I love my girlfriend (C), more than anyone I've ever dated. We were even scheming to get a marriage license at one point, which could easily have been done before I became legally female.
But we had a few things to discuss, so we were, well, discussing them last night on our nightly walk. Something that had been more evident to her than me came up, and (sorry to about 2% of you) yes, I have yet another Important Announcement to make.
It's high time I came out of the closet for the third time. Folks, I'm straight. Yes, the rumors are true. We had a good cry or three, and it turns out it's okay I'm not gay.
But wait, what do "straight" and "gay" mean in terms of transgendered folks? I'm glad I asked!
It's commonly argued that trannies defy these terms. Well, sure, we screw up a lot of otherwise neat labels. We're complex numbers on some kind of weird Kinsey plane:
a) I prefer other girls (trans or not) on the relationship side, but men (trans or not) are where my hormones lie. I identified as bisexual before transitioning, to varying degrees of openness (not to mention varying Kinsey scores).
b) I've dated women and men about equally (that is, not much) both before and after transitioning.
c) I don't plan on dating other girls anymore.
Hmm.
Does "straight" really describe me now? No, not really, especially with us pesky transsexuals in the picture again. If I had to pick a sexual preference label, that would be the one. When it gets down to it, I'm a woman who prefers men.
Transpeople also throw a wrench in the works when you look at it the other way around. Is a man who exclusively dates post-operative transgurls straight? What if they're pre-op? (Assume he's not a tranny chaser.) To be politically correct, he should be referred to as straight in both cases. In reality, it's more like Richard Pryor's catchphrase in that awful 80s movie: "None of the Above."
(Incidentally, C and I are still together, but now calling it officially okay if either of us finds someone else. And we plan on remaining lifelong friends regardless.)
I don't mean to turn this into a "Milla's Sexuality This Week" blog, but it turns out I really was bisexual after all. Um, oopsie.
I've been running low on my testosterone blocker, spironolactone, having misjudged how much I had left. I likely won't get the new med shipment we ordered until Monday, so I've been on much less than my usual dose (50-75mg instead of 200mg daily) for a week or two. With my T-level rising to a normal female amount, my libido gradually returned and I became more responsive to C again.
While I definitely didn't mind having next to zero sex drive (common among us pre-op transwomen), I have to admit it's been kinda nice to have it back just for a little while. I plan to take more "spiro breaks" in the future.
Although the relationship between C and me didn't change very much throughout the whole "Milla's straight" ordeal, it's still undecided as to what we plan to do now. You'd think one's own sexuality wouldn't be so hard to figure out! Sigh.
It's time for another installment of Ask a Tranny. Yay! This time we're talking about relationships, and appropriately, there are two questions this time. Ohh yeah! Ahem.
The first topic comes from reader Gwen. Gwen doesn't really have a specific question I can quote. She's been full-time for about five months, and is curious about dating guys, and would like to know about my experiences. She is also, understandably, concerned about how the trans thing comes into play.
For the pre-op MtF, dating can get a little complicated. While there's no perfect way to do it, it can still easily be done!
If one passes, my preferred method is arranging a date in a very public place and meeting them there, then going home with a trusted friend or on your own afterwards. If you decide you'd like to see them again and they feel likewise, only then do you come out to them. Over the phone. If there's a hugely negative reaction, you are physically safe, and they can't come bother you at home because they don't know where you live! Or, it could go over very well with them. Better than well, even.
Pre-op, the best luck with getting dates to begin with will be had with guys and girls who identify as bisexual. Good luck can be had finding dates on online dating services, but results are probably as mixed as for any other girl. I had a few potential guy dates that never happened, but they easily could have, and some almost did. On these services, I prefer to identify as trans in my profile. Transgendered-specific dating services can bring chasers out of the woodwork, but they do work.
Honestly, I haven't dated many guys for very long yet, but it'll surely happen. I briefly dated a guy in Pittsburgh before I lost contact with him to circumstance. This was years before my transition, back in '96, but he treated me like a girl, which I certainly didn't mind! I felt different with him than I have in my relationships with girls. It was a safe, cared-for feeling. He was a pizza driver at a joint I liked, and he picked me up on my way home from art school and gave me a ride to my apartment in the rain. *sighhhh*
I'm very happy in my relationship with Connie, even though it may not last forever. Dating a cissy girl can tend to make a tranny girl feel mannish sometimes, but it's great if you swing that way. Dating a caring guy who treats you right is also wonderful. How to choose?
---
This second question comes from a trans friend of mine who wishes to be anonymous. She asked me recently, "Is it bad to respond to a w4w personal ad and not tell the person that you are trans?"
I have strong opinions on that subject. It's not wrong. But hiding candy is generally a bad idea, especially when dating large, straight men.
