellphone, opened up my profile, and asked if that was what she found. She nodded excitedly before berating me for not telling her. She has two gay sons, after all. Not that being transgender and being gay are the same thing. Still, she had a million questions, which I tried to answer discreetly.

We tried to talk a little more on Friday, but again we couldn’t say much. Too many prying ears, so I said we should have lunch sometime to discuss my crossdressing even further. She did ask if I was gay. I am no. Bi? Well, not really, but I have fooled around a few times. Does that shock you, my readers? It freaked me out. I almost had a panic attack the following day after my first time.

But back to my co-worker. I wondered if she wanted to hook me up with her son. He’s currently in a relationship, so I doubt it, but what if? Is that what I want? I don’t think so. I mean to say that I’m attracted to women, but the thought of being with a guy no longer terrifies me. I’ve kissed one. I’ve given a few guys a blowjob – but not at the same time, mind you – and I enjoyed the experience. I’m keen to do it again.

But what about a real date? I wouldn’t mind going out on a movie date some time with a guy. Maybe go to a nice restaurant, or an art gallery, a musical, opera, etc. What I want are experiences. I’ve closeted myself for far too long, especially to myself, that I have no true idea of self. I’m only a reflection of who I think people want me to be. Isn’t that horrifying? The me that exists is merely a mask I wear to please those around me.

As I write this, I’m forced to conclude that I don’t know who I am. Which one of my identities is my true face and which one is the mask? Is it even fair to ask the question? Can’t both be part of my true self, different halves of the whole, man and woman made one in me? More importantly, can I have both a boyfriend and a girlfriend?

I read Alice in Genderland by Richard J. Novic, M.D., and he found himself in a marriage that allowed him the opportunity to live as Alice on the weekend, and as her was in a committed relationship with a man. I admit that I was fascinated and a little jealous when I read that. Isn’t that the fantasy I have, of having a wife and a boyfriend with their respective blessings?

I don’t know, but truth be told, I have to admit that it is. It feels like the moment of truth is circling ever closer. It’ll be soon that I’ll be outed at work, and what then? Some will be intrigued, some few maybe even excited, but I suspect most will be repulsed. I’ll become the laughingstock of my coworkers, the butt of their jokes. I’ll be mocked and made to feel less of myself.

I hope I’m wrong, of course. Sure, some will mock me for sure, but I pray that it would be as bad as I fear. Part of me just wants to be done with it, to let the world in on my secret. It would simplify so many things. I’ll no longer fear being discovered and outed to a hostile world. I’ll be able to just be me, and let the mask slip from my fingers.

I’m supposed to have lunch with my friend, hopefully this coming week. I believe she wants to go out with me as Stefani next weekend as well. I’m not committed to that, but I’m thinking about it. It would be nice to have more friends in my corner, should the worst happen.

The one with a lot of maybes

3I had a stay-in last night. I got all dressed up, and then lay on the couch, playing on my phone, all night. That’s it. Nothing more. Of course I would have gone to Club 212 had my checking account been a little more favorable, but baby needed new tires, so baby got new tires. I’m baby, by-the-way.

Most of my money has gone to my car lately. I had to buy and replace the water pump and the water outlet the paycheck before that. My A/C had been on the fritz, and after several attempt to fix it, I ended up buying a new hose for the A/C system, and installed it. A/C works great, not meaning to pat myself on my back.

*waits for cheers and applause to die down*

Thank you, you’re too kind! And now I replace two tires. Hopefully I’ll be able to stop spending money on car repairs and start spending money on me again. Baby needs new shoes. Something comfy, walking shoes or the like. All I have are heels, including my boots. I love them, but I need something more casual to wear. That would be nice.

I also want a tattoo. I never wanted one, but Stef does. This duality in my personality is confusing sometimes. Male-mode is straight, Fem-mode is a little more fluid. Okay, maybe a little boy crazy. Curiosity is a bitch, I must tell you. Er…, maybe I shouldn’t.

I’m all over the place today, which I wasn’t last night. I firmly planted my behind on the couch, with the air conditioner on full blast, feeling chilly and comfy with the blankets pulled up over me. It was heaven. I dozed and then played on my phone, and then dozed again. Rinse and repeat.

Usually I get cabin fever locked in all night, but I think I needed a time out. I would have liked a margarita or a Dos Equis, but that’s okay. That can wait. My tires couldn’t. Safety first.