I believe trans people really are who we say we are, and we have just as much right to privacy and dignity as anyone else. We don't (well, shouldn't) have to disclose the status or history of our genitals.
But if your parts don't currently match your gender, it's far more courteous-- and safer-- to tell your partner. It's no moral obligation, though. Some post-op girls (and guys?) live in "deep stealth," not even out to their partners. I think that's great! They've become themselves about as fully as they can.
As a (now formerly unofficial) member of the Unitarian Universalist church that Mike, Melissa, and I usually attend, Melissa and I did the cooking for a handful of Wednesday "Community Nights" over the winter and spring, where church members or any other folks could come in and have a large, decent meal for a suggested donation of five dollars.
As none of us drive, we liked to buy the ingredients and such at a certain local supermarket that offers delivery for a fee. This makes it possible to buy the large quantities needed and still shop for ourselves and not break our backs carrying it all home. The church would reimburse us, but we tried to ask for less than we spent unless money was particularly tight.
On the third anniversary of my starting hormone supplements (3/10/08), we bought all we needed and scheduled a delivery. A few hours later, a delivery man came by and carried everything upstairs for us.
Okay. *sigh* I think I'm ready to write about this now.
While Melissa was downstairs, outside on the sidewalk near his car, he carried a few plastic bags in through the apartment's front door, and saw me lying down on my bed through my door, exhausted. He greeted me and I came out of my room.
"Um, just leave them here," I said, both of us right by the front door.
He smiled at me. "Ooo.. muy bonita (very pretty)! Hablas Espaňol? Muy bonita!"
"Thank you," I replied, flattered, "No, no hablo mucho Espaňol." I only took two years of Spanish in high school.
He was cute, and he wanted to go out with me. As our relationship at Casa 3M is open, and I found him attractive and friendly, I agreed, and we exchanged phone numbers. He left.
I explained all this to M&M. They seemed surprised, but okay with it. He called me later on asking me in broken English (his English was slightly better than my Spanish) to call him at 10:15 because he got off work at 10. He called me again at 10:14 and said he was waiting outside. I grabbed my purse, said bye, and went downstairs and outside. I got in his car. It was dark out.
As soon as I closed the door he immediately got frisky with me. He started unbuttoning my long wool coat and grabbing my breasts, both through and then beneath my velvet blouse. I got really uneasy. I pulled his hand away. "No, no." After a failed attempt at communication, and another "no, I don't do that on the first date," (no means the same thing in either language), he started back up again and even started trying to stick his hand down the front of my jeans.
Fuck. I was afraid, especially of what might happen when he found something he wasn't expecting, however diminutive and nonfunctional. I wanted to run, but I was afraid of what he might have in the car, or what he might do. I was giving in.
There were people about in the neighborhood now, so he drove a short distance to a quieter, darker, more secluded area. He pulled my hand over to his lap and rubbed it. I pulled it away and looked at him. He started sticking his hand down my jeans again and I panicked. To reduce the risk of getting hurt or killed, I tried my best to explain to him in Spanish "yo soy transsexuale." Sure, that's not specific, or even entirely accurate, but that wasn't the point. He didn't understand, but didn't react much at all when he finally did come upon my Something Extra.
He pulled my hand back. He opened his pants, and put his hand behind my head and pulled it down towards his lap. After he was satisfied, he leaned back for a moment and starting driving again.
"Adonde vamos?" I asked, nervous and numb at the same time. (Where are we going?) "Do you want to go dance?"
He seemed amused I'd asked in Spanish. He said, "No, no." And without another word, drove back around the block and stopped at the apartment.
After some mild relationship drama before I told M&M what had really happened, and brief reactive psychosis on my part (including a good half hour bawl), I called a rape crisis line and they told me to go to a nearby ER. M&M went with me and made the whole ER experience a lot less horrible.
A rapekit was done by an obviously untrained nurse (with the constant verbal assistance of my advocate) and my blouse was taken for evidence. I was asked some questions by a cop and a detective, and six hours or so after checking in, around 6-7AM, we left the hospital and had "breakfast" at a diner and came home. My memory following this incident is very fuzzy, and I functioned very poorly for some time.
I didn't end up getting additional doses of prophylactic drugs either (as required by Illinois state law), but that's a story for another time. And happily, according to testing, I probably didn't catch anything from him anyway.
As a victim of violence, I'm receiving free intensive therapy (one hour twice a week) at a local LGBT clinic.
The investigation is still ongoing. My assailant gave me a false name. He tried to call me several times on two different occasions. The detective got a subpoena on his cell number. Right now I'm waiting to do a second line up, in person this time, and the DNA test could could take years.
As a gender variant woman, statistically speaking, I had an 80% chance of being the victim of assault at least once in my lifetime. I didn't expect it to be quite like that, though.
But we had a few things to discuss, so we were, well, discussing them last night on our nightly walk. Something that had been more evident to her than me came up, and (sorry to about 2% of you) yes, I have yet another Important Announcement to make.
It's high time I came out of the closet for the third time. Folks, I'm straight. Yes, the rumors are true. We had a good cry or three, and it turns out it's okay I'm not gay.
But wait, what do "straight" and "gay" mean in terms of transgendered folks? I'm glad I asked!
It's commonly argued that trannies defy these terms. Well, sure, we screw up a lot of otherwise neat labels. We're complex numbers on some kind of weird Kinsey plane:
a) I prefer other girls (trans or not) on the relationship side, but men (trans or not) are where my hormones lie. I identified as bisexual before transitioning, to varying degrees of openness (not to mention varying Kinsey scores).
b) I've dated women and men about equally (that is, not much) both before and after transitioning.
c) I don't plan on dating other girls anymore.
Hmm.
Does "straight" really describe me now? No, not really, especially with us pesky transsexuals in the picture again. If I had to pick a sexual preference label, that would be the one. When it gets down to it, I'm a woman who prefers men.
Transpeople also throw a wrench in the works when you look at it the other way around. Is a man who exclusively dates post-operative transgurls straight? What if they're pre-op? (Assume he's not a tranny chaser.) To be politically correct, he should be referred to as straight in both cases. In reality, it's more like Richard Pryor's catchphrase in that awful 80s movie: "None of the Above."
(Incidentally, C and I are still together, but now calling it officially okay if either of us finds someone else. And we plan on remaining lifelong friends regardless.)
Related entry
Posted in sexuality by Milla | Comments (2)
I don't mean to turn this into a "Milla's Sexuality This Week" blog, but it turns out I really was bisexual after all. Um, oopsie.
I've been running low on my testosterone blocker, spironolactone, having misjudged how much I had left. I likely won't get the new med shipment we ordered until Monday, so I've been on much less than my usual dose (50-75mg instead of 200mg daily) for a week or two. With my T-level rising to a normal female amount, my libido gradually returned and I became more responsive to C again.
While I definitely didn't mind having next to zero sex drive (common among us pre-op transwomen), I have to admit it's been kinda nice to have it back just for a little while. I plan to take more "spiro breaks" in the future.
Although the relationship between C and me didn't change very much throughout the whole "Milla's straight" ordeal, it's still undecided as to what we plan to do now. You'd think one's own sexuality wouldn't be so hard to figure out! Sigh.
Related entry
Posted in hormones, sexuality by Milla
It's time for another installment of Ask a Tranny. Yay! This time we're talking about relationships, and appropriately, there are two questions this time. Ohh yeah! Ahem.
The first topic comes from reader Gwen. Gwen doesn't really have a specific question I can quote. She's been full-time for about five months, and is curious about dating guys, and would like to know about my experiences. She is also, understandably, concerned about how the trans thing comes into play.
For the pre-op MtF, dating can get a little complicated. While there's no perfect way to do it, it can still easily be done!
If one passes, my preferred method is arranging a date in a very public place and meeting them there, then going home with a trusted friend or on your own afterwards. If you decide you'd like to see them again and they feel likewise, only then do you come out to them. Over the phone. If there's a hugely negative reaction, you are physically safe, and they can't come bother you at home because they don't know where you live! Or, it could go over very well with them. Better than well, even.
Pre-op, the best luck with getting dates to begin with will be had with guys and girls who identify as bisexual. Good luck can be had finding dates on online dating services, but results are probably as mixed as for any other girl. I had a few potential guy dates that never happened, but they easily could have, and some almost did. On these services, I prefer to identify as trans in my profile. Transgendered-specific dating services can bring chasers out of the woodwork, but they do work.
Honestly, I haven't dated many guys for very long yet, but it'll surely happen. I briefly dated a guy in Pittsburgh before I lost contact with him to circumstance. This was years before my transition, back in '96, but he treated me like a girl, which I certainly didn't mind! I felt different with him than I have in my relationships with girls. It was a safe, cared-for feeling. He was a pizza driver at a joint I liked, and he picked me up on my way home from art school and gave me a ride to my apartment in the rain. *sighhhh*
I'm very happy in my relationship with Connie, even though it may not last forever. Dating a cissy girl can tend to make a tranny girl feel mannish sometimes, but it's great if you swing that way. Dating a caring guy who treats you right is also wonderful. How to choose?
---
This second question comes from a trans friend of mine who wishes to be anonymous. She asked me recently, "Is it bad to respond to a w4w personal ad and not tell the person that you are trans?"
I have strong opinions on that subject. It's not wrong. But hiding candy is generally a bad idea, especially when dating large, straight men.
I believe trans people really are who we say we are, and we have just as much right to privacy and dignity as anyone else. We don't (well, shouldn't) have to disclose the status or history of our genitals.