I hope to have a chance to dress again this week. Maybe tomorrow I will, after work. If the opportunity presents itself, I may go to the club this weekend. We’ll see. It’s still an entire work week away. I hope I survive. Or maybe not. Maybe I need a sugardaddy and/or momma. Maybe I should just go to bed.



IMG_20160603_210251I’m about set to take another road trip down to visit a friend of mine next weekend. I can’t wait. I’m working to get my car ready as my air condition decided it no longer needed to work. I think I’ve located the leak, I’ve ordered the part, and I’m hoping it arrives before I leave. The Texas heat has begun to settle in, and I’m not looking forward to making that drive sans air conditioning.

I’m also looking forward to it because I’m planning on making the drive as Stefani. I did it last time, back in March, but I pulled over before I got to her house, changed back into boy mode, so that her husband wouldn’t see me. He doesn’t know, and as macho, right-wing man, anyone that doesn’t subscribe to traditional gender roles is to be ridiculed.

So I’m leaving early Friday morning, around five in the morning, and I asked my friend to be off that day. I want to introduce Stefani to her, even though she already knows. I send the occasional photo, but she hasn’t seen me dressed yet. At least not since 2000. I can’t believe it’ been that long.

She was the first person, back in ’97, that met Stefani. In fact, she’s the one that asked if I had a name. Back then, I dressed in secret, and though I came out to a friend even before then, it was still more of a fetish thing, one that filled me with shame and regret.

I came out to her as a joke. We worked at the same place, a Burger King on campus of the university we were attending. I kind of fell in love with her, which is strange to say now as she is my best friend. Then, I didn’t know her, but I thought she was cute, and we had that awkward banter that two people who are into each other fall into.

I would joke how I probably looked better in a dress than she did, as I recall. She laughed, but then she called my bluff. She told me where she lived and invited me over. To my everlasting surprise, I went over. I’m not sure if I actually put no a dress on that occasion, but I eventually did. I remember her pulling out a short, black dress. That I could have put it on is nothing short of amazing, considering how thin she was back in those days. Come to think of it, I was a lot thinner, too. Ugh, I feel fat!

Back to my story. She’s the one who helped me accept myself for who I was. She exhorted me to stop feeling guilty and to embrace the woman within. She taught me how to dress, showed me who to do make up, and encouraged me to leave the house, which I did. We went our during the day, me in short shorts with hose, and a sleeveless blouse. I totally rocked the look back then. It helped that I actually wore my hair long back then. We even went to Lubbock once and shopped around, if I recall correctly.

A lot can change in over the years. I’m no longer a thin wraith, and I don’t pass as well as I did back then. We dated for a while, broke up, but remained friends. She married, and I did as well, before divorcing five years later. The only constant is our friendship. And though I hid Stefani away for years, she never wavered in her acceptance of a person I tried to deny.

So here I am, ready to reintroduce myself to the woman who helped create my identity all those years ago. I can’t wait to make that drive, to step out of that car, and have her see me again.

Loving being me

20151122_193216It’s Sunday night, and I’m all dressed up. I wish I had somewhere to go. Instead, I’m playing online, mostly on my phone, flirting with guys who like crossdressers. I may not really be into men, but a part of me enjoys the game, to a point I don’t know if I could ever cross that line. If I did, would I like it? I don’t know.

What do you girls say? I know some crossdressers are into guys, some are not. Some are straight, gay, and bi. I’ve never entertained the idea of an asexual transgender, but the more we learn, the greater the variety of people. I’m still discovering my identity. As old as I am, you’d think I would have me figured out, but alas, no. I keep surprising myself.

Maybe the most honest assessment of myself is that I’m a bi-curious mtf transgender. I always thought it would get easier as I got older. I’m supposed to be a straight male. Isn’t that what normal society says I should be? But I know I’ve never been whatever normal is supposed to be. It took me years to learn to be me, and being me is okay. In fact, I’ve come to terms with my crossdressing. I love me. How about you?


Surprising myself

TherapyAs I crossdresser, I’ve come to a rather startling realization; men are pigs! Yes, I said it. Men are nothing more than deviants in search of some fancy to sate their sexual appetites. I know it’s probably a shock to all women out there, but I had to speak the truth.