But if your parts don't currently match your gender, it's far more courteous-- and safer-- to tell your partner. It's no moral obligation, though. Some post-op girls (and guys?) live in "deep stealth," not even out to their partners. I think that's great! They've become themselves about as fully as they can.
Posted in ask_a_tranny, relationships, sexuality by Milla | Comments (3)
We Unitarians love our food.
As a (now formerly unofficial) member of the Unitarian Universalist church that Mike, Melissa, and I usually attend, Melissa and I did the cooking for a handful of Wednesday "Community Nights" over the winter and spring, where church members or any other folks could come in and have a large, decent meal for a suggested donation of five dollars.
As none of us drive, we liked to buy the ingredients and such at a certain local supermarket that offers delivery for a fee. This makes it possible to buy the large quantities needed and still shop for ourselves and not break our backs carrying it all home. The church would reimburse us, but we tried to ask for less than we spent unless money was particularly tight.
On the third anniversary of my starting hormone supplements (3/10/08), we bought all we needed and scheduled a delivery. A few hours later, a delivery man came by and carried everything upstairs for us.
Okay. *sigh* I think I'm ready to write about this now.
While Melissa was downstairs, outside on the sidewalk near his car, he carried a few plastic bags in through the apartment's front door, and saw me lying down on my bed through my door, exhausted. He greeted me and I came out of my room.
"Um, just leave them here," I said, both of us right by the front door.
He smiled at me. "Ooo.. muy bonita (very pretty)! Hablas Espaňol? Muy bonita!"
"Thank you," I replied, flattered, "No, no hablo mucho Espaňol." I only took two years of Spanish in high school.
He was cute, and he wanted to go out with me. As our relationship at Casa 3M is open, and I found him attractive and friendly, I agreed, and we exchanged phone numbers. He left.
I explained all this to M&M. They seemed surprised, but okay with it. He called me later on asking me in broken English (his English was slightly better than my Spanish) to call him at 10:15 because he got off work at 10. He called me again at 10:14 and said he was waiting outside. I grabbed my purse, said bye, and went downstairs and outside. I got in his car. It was dark out.
As soon as I closed the door he immediately got frisky with me. He started unbuttoning my long wool coat and grabbing my breasts, both through and then beneath my velvet blouse. I got really uneasy. I pulled his hand away. "No, no." After a failed attempt at communication, and another "no, I don't do that on the first date," (no means the same thing in either language), he started back up again and even started trying to stick his hand down the front of my jeans.
Fuck. I was afraid, especially of what might happen when he found something he wasn't expecting, however diminutive and nonfunctional. I wanted to run, but I was afraid of what he might have in the car, or what he might do. I was giving in.
There were people about in the neighborhood now, so he drove a short distance to a quieter, darker, more secluded area. He pulled my hand over to his lap and rubbed it. I pulled it away and looked at him. He started sticking his hand down my jeans again and I panicked. To reduce the risk of getting hurt or killed, I tried my best to explain to him in Spanish "yo soy transsexuale." Sure, that's not specific, or even entirely accurate, but that wasn't the point. He didn't understand, but didn't react much at all when he finally did come upon my Something Extra.
He pulled my hand back. He opened his pants, and put his hand behind my head and pulled it down towards his lap. After he was satisfied, he leaned back for a moment and starting driving again.
"Adonde vamos?" I asked, nervous and numb at the same time. (Where are we going?) "Do you want to go dance?"
He seemed amused I'd asked in Spanish. He said, "No, no." And without another word, drove back around the block and stopped at the apartment.
After some mild relationship drama before I told M&M what had really happened, and brief reactive psychosis on my part (including a good half hour bawl), I called a rape crisis line and they told me to go to a nearby ER. M&M went with me and made the whole ER experience a lot less horrible.
A rapekit was done by an obviously untrained nurse (with the constant verbal assistance of my advocate) and my blouse was taken for evidence. I was asked some questions by a cop and a detective, and six hours or so after checking in, around 6-7AM, we left the hospital and had "breakfast" at a diner and came home. My memory following this incident is very fuzzy, and I functioned very poorly for some time.
I didn't end up getting additional doses of prophylactic drugs either (as required by Illinois state law), but that's a story for another time. And happily, according to testing, I probably didn't catch anything from him anyway.
As a victim of violence, I'm receiving free intensive therapy (one hour twice a week) at a local LGBT clinic.
The investigation is still ongoing. My assailant gave me a false name. He tried to call me several times on two different occasions. The detective got a subpoena on his cell number. Right now I'm waiting to do a second line up, in person this time, and the DNA test could could take years.
As a gender variant woman, statistically speaking, I had an 80% chance of being the victim of assault at least once in my lifetime. I didn't expect it to be quite like that, though.
Posted in misc, news, relationships, sexuality by Milla | Comments (9)