Okay, to be completely honest with you, I like the attention. Maybe it’s better so say that I like some attention. It all started with Whisper, the app where you can anonymously confess your secrets. I posted this a while back, and my inbox was flooded with horn dogs asking me for pictures. I talked with a few, and I let them know that I was a crossdresser. I didn’t want to lead any of them on. None were jerks about it, and a few were into it.

It was nice to feel wanted, even if it was through an anonymous venue. I doubt any would flirt with me were they to see me in real life. Then again, maybe they would, the freaks. Would I be okay with it? Would it repulse me or turn me on?

What surprised me is that a few did excite me. A few men made me wish I could be with them, intimately and sexually. I wanted to be desired. I wanted to be used. I needed a man to make me glory in a womanhood I’ve longed for since I was just a teen, when I started realizing that I was different. To tell the truth, it scared me to find just how far I could go with the right man urging me forward.

Living a convenient lie


Lolita fashion costume from loveburlesque.com

I feel horrible. I’ve been neglecting my writing, but life has a way of getting in the way, but that’s no excuse. I’ll do better in the future, but I’ll have to figure out some sort of posting schedule to keep me on task.

I’m sitting here, in my bedroom, feeling as though I’m missing a part of me. You ever felt that way? I do most of the time.  I live in a world where I can never truly be myself. I have to act as though I’m (somewhat) manly, although I would rather be wearing a cute dress or skirt. I would rather be wearing heels than sneakers. I want to dress like a princess, but I’m cursed, left to wander the barren wasteland, sentenced to wear these garments of shame.

Pants, yuck!

I know, I’m being facetious, but at the same time, I’m telling the truth. I feel as though I’m a pretender, living a convenient lie about myself, that I am who I pretend to be. I’m not. Not really. Not that I’m not the man people see everyday, but there’s more to me, more than I allow anyone to see. I’m some freak of nature, neither man or woman, but both at the same time. Does that make any sense?

This is the image I want for myself. Sad isn’t it? Back when I was in my twenties, I may have been able to pull it off, but now that I’m nearing forty? Forget it. Still, I think it’s interesting to think about who we are, how we see ourselves versus how others see us, and how we want to be. I want to appear manly, but sometimes I wish I could give up the pretense and just be the silly little girl my heart yearns to be.

I envy those who could. I envy those girls who gave up pretending, who stopped living imprisoned within their genetic makeup, and did  something to realize their true image of themselves. Sex and gender are too complicated to define via genitalia, The penis does not a man make, nor the vagina a woman. It’s painful when the largest sex organ, the brain, is at odds with the body.

So I hide behind the beard, shielding myself from the fact that I will never be pretty, nor beautiful. I will never be anyone’s princess. I will forever be the beast, angry and alone, praying for Death to take me, but who seems to be enjoying my torment.

Maybe someday things will change, but not now. I will put on my mask, trudge down the path that fate has dealt me. I wish I were strong enough to become who I want to be, but I’m not. And so I suffer, no one around me knowing, or caring, why I’m always in such a bad mood. Try living a lie. It isn’t easy to maintain a fiction and remain happy.

And thus bitterness is born…


Quiet musing

Some how my co-worker got me to open up about my ex-wife and ex-girlfriend. I try not to invoke their memory, but when prompted, I may never shut up about them. There’s something humiliating about being cheated on. You begin to wonder if you are not enough of a man to satisfy them. That leads to questioning everything from personality to height to um…other sensitive questions.

Logically, I know it’s them. Isn’t it? I’m the common denominator, so it’s natural to assume that maybe I’m the problem. Am I? My friends seem to think that I’m not to blame. There seems to be a pervasive sense of self-entitlement in our society. People want to feel good at all costs, even if that means humiliating and demoralizing the person they promised to love and be faithful to.

I can’t but wonder how much better my life would have been had I been born the opposite sex. I’m not an aggressive person. I’m tend to be passive, which is not to say that I enjoy being submissive. I don’t. I want – no, I need – to be in control of my own life. I don’t want my life’s choices being dictated by another, but I tend to be more of a go-with-the-flow personality. Rarely do I initiate conversation with people. Less often do I ask someone out on a date.

But being another sex and/or gender wouldn’t solve anything. I would simply be trading one set of problems for another. Maybe that’s why I love to dress up as a woman. Maybe I want to flee my life of mediocrity and self-loathing by becoming someone else. Someone so unlike myself.

It’s just a thought. Regardless, I try not to get down on myself about being in my late thirties, single, with no prospects of ever being in a relationship again. I fail, but the point is I try